The more I thought about what my lawyer said, the more I realized he was right. I not only wanted to remind people of who I was, but maybe I could also learn more about the others, Roland especially. I knew Roland, sure, but we hadn’t remained close. That long ago summer was years in the past—a lifetime ago—Georgina’s lifetime.
I spent time in the tea shoppe that afternoon and told our guests that soon we would have a new mascot. The contractors showed up the very next day, even though it was a weekend. I loved their plans for the kennel and gave them an immediate go-ahead. They promised to finish the kennel by the end of the week.
By Monday Marshfield had recovered enough to leave the vet. When Anne called, she asked, “Have you learned who will be taking care of Marshfield?”
I debated with myself. Loose lips sink ships and all that, but our vet keeps his patients’ confidentiality as seriously as any people doctors. I decided to tell her some of the details I hadn’t told the folks at the tea shoppe.
“Um, yes. It’s me.”
She laughed. “I wondered if that was the case. Sir Geoffrey asked my husband’s opinion about it a while back. He gave you a glowing recommendation.”
“Please don’t tell anyone. They’ll guess soon enough.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll come by for him tomorrow morning.” I wanted one last night of uninterrupted sleep. I wasn’t sure how Marshfield would respond to the change in scenery, or if I could teach control inside our shop. Odie had been perfectly behaved, but I had trained him as a puppy. Marshfield was a different matter.
I worked with Georgina Tuesday on the early morning shift before I went to the vet’s office. She was lonely with Mathew out of town for the week. The sea traffic alone makes it worth our while to open the shop at five in the spring. We fixed coffee to serve with the previous day’s leftovers while we continued baking for the day.
Two of our regulars, a pair of fishermen, called “Short” and “Long” both because of their given names and because of their natures, came in before dawn. They asked for day-old doughnuts and filled their thermoses with our best blend of coffee.
Jacob Short said, “We’d best get to our boat before the patrol wants to take a look.”
“Ayuh,” Caleb Long said.
“Why? What’s going on?” Their words set an alarm bell off in my head.
“Word has it that they’re pumping the boats to figure out who’s selling contaminated fish for pet food,” Short said.
“Beware,” Long said. “For Marshfield.”
Of course they knew about the dog.
I thought about their warning when I went to the store on the way to pick up Marshfield. I hadn’t bought dog food in years. A gap appeared on the shelves where the Sealife pet food normally stood. In fact, I saw that the creator of Sealife, Leah Packer, was in the process of removing the product from the shelves. As a local brand featuring the best of Maine seafood, Sealife was a favorite of many locals for their pets. Sad as I was to see the problem, I wouldn’t take a chance with Marshfield. I reached for a package of food that contained no fish parts. “What’s up with the Sealife products?”
Leah swept her eyes over the items in my shopping basket. Collar, new tags, leash, bowls, and a big bag of food. “Oh, have you adopted another puppy?”
“Something like that.” If she didn’t make the connection with Sir Geoffrey’s death, I wouldn’t tell her. “I used to give my old dog Sealife all the time. Has the company had to go out of business?”
“Not yet, but we’ve hit a rough patch.” She packed another bag into the disposal cart. “Although the police say they’re close to arresting the person responsible for the damage.” She lowered her voice. “I would avoid any dog food with shellfish in it for now. They don’t know how far the problem has spread.”
When I got to the vet’s office, Marshfield’s foot thumped in time to his wagging tail. He placed his right front paw on my knee and barked.
My heart melted. “It’s like he’s asking me where Sir Geoffrey is. He must be lonely.” I bent over and rubbed his head, tugging at his ears the way I had seen my friend do so many times. He accepted the caress, then moved away from me and barked again.
Anne and I looked at each other. I brought my face closer to the dog’s. “Your master’s gone, and you can’t go with him.” Oh, if only circumstances were better and I had something of Sir Geoffrey’s that I could give to Marshfield for a familiar scent to reassure him.
I decided to see my lawyer again. I wanted to ask when I could get into Neptune Cottage, Sir Geoffrey’s house. Since we had decided talking on the phone might not be wise, I drove straight to his office.
Paul was able to see me right away, “I have a few minutes. What’s up?”
I explained that I wanted to get something of Sir Geoffrey’s to cheer up the dog.
“Wait until tomorrow. I have an appointment with the Guilfoyles this afternoon, when I will inform them about your inheritance. I’ll tell them you have full access to the house.”
“Good. I’ll go over in the morning.”
“I’ll tell them to expect you.”
