“Addison…? Addison…? Miss Turner?”
The voice broke Addison’s trance and she tore her gaze away from the stage to refocus on Officer Simpson.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just … I can’t believe they’re gone.” She held Princess closer to her chest, not willing to let her out of her eyesight.
Princess grumbled, probably annoyed that she hadn’t been able to touch the ground in the last forty minutes. She shifted in Addison’s hold and nestled in.
“I understand, ma’am,” the officer said. “I just have a few more questions for you.”
Addison nodded numbly, glancing at the middle of the stage floor where the dogs should have been and thinking that if she just stared hard enough, she would see a glimmer in the air, like there was a magic door the dogs had accidentally passed through.
Once the police had arrived and things started to sink in—the dogs were really gone—Addison could no longer deny it. She’d lost them. They were out there in the city somewhere, maybe wandering the streets. Or worse. In the hands of someone who wanted to use them for money or even illegal dog fights.
Officer Simpson scanned his notepad. “You said you were dancing when the dogs went missing?”
Addison cringed. It sounded so unprofessional when he said it. Why had she allowed herself to get so distracted on such a critical night?
“Yes. I was dancing with Phillip Montgomery the third.”
The officer wrote down his name. “You never saw anything before you left? No one hanging around the stage?”
“No. Everything was normal. It was perfect, in fact. Melody was just finishing up the last of the grooming.” Addison paused. “Actually, there was one person hanging around, way longer than any of the other dog owners. Kitty Carlisle.” She recalled the way the old woman seemed nervous as she stalked backstage, but looking back, maybe she’d been casing the place, making her evil dog-stealing plans.
“Was her dog stolen as well?” he asked.
“No. In fact she seemed overly protective about her bichon frisé, hovering, making sure she got him back. I didn’t see her after that until the dogs were already gone.”
He made another note. “Can you think of anyone else acting unusual? Maybe someone might have said something alluding to the dogs going missing?”
“No. No one.”
Beyond the thick stage curtains, she could hear the few remaining guests, or witnesses she supposed, talking to other police officers in the ballroom. Most of it was muffled murmurs to her ears, but every once in a while, her name rang clear. Probably because it was said with such ferociousness that it cut through the curtain, and her, like a freshly sharpened pair of trimming scissors. She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over them.
“How long has Melody Butters been working for you?”
Her eyes flicked open and her voice rose an octave in surprise. “Melody?” Addison hadn’t suspected her assistant for even a second. But of course she would be a suspect since she was directly responsible for the dogs when they went missing. The police were probably drilling her at that very moment. “About six months now. Part time.”
“Do you know much about her personally? Who she hangs out with, any criminal connections?”
“God no. The only thing criminal about that girl is her addiction to ABBA. But I suppose I don’t know her extremely well outside of work.”
As he held his pen to paper, she added, “But we talk a lot at the spa, and I can’t see her doing anything to these dogs. Not on purpose, anyway.”
She thought back to the curtain call. Melody had been nowhere to be found at the time. Had she run to the washroom? Maybe Addison had taken too long to come back and she couldn’t hold it any longer.
“So you think someone might have stolen them?” she asked the officer.
“We’re considering all possibilities at this point. Some dogs were left behind, so it may just be a case of the dogs wandering off. It’s too soon to tell.”
“Is anyone out there looking for them? Has anyone called animal control or any rescue centers?”
“We’re taking steps to look for them.”
Addison’s mouth turned down. That didn’t exactly sound like they were scouring the city. It sounded like a generic police-y type answer to her.
“But seven dogs are gone. If you think they might have run away, shouldn’t someone be out there driving the streets looking for them just in case?” She sounded harsher than she’d meant to. No, actually she meant to sound harsh. It wasn’t exactly hard to drive around a few blocks. The police were out there patrolling as part of their job anyway.
Officer Simpson glanced up from his notepad, keeping his tone level but firm. “We’re doing what we can.”
Looked like that “someone” was going to be her. She wanted to wrap things up, get out on the streets in her Mini, and search the neighborhood herself. Do something to help find those poor dogs.
She held Princess closer, thinking of how she would feel if her doxie was out there lost and alone. Her stomach flipped with nausea. Now there were seven dogs out there somewhere, and seven owners with flipping stomachs. And she was responsible for it. It suddenly occurred to Addison that she could be sued, by seven powerful and expensive lawyers.
