A list of the roses found in Mr. Bartleby’s back garden:
- ‘The Fairy’
- ‘Hertfordshire’
- ‘Bianco’
- ‘Our Beth’
- ‘Dracula’ Rose
- Rose ‘Dorothy’
- ‘Yorkshire’
Although no longer blooming, the rose bushes stood in a neat row from the shed to the side door in the garden wall. Jackson and I sat near those bare bushes, waiting. It was so boring. Miss Josie and Mr. Nate had found the hole Cedric created in the floor of the shed, but they insisted on doing all the digging themselves. You’d think they’d appreciate the assistance of two world-class diggers, but they didn’t want our help.
Well, I should clarify. Mr. Nate did the actual digging. Miss Josie, dressed in her pretty work clothes and heels, stood by and watched. By the time Gracie and Ms. Anne arrived, Mr. Nate was already sweating and covered in dirt. He’d taken off his jacket, and his white T-shirt clung to him, outlining the muscles in his arms and chest. Miss Josie stared at him, mesmerized. Ms. Anne fanned herself.
“I hate to miss the show,” she said softly to Miss Josie, “but I have a hair appointment. Do you mind if I leave Gracie here with you?”
“Of course not,” said Miss Josie, glancing at her watch. “The shop doesn’t open for half an hour. I’ll be fine, and Gracie seems to be having fun.”
Gracie did seem to be having a good time. As Ms. Anne left, I realized all females appeared to find a sweaty Mr. Nate extremely attractive, even females of the canine persuasion.
“Hubba, hubba, ding, ding,” said Gracie, practically drooling. “Now there’s something I’d like to lick. Wow. I must be in heat.”
“You can’t be in heat,” said Jackson. “You had your hoohaw removed.”
Gracie gave him a dirty look. “My hoohaw is fine, thank you, and your lack of knowledge regarding the female anatomy is shocking. They removed my reproductive organs, not anything external, which is fine by me. I wasn’t cut out to be a mother. I completely lack maternal instinct. I might be a bitch, but I’m not that kind of a bitch, if you know what I mean.”
Jackson tilted his head to one side. “Wait. You still have a hoohaw?”
Note to self: Jackson is a pervert.
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Is that all you absorbed from what I said? You’re such a dirty dog, Jackson. Grow up. Please.”
Gracie turned her back on him, and when I caught Jackson staring at her fluffy bottom, I nudged him. “Stop it. You’re being rude.”
“Why? A dog can look, right?”
“Not if Gracie doesn’t want you to look. It’s called harassment. If you’re not careful, canine karma is going to bite you in the—”
I was interrupted by the sound of Mr. Nate hitting something metal with the shovel. “What is it?” asked Miss Josie.
“I don’t know.” I peered around Miss Josie to see Mr. Nate lift a small metal box out of the hole he’d dug.
Miss Josie gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. “The safety deposit box. I can’t believe it.”
Mr. Nate lowered the box onto the table on Miss Josie’s back patio. He was covered in dirt and sweat, but Miss Josie gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Nate.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We have to find out what’s inside.”
He lifted the lid. Jackson, Gracie, and I climbed up on chairs so we could see the contents. “What is it?” I asked.
“No idea,” said Jackson. “I can’t read. Can you read?” He looked at Gracie, his pug eyes huge and buggy in his face.
“I’m a dog, dummy,” she said, giving her fur a shake. “Of course not.”
I might not be able to read what was on the paper Miss Josie pulled out of the box, but I definitely read her disappointment at what she’d found. Her shoulders slumped, and she blew out a sigh. “I thought the missing books might be in here. Not this.”
Mr. Nate looked over her shoulder. “A list of roses?”
“Yep. Seven different varieties. The ones he planted after Mrs. Bartleby died.”
He frowned. “Mr. Bartleby planted the ‘Dracula’ Rose in memory of his wife?”
“I think it was one of her favorite books,” she said with a smile. “They went to Whitby in England for their honeymoon because that was where Bram Stoker wrote it. Romantic isn’t it?”
“I never thought about Dracula as being particularly romantic, but I guess you’re right. Wait, there’s a business card in here, too,” said, Mr. Nate. “It’s from an insurance agency. And what is this?” He asked, picking up a long pin with a pearl on one end.
“A hat pin. But why would it be in this box?”
“Maybe it reminded him of his wife.”
Miss Josie sank into a chair. “This is so disappointing.”
Mr. Nate knelt in front of her, taking her small hands in his large, dirty ones. “You’re going to figure this out, Josie.”
She gave him a watery smile. “I wish I had your confidence, but I’m being practical. One more thing is all it will take to put me out of business forever.”
The words had no sooner left her mouth when we heard a noise from inside the shop. “What’s that sound?” asked Nate.
Miss Josie’s face paled. “Smoke detectors.”
Mr. Nate opened the back door, and smoke billowed out. He covered his mouth with the bottom of his dirty T-shirt and rushed inside. “No,” said Miss Josie. “Don’t go in there.”
