Mavis watched Mr. Duffy sort through papers on his desk, then make notes on a clipboard.
“Wanna play cards?” Mavis asked. “Rose and I can teach you how to play I Doubt It. Right, Rose?”
Rose sat on the stool beside the desk and nodded.
Mr. Duffy wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “Naw, you girls play without me,” he said.
“Play the kazoo, and me and Rose’ll make up a song,” Mavis said. “I’m good at making up songs.”
Mr. Duffy shook his head and wiped his forehead with the handkerchief. “Aw, I ain’t played that thing in so long, I doubt I could wrestle a tune out of it,” he said.
Just then the phone on the desk rang. Mr. Duffy answered it.
He said “Yep” and “Nope” and “Yes sirree” and “Beats me” and “You bet your boots” and “Suit yourself.”
Mavis noticed that Rose had that worried look of hers, so she piped up and asked, “Who was that?”
Mr. Duffy turned on the little fan on his desk and placed his coffee mug on some papers so they wouldn’t blow away.
“That dern fool of a contractor working on that house over on Creekside Drive,” he said.
Then he mumbled, “Dumber than a bag of hammers.”
“What’d he want?” Mavis asked.
“Wanted to complain,” Mr. Duffy said. “Must’ve figured I hadn’t heard enough complaints today.”
“What’d he complain about?”
“A bunch of nonsense stuff.”
“Like what?” Mavis asked.
“Like the streetlight that’s flickering down on the corner and where was the street sweeper that was supposed to clean up that sand in the road and why didn’t I let the concrete truck in yesterday and was he going to have to speak to the homeowners’ association?”
“Speak to them about what?” Rose asked in a quiet, trembly voice.
Mr. Duffy shuffled across the gatehouse to the coffee maker on the file cabinet in the corner. “That man’s all hat and no cattle,” he grumbled.
“What does that mean?” Mavis said.
“Means he’s all talk.”
Then, before she could stop herself, Mavis said, “I bet if you got another dog, people wouldn’t complain so much.”
Dang it! Why’d she have to go and say that?
Silence settled over the little gatehouse.
Except for that fan.
Rotating back and forth.
Back and forth.
And Mr. Duffy’s rattly breathing.
Finally, Mr. Duffy broke the silence.
“You need to pack that idea away, Miss Mavis, ’cause I’m just too tuckered out. There ain’t no dog out there that wants an old gizzard-hearted codger like me. Besides that, you could bring a whole passel of dogs in here, and folks’d still be griping. A dog ain’t gonna change that.”
Mavis wanted to tell him about her plan. That if he was loving a dog again, then he wouldn’t be so down in the dumps. He’d be like the Mr. Duffy he’d been before she came to Landry. The Mr. Duffy that Rose had told her about. Doing magic tricks and whistling “The Boogie-Woogie Whistle Dance.” And Rose would stop worrying. She wanted to tell Mr. Duffy that Rose was her best friend, and she was pretty sure that’s what you do for your best friend—help them to stop worrying.
But Mavis didn’t tell Mr. Duffy about her plan.
Still, she was more determined than ever to make it work.
She was going to find Henry.
She was certain that finding Henry would make everything better for Mr. Duffy.
Which would make everything better for Rose.
And then, she, Mavis Jeeter, would be the best best friend that anyone could have.