Show dogs were pricey breeds to begin with, even before the cost of their training, grooming, and only the best products and food. But those deemed the best of the best were often used for their superior genetics. A stud fee was sometimes a thousand dollars or more. Over the lifetime of a show dog, sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars are invested. And there were seven of them. Seven dogs, seven potential lawsuits. Addison didn’t exactly have that kind of coin laying around.
Forget losing her business. Addison could be held criminally liable.
“Miss Turner? Are you all right?” Officer Simpson was watching her closely.
Addison’s breaths were coming faster than a panting dog’s on a sunny day. She felt dizzy; the room a little crooked.
Officer Simpson laid a hand on her shoulder, not comfortingly, but as if he thought he might have to catch her. “I think you should sit down.”
She nodded and collapsed onto one of the bohemian pillows. Princess curled up on her lap and promptly fell asleep as though everything was perfectly normal.
“Am I going to jail?” Addison asked between panicked breaths.
Officer Simpson squatted down to her level. “Right now, we’re just investigating. You’re free to go. However, we’ll need you to come down to the station tomorrow morning to answer more questions.”
His response didn’t make her feel any better. It wasn’t exactly a “no.”
“You’re looking a little pale, Miss Turner.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She held a hand to her forehead as though she could feel if she was pale. All she felt was cold, damp beads of sweat. “I just need a little sugar is all. I’ll be fine.”
The officer seemed reluctant to leave, but he eventually took a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If you have any questions, here’s my contact info. Please stop by the precinct in the morning.”
Addison took it, staring at Officer Simpson’s name as he left the stage, his big boots clomping on the wood. He’d been very nice, even concerned for her, but all she could wonder was if he would be the one to clamp a pair of cuffs on her if the dogs weren’t found.
She suddenly had a whole new reason for driving around the neighborhood searching for the dogs that night. It wasn’t just the dogs’ well-being she had to be concerned about anymore but her own as well. And what about her dad? How was she supposed to pay him back when her own business was on the line? And then there was Princess. Who would take her in when Addison was behind bars? And orange was so not Addison’s color.
Addison’s thoughts were flipping around erratically. She had to do something, but first she needed to find Melody and question her assistant personally.
Since she could still hear guests and police officers lingering outside the closed curtains, she chose the back door to the alley where they’d unloaded her car at the start of the night. It seemed so long ago now.
Carrying Princess like one of those owners who don’t think their dogs can walk, she headed for the exit. The heavy metal fire door was propped open with an empty storage bin. When she pushed it open, she found Melody picking at her lip absently in the alley, a smoke in her hand.
Addison watched her suck back on the cigarette like a scuba diver would oxygen. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” she said. “Well, I didn’t.” Melody took another drag, her hand shaking. “I quit a couple of years ago, but I started up again this week.”
She didn’t bother to flick away the long length of ash drooping at the end before she took another desperate drag. The ash escaped on its own and fluttered down the front of her work apron.
Addison nodded. She couldn’t blame her. She’d already gone through four liters of her ice cream stash leading up to this event. She was surprised her dress had even fit when she’d zipped it up that night.
Princess began to squirm and whine desperately in her arms. Reluctantly, she set her down, but didn’t let the leash out very far.
Melody tossed the butt aside and turned to Addison. Even in the poorly lit alley, she could see her assistant’s red-rimmed eyes were swollen. Pale tear tracks ran down the blush on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry.” Melody’s voice broke. “I only stepped outside for two minutes to have a smoke. I felt fine until one of the customers showed up and started screaming at me. Afterward my nerves were shot. I just needed to relax before the reveal. I gave all the dogs treats before I left. They were all happy, and healthy, and”—she stumbled over her words—“there when I left. I don’t know what happened.”
Addison felt bad for her. She’d obviously had a rough night too. “Are you sure the dogs didn’t follow you when you went out the backstage door? Maybe they snuck out here when you weren’t looking?” She glanced both ways down the dark alley, half hoping they were hanging around the Dumpsters. But there was only Princess relieving herself after Addison’s long Q and A session with the cop.
“That’s what the cops wondered too, because I stuck a storage container in the door to hold it open. So it wouldn’t close and lock behind me, you know?” Melody began to tear up again, trying to control her wavering voice. “But I’m sure I would have seen them. I’m sure of it. I only planned to be a minute.”
