Chapter Nine

Bev's first instinct was to shoo it off, but there was something about the shape of his face—almost too small for his body, with droopy ears and big, golden eyes almost the same color as his coat—that melted her heart. She knelt and held out her open palm for him to sniff. He came closer, hesitantly flicking his tongue to lick her, and his tail wagged as she patted him on the head.

"Where did you come from, little guy?" Bev asked, scratching his ears.

He walked closer, moving her hand down his back until it reached his hindquarters. He grunted and shook his rear with happiness as she scratched harder.

"You're a funny little dog, aren't you? What's your name?"

He didn't have a collar, and Bev hadn't ever seen him around before, so she assumed he must've come with one of the festivalgoers. When he turned around to smile at her with his tongue hanging out, he had something wooden stuck in his jowls.

"Is this thyme?" Bev gasped as she pulled it out.

The dog reared up on its hind legs and snatched the wooden stem, dashing away with it like a thief stealing a gem.

"Wait!" Bev cried, hopping to her feet. "Come back!"

He moved fast for such a small animal, and Bev had to jog behind him to keep up. He had a silly sort of run, almost as if his front half was going left and his back half was going right, and yet Bev was huffing and puffing as she chased him out of the village and into the dark night. Thankfully, the moon was full and bright overhead, so she could at least see where she was going.

He ran into a thicket—not the dark forest, but still thick and brambly. With his size, he was easily able to navigate the roots and thorns, but Bev had a tougher go of it. Her shirt sleeve ripped on a large branch, and something whacked against her cheek, but she pushed through, wishing she had her kitchen knife or something else to slice through the brambles.

"Here, little fella," Bev called, letting out a whistle. "Where did you…"

She finally came into a clearing where the dog was nestled on top of a big pile of…herbs. The scent hit her nose immediately—thyme, basil, parsley, marjoram… Bev's entire uprooted garden had been turned into a dog bed for this creature.

He lifted his head and wagged his tail as she approached. Gently, she ran her hands through the pile of plants, all the way down to their dirt-covered roots. As she'd thought, someone had ripped them out, roots and all.

"Did you do this?" Bev asked.

The dog, predictably, nuzzled her hand in search of a pet.

"I don't see any teeth marks," Bev said, inspecting one of the thyme plants closely. "And you'd have to be a much bigger sort of creature to have carried all this here in one go, eh? So maybe someone else just left it here, and you liked the way it smelled?"

As if proving her point, the dog rolled onto its back and started smushing his rear into the plants.

"Wait! Wait!" Bev cried, moving the dog off the plants. "Don't kill them. I need them for my garden."

The dog allowed itself to be moved and flopped back into a sitting position to watch as she separated the plants from one another, picking the most salvageable and laying them out flat next to her. The dog might not have been the one to take the plants here, but he hadn't done them any favors by sleeping on them. Either way, she had enough now that she could dry and store her herbs for the winter, and perhaps save a few for propagation.

"You didn't see a rosemary bush anywhere around here, did you?" Bev said, looking up and gazing around the small thicket.

The dog tilted his head.

"No, that would be way too lucky," Bev said, climbing to her feet as she gathered the plants she intended to take home. "Thanks, I guess. Sorry I'm taking your bed, but these belong to me anyway. I'm sure you've got an owner who's looking for you, huh?"

He plopped his rear on the ground and looked up at her, dead serious.

"Why am I talking to a dog?" Bev muttered, turning around and leaving the thicket the way she'd come.

~

The dog had followed her back, but she didn't really mind. She closed the kitchen door behind her, leaving the animal outside where he belonged, as she inspected her plants in better lighting.

A loud whine echoed from the back door, along with a loud scratch.

"Are you…" Bev put down the marjoram plant and marched to the back door, swinging it open. Before she could say a word, the dog dashed inside between her legs. "Oh, no. You don't get to come inside. Go on. Outside. Out. Go!"

