List of the world’s cleverest and cutest bibliophiles:
- Miss Josephine St. Clair
- Mr. Benjamin Bartleby
- Me.
Once again, we were out in the garden digging, and, once again, neither Mr. Nate nor Miss Josie wanted my assistance. I would have loved to help because I am an excellent digger. Some might even say I’m a natural.
Instead, I’d been instructed to sit on the patio and wait. It wasn’t so bad. Ms. Anne brought us food, an excellent thing since we were all starving. She also gave us special treats. Jackson, Gracie, and I got bully sticks to chew. Rocco got catnip. In no time at all, he was high as a kite. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky, his mouth slightly slack.
“Look at those clouds. They’re the most beautiful clouds I’ve ever seen. Are they singing? I think the clouds are singing.”
Jackson nudged me, rolling his eyes, and I giggled. There wasn’t anything funnier than Rocco all doped up. I’d never seen him so chill.
Miss Josie was the opposite of chill. She nearly thrummed with excitement. Mr. Nate studied her with a twinkle in his eyes. “So where exactly are we digging, Josephine?”
She took out the map of the garden and put it on the table. Then she pulled out a list. “These are the books missing from our inventory,” she said. “Now look at the names of the roses.”
Mr. Nate leaned close, his hand resting casually on her back. “Are you saying…”
Miss Josie nodded, her curls bobbing as she smiled up at him. “I think Mr. Bartleby hid the books under his roses. If I’m right, Dracula will be buried under the ‘Dracula’ Rose.”
“And Rose ‘Dorothy’ refers to The Wizard of Oz,” said Mr. Nate. “But what does The Velveteen Rabbit have to do with ‘Bianco’?”
Miss Josie grinned. “Margery Williams’s married name was Bianco.”
“Holy cow,” said Mr. Nate.
“Exactly,” said Miss Josie. “And all the other roses correspond with the missing books as well.”
Ms. Anne, holding Gracie in her arms, looked over the list. “I’m guessing ‘Our Beth’ has to do with Little Women, and ‘The Fairy’ could be The Hobbit. But what about ‘Yorkshire’?”
Miss Josie nearly bubbled with excitement. “Jane Eyre. The Brontë sisters were from Yorkshire.”
After running his finger down the list, Mr. Nate paused. “Then is ‘Hertfordshire’ for Pride and Prejudice?”
“Yes,” said Miss Josie. “And hopefully it’s the rare signed first edition Mr. Bartleby talked about.”
“That would be amazing.” said Mr. Nate. “Do you think it’s possible?”
She handed him a shovel and grabbed another for herself. “There’s only one way to be sure.”
After twenty minutes or so of digging, they hit something hard and heard a metallic clang. They pulled out a small container, approximately the size of a shoe box. It opened with an odd sounding pop.
“Mr. Bartleby sealed it,” said Ms. Anne.
“He found a way to protect it from the elements,” said Miss Josie, her hands shaking. A beautiful old copy of Pride and Prejudice had been stored in a thick, vacuum-sealed bag. It rested in the box next to documentation verifying its purchase. “And I’m sure all the other missing books must be here, too.”
Mr. Nate let out a whoop and swung Miss Josie around in a circle. She laughed, lifting her face to the sky. Ms. Anne put Gracie down, and we pranced around the dancing humans.
“I guess we have some digging to do?” asked Mr. Nate, still grinning from ear to ear.
“I’ll call for reinforcements,” said Ms. Anne. “We could use some help.”
“And call Officer Stahl, too,” said Miss Josie. “The police will want to hear about this. We finally know what Billy was after when he broke into my shop.”
As Ms. Anne ran to make the phone calls, Miss Josie stared up at Mr. Nate’s face. “It’s like my life is finally coming together.” Her eyes clouded over. “Well, except for the fact that you’ll be leaving soon,” she said softly. “The thought of that makes me very sad.”
“Does it?” he asked, his brown eyes warm and probing. “Why?”
She cleared her throat. “I met you during one of the worst times in my life. I’d lost so much and didn’t think I could bear to lose anything else, so I concluded it was safer to distance myself from people. To shut myself up in this little bookstore and hide. But first Capone came into my life and forced me to get out into the world again.” She smiled and scratched me behind the ear. “And then you started showing up with your coffee. Before I knew it, I slowly turned back into myself again, except I was braver, and stronger.”
“And far more caffeinated,” he said with a smile.
“Oh, yes.” She placed a small hand over his heart. “Thank you, Nate. For the coffee, and for reading Jane Austen, and for always being there for me when I needed it most.”
“Like when Capone ate the peony bushes?”
“Yes.”
“And when he ate the chocolate?”
“Definitely yes.”
Did they have to bring up every mistake I’d ever made? Geesh. Get onto the kissing part. Please.
Mr. Nate smiled. “I was happy to be there for you, through each one of Capone’s bad choices and all of his intestinal distress.”
Miss Josie put a hand on his cheek. “I’m so glad I met you, but I’ll miss you, Nate,” she said softly.
“No, you won’t.” He brushed a curl behind her ear. “Because I’m not leaving.”
“What?” It seemed like Miss Josie couldn’t quite breathe. I couldn’t quite breathe either.
Note to self: Love is similar to oxygen deprivation.
“My home is with you, Josephine St. Clair, if you’ll have me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close to give him a rapturous kiss. When they separated, Miss Josie practically glowed with happiness.
