Addison sat in her Mini convertible staring up at a canary yellow historic home, psyching herself up to get out. It was a bright and sunny Sunday morning, but the engraved sign out front seemed to loom over her with reproach: SAN FRANCISCO DACHSHUND RESCUE CENTER.
She glanced at the passenger seat where Princess sat with an entitled thrust to her barrel chest, waiting for her door to be opened. Her blonde head swung toward Addison impatiently. It was like driving Miss Daisy. But to Addison, she was worth the extra effort.
“Home sweet home,” Addison said.
Princess barked and wagged her tail, the decorative pink ribbons Addison tied to it fluttering with each swipe. She pawed at the passenger door, eager to greet her subjects inside.
It had been Addison’s home ever since she’d graduated from pet grooming school five years earlier. She’d been offering her pro bono services to different shelters around the city, both to hone her skills and to give a little TLC to those dogs in the most need. But the day she met Princess, she knew the Dachshund Rescue Center was her home for good. She fell in love with it and its inhabitants—both the two-legged and four-legged kind. She’d come back every week since then.
But it didn’t feel like a second home to Addison this morning. Even with a pancake breakfast waiting inside. Today it was a reminder of her failed attempt at combining her two favorite things: dogs and beauty. Dogs were her passion. She volunteered her time rescuing them and finding them happy homes. She found lost dogs. She didn’t lose them.
It was also a reminder of her broken promise to a friend, who happened to be a particularly powerful businessman, not to mention the boyfriend of Piper, one of her besties. The one and only Aiden Caldwell, prominent CEO of Caldwell and Son Investments and a key investor in her business.
How was she going to tell him that she’d lost seven dogs at the cocktail mixer? That her reputation was being slandered far and wide throughout the local Doggydom—if it hadn’t gone national yet, that is. Most important, how would she explain that she’d taken the money he’d invested in her Fido Fashion line to help her get it off the ground and threw it all into one basket: the two weeks leading up to her fashion show.
Chances were, she wouldn’t have to tell him. It was less than twelve hours after the horrible event, and the news had been posted on every social media site that Addison was on, and more than that she was sure. Aiden didn’t take a day off work. Even on the weekends, he kept up with local news, and after Holly Hart’s segment that morning, everyone in the city probably knew.
Addison’s phone rang. Pulling it out of her purse, she checked the caller ID. It was her dad. She wasn’t ready to tell him what had happened at the cocktail mixer the night before. It wasn’t exactly like it was her fault, not really, but she was still embarrassed about the situation, regardless. She wanted him to be proud of her, and she wasn’t feeling a lot of pride at the moment.
But it was her dad. They talked at least once a week. And right about now, she needed to hear his voice. Hitting the icon, she accepted the call. “Hi Dad.”
“Hi sweetheart. How are you?” Just the sound of his voice was comforting, but it was tinted with concern. “I saw you on the news. What in the world happened?”
Great, even her dad who lived in Linda Mar had heard. “Oh that? Err, yeah, some dogs were stolen at the event I was working last night.”
“Well, is everything okay? Have they found them yet? And why were those people blaming you for it?” He was asking questions faster than she could answer. Not that she had many answers for him, or for herself.
“The police are looking into it.” Addison hesitated. She usually told her dad everything. But she’d already been to the cop shop that morning to answer more questions, and if they ended up finding the dogs then she didn’t want to worry him for nothing. And if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to tell him how bad things were because she didn’t want to disappoint him.
“It was all kind of a misunderstanding,” she said, finally. “It’s the dogs that I’m really worried about. They haven’t found any trace of them yet.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “You’re doing okay though, right?”
“Yeah, of course. You know me.” She tried to muster some enthusiasm, but it sounded weak even to her.
“That’s my girl. Nothing can get you down.”
She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “You bet.” She hated lying to her dad, but she just needed a little time to figure out how bad things really were.
There was a moment’s pause when her dad grew quiet on the other end. “I also called to give you some news.”
“Oh? What is it?” She sat up straighter, glad the focus was shifting off her.