She grabbed her broom and began sweeping at the dog, but he dodged her blows, almost as if he thought it was a game. Finally, she ditched the broom and grabbed him by the midsection. He was a lot heavier than his size would suggest.

"You've got a home, I assume. So go there," she said, opening the kitchen door and tossing the dog on the ground. "You can't stay here."

She closed the door swiftly but didn't get two steps before the whining and scratching began again. Bev pinched the bridge of her nose and vowed to ignore it, returning to her plants spread out on the kitchen table. It was hard to think with the loud wailing, but she pressed on…

…until she remembered she had an inn full of guests upstairs who probably wouldn't appreciate the sound.

"Goodness," she grumbled, walking back to the door.

As before, the little creature dashed inside, a joyful look on his face.

"Fine," Bev said. "You want something to eat? I'll feed you. Then you have to go home. You can't stay here."

She hadn't yet thrown her potato peels into the compost pile out back, so she put the bowl on the ground and the dog went to town, scarfing them as if he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Bev felt bad for him, so she found a bowl and filled it with water.

"Was that all? Were you hungry?" She tutted. "Sorry. Eat up. Then get on your way."

With the dog happily chomping away, Bev returned to her plants and came up with a game plan. Much like the rosemary upstairs, she would try to replant the garden in pots over winter and hope they took. The rest, she'd dry and pulverize.

She turned to get a set of pots from the back garden when she realized the dog was staring at her. He had devoured every single potato skin—and based on the look on his face, it wanted more.

"I have nothing else for you," Bev said with a shrug.

He followed her as she walked out into the yard to search for her planters. She was acutely aware of his presence as she filled more pots with soil and brought them back inside. She prepared the herb branches and stuck one in each pot, adding enough water to soak them through.

"What?"

The dog was staring at her expectantly again.

"I have no more food for you. And that was a lot of potato skins," Bev said. "Surely, you're full, right? If you eat any more, you'll turn into a potato."

He tilted his head, waiting.

She let out a breath. "I'm talking to a dog. This is ridiculous."

She put the newly planted herbs on her windowsill—she hoped no one would be interested in messing those up—then cleaned the dirt off the kitchen table and carried the remaining pots and trowel back outside.

When she came back into the kitchen, she let out a yell of surprise.

"Get down!"

The dog had somehow jumped up onto the kitchen table and had his little pinkish-brown nose in the herbs. He scooted off the table at her yelling, jumping to the floor and running to the corner to cower.

"Okay, dog, you have to go," Bev said. "Because I'm not putting up with this anymore." She walked to the door and opened it. "Out you go."

He tilted his head.

"Out."

He blinked.

"Out, you little—"

"Bev, who in the world are you talking to?" Mayor Hendry walked through the front door of the kitchen, looking her usual perfectly put together self. Her dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on the creature in the corner. "When did you get a dog?"

"He's not mine," Bev said with a huff. "He was skulking around my compost heap earlier. I chased him to a thicket about five minutes from here where I found the remains of my garden."

"The rosemary, too?" Hendry asked, hopefully.

"No, unfortunately," Bev said with a sigh. "But everything else, thankfully. This little guy had been sleeping on it, I guess. Now he's followed me home, and I can't get rid of him." She looked up at the mayor. "You don't want to take him, do you?"

"Oh, heavens no. I'm a cat person." She held up her hands in surrender. "And besides that, we have much to talk about. Namely, the pie contest."

"I'm only a bread-maker," Bev said, walking to the plants on the counter and making sure the stupid dog hadn't destroyed them. "And that's in debate today."

"I'm talking about who overturned the table," Hendry said. "I don't think it was an accident."

Bev stopped. "And? Why are you telling me?"

"Well, you know. You're…well-versed in this sort of thing. Finding the truth."

She straightened. "Didn't you just tell Ida and myself to cool it?"

