An itemized list of charges incurred during my visit to the vet:
- Antibiotics.
- Anti-nausea medication.
- Probiotics.
- Special dog food.
- Pill pockets to help me take the medicines.
- Fee for the exam.
- Fee for the x-ray.
- Powdered clay to firm up my…problem.
- A doggie electrolyte solution for my dehydration.
- A bottle of wine.
Miss Josie didn’t get the last one from Doc McHottie. She bought it on her way home and planned to consume it later, because the vet bill ended up being approximately the same amount as a car payment.
The receptionist patted her hand. “But we can’t put a price on our dog’s health, now can we?”
Miss Josie may have disagreed with that assessment, but she took pity on me. “It’s not your fault, boy. Apparently, I’m a horrible dog parent and didn’t take proper care of you.”
I wanted to tell her it was, most definitely, my fault, but now Miss Josie felt terrible. I felt awful, too. The only person who didn’t feel bad? Rocco. After Miss Josie gave me my medicine and got me set up in my crate, Rocco came over to torture me.
“You didn’t die? How unfortunate. I thought surely you would.”
“Shut up, Rocco.” I tried to sound harsh but still felt too sick. It came out as pathetic.
He laughed at me. “All bark and no bite. What kind of gangster are you, Al Capone?”
“I’m not a gangster. I’m a gentleman.”
“You know the truth as well as I do,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You have a heart of pure darkness. Evil lurks within you.”
“That’s not true,” I said, even though a part of me feared he might be right. “I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m not a bad dog, and I’m certainly not evil. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who’s ridiculous. Aspiring to be like Mr. Darcy, when he was nothing but an arrogant snob.”
I wanted to cover my ears. “No. Mr. Darcy may have seemed arrogant, but he was kind and loyal and good. He loved his family and his friends. He just wasn’t comfortable with strangers.”
Rocco rolled his eyes. “Have you read the book, or were you too blinded by Mr. Darcy’s handsome face on the BBC program to see the truth? Mr. Darcy was kind of a twit.”
“No,” I said, wishing Rocco would stop talking. “You’re lying.”
“Whatever. Believe what you will, but I know the truth.” He leaned close. “You’ll never be a gentleman. Badness is in your blood, little dog. You can’t fight it.”
I sat up taller. “So, I should stop trying?” I asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits…oh, wait. There is no shoe. You ate it, didn’t you? The first night you arrived. And you ripped apart my favorite pillow, too. It’s more evidence that you’ll never be a gentleman, no matter how hard you try.”
It was the final straw. “I’m going to prove you wrong, Rocco. If it’s the last thing I do.”
He walked away, chuckling in his evil feline voice. “We’ll see, pup. We’ll see.”
Note to self: Rocco is a jerk face.
I spent the next few hours resting in my crate, torturing myself with what Rocco had said. Miss Josie came to check on me several times, making sure I drank enough water. When I went outside to pee, we celebrated. It felt good not to be sick and dehydrated anymore. And although Miss Josie might disagree, I thought the anti-nausea medicine was worth every penny.
Miss Josie let me spend the rest of the afternoon in her shop, curled up on a blanket by her feet as she went over Mr. Bartleby’s ledgers. Ms. Anne peeked over her shoulder.
“The man wrote in code.”
“It’s convoluted,” said Miss Josie. “And I still can’t find the last ledger. I have no idea where it might be.”
“He was nearly ninety when he passed away. I think the bookstore was the only reason he lived so long.”
“I agree, and he never got over Mrs. Bartleby’s death. Not a day went by that he didn’t talk about her.”
“It’s so romantic,” said Ms. Anne. “I’m sure all three of my ex-husbands talk about me, too, but mostly to curse and call me vile names.”
Miss Josie laughed. “Not quite as nice, or as romantic. But it hurt watching Mr. Bartleby deteriorate. Part of my job entailed finding what he lost.”
“Like ledgers?” asked Ms. Anne. “Isn’t it odd he didn’t have a safe or something?”
“He told me once he kept a safety deposit box hidden in the shop, but I’ve never saw one.”
“Could he have meant the vault?”
“Anything’s possible, I guess.”
The vault, which sat in the back of the shop, resembled a large walk-in closet. A complicated locking mechanism secured the door. Temperature controlled and carefully sealed, it contained the most valuable pieces in the shop’s inventory, precious old books with crumbling leather covers and delicate gold lettering. Of course, I’d never gotten close to the vault, or those special books. Miss Josie kept me far away, but I’d caught a glimpse of what was hidden inside.
She wore white gloves whenever she handled her treasures, and she made others use them, too. Her customers were typically professors, intellectuals, and other people wearing tweed and wool. Most of them made appointments to see books they wanted to buy.
A high, narrow table sat in the middle of the vault, enabling potential buyers to examine the merchandise without leaving the room. Even something as innocuous as exposure to oil from someone’s hands could be all it took to ruin one of those treasures forever.
The books had a distinctive smell, something which tickled my nose with a mixture of vanilla and lavender. I’d overheard Miss Josie tell a customer old books smelled this way due to the breakdown in their chemical composition as they aged. New books smelled harsher and more artificial. Because of scent alone, I understood why Miss Josie preferred old books. The aroma of ancient tomes delighted my entire olfactory system.
