Misty hightailed it to the grassy field that was home to the film shoot, making it back as the bus slowed to a stop. A gentleman with a black mustache and a clipboard hopped out first. The name tag clipped to his lapel read “Tom” with a little smiley face inside the o.
“Here, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, ushering them to find a seat in a cluster of folding chairs arranged between Misty’s trailer and the one that was home to the director. A woman wearing a pink hat waved madly at Misty. No doubt she was a Jellybean fan.
Drat, Misty thought, wiggling her fingers in a halfhearted response. The tourists were blocking access to her door. She’d been hoping to hand Jellybean off to Lawrence, hole up in her trailer, and avoid the crowd until Ms. Marshall arrived. Now a new flood of people turned their interest in her direction. Her skin erupted in cold prickles. As she began a backward creep away from the assembled tourists, Lawrence swept into view, greeting the delighted group with hearty affirmations. Strolling by, he beamed at Misty, patted her shoulder, and gathered up a wriggling Jellybean.
Relieved and edging to the back of the group, Misty watched in awe as Lawrence worked the crowd of sixty or so starstruck visitors. “Welcome to the battlefield,” he chortled, sweeping a hand toward the Sherman tank. The top hatch of the tank was open, and a uniformed actor was manning the machine gun. He waved, and the tourists captured it all with their cell phone cameras before the actor climbed out and joined the presentation.
Misty continued to ease toward the periphery, and by the time she’d neared the spot where the tour bus was parked, Bill and Fiona were just strolling up. Her heart jumped oddly, and after a moment she forced a jerky wave.
Bill waved back, and Fiona smiled around the two fingers jammed in her mouth.
“This is quite a crowd,” Bill said, eyes sparkling.
“Lots of people hungry for chocolate.”
He laughed. It was a warm, comforting sound. She must have said the right thing.
“It sounds so opportunistic, but yeah, that’s what I was hoping for. Maybe some of them will stay the night at the inn and pop into the diner and the gift shop. Good for the whole town.”
It was hard not to notice how his eyes sparkled when he talked, his big hands cuddling Fiona to his side. It was one of those times she desperately wished she had the gift of gab, a grasp of the easy social give-and-take that was so natural for some folks. How do they do it? she wondered. Let the conversation flow like the notes in a concerto? The only thing she knew how to talk about without the least hesitation was music, but she did not see how to wedge that topic into the present situation.
As she tried to think of something else to say, another vehicle rolled into a graveled section of the field that provided a makeshift parking lot.
A white van with “Well-Heeled Hound” lettered on the side stopped behind the bus. A woman wearing neat trousers and a button-up canvas shirt with a tiny dog emblem on the pocket stepped out. Her long blond hair was coiled in a neat braid that wound around her head, and she wore sporty glasses with red frames. Every inch of Phyllis Marshall said, “I can handle Jellybean. No sweat.”
Misty exhaled in relief and hastened to extend her hand and introduce herself.
With a firm grip, Phyllis shook Misty’s palm. “Where’s my little gentleman?”
It took Misty a beat to figure out she was referring to Jellybean. “Oh, um, he’s over there.”
Phyllis looked closely at Jellybean. “Wire-haired terrier with a touch of something else?” Phyllis inquired. “Cairn terrier, perhaps?”
Misty thought maybe it was a touch of mule, but she didn’t have the courage to say so.
Lawrence had started the group off on a walk, and they were now milling around the tank. Jellybean thrashed wildly in Lawrence’s arms in an effort to be set free.
“Ah,” Phyllis said, marching toward Jellybean and the crowd.
Misty returned to Bill and Fiona. “I can’t wait to see how she handles Jellybean,” Misty said.
“I can’t wait to see how she handles Lawrence,” Bill replied.
Misty hadn’t thought of that. She hoped the woman was a cinema fan, awed to be in the very presence of the great actor like everyone else appeared to be. Somehow, Phyllis didn’t look to be the type who was easily awed by anything.
They moved closer toward the collected audience. Lawrence was looking down his nose at Phyllis, who had picked her way to the front and must have introduced herself.
“So you’re a dog trainer?” Lawrence sniffed. “Thank you for your interest, but Jellybean doesn’t need training. He just needs supervision.”
Misty didn’t know if Lawrence was lying or if he actually believed his own lines.
Jellybean finally wriggled loose from Lawrence’s grip and hopped to the ground. Phyllis beamed, fished a teensy brown dog treat from her pocket, and held it toward Jellybean. The dog’s nose quivered.
“Sit, Jellybean.”
The dog sat. He was given the treat.
Misty gaped.