"I told Ida to cool it. She's on the festival committee. How would it look if she was out accusing our contestants of sabotage?" Hendry raised a brow. "You, on the other hand, are a contestant. A contestant who's been wronged. And it's absolutely understandable that you'd want to find out who might be responsible for wronging you."

"That's not—" Bev turned quickly at the sound of something falling. That damn dog was stretched as far as his little body would go, trying to get his long tongue into the jar of butter on the table. She crossed the kitchen to move it out of his reach and hissed at him. "Why do you think it wasn't an accident?"

"Because it's too… Nobody in that room would accidentally tip over a table of pies, Bev." Hendry put her hands on her hips. "There has to be a reason behind it."

"And what's your theory?" Bev said. "Middleburg?"

She nodded. "Maybe Mayor Twinsly put one of her contestants up to it. Just to show that we aren't capable of hosting a festival."

"Haven't we hosted this festival for the past—"

"It doesn't matter. We're no longer under the old rules," Hendry said. "But if you and Ida are already looking into Stanton Bucko, maybe you can find out where the mayor's staying. I've tried, but she tells me she's returning to Middleburg." Hendry's gaze darkened. "Lying liar of a woman."

"And what, exactly, do you want me to find?" Bev said, keeping a wary eye on the dog as he yet again attempted to reach the butter. "Stanton Bucko said he was going back home."

"Something to prove that the Middleburg delegation is trying to ruin the festival."

Bev sighed. "And when am I supposed to do that? I've got an inn to run, bread to bake for the competition you want me to be in—"

"You'll figure it out. I believe in you." Hendry turned to walk toward the door. "And a word of advice? Ditch the dog. Nobody wants to eat out of a kitchen where a dog's been licking the food."

"Are you—" Bev spun around. That darn dog was nose-deep in her butter jar. "Get out! Scat!"

The dog yelped and ran away toward another corner, licking its jaw and nose aggressively. Bev looked inside her butter jar and found a knife to scoop out a good half-cup of butter to get to a part that hadn't been slobbered on.

"Now I have to go buy more," Bev said, looking at the jar. "Why can't you keep your snout out of stuff it doesn't belong in, huh?"

The dog was too busy sniffing and licking every morsel of butter off the floor to listen.

She sighed, putting her hands on the table. She should probably hang the rest of her plants to dry, but she was tired, the hour was late, and all she wanted was to go to sleep. So she gathered the herbs and put them high on a shelf, knowing that even if this stupid dog somehow managed to sneak his way inside, he wouldn't be able to climb all the way up there. Then she turned to the creature, who was still searching the cracks in the floor for any last remaining butter.

She knelt in front of him and held out her hand. He happily ran over, searching her for more good things to eat, and when she had none, he went back to sniffing the floor.

"You certainly are food-motivated," Bev said, patting him on the butt. "But unfortunately, Hendry is right. Can't have a dog in my kitchen. It's unsanitary."

She once more took him around the midsection and carried him out toward the yard. This time, however, she kept walking until she reached the thicket where she'd found his little bed and set him down in front of it.

"I'm sure whoever's life you make miserable is missing you right now," Bev said, scratching his velvety ears.

The dog leaned into her hand, closing his eyes and groaning happily.

"But my life is already complicated enough, and I don't need to be spending my time keeping you out of my various food stores, you hear?" She kept scratching, now holding him up as he relaxed fully into her hand. "You're obviously well-fed, based on your size. You don't need my food. So go on home."

She stopped scratching him and stood. The dog stared at her, tilting his head to one side as he did, and Bev stared back.

"Well. Goodbye."

She turned to walk toward the inn, but the sound of four feet following stopped her after three steps. The dog stared up at her with that expectant, determined little look he had, and she tilted her head back.

"What do you want from me?" Bev asked. "You can't stay in my kitchen. I'd be out of everything by morning."

He stared at her.

"I don't have anywhere else for you to stay. It's not as if I'm going to let you sleep in my room."

The dog wagged his tail.