It was too late. Mr. Nate disappeared into the smoky interior of the shop as Miss Josie dialed 911 with shaking fingers. “There’s a fire at Bartleby’s,” she said. “Please come now.”
Then she did something insane. She ran into the shop after Mr. Nate.
“Where’s she going?” asked Gracie, pacing back and forth as the smoke detector beeped.
The high-pitched sound hurt my doggie ears, and the smell of smoke stung my nostrils. “What are we going to do?” I asked.
Jackson stood near the door, whimpering. “Nate? Please come back, Nate.”
I shook from head to toe, every instinct in my body telling me to stay away from the smoke but I knew what I had to do. “I’m going in. If I don’t make it, you can have my orange bunny, Jackson. Gracie, you get my bed. It’s cozy. I know you like it.”
They both screamed at me to stop, but I was a puppy on a mission. I had to save Miss Josie and Mr. Nate, even if it meant dying in the process.
I’m not exaggerating. That’s how much I loved them both. It truly was impressive.
The smoke smelled terrible, burning my eyes and making it hard to see. I listened for the sound of Miss Josie’s voice, and when I finally heard it, I barked excitedly. Sadly, it caused me to inhale a lung full of smoke and brought on a coughing fit.
I stumbled through the darkened shop, searching for her, coughing and wheezing. Miss Josie coughed, too, and shouted at Mr. Nate about the sprinklers. And I realized something.
It rained inside the bookstore.
This was not good. Water and books didn’t mix. I’d learned about it my first day in the shop when Miss Josie instructed me never to pee on, drool on, or lick the books.
“A little water can go a long way in ruining a valuable piece of literature,” she’d said, and this was not a little water. It rivaled a monsoon.
I found her and grabbed the bottom of her skirt with my teeth, trying to pull her out, still coughing my head off. “Capone. What are you doing in here?”
She looked soaked to the skin, and so did Nate. His white T-shirt now nearly translucent, reminded me of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Not the stiff Mr. Darcy in a cravat, but the sexy Mr. Darcy after he swam in the pond at Pemberley. The Mr. Darcy who caused grown women like Miss Josie to get a little hot under the bodice.
Dear heavens. Mr. Nate was her Mr. Darcy. He had been all along, and it was so obvious now. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
I slumped to the floor, not from this startling realization but due to oxygen deprivation. Although Mr. Nate and Miss Josie coughed, too, my puppy lungs were much more susceptible to the dangers of smoke inhalation. I didn’t see any signs of a fire in the shop, but my lungs felt utterly inflamed.
Miss Josie picked me up and carried me out to the front of the shop as the fire trucks arrived. Mr. Nate followed her. With both doors of the shop opened, the smoke cleared out quickly, but I still couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
Curse my petite puppy lungs.
“Help,” said Miss Josie, tears streaming down her smoke-stained cheeks. “My dog is having trouble breathing.”
A burly fireman took me from her arms and put an oxygen mask over Miss Josie’s face, then one over my face as well. Another fireman took care of Mr. Nate. I ended up vomiting all over the nice fireman. I couldn’t help it. Once I did, however, I felt much better.
Miss Josie pulled me into a hug. “Why did you come into the shop?”
“He was trying to save you,” said Mr. Nate, his voice raspy.
It made her cry even harder and hug me so tight it was almost hard to breathe. “You stupid, brave, wonderful dog. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
After the firemen assessed the situation in the shop, the fire chief, Mr. Kevin Crawford, came out to speak with Miss Josie and Mr. Nate. “First of all, the three of you made a poor choice. Why would you rush into a smoke-filled building?”
“I thought maybe I could contain it and save Josie’s books,” said Mr. Nate. “We hadn’t been outside long. I didn’t expect so much smoke.”
Miss Josie rested her head against his arm. “I went in because he went in. I couldn’t let him be alone in there.”
Mr. Crawford rolled his eyes. “And the puppy went in to rescue both of you ding dongs. Look, the first rule of fire safety is to get out and stay out. This situation could have ended badly. Thankfully, it looks like there was never a fire.”
“What do you mean?” asked Miss Josie, lifting her head from Mr. Nate’s arm.
He handed her something resembling a perfectly round charred bit of coal. “Someone daisy-chained together a bunch of smoke bombs and tossed them into your shop. It didn’t do any harm itself, other than the smoke, but it triggered the sprinklers and caused a lot of damage. I’m sorry, Miss St. Clair, but can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you? Someone who might want to cause problems?”
She and Mr. Nate looked at each other. “Cedric,” they said at the same time.
As they gave Mr. Crawford Cedric’s contact information, a small feather fluttered next to me. I pounced on it, stopping it with my paws. It stuck to the welcome mat by the front of the shop, and, as I sniffed it, a keen sense of foreboding grew in my heart.
Could this feather have come from the person who threw the smoke bomb into the mail slot? If so, Miss Josie and Mr. Nate suspected the wrong person.
As much as I despised Cedric, this feather didn’t smell like him. It smelled like Mrs. Norris, the adorable, elderly owner of the haberdashery.