“Well, you know things haven’t been going very well at the store,” he began. “Dora and I have decided that it’s time to sell. Or rather, the bank has decided for us. It’s either sell fast or we’ll be facing bankruptcy.”
Addison blinked as she let the news wash over her. The corner store had practically been her second home growing up. “Dad. I had no idea things were that bad.”
His laugh sounded strained over the line. “Me neither. I’d hoped we could turn things around.”
Addison suddenly felt guilty. Her father was admitting his own dire situation to her while she was hiding her bad news. But at the same time, she knew it was the right decision. He had enough on his plate to worry about. She didn’t need to add her own side dish.
“That’s not good, Dad. I wish there was something I could do to help.” And she really meant it. The timing was terrible. If only the police would hurry up and find the dogs. If only her fashion show would go well and her line would take off. If only she had the money to help them bail out their business. Or at least buy them a bit more time.
“Oh, don’t worry about us. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.” Now he sounded like the one trying and failing to muster some enthusiasm. “I’d better get going. Dora’s keeping an eye on the store by herself. Lots to do. Anyway, I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too, muffin.”
After she hung up, she stared at the phone, stunned and feeling utterly useless. Her dad was in trouble and there was nothing she could do about it. She knew that he would help her if he could—not that he could do anything about the poor missing pooches.
She was happy he’d told her, but also glad that she hadn’t let on about her own problems, because he’d probably feel just as helpless as she did right now. With the dogs missing, and the future of her business on the line, she wasn’t exactly in the best position to help him. If only there was a way to turn things around for herself, she might be able to do something for him.
A gentle breeze kicked up, and Addison caught the faint whiff of mouthwatering pancakes. Obviously so did Princess, because she began to whine and fidget on the seat. Addison sighed. She knew she couldn’t hide in her car forever. It was Pancake Sunday, after all. And she could certainly use the comforting carbs after the lengthy little chat she’d had with the cops that morning.
“Well, Princess? Shall I go explain to Aiden how I lost his money?”
Princess didn’t seem to care. She was too busy waving her nose in the air, searching for the source of that delicious smell wafting through the air.
Addison rounded her car to open the passenger door, as if she were Princess’s chauffeur. The doxie dropped delicately to the pavement next to Addison’s shoes and trotted up to the two-story 1910 farmhouse. The flagstone steps to the porch took a little extra effort as Princess limped awkwardly up each one.
Addison followed the doxie through the open French doors. She glanced around the sitting area near the fireplace and the reception desk. It was empty except for the exotic fish swimming around an aquarium that took up the entire back wall.
Addison heard laughter filter through the cozy home from the back, mingled with a few distant barks. Princess strutted toward the sounds, her Persian Pink toenails skittering along the recently upgraded, high quality laminate floor.
The back door was propped open. Addison was about to walk onto the wraparound porch when she heard footsteps shuffle on the floor behind her. She turned to find Marilyn, the center’s manager, balancing a steaming plate of fresh pancakes. They sprung with delicious moistness.
“Would you be a dear and grab the syrup for me?” The clear dispenser dangled from her pinky finger and threatened to drop its gooey contents on the woman’s heels. Cheetah print, Addison noted.
“Sure thing.” Addison grabbed it. “Nice shoes, by the way. You dressed up for anyone in particular?” She gave Marilyn a sly wink.
“What? These old things?” She waved it away. “Just a silly way to make an old lady feel young.”
“If you’re old, then I’m a hundred and ten.” The spry sixty-two-year-old British woman had more energy than Addison had at twenty-eight most days. The recent love glow that Marilyn wore only added to her youthful disposition.
Grinning to herself, Addison followed Marilyn out onto the wraparound porch where her dog Picasso was waiting patiently. He followed her everywhere, despite the fact that getting around was a bit harder for him than most dogs. Picasso was in a wheelchair.
Picasso was a blue dachshund that Marilyn rescued from a kill center. When she brought him back to the rescue center and had him checked over, it turned out that he’d already developed quite a severe case of intervertebral disc disease, which is not unheard of for doxies.
