Ways not to greet a lady:
- Lunge at her.
- Stick your nose up her skirt.
- Lick the back of her thighs.
- Get a tiny bit of lint from her stockings caught on your tongue.
- Make gagging noises as you attempt to dislodge it.
- Urinate on her favorite potted plant.
Bartleby’s Books had a bright blue façade and gold lettering above the door, but I barely noticed its splendor. Instead, I panted nervously as a cloud of white dandruff erupted from my skin, making it look like I’d wandered through a snowstorm.
Curse my high-strung nature.
I forced myself to calm down through sheer power of will. I had to make an excellent first impression on Miss Josephine St. Clair, but how?
Although butt sniffing was a time-honored tradition among members of the canine persuasion, and animals in general, I doubted it would work when meeting a lady. I never saw any gentlemen sniffing butts on the PBS special, not even once. I suspected it might not translate well between species, so I chose not to smell Ms. Josie’s bottom.
Well, not on our first encounter at least.
As I wracked my brain, trying to decide what to do, I came up with a great idea. Hand kissing. The perfect solution. On the PBS special, it worked like a charm. Women generally responded to hand kissing by fluttering their fans and blushing adorably. If I kissed her hand, Miss Josie would be so amazed by my manners and comportment; she’d want me to stay with her forever.
I walked into the shop with Ms. Anne, desperate to do well. It intensified when I saw Miss Josie.
She was lovely. The prettiest human I’d ever seen. She stood at the cash register, engrossed in a book, as the sun streamed through the windows, bathing her in its light. Her hair shone in a curly halo around her head, the color of spun gold. She’d stuck a pencil in her bun and had black-framed glasses perched on her tiny nose. Her eyes, the dark grey of a summer storm, focused on her book, and a little wrinkle of a frown formed between her brows.
She looked worried, and I wanted to make all her worries go away. I knew the moment I saw her she was my human, my destiny, and I loved her with an intensity that surprised me. I wanted her to love me back so badly it was nearly agonizing.
I went over my plan again in my head. Kiss the hand. Flutter of the fan. Coquettish smile. Success. But there was one problem.
Miss Josie did not have a fan.
How could she flutter a fan as she stared at me adoringly if she didn’t have one? Also, I faced a logistical problem as well. I could not reach her hand to kiss it.
Curse my short puppy legs and my lack of a decent vertical leap.
I had no choice. Desperate times called for drastic doggie measures, so I found another solution. I stuck my nose under the woolen folds of her grey, pleated skirt and licked the back of her thighs.
I’ll be frank here. This technique was never mentioned on the PBS special, but it felt right. Judging by Miss Josie’s reaction, however, I’d committed a terrible faux pas.
She jumped, making an odd squeaking noise, her expression akin to blind panic as she looked down at me. “What is that?” she asked.
“Your new alarm system,” said Ms. Anne. She extended her arm, showing me off as if I were a prize on a television game show. “A purebred Labrador retriever. Isn’t he gorgeous? You should pet him. He’s as soft as black velvet. His name is Capone.”
Miss Josie stared at me, her grey eyes huge behind those black-framed glasses and wisps of her blond hair falling in a tumble around her face. I didn’t know a lot about human behavior, but I knew enough to gather Miss Josie had been rendered momentarily speechless.
To make matters worse, the lint from Miss Josie’s stockings stuck to my tongue and made me gag. They didn’t cover this particular problem, gagging on fluff from a lady’s stockings, in the rules on being a gentleman either. I had no idea how to proceed.
Ms. Anne came to my rescue, fishing the offending bits out of my mouth. I licked her hand to express my gratitude and rolled over to show off my irresistibly soft and slightly chubby tummy. It worked like a charm. Even Miss Josie was not immune. She came out of her stupor, reached down (probably against her better judgment), and gave me a scratch.
“He’s cute,” she said. “But I don’t understand why you brought him here. A bookshop is no place for a puppy.”