“See?” Lawrence said as if he’d been expecting such behavior. “He’s already trained.” The guy really must be a fine actor.
“Good,” Phyllis said calmly. “Down,” she said, bending to hold the treat on the grass, and Jellybean followed her movements, lying on the ground, resting his wedge of a head on dainty paws. His pink tongue snaked out to snag the treat.
“Did you see that?” Misty whispered to Bill.
Bill nodded, hoisting Fiona on his broad shoulders so she could get a better view. “She’s a canine genius.”
Phyllis offered Lawrence a cool smile. “Come, Jellybean.” Out came another dog treat, and after a moment Jellybean sat up, padding directly to Phyllis.
Misty looked closer to be sure no one had replaced Jellybean with a stunt double. Nope, it appeared to be the same feisty terrier who was now behaving like a blue ribbon champion.
“We’ll work on making that a bit faster,” she said, giving Jellybean a pat on the head. “Eventually, he’ll comply without the need for a tangible reward.” She took a blue lead from her seemingly bottomless pockets. “Time to put you on the leash, Jellybean. Sit.”
She held the treat in front of Jellybean’s nose. The enticing aroma brought him right to a textbook sit. Whatever these dog treats were made from, Misty figured it had to be like doggy catnip or something. She wondered if it would work on some of her wiggly students as well.
Smiling, Phyllis held the treat a bit away from Jellybean while she bent over to clip the leash to his collar. With a blur of motion, Jellybean snapped the treat from her hand and zoomed away a few paces out of reach.
“Uh-oh,” Bill said.
A slight frown crossed Phyllis’s face. She cast a withering look at Lawrence. “He does need basic training.”
Lawrence sniffed. “He is merely pointing out that he can’t be bought with paltry dog treats.”
Phyllis ignored him, turning again to Jellybean, who was crouched low in the front and high in the rear, tail wagging. The tourists were now watching the proceedings with rapt attention. Phyllis bent again, keeping the treat tighter between her fingertips.
“Jellybean, come.”
This time the dog sprang forward so unexpectedly, Phyllis toppled over on her bottom. Jellybean scarfed the fallen treat and skittered a few paces away, tail whirling in happy circles.
“Bad dog,” Phyllis hissed.
To Misty’s horror, Lawrence started laughing.
“I believe he’s bested you, Dog Trainer Phyllis,” he chortled. Misty hurried to offer Phyllis a hand up, but the woman waved her off and got to her feet.
The confused audience looked from Lawrence to Phyllis as the two stared at each other.
She fingered another treat. “Come, Jellybean.”
The dog came close, and Misty thought she saw a nasty gleam in the terrier’s eye.
“Uh…” Misty started.
Phyllis bent, leash in one palm and treat in the other.
“Maybe…” Misty tried.
“Come,” Phyllis repeated.
This time Jellybean came and sat as requested, allowing Phyllis to clip on the leash.
Misty blinked in disbelief at Jellybean, suddenly an angel in a fur coat, as he came closer, ears cocked and button nose quivering.
By this time the director had arrived on scene, baseball cap firmly in place. “Check that out,” he said, beaming. “That’s exactly what we need for the animal. Some good, no-nonsense training.” He hastened to Phyllis. “Can you take him to your dog compound for some boot camp? He needs massive rehearsal.”
Lawrence glared at the director. “As I have already explained, I don’t work on a set without Jellybean.”
Phyllis stood with the leash in hand, her attention on Wilson. “I will be happy to come during the shoot hours. You’ll see amazing progress by the end of the week.”
Misty stared at Jellybean. It was almost as if she could see him considering, gauging the optimal timing, waiting for the perfect cue. He turned his bright black eyes on Misty and smiled. No, she must have imagined that. Dogs didn’t really smile, did they?
“Mr. Tucker, shall we discuss my fee?” Phyllis said.
And then the dog put his plan into action. Exploding into motion, he ran between Phyllis’s legs and circled back, tangling the leash around both ankles. When the leash pulled taut, she stumbled and lost her grip, dropping some doggy treats on the ground. Jellybean zoomed in, scarfed the treats, and rocketed away.
Now free with the leash trailing behind him, Jellybean dashed toward the tank, scrambled up the turret, and disappeared into the metal bowels.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd, many of whom were videoing the proceedings on their cell phones.
“Look at that,” one man guffawed. “The dog is prepared to battle it out.”
But no one was laughing harder than Lawrence.
Bill gaped. He didn’t know much about movies and even less about dog training, but he was absolutely certain that laughing at a woman—any woman—in front of a crowd or not was generally a very bad idea.