After the center had paid for Picasso’s surgery, Marilyn cared for him at her home over the next several months of rehabilitation. Of course, once she had, she couldn’t give him up to another home. She’d grown too attached, and so had he.
Unfortunately for Picasso, his spine worsened over time. Addison remembered a few months earlier when Marilyn had bought him a little doggy wheelchair to help him get around. It broke Addison’s heart when she first saw him in it. But once he started rolling around the center on his own set of wheels rather than being carried, it seemed as though he’d become a puppy again. He could even frolic through the grassy field with the other dogs, travelling and playing fetch without pain.
However, remembering not to use stairs was something Picasso was still working on, so as Marilyn carried the pancakes to the gazebo where everyone gathered for their usual Sunday brunch, she took the wheelchair ramp. Picasso automatically followed her, as he always did. You never saw Marilyn without hearing the rolling of wheels on the floor.
Standing at the grill was Bob, Marilyn’s sweetheart. He was brandishing a pair of barbecue tongs, flipping sausages. He’d become a recent addition to the group after he was assigned as the police detective to investigate a series of attacks against Piper and their old rescue center. Once the case had been closed, he kept finding excuse after excuse to come around the new center. Eventually, he stopped coming up with reasons, and no one bothered asking since it was obvious he was there to see Marilyn.
Seated at the picnic table were Addison’s two besties in the whole world, Piper and Zoe, catching up on gossip, but Piper was slightly distracted. Her attention was fixed on the back of the property that was dominated by a fenced enclosure.
Addison followed her gaze and saw a handsome man in a pair of cargo pants and a polo shirt tossing a ball for some of the rescue dogs. Aiden. As though they were so in tune with each other, he glanced back to lock eyes with Piper. She waved him over, and he threw the ball one more time before joining them under the gazebo.
Addison’s mouth went dry as she climbed the steps as if to the gallows. “Hey everyone. Sorry I’m late.”
Bob waved his tongs at her. “Perfect timing. The sausages are just about done.”
“Good, because here are the pancakes,” Marilyn sang.
Addison dropped her purse under her chair and sat down across from Piper and Zoe. Or at least, they looked like her two besties, only they wore the strangest expressions. It was like a couple of aliens body-snatched her two best friends’ bodies but put their faces on all wrong. Their smiles were strained, their expressions stiff.
“Hi,” Piper said.
Zoe waved. “How are you?”
“Good,” Addison hedged. Now that she really looked around, everyone was acting strangely except for Bob.
The detective placed a piping-hot plate of sausages in the middle of the table and took a seat next to Addison. “So how’s business?” he asked her.
Zoe groaned, Piper cringed, and Marilyn swatted him with her napkin.
Addison suddenly realized what had everyone so on edge. They’d watched the news.
“What?” Bob asked. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” Addison said. “It’s fine. Business is, err, swell.” She studiously ignored glancing over at Aiden as he joined them at the table, afraid he’d be able to read the lie all over her face.
The truth was, she’d closed the spa for the day, since every last one of her customers had cancelled their appointments. She’d also given Melody the week off, because she didn’t need anyone to watch the shop when no one was going to come in anyway. And as much as she didn’t like to admit it, she still worried that maybe Melody had more to do with the missing dogs than she was letting on. Addison couldn’t risk her being around any more of the show dogs until she was certain of her innocence.
“Swell?” Bob said. “Where’s the usual enthusiasm? Don’t you usually use words like ‘fantabulous’ or ‘awesomeness’?”
“Maybe not ‘swell,’” Addison said. “But it’s good. It’s okay. Fine, I suppose.”
Zoe set her fork down. “Okay, let’s not sugarcoat it. We all saw the news. Things are shit.”
“Oh come on,” Piper said. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, who really watches Holly Hart’s Hounds anyway?” By the look on Piper’s face, Addison could tell that she did.
Addison leveled her with a look. “Besides every dog lover in San Francisco? The segment’s a hit. Holly’s popularity has skyrocketed ever since she started it.”