“You need a better alarm system, and you also need a companion. Capone is both. Surprise.”
Miss Josie, it seemed, did not like surprises as much as I’d hoped. She studied me dubiously as I rose clumsily to my feet and sniffed around. “He’s not going to pee on my books, is he?”
In truth, I hadn’t considered relieving myself on her books until she brought it up. Funny how it happens. Now it was the only thing I could think about.
Ms. Anne, with her ninja-like reflexes, scooped me up and rushed me outside. We made it just in time. I lifted my leg near a large, potted plant as Miss Josie cringed.
“I bought those mums this morning,” she said.
Note to self: Never pee on pretty potted plants.
As a small river of urine trickled its way down the side of the plant and onto the sidewalk, I tried to hop away but hadn’t entirely stopped peeing yet. A strange splatter pattern appeared on the ground, as even more pee ran down my legs in a humiliating stream. Oh, calamity. I was not making a good first impression on Miss Josie at all.
Curse my overactive bladder.
Ms. Anne pulled me away from the mum with a gentle tug of my leash and cleaned my pee-splattered legs with a wet wipe from her purse. “Behave, Capone,” she said softly. “You have to keep out of mischief, or you’ll end up back on the farm, and she needs you, remember?”
I ducked my head, ashamed. She was right, but who knew there would be so many new rules? I mean I loved rules, but the PBS special didn’t cover any of this.
Miss Josie stared at me, probably wondering what I might pee on or lick next. “What on earth were you thinking, Anne?”
“He needs a home, Josie. And a family.”
“A family?” she asked. “But why me?”
Ms. Anne gave Miss Josie a sad, gentle smile. “Because you need a family, too,” she said. “I know it was hard after you lost your mom and dad, then Mr. Bartleby, but you barely even leave the bookstore these days.”
“I have a business to run. If I fail, I’ll have to sell the shop and find a new job. Bartleby’s is all I’ve ever known.” Miss Josie folded her arms across her chest, her eyes sad. “I’m on my own here. It isn’t easy.”
“Which is why you need Capone. Trust me. The last time you had a break-in they did a lot of damage. Even with your new security system, each layer of protection you add will help. Think of him as an additional layer.”
“But a dog, Anne? Really?”
“Do it on a trial basis. His breeder will come to check on him in two months. If it’s not working out for you, she’ll take him back. No harm, no foul.”
Ms. Josie tapped her foot nervously on the sidewalk. Her shoes were grey, like her tights, and tied with old-fashioned looking rose-colored ribbons. I’d never seen anything more beautiful or tempting in my life. I leaped at the ribbon, taking it into my mouth and yanking on it. She moved me away with a none too gentle push of her leg and shot Ms. Anne a dirty look as she knelt to retie her shoe.
“You’re employing emotional blackmail.”
“I’m doing it because I love you and have your best interests at heart. I’ve been worried about you, and it’s gotten so much worse ever since you broke things off with Cedric—” Miss Josie held out one hand to silence her, making a hissing noise, and Ms. Anne rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Since you broke up with he-who-shall-not-be-named, your life has been a train wreck.”
“I’m a mess, but it has nothing to do with him. It has to do with this.” She pointed at the shop next door, First Impressions Café. A “Grand Opening” banner waved across the front, and crowds of people streamed in and out, sipping large cups of hot coffee and fancy drinks like espresso, lattes, and cappuccino. It smelled delightful. I lifted my nose for a better whiff. Mmmmm. Could it be pumpkin spice?
“The coffee shop?”
“From the moment they moved in, it’s been nothing but trouble.”
As she spoke, a woman in a large SUV attempted to back out of her parking space while juggling what looked like a large iced coffee in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She nearly hit a passing car. The man in the car honked at her, making a rude gesture out the window.
Ms. Anne didn’t blink an eye. “But books and coffee go together, right? Those might be your future customers.”