Tapping out another cigarette from the pack, she stuck it in her mouth and lit up. In the flare from the lighter, Addison could see fresh tears roll down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again.
Addison shook her head, but she couldn’t quite look her in the eye yet. “It’s not your fault. We don’t even know what happened. The police aren’t exactly saying, but I can’t see all those dogs running away. They’re too well trained.” She shook her head, unsure of what to think.
“You entrusted them to me. They were my responsibility. I let you down.” She waved the cigarette around while she talked, the glowing end creating swirls in the dark before Addison’s tired eyes.
“You didn’t let me down. It wasn’t like it was a normal setup. You’re not to blame. Heck, if I’d been around—”
“Don’t do that,” Melody told her. “You deserved a break. I told you to go.”
Addison had replayed the evening’s events over and over a hundred times like she always rewatched The Princess Bride, her favorite movie. She’d considered all the if-onlys. If only she’d stuck around. If only she’d been watching the dogs and not dancing with Phillip Montgomery III. If only she hadn’t bothered arguing with that nosy bartender, Felix. But dwelling on what might have been wasn’t going to change what was. The dogs were gone.
She shook her head to snap herself out of the never-ending self-blame cycle. “Look, Melody. Why don’t you just go home and get some rest. I know I have to go down to the police station tomorrow and answer more questions. Let’s call it a night.”
“Yeah, me too. You’re right. Thanks.” Melody sucked back the rest of her cigarette. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.”
As Melody passed the Dumpster, she tossed her near-full pack of smokes inside, along with her lighter, as though it was the cigarettes’ fault the dogs disappeared. Addison thought it was likely she’d probably stop on the way home and pick up another pack. Heck, Addison already planned to stop for some Chunky Monkey ice cream herself.
Instead of taking her own advice to go home, Addison scooped Princess up and wandered back inside. She was hesitant to put her doxie down, as if the ballroom were some kind of Bermuda triangle. No one could explain what happened to the dogs. Although there were certainly enough theories that had been screamed at her before the police arrived to break things up. All of which blamed Addison.
Crossing the stage to the curtains, she peeked through a tiny gap. Most of the people had cleared out of the ballroom, except for a few stragglers. Slipping through to the other side, she went to the bar. Felix wasn’t around, but she took a seat on one of the stools anyway, setting Princess down on the one next to her.
Addison banged her head on the bar’s sticky countertop, hoping it might knock her senseless. If it did, at least she wouldn’t have to answer any more of the cops’ questions the next day. Questions that she wouldn’t know the answers to.
Whether they ran away or they were stolen, how did seven purebred dogs get off the stage and waltz past hundreds of guests? The only other way had been out the back alley while Melody was out there smoking, but then surely she would have seen them. Unless, of course, she wasn’t telling the truth. What else could explain their disappearing act?
It seemed the only explanation the missing dog owners were interested in involved pointing their fingers at Addison. No matter how it happened or why, it was her fault. Now what was she going to do about it?
Addison began to bang her head again, but a pair of hands held either side of it, gently raising it up. It was Felix.
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “You look like you could use that drink now.”
“Then I must look better than I feel, because I feel like I could use the whole bottle.” She sighed. “My career is over.”
“It can’t be that bad.” He took his cloth and dabbed away the grenadine syrup stuck to her forehead.
“I lost my clients. Whole clients.” She threw her arms in the air. “These poor dogs might end up in some back-alley dog-fighting ring, getting torn to shreds, and it’s all my fault.” She imagined Kingy walking into the ring, dressed in the designer kimono.
“Look. I love dogs too, so I understand your concern for these little guys, but I think you need to consider the long run. Have you thought about lawyering up? Protecting yourself, just in case?”
Addison dropped her head into her hands. “I’m going to jail.”
“You’re not going to jail. Look, maybe they got loose and ran away,” he said, trying to sound offhand about it. “They’re dogs, after all.” He shrugged. “They might turn up. No harm done.”
“No harm?” Addison sputtered. “Except when it comes to my reputation.” She knew he was only trying to cheer her up, but there was no cheer to be had. This was bad. Very bad. “Even if the dogs turn up perfectly unharmed, God willing, who is going to bring their dog to me for styling if they can’t be sure they’ll get them back?”
Addison grimaced in self-loathing. She hated throwing herself a pity party, hated thinking about anything but the dogs and how to get them back to their owners safely.