“All thanks to us,” Zoe said. “If it hadn’t been for our drama last year, Holly’d be back working at that cheap rag The San Francisco Gate.”
“Yeah, and she couldn’t wait to use my drama last night for another breaking story.” Addison pushed her pancake around her plate.
“Do they have any leads?” Aiden asked.
Addison shrugged. “If they do, they’re not saying.”
Marilyn clicked her tongue. “All those dogs. They must be so scared. Right after I saw it on the news, I called all my contacts at the other shelters in town,” she told Addison. “If you give me a list of the dogs that went missing, I’ll call around on a regular basis to see if any of them get picked up.”
“That’s a great idea, Marilyn. Thank you.”
“Bob, have you heard anything around the station?” Marilyn asked, pouring him some coffee.
“Sorry. It’s not my case, nor my place to say anything,” he said in his professional no-nonsense cop voice. As though realizing he wasn’t on the record, his mouth softened beneath his salt-and-pepper moustache. “But what I can tell you is that a few missing dogs aren’t exactly rating high on their radar, especially if they’re not certain there was actually a crime committed. No one knows for sure that these dogs haven’t run away on their own.”
Addison frowned, once again doubting that it was possible for them to have snuck out, either past Melody while she was outside smoking or through an entire room full of guests entirely of their own volition.
She’d driven around until three in the morning through the hilly streets of San Francisco, working her way from the Regency Center out, down back alleys and through dark parking lots, shining her headlights into driveways. She didn’t spot a stray. Not even so much as a cat.
Maybe it was a cop thing. They didn’t want to say one way or the other until they had more evidence. But what would it take to make them see?
“The precinct has been strapped for staff lately,” Bob said between bites. “On top of a few early retirements and the recent rash of murders in the city, let’s just say we got caught with our pants down.”
Zoe grinned. “I hate when that happens.”
“Zoe,” Piper chastised. “This is serious. Nobody wants to see Bob with his pants down.” She cracked a smile and Zoe couldn’t help but snicker.
Marilyn threw the girls a look as though they were a couple of silly teenagers. “So many murders lately. Those poor people.” She shook her head. “I’ve been following it on the news for weeks.”
“I hear they suspect it’s a serial killer,” Zoe said. “They’ve been calling him the San Fran Slayer.”
Bob dabbed his napkin across his moustache, neither confirming nor denying it. “So you can see that with everything going on, a few missing dogs aren’t going to justify pulling people off the murder cases.”
Addison frowned, and she was obviously not the only one around the table doing so because Bob held up his hands in defense. “I’m not saying that these missing dogs aren’t important, but the city is up in arms over these murders. The whole country is watching, demanding for the cases to be solved. Unless they can find evidence that it was dog theft, or unless it happens again, I don’t think this case will be a top priority. The police force only has so many resources to go around.”
“Well, at least there’s one benefit to Holly sticking her big nose into the disappearances last night,” Aiden said.
“What’s that?” Piper asked.
“The case might get a little more public attention, meaning it will get solved faster.”
Sure, Aiden had a point, and Addison’s first concern was getting the dogs home safely. But she wished there was a better way. Aiden didn’t know just what kind of money Addison had riding on the next two weeks. As in, all of it.
She turned to Bob. “So what you’re saying, is my name won’t be cleared any time soon, if at all?”
Bob frowned and took a moment too long to answer, worrying Addison. In his forty-plus years of service, he’d probably seen it all, the worst of it. Maybe Addison didn’t want him to answer that.
Aiden cut in before the silence could continue for too long. “Things will die down,” he said to her. “I remember the heat I faced last year when my company came under scrutiny over the old rescue center. As a business, you lay low, carry on as normal, and you’ll weather the storm. Caldwell and Son Investments pulled through just fine. Heck, since the case has been put to rest, business has been better than ever.”