Miss Josie shook her head as two teenaged girls posed for selfies. They made duck faces and held up their coffee cups in a mock salute.
“They are not my customers,” she said. “They wouldn’t know a rare book if it knocked them on the head. And don’t even get me started on the manager. He’s a nightmare. Oh, great. Here he comes now.”
A tall man with curly brown hair wearing a First Impressions Café T-shirt walked out of the shop, a big smile on his face as he greeted customers. His smile disappeared as soon as he saw Miss Josie. He stomped over to where we were standing.
“Josephine St. Clair,” he said, a muscle working in his jaw. “Did you seriously call the police yesterday because one of my customers dared to park in front of your store?”
“Nate Murray.” She spat out the words, as if she found each syllable of his name offensive. She squared her shoulders, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with anger. “I called a tow truck, not the police. As you can see, these spots are marked, ‘Parking for customers of Bartleby’s Books only. All others will be towed.’ Is that not clear enough for you?”
I watched their interaction closely. When faced with an awkward social situation, a gentleman must always do his best to smooth the waters. I wagged my tail and gave Mr. Nate my paw. His face immediately softened, and he leaned down to scratch me behind the ears. Crisis averted, and the scratching felt wonderful.
Note to self: A little cuteness goes a long way.
Ms. Anne gave him a friendly smile. “Hello, Nate Murray. I’m Anne. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said, straightening and shaking her hand. I realized he looked quite handsome when he wasn’t scowling. A fat pug waddled up to Mr. Nate and plopped down on the sidewalk. “And this is my dog, Jackson.”
When Jackson breathed, he inhaled with a snort, and exhaled with a sort of wet, slobbery pant. It was disturbing, like listening to an obscene phone call.
“Oh, I know Jackson. He keeps pooping in front of my store,” said Miss Josie as she glared down at the portly pug, but, to my surprise, Jackson was not offended in the least.
“Guilty as charged, cutie pie.” He laughed, the sound a rough chortle, and scratched his sizable belly.
Mr. Nate did not laugh. He frowned again.
Oh calamity.
“It happened one time, and I apologized,” he said, his face darkening. “I cleaned it up right away and sent you coffee as a peace offering. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to keep your animal on your property, and don’t bother with the peace offerings. I don’t drink coffee.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course, you don’t. I bet you drink kombucha and herbal tea.”
She glowered at him, which meant he was probably right. It made me wonder, though…what the heck was kombucha?
As the animosity between them intensified, I let out a bark as a way to change the subject. It worked. Mr. Nate dug in his pocket and pulled out a treat.
“Where did this puppy come from? He can’t possibly be yours,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a cat person if I ever saw one.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Miss Josie huffed.
“I know enough. Crazy cat ladies always drink herbal tea. It’s a dead giveaway.”
I suspected he might be teasing, mostly because of the glimmer of humor I saw in his eyes, but Miss Josie did not seem to notice. She took the leash from Ms. Anne with a scowl.
“Well, Mr. Know-It-All-Nate, Capone happens to be mine. And I’m not crazy, nor am I a cat lady. For your information, my cat doesn’t even like me.”
I cringed, knowing she probably wished she hadn’t said the last part, but she recovered quickly, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at Mr. Nate. He didn’t seem fazed.
“Capone? Cool name.”
“I can’t stand it. I plan to change it as soon as possible. Good day, Mr. Murray.”
“Good day, Miss St. Clair,” he said. “And good luck, Capone. You’re going to need it.”
He gave me a final pat and returned to the café. Miss Josie and Ms. Anne went back into the bookstore, and Miss Josie let out a groan, covering her face with her hands.
“What was I thinking? Why did I tell him Capone is my dog?”
“Because Capone is your dog, Josie, but I’m confused about the parking thing. You’re not the kind of person who has someone’s car towed away for no good reason.”