“There are other dog owners all over this city who will never even hear about this. This was just one event.”
“A big event.” She widened her eyes to show just how big.
“And it wasn’t even your fault.”
“It makes little difference to the owners,” she said, refusing to be cheered. “The dogs were under my care.”
“Correction: they were under your assistant’s care.”
“My assistant who works for me.”
“Chin up,” he said, setting a glass of orange liquid down in front of her. When she eyeballed it, he said, “Don’t worry. It’s just orange juice. I’m not allowed to serve alcohol anymore tonight.”
As she reached for the glass with a shaking hand, she realized she could use a bit of sugar. She downed it gratefully.
“Look,” Felix said. “It’s not over yet. They could still find the dogs. Besides, you don’t strike me as the glass-half-empty type.”
“Oh?” she said. “What type do you think I am?”
“Oh, I’m not going down that road again. I’m pleading the fifth.” He raised his hands in the air and backed away. “I have the right to remain silent.”
She eyeballed him. “Har-har.”
“What? Too soon for the cop jokes?”
“Well considering I might be hearing those words repeated to me any time now, I’d say yes. And you’re wrong. It is over. These next two weeks were my chance to make a name for myself, to build up interest for my fashion show. But the dog show community is very small. Talk will get around.”
“Then it’s a good thing dogs don’t talk,” he joked. “I’m just saying, so a few of these overpriced dog owners know. So what? It’s not like these are the only people with dogs in town. San Francisco is a big city with lots of potential customers.”
“Except it may not stop with local gossip. If it hits social media, we’re talking national news. Global even.”
Penny Peacock certainly had enough followers online to force Addison into hiding for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t be able to start another business ever again. Maybe she wouldn’t even be able to leave the house. She’d have to dye her hair and move to Canada.
“I guess I could always change my spa name,” she said, making an effort at the glass-half-full thing. “Starting over from scratch might be easier than trying to repair the damage to my reputation.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Maybe you can even switch species.”
“Species?”
“Yeah.” He thought as he cleaned up for the day. “You could be a cat groomer.”
“Maybe hamsters,” she said. She spread her hands in front of her like she could see the billboard already. “San Francisco’s premiere hamster hair stylist.”
“That’s the spirit. See? Your business will be fine. Besides, this was an isolated incident at a single event. Who really follows the dog shows? Chances are, no one will even hear about this.” He poured another two glasses of orange juice and handed her one.
“You think?” she asked.
He clinked his glass against hers in cheers. “Absolutely.”
They drank their juices in silence. Addison was already feeling a tiny bit better. Maybe things weren’t so doom and gloom. But when the smile on Felix’s face dropped and his thick eyebrows furrowed, that doomy feeling returned.
“Uh-oh,” he said. His gaze was locked over her shoulder.
“What?” She turned around and wished she’d already left to look for the dogs.
The press had arrived in the form of a thin, platinum-blonde reporter clad in a bubble-gum pink pantsuit checking her hair in one of the silver serving platters near the cocktail tables. Behind her, the cameraman scrambled to set up his equipment. The reporter watched him, only lifting a finger to snap them while she snarled demands.
Felix was watching in fascination. “Is that the Holly Hart from Channel Five News?”
Addison groaned. “Yes. That’s her.”
“Do you know her?” He sounded awestruck, like she was an A-list actress.
“Yes. And I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Why?”
“Because I know her.”
Holly saw someone from across the ballroom and waved them over. Addison’s orange juice turned sour in her stomach when she saw who it was: Penny Peacock and Alistair Yates. She was going to interview them on the news.
Holly spoke with them in hushed tones while the cameraman hoisted his burden onto his shoulder. Dread filled Addison as Holly took up her microphone and moved her mouth in some vocal exercises. She hoped they were simply making a plea to the community. The more people out there looking for the dogs, the better. If only they kept Addison’s name out of it.
The cameraman counted down on his fingers. Three, two, one. Then Holly began.
“I’m standing in San Francisco’s historic Regency Ballroom on Sutter Street, the location of the premiere event for this year’s Western Dog Show, and boy have things gone to the dogs. I’m with Alistair Yates, longtime dog show enthusiast, and Penny Peacock, the top dog of the dog handling profession.” She gestured to both of them in turn. “Mr. Yates, can you please explain to us what happened here tonight?” She turned the microphone on him.