Addison knew it wouldn’t be that easy. She’d paid for the advertising and handed over free services and gift certificates to build new clientele in the dog show circles. The fashion show venue was booked and nonrefundable, and she’d ordered a surplus of her designs to have on hand for the big orders that were no longer going to roll in after the show. If she continued to lose customers, there would be no weathering the storm in that boat. It was going to sink like the Titanic.
But even as she opened her mouth to tell Aiden just how bad it was, she just couldn’t face the music yet. She’d tell him. Eventually. Maybe after pancakes, she told herself. If only there was something she could do to fix it all.…
For the moment, she put on her best I-can-do-it face. “You’re right. I’m sure it will all blow over soon. Maybe I’ll just hold off on the marketing for a while. Maybe rebrand and make a comeback when things die down.”
“That’s the spirit. Smart business is not always about investing in a good product. It’s about investing in people.” Aiden gave her a sincere look. “And you, Addison, are a good investment.”
Addison felt the heart-warming compliment like a blow to her gut. Her smile was frozen on her face. She imagined her makeup cracking as she tried her best not to let her smile waver. “Thanks.”
Oh God. What was she going to say to him when it all went horribly wrong? Oops, sorry I blew all your money. But I thought you were investing in me, not my product.
Everything Addison had worked so hard to build, all gone because of a bad rap. If she had no customers, she had no business, and no business meant no fashion show—not that anyone would volunteer their dogs to be models now.
Addison suddenly realized she’d been quiet for too long. Turning to Zoe, she tried to change the subject. “Hey, how is the planning for the dog show gala coming along?”
“Excellent.” Zoe’s eyes lit up. “I just have to confirm the band, meet with the caterer, send out the tickets, and pick out an outfit.” Her gaze was focused on nothing in particular, as though she was consulting the to-do list in her mind. “Are you still coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Addison said. “Where is it being held again?”
“Actually, I’ve decided to change the venue, considering recent events. It will be held on the San Francisco Belle.”
“It’s being held on a boat?” Bob asked.
“Well, I wanted to make sure the dog show guests were comfortable bringing their pets, since that’s the whole theme. Once we’ve cast off, there will be no way on or off, for humans or dogs.”
Addison winced slightly, as though the extra planning her friend had to do was somehow her fault too, but she smiled. “That’s a fantabulous idea.”
“There’s our girl,” Bob said.
Addison’s phone buzzed in her purse beneath her. Pulling it out, she checked the new text message. It was another cancellation. This time for a fashion show model. The last one. A fashion show wasn’t very effective with no dogs to wear her designs. It wasn’t like she could wear them herself.
She’d been relying on the support of the dog show world to promote her line, as well as borrowing some of her furry friends from the rescue center. The core value she wanted to promote with her line was that every dog was beautiful, mixed breed and purebred alike. Her statement would lose its impact, not to mention a huge source of potential customers, without the latter.
And who could blame them? Those poor missing dogs.
Addison only wished she knew how to find them. If her life were a movie, she thought that now would be the time where the plot should twist, giving the main character hope. An invitation from Hogwarts, a fairy godmother’s appearance, a yellow brick road maybe.
She sat staring at her plate and felt something nudge her leg. She glanced down to find Princess dragging her purse under her chair. She was licking the zippers and nosing her way through the pockets in search of the dog treats that Addison kept inside.
She snatched her purse back and was about to give the doxie heck when she saw something sticking out of the main compartment. A ray of sun hit it, like a sign from above, casting her in its golden reflection. It was Felix’s business card.
Curiously, she pulled it out of her purse. She’d been running late for the cop shop that morning so she’d dumped the contents of her clutch from the cocktail mixer into her usual purse. Felix’s card, which had been at the bottom, ended up on top.
She read the card. FELIX VAUGHN.
Addison remembered how well he knew the crowd at the mixer, how he could read his customers. Heck, he downright bragged about it. I’m in the perfect position to people-watch, to observe the human species, to understand what makes them tick.
If anyone would be able to help her save those dogs, it would be him. It might not be too late to help her father save his business, after all.
It wasn’t a fairy godmother giving Addison an easy way out, but maybe it was the way to find her own way out.