Lawrence had tears of mirth running down his face.
Phyllis had something akin to steam shooting out of her ears, or so Bill imagined.
From her position on his shoulders, Fiona must have felt the tension too, because she reached down and cupped his cheeks. He patted her chubby fingers to reassure her.
Misty’s complexion had gone from a mild pink to a dead white. Bill understood. Phyllis, Misty’s ticket out of town, stood with her hands fisted on her hips. Another bad sign in the world of women.
The guy Bill knew to be the director stepped forward. “Mr. Tucker, this is inappropriate and disrespectful. This lady has come to help train your incorrigible beast.”
Lawrence turned cold eyes on Wilson. “Sir, I do not appreciate such slander.”
“Time to call a spade a spade, Tucker.”
Lawrence considered and then waved his hand airily. “Fine. Go ahead and fish him out of the tank for Dog Trainer Phyllis.”
“He’s your mutt,” Wilson snapped. “You do it.”
“I don’t like your tone, Director,” Lawrence said. “I told you I did not require a dog trainer.”
“Yes, you do. Unless you’ve forgotten, your dog just commandeered a Sherman tank!” the director thundered.
“Well, kudos to him,” Lawrence shouted back. “He didn’t ask to be harassed by some dog warden.”
The director’s mouth tightened. “Mr. Tucker,” he said through gritted teeth, “these people—all of these lovely visitors, who will someday be paying to see this movie—are not here to witness you have a temper tantrum.”
The tour director, Tom, nodded vigorously.
“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” a heavyset man said, hoisting a camera loaded with lenses. “This is a whole lot more fun than some canned speech.”
Bill had to agree until he caught a glimpse of Misty’s stricken face.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
She turned wide eyes on him. “This is all my fault,” she mouthed.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Bill whispered. “Jellybean and Lawrence both need some training,”
A hollow bark echoed from inside the tank. The crowd hooted with laughter.
“Your dog is incorrigible,” Phyllis said. “But at least dogs can be trained.”
Lawrence shot a look at Phyllis. “He outflanked his opponent. It was a worthy effort from a creature who is not going to be tamed by paltry dog kibbles or whatever those treats are you keep plying him with, so you can leave and return to your doggy prison yard.”
Phyllis stiffened with rage.
Tom the tour guide’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the crowd, “perhaps we’d better delay our visit to Albatross until a later time.”
“No need for them to leave,” Phyllis snapped. “I’m going.”
“You do that,” Lawrence said.
“Wait,” Misty tried. “I’m so sorry, Phyllis. This is just a bad time. Maybe we can try again later.”
Jellybean barked again from inside the tank.
“I will not work for a man like that,” Phyllis spat, disdain dripping from her words as she spun on her heel and stalked away.
“You see?” Lawrence said. “She doesn’t want to stay. Misty, you will have to take care of Jellybean.”
Misty finally got her mouth working. “No, I don’t. I’m leaving.”
Wilson’s face was still flushed with anger. “Tucker, you’ve got to go catch up with that dog trainer,” he said, pointing a finger at Lawrence, “because your monster pet is not going to live in my Sherman tank.”
“Don’t worry,” Lawrence said, eyes narrowed. “Jellybean will come out of your precious tank when he’s good and ready, and then we are both leaving.”
“No, you aren’t. You can’t walk off this set.”
Lawrence pulled himself up to his full height and delivered what could have been a line straight from one of his movies. “I can, Director Wilson, and I will.” Lawrence stalked to his trailer, plowed inside, and slammed the door.
Wilson slapped his hat against his thigh. An assistant ran up, and Wilson shouldered him aside, stalking to his own trailer and slamming the door.
After a moment of confusion, Tom made flapping motions with his hands as his tour group broke into a frenzy of conversation.
“Please return to the bus,” Tom said in a high-pitched voice, but no one seemed to be listening to him.
Misty stood frozen to the spot. Bill was not sure what he could do. He wondered how a dog no bigger than a loaf of bread had accomplished so much damage in a matter of moments. His bigger problem was that the whole batch of potential customers was about to pile back onto the bus and leave town without purchasing so much as one measly Jellybean Jumble.
“We’ve got plenty of great stores in town,” he called out to Tom. “And an amazing chocolate shop. You don’t want to miss that.”
Tom glowered at him. “There’s nothing amazing about this hick town,” he sneered.
Hick town? Bill was about to give Tom a piece of his mind. Misty was jogging after Phyllis, calling for her to wait.
Phyllis sailed on.
At that moment, Jellybean popped his head out of the hatch and barked, looking for all the world like a soldier who had just vanquished the enemy.