“It’s a mystery,” said Ms. Anne. “Maybe there’s a box somewhere in the shop you know nothing about.”
After Ms. Anne left, Miss Josie took another look around, and I followed, tail wagging. It felt like a game. As she worked her way through a large display case at the front of the shop, the bell over the door tinkled and Mr. Nate came in. He smiled when he saw me.
“Well, hello,” he said, patting me. “You’re looking better.”
I snuggled against him happily. We’d bonded yesterday when I nearly died, and spending the entire night sleeping on Mr. Nate’s chest made us special friends.
Jackson came in, looking bored. “Hey, poopy pants.”
“I don’t wear pants.” Much of what Jackson said confused me. I didn’t understand his humor at all.
“Maybe you should,” he said. “Or maybe you need one of those doggie diapers. I’ve never seen anything quite like what you did last night. It was like an explosion of poo. It positively spewed out of you. It was impressive.”
“Are you here to torture me?” I asked.
“Nah. We’re here because my man Nate has the hots for the blondie. He digs the whole sexy librarian thing she has going.”
I glanced at Miss Josie. In a grey cashmere sweater that matched her eyes and emphasized her curves, she did give off that sort of vibe. The hipster glasses and the pen currently stuck in her messy bun added to the effect.
“Thanks for your help last night,” said Miss Josie. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. I had fun,” said Mr. Nate, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Oh, yes. Fun,” Miss Josie said, rolling her eyes. “First you took care of my sick dog, then you slept on my couch. Lucky you.”
“I enjoyed it. Honestly.” Their eyes locked for a long moment before Mr. Nate’s cheeks reddened. “Capone feels better; I take it.”
“Yes, and the vet thinks you were right about the peony bush. Good call.”
“Jackson was like a walking textbook on all the bad things a dog could do,” he said. “I learned a lot from him.”
Jackson scratched his fat belly, looking rather pleased with himself. “We had some good times, Nate and I,” he said. “And I regret nothing. Well, maybe a few things. Like the time I ate an entire box of chocolate. Never do that, Capone. Trust me. You’ll end up at the vet so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
Note to self: Life is not a box of chocolates.
Mr. Nate shot a glance at the ledgers. “Wow. Old-style record keeping.”
“Courtesy of the former owner,” said Miss Josie. “Benjamin Bartleby. He knew more about books than anyone I’d ever met but nothing about bookkeeping. He never felt comfortable with technology. This was his system,” she said, pointing to the messy ledgers. “The good news is I’ve finally finished inputting most of this onto my computer. The bad news is I’m still missing one of his ledgers, and it’s an important one. It has all of the most recent inventory posted in it.”
“Where could it be?”
“He told me once that he had a safety deposit box in the shop. I doubt it even existed, but I thought I might as well make sure there isn’t a box here somewhere.”
Mr. Nate glanced around the shop. “It wouldn’t have to be huge, right? Just large enough to hold a few books or a ledger.”
“I guess so,” she said. “But if a mysterious box had been lying around, I’d have noticed it by now.”
“Can you do a physical inventory, and then compare it to what’s in the ledger when you find it?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. I finished up today.” She stretched. “Finally.”
“You should reward yourself for all your hard work. I heard there’s a special exhibit Saturday on the history of fashion, including ball gowns, at the Beaver Museum. Want to go?”
Jackson and I shared a look. Ball gowns? How strange. Mr. Nate did not seem like a ball gown kind of guy, but Miss Josie didn’t notice.
“I wish I could, but Capone and I sort of have a date on Saturday.”
“A date?” he asked.
“Yes. With the vet. He thought it would be good to socialize Capone with his dog.”
Jackson grunted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Socialize her pet? It’s the oldest scam in the book. That’s code for fornication. Trust me. The vet must have a thing for hot librarian types, too.”
I found this disturbing but decided Jackson was wrong. Doc McHottie comported himself like a total gentleman, and I felt certain his intentions regarding Miss Josie were honorable.
“But I’m free tonight,” said Miss Josie. “I’d love it if you and Jackson could come over for dinner. It wouldn’t be fancy, only pizza or something.”
Mr. Nate lifted an eyebrow. “Are you talking about a vegetarian pizza with soy cheese and kale? Because I know bookshop owning cat-lady types are into kale.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “No kale, and I’ll get the pizza from Vic’s Oven. Yours will be meaty and magnificent. Have you tried their kielbasa and pierogi pizza? I’ve heard it’s awesome. For carnivores.”
“Intriguing,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine. After all, we both know how much you like wine.” He gave her a wink, making her blush.
“Come over around seven?” she asked.
“We will. Thank you, Josie.”
Jackson laughed, in his throaty and slightly perverted way. “He, he, he,” he said. “And you know what pizza and wine are code words for, right?”
“Fornication?” I asked.
He looked shocked. “No. Dinner. And Mr. Nate always lets me have the crust. You have a sick mind. See you later. This pug is planning a pizza pig out tonight. It’s going to get ugly.”
Although impressed with his use of alliteration, I had a feeling my interpretation of this event actually might be closer to the truth. This seemed like a date, and if Mr. Nate still planned on moving away once the coffee shop got up and running, dating him could be a potential disaster for poor Miss Josie and her sweet, fragile heart.
And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.