“I love you, Nate Murray. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
They kissed again, and Jackson sighed. I thought it was from deep emotion, but it actually could have been gas. One never knew with Jackson.
Jackson stared at Nate with affection. “He’s a little slow,” he said. “Lovable, but slow.”
Gracie kicked him. “Shut up, doofus. They’re getting to the good part.”
Gracie was right. Mr. Nate gazed at Miss Josie, his eyes intense. “I love you. You’ve bewitched me, body and soul, and I never want to be parted from you.”
I knew those words. I’d heard them before. I hopped to my feet, not wanting to miss a second of Miss Josie’s reaction. “He’s quoting Mr. Darcy again,” I said.
“I think I might swoon,” said Gracie, lying down and placing one paw over her face.
“Me, too,” said Jackson, before letting out a long and nasty belch. I guess I’d been right about the gas.
Miss Josie and Mr. Nate ignored him. “If you keep quoting Darcy,” she said. “I may have to ravish you.”
He gave her a mischievous grin. “Let’s save the ravishing for a time when we don’t have an audience.” He tilted his head to indicate Jackson, Gracie, and I all listening raptly to every word they said.
Rocco wasn’t listening. He’d fallen fast asleep with his head in one of the empty planting pots. He may have been snoring. He’d gotten completely and utterly trashed.
Miss Josie nibbled on her lower lip. “But what about Seattle?”
“Why be the president of a company if I can’t delegate a job or two to my managers? I have the best employees in the world. When I told them I wanted to make Beaver our headquarters, they went for it. They understood this is the only place I can be happy. And since I’ve now turned you into a coffee drinker, my life is complete. But there is still one thing I need to do.”
“What?”
He nodded toward the book they’d dug up. “See if Jane Austen really wrote something inside that book.”
After washing up and donning white gloves, Miss Josie carefully opened the sealed plastic package and took out the fragile, leather-bound volume. She looked inside, her eyes bright with excitement, and gasped when she saw the inscription.
“A novel of First Impressions written by Jane Austen. April 1813.” Miss Josie’s eyes shot to Mr. Nate.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his expression incredulous.
“I completely forgot it was the original title of the book,” she said. “And Jane Austen thought it was a better one, apparently. Why did you choose that name for your café, Nate?”
He laughed, rubbing a hand against his jaw. “It had nothing to do with Jane Austen. My mom always said, ‘You never get a second chance to a make a good first impression.’ It became the motto of our company.”
“Well, it was meant to be,” said Miss Josie. “Obviously.”
Mr. Nate pulled her into his arms. “And we were meant to be as well.”
“Which is one thing we can definitely agree on.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss Mr. Nate and then put the book back into its protective sleeve. Ms. Anne rushed in as Miss Josie was placing it in the vault.
“Come on, you two,” she said. “The cavalry has arrived.”
The rest of the neighborhood joined in to help with the digging, and one by one, the seven missing books were revealed. The story made not only the local news, but the national news as well. The reporter interviewed Miss Josie about the books buried under the rose bushes, but they also discussed the heroics of three dogs and a cat and how a group of pets managed to find a book worth close to a million dollars and foil a group of thieves.
The next evening, Mr. Nate and Miss Josie lounged on the back patio hand in hand, sipping wine as the sun went down. Jackson and I sat at their feet, and Rocco rested on a folding chair a few feet away. He was a little hung over from all the catnip, and back to his old, grumpy self. Well, not quite as grumpy. I now knew his heart was as soft as his sweet, furry exterior. He just didn’t like to show it.
Miss Josie stared at me, a small smile curving on her lips. “I’ve finally decided on a name.”
I sat up, tail wagging. Was Miss Josie talking about me? Could this be the moment I’d been waiting for?
“For Capone?” asked Mr. Nate. “It might be hard to call him anything else at this point. I’m not sure another name will stick.”
My shoulders slumped. Maybe Mr. Nate was right. I was far too Capone-ish for my own good.
Oh, calamity.
Curse my primitive nature.
“Al Capone’s first name was actually Alphonse. It’s a name shared by writers and painters and artists and kings. An extraordinary name for an extraordinary dog.”
Mr. Nate smiled. “And that’s his name?”
She nodded. “He’s not simply Capone; he’s Alphonse Capone. It’s on his papers and everything. And, from now on, I think that’s what I’ll call him. Alphonse Capone. It suits him. But we’ll keep it Capone for short. We’ll only pull out the Alphonse on special occasions.”
Mr. Nate agreed, and I thought I might burst with happiness. Not Darcy, but even better. Alphonse Capone. My name. The name I’d had all along and didn’t even known it. The perfect name for me.
I’d found the perfect home as well. I had Miss Josie, whom I adored, and Mr. Nate, the best guy in the world. I had wonderful friends, including Jackson, who’d become like a big brother to me. Yes, I already outweighed him by twenty pounds, but he was older and somewhat wiser, so he’d earned big brother status. I had the sweet diva Gracie and the lovely Ms. Anne. I also had Rocco, who’d become my first, and best, feline friend. My life was complete.
And when Miss Josie gave Mr. Nate a sweetly ardent kiss, I knew I’d succeeded in that area as well. I’d found Miss Josie her Mr. Darcy, her one true love. Yes, I made a few mistakes along the way, but it had all worked out well in the end, as good stories often do.
Jane Austen couldn’t have done any better herself.