He leaned on his cane and held his face close to the mic. “My precious Lilly is gone.”
“Is Lilly your dog?” Holly asked.
“Yes, she’s a tricolored beagle. She won the title of Best of Breed and Best in Show the last three years running. And she was stolen from me.”
Holly gasped. “You think that she was dognapped? Why would someone want to take her?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “She’s utterly perfect.” He stared at the camera, a desperate look of plea on his face. “I’ll do anything to get her back. I’m offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for anyone who returns my Lilly to me unharmed.”
“I understand that more than just your dog went missing tonight,” Holly said. “Is that correct?”
Penny leaned toward the microphone. “Yes. Six other dogs were stolen. Purebred dogs are often targeted by thieves because they’re worth a lot of money when resold as pets or used to breed. Tonight, some of the best and brightest in the country were taken.”
Holly sighed and tilted her head like the tragic heroine on the front cover of a cheesy romance novel. “I have an adorable Chinese crested, myself. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I ever lost her.”
Addison rolled her eyes at the fake drama. She’d seen Holly’s aversion to dogs, not to mention the reporter had severe allergies to them. The dog was probably made up to gain viewer sympathy. She wasn’t concerned for the dogs, just her ratings.
“How could this tragic incident have possibly happened?” Holly turned the mic on Alistair.
“Oh no,” Addison breathed. Her heart pounded beneath her dress. She felt sick to her stomach. “Don’t say my name. Don’t say my name. Don’t say my name.” She grabbed Princess and took a step closer to the group in order to hear what came next.
“I don’t know, exactly. Lilly was in the care of a dog groomer at the time.”
“Dog stylist,” Addison said between clenched teeth.
Felix reached over the bar and grabbed her arm from behind, as though sensing she was teetering over the edge. “It’s best to stay out of this right now,” he told her. “Keep a low profile. Don’t add fuel to the fire.”
Penny grabbed the microphone right out of Holly’s hand. “It was Addison Turner of Pampered Puppies. We’d entrusted Lilly to her care, under the pretense that Miss Turner was going to groom her.”
“Pretense?” Addison inhaled sharply. She wrenched out of Felix’s grip and before she knew it, she was grabbing the microphone from Holly’s hand. She scowled at Penny. “I took great care of Lilly.”
Holly tried to wrestle the microphone back. “But the beagle disappeared under your care, did she not, Miss Turner?”
“Well, yes, technically.” Addison frowned. “But that doesn’t mean I stole her or had anything to do with the dogs going missing.”
Holly ripped the microphone away, gripping it possessively. “It’s the perfect crime. Lure unsuspecting pups into your lair and snatch them up to make a quick buck.”
Princess growled at Holly, defending Addison’s reputation. If only everyone could translate dog—they’d probably have to bleep out a few words.
“My lair?” Addison cried. “Who am I? Cruella de Vil? And why would I want to give my business a bad name?”
Holly sneered, her bleached teeth flashing with the excitement of a hot story. “Make enough money from a few valuable show dogs, and you can move onto the next town and start the scam all over again.”
Addison’s mouth dropped open. Holly was making Addison enemy number one on television. Reaching out, she covered the microphone with her hand. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” she hissed at Holly. “Think about it. Why would I work my butt off for two years to build a reputation, just to steal a few dogs?”
Holly’s shoulders raised in an indifferent shrug. “I can’t play favorites, Addison. A good reporter is always impartial. I’m just looking for answers.”
Addison flinched back, startled by Holly’s carelessness. Addison had witnessed Holly target one of her best friends, Piper, from the rescue center the year before and knew just how dirty she could play, but now Holly’s sights seemed to have homed in on Addison.
She glared at the hack reporter. “Why would you do this? After you helped me promote my business when I first launched? After you helped us gain community support for the rescue center last year?”
“Hey, You,” Holly snapped at the cameraman, whose name Addison still hadn’t heard to this day. “Cut that part. I don’t want to remind the viewers that I have any association with this.”
Addison gave a throaty noise of disgust. “Nice.”
Holly smoothed out her blazer for take two. “I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
“Yeah, so do I,” Addison shot back. “And you’re ruining it.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you dognapped six dogs.”
“Seven,” Penny said.
“Seven dogs,” Holly corrected herself.