Miss Josie’s shoulders slumped. “I know, and I hated to do it, but I’m in a bind here. I need all the customers I can get. If there aren’t spaces in front of my shop, they might drive right past. Most of the people who shop here are older. They don’t want to walk for blocks and blocks to get here. Thank goodness I have a steady online business to keep me afloat. Otherwise, I would have already closed.”
Ms. Anne put a comforting hand on Miss Josie’s shoulder. “I had no idea it was this bad.”
“When Mr. Bartleby left me this shop in his will, it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. I love this place, but it’s a money pit. First, I had to get a new vault because Mr. Bartleby’s wasn’t moisture controlled. Then I had to update the entire computer system and create a website. And then there was the accounting. Do you know Mr. Bartleby did all of his record keeping by hand?”
“He did?”
“Yes, which is part of the problem. He recorded everything in old-fashioned ledgers, and the most recent one has gone missing. I’ve been searching for it everywhere, and I’ve been looking for a bunch of valuable books that disappeared from the inventory as well. I don’t know if they were lost or stolen, but I can’t make any insurance claims until I have some documentation that they were purchased in the first place.”
“I’m guessing the documentation would be in the missing ledger?”
“It should be,” she said, with a despondent note in her voice. “And I had to pay for a pricy new security system as well. It’s one expense after another.”
“The security system is a good thing. The idea of someone breaking in when you live upstairs is scary. Have any of the other shops on the block been broken into?”
Miss Josie laughed, but it had a brittle edge to it. “No, because Beaver is the safest place in the universe. Except for Bartleby’s. We’re a hotbed of criminal activity. And guess what? Now we even have Capone himself living here. It seems oddly appropriate.” She blew out a sigh, and stared down at me with a woebegone expression. “This is the last thing I needed Anne. Dogs are expensive, and I’m barely getting by as it is.”
“You won’t have to pay for a thing. Capone is a gift, and so are the costs associated with him.” When Miss Josie tried to protest, Ms. Anne shushed her. “I’ve arranged a vet and obedience training. I’ve even opened an account for you at Percy’s Pet Palace. Percy owes me one. I do a lot of shopping there, and he gave me a huge discount.”
“But it’s too much—”
Ms. Anne stopped her. “You’re like a little sister to me, and I’ve wanted to get you a puppy for ages, but it was never the right time. This is the right time. I’m sure of it. And don’t worry about the money. I’m loaded. I made out well in my last divorce.”
Miss Josie’s lips quirked. “You made out well in your first two divorces, too.”
“I did,” she said with a wink. “The point is I have money to spare, and I’m worried about you. I think this will help you get out of the slump you’ve been in. I’m older and wiser than you, so you should trust me on this.”
Miss Josie snorted. “Only a few years older, and not so wise.”
Ms. Anne ignored her. “I have to tell you your hot neighbor is right. If you aren’t careful, soon you’ll be a strange old lady who lives alone and eats cold soup out of a can.”
“I will not, and I don’t live alone. I have Rocco.”
“Rocco hates you.”
Miss Josie frowned at first, like she might argue the point, but ended up agreeing with Ms. Anne’s statement. “Okay, fine, but Rocco hates everyone. He’s that kind of cat. I don’t take it personally. And it’s not like I chose him. I inherited him from Mr. Bartleby.”
“Didn’t you inherit Mrs. Steele in the same way?”
“Yes, but she actually helps out around the shop,” said Miss Josie, and Ms. Anne raised her eyebrows. “Well, at least she tries to help. Rocco…not so much.”
“Mrs. Steele is nice, but we both know she’s a hot mess. You’re a softie, Josie. You can never say no to a stray or to someone who needs you. Which is why you’ll give Capone a chance.”
Miss Josie grimaced. “It has nothing to do with me being a softie. I’ve backed myself into a corner this time. If I give Capone back, Nate Murray will be a total jerk about it, and my desire to prove him wrong supersedes my desire to maintain my sanity.”
“What are you saying?”
She let out a sigh. “I’m saying, for the time being at least, Capone is my new dog.”