I asked him if he had heard anything about the Sealife pet food recall, but he hadn’t. After we left the office, we stopped for a walk along a deserted stretch of rocks. Marshfield chased about, barking at seagulls overhead and chasing the spray of the ocean waves hitting on the rocks. I wondered if he remembered doing the same with Odie.
As the older dog, Odie had taught Marshfield how to taunt the seagulls and how to make a game of escaping the sea waves. Sir Geoffrey and I spent hours watching them, becoming good friends in the process.
After Odie died, it hurt too much to go on the walks anymore, although Sir Geoffrey invited me. Now I had lost both of them.
Eventually Marshfield grew tired and sat beside me, whimpering as he put his head in my lap. “I miss them too,” I told him. Perhaps I should adopt a puppy as a companion for my new dog. I wasn’t sure I could give two dogs the time and attention they craved, but they could keep each other company.
That decision could wait. Until Marshfield had switched his allegiance to me, he needed to know he was my number one dog.
He sniffed around my car, perhaps smelling the bread I baked daily. I gave him one of my pet-friendly treats and made a note to bake more. Lots more. I wanted him to learn that if he was patient, he would get one of these delicious-and-good-for-him treats. I aimed to discourage him from jumping on the nearest tray of cookies and crumpets.
Back at the tea shoppe, I attached the new leash to his collar. He strained toward the front entrance, but I kept him on a short leash and led him around to the back entrance, where we climbed the stairs to my apartment. I set out a bowl with water and a second one with his dry food. He sniffed and looked daggers at me. Why was I giving him such ordinary, bland food when I made such delicious treats?
“Suit yourself.” He wouldn’t starve anytime soon. He’d come around when he was hungry. Because Georgina and I had settled on our spring menu, I didn’t have to try any new recipes for a few weeks. By then Marshfield’s behavior would have improved. If not, the kennel would be there.
I fixed myself a simple lunch. Although Marshfield begged, I didn’t feed him anything. Nobody wants a dog bothering them while they eat.
I heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs. Marshfield raised his head and growled. I put the leash on him and walked to the door.
Daisy and Freddy Guilfoyle waited on the other side. Their smiles disappeared when Marshfield barked at them. Daisy’s face folded into a frown.
“It’s okay,” I told the dog. “They won’t hurt you.” Not while I was there. With one hand holding tight to the leash, I opened the door to my unexpected guests. “I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”
“We asked around at the tea shoppe,” Freddy said.
They came in, and Freddy walked around the room as if I was under inspection.
My apartment is a converted attic. My bedroom is in one corner, where I can look over the ocean. I have windows on every outer wall, including the alcoves under the eaves.
After our daughters left home, my husband and I stayed in our house. But after his death, I didn’t want to rattle around the empty house. An apartment with a room overlooking the ocean sounded ideal, and I had the space remodeled. Not everyone would be comfortable with such tight spaces, but I love it.
Neither Guilfoyle spoke, and I wondered about the reason for their visit. “Can I get you something?” No need to bring up the hot cross buns. “I have some maple nut scones, combining New World flavors with an English treat. Fresh coffee, to boot, or I can brew tea.”
Daisy sat down primly on my loveseat. “That won’t be necessary. This isn’t a social call.”
Well, la-di-da, although it didn’t surprise me. I settled in my armchair, and Freddy sat next to his mother. He spoke first. “We saw Dr. Stetson today. He told us about Uncle Geoff’s arrangements for the dog.”
Marshfield snuffled as if he knew he was the topic of conversation. I fed him a doggy biscuit to keep him satisfied. “It came as a total shock to me. I had no idea.”
Daisy sniffed as if she didn’t believe it. “That seems unnatural. Geoff was so protective of his dog.”
“I’ve had experience.” I left it at that. I didn’t need to justify myself to her.
Freddy laughed outright. “Then why did you get so upset when Marshfield ate the hot cross bun? Dogs do things like that all the time.”
“Do you intend to punish him every time he sneaks something from your pantry?” Daisy persisted. “I understand you do a lot of baking.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll train him to behave himself, sans physical punishment. When necessary, we’ll have a kennel.” I patted Marshfield’s head, and he groaned with pleasure. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He laid his head on my feet on cue.
“We should have brought the dog food with us,” Daisy said.
I opened my mouth to remind them I had keys to the house but decided against mentioning it.
Freddy chuckled. “Remember, Mother, Mrs. Holland can come and go as she pleases.”
Both of them looked at me as if daring me to disagree.
“I appreciate the offer. But since you mention it …” A better opportunity was unlikely to appear. “I would like to take an inventory of the house as soon as possible.”
All traces of good humor fled Daisy’s face. “Isn’t there a law against profiting from the death of the victim?”
Marshfield barked. I crossed the room and opened the door.