Addison stomped her heel on the hardwood floor. “I did not dognap them.”
“Tell that to the cops.” Holly waved a dismissive hand.
“I did,” Addison growled. “And if you knew how to investigate, you’d know that there’s no conclusive evidence that this was a theft.” Yet, she added in her head. At least she still hoped not, because that meant they might still be out there on the streets waiting to be found.
Holly clicked her fingers at Hey,You. “Cut that, too.” She straightened her back with an air of trustworthy authority and stared into the camera.
“Well, there you have it, San Franciscans. It’s dog show week, and there’s a puppy pincher on the loose. Have they acquired their target among the missing or is this just the beginning? With such stiff competition, no one can be trusted in this dog-eat-dog event. This is Holly Hart for Channel Five News, signing out.”
Hey, You gave a thumbs-up and Holly slouched in relief, but Addison was right in her face.
“What the hell was that?” Addison demanded. “You can’t air that. It will destroy me.”
“It’s nothing personal. But when I got the call, I couldn’t ignore it.” She tossed her microphone to Hey, You, who was packing away all the equipment.
“The whole dog scene is kind of my thing now. My M.O. My calling card,” she told Addison, all smiles now. “My ratings have gone through the roof since I started reporting on all this fluffy, happy dog crap. The viewers lap this stuff up, no pun intended. Oh wait”—she paused—“I think I’ll write that one down for later.” She drew out her phone and tapped the screen a few times.
“But you don’t even have the full story,” Addison argued. “This wasn’t my fault.”
Holly stopped her with a warning finger. “Don’t even bother complaining to my producer. It’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true. Not exactly anyway. You’re still the lead suspect.”
“I am?” Addison hesitated. “The lead? Really?”
“Rumor has it.”
“But—”
“Look, kid.” Holly patted her on the head, even though she was probably less than three years older than Addison. “It’s the kind of juicy story that the people want to hear. It’s ripe with drama, drama, drama.” She shuddered, like the word alone turned her on.
Princess snapped her jaws at Holly’s hand, and she barely snatched it away in time.
Addison glared at Holly. “How is this drama supposed to help find the dogs? You didn’t even make a plea to the community for help. And it’s not exactly the publicity I wanted for my business or my new Fido Fashion line.”
Holly smiled what she probably thought was supposed to be sympathetic. “Tough luck.” She snapped her fingers. “Hey, You. Let’s go, while the night is still young.” Like nothing mattered but her ratings, she turned on her Manolo Blahniks and left.
Fuming, Addison held Princess close and stormed after her. She reached out for that over-bleached, platinum-blonde hair. But her fingers had barely brushed the over-processed locks before her feet left the ground and she was swept away. She kicked at the air, struggling against the strong hold around her waist.
“Let me go!” she yelled. “Let me go. I’m going to kill her.”
When she finally stopped struggling—mostly because her nylons were starting to creep down her legs—she was released. She elbowed the person, shoving them away, and turned to find Felix grinning down at her.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”
“I’ll show you feisty,” she said, stomping past him. But it was pointless. With a sweep of his arm, she and Princess were right back in front of him again.
He shook his finger at her as if chastising a five-year-old. “Now don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
“Oh, I won’t regret it,” she said calmly.
“It will only add fuel to her story and you know it. Come on. Why don’t we go find you a drink? My treat.”
Addison frowned at the escaping news reporter. Because she couldn’t take it out on her, she turned her glare on the bartender. “No one will know, huh?”
“Yeah, well,” he pulled a sheepish expression. “I didn’t exactly see that one coming.”
“No. People don’t generally get forewarned about the end of the world.” She gripped her hair. “We’re talking zombie apocalypse kind of stuff.”
“It’s not the end of the world. I bet if you just go home and get some rest, this will all blow over before you know it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. It flashed a metallic gold in the dim chandelier light. “Here. If you ever need anything, or you change your mind about that drink, give me a call.”
Without looking at it, she shoved the card into the depths of her clutch, that special place reserved for old receipts, gum wrappers, and those bobby-pins she always seemed to lose.
There was only one number she’d wanted that night, and it wasn’t Felix’s. It was Phillip Montgomery III’s digits. But after everything that happened that night, she’d be lucky if she even got to wash his dog.
Turning her back on Felix, Addison headed for her Caribbean Aqua Mini convertible to start scouring the city for the missing dogs.