“This started as a business trip,” she reminded me. “So do your business! Odette says it’s high time you do some PR for the company.”
Was this public relations-or public humiliation? Now that I was here, surrounded by gorgeous dogs and serious dog-people, I wasn’t sure how being a Bad Example could be good for my business. Would Liam Davies like Mattimoe Realty better because his wife proved I couldn’t handle my dog?
I expressed my doubts to Jenx.
“Going to the show proves you care about your community,” she said. “And that’s gotta be good for business.”
“How does going to a dog show in Indiana prove I care about Magnet Springs?”
“You’re admitting that Abra is a public menace, and you’re asking for help. Speaking of help, have you talked to Jeb? He’s worried about you.”
Just then a call from the man himself beeped in my ear. I told Jenx I’d call her back. She told me not to… unless I got in more trouble.
I greeted Jeb’s incoming call by quoting Jenx: “I’ve had a pretty shitty day.”
“So I hear. MacArthur told me you saw a man die.”
“When did you talk to MacArthur?”
“I asked him to phone me if anything bad happens to you. He’s called twice already. You haven’t called at all.”
Jeb’s voice had that whispery edge I always found sexy.
“Sorry,” I said. “Catching a dead body when it falls is distracting. How are you?”
“Fine, but lonely. Chester’s cooking up a storm.”
“I couldn’t eat a bite. Did you really tell MacArthur to let you know if something bad happened to me?”
“Yup, and I expect more calls.” Jeb hesitated. “You know I’d come if you asked. Any chance you’re asking?”
Part of me wanted to, but instead I said, “I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, you are. Keep your head down, babe.”
“I’m not sure that’ll help. Still, I feel good knowing you’re on my team.”
“You got MacArthur, Jenx, and Chester on your team, too. But I’m the one who knows how to make you feel way better than good.“
He whispered a few more lines designed to get me hot and bothered. I went to sleep dreaming about his smooth hands all over my body.
I forgot to set an alarm, which turned out not to matter since Susan remembered to wake me up. At 6:15.
From the other side of my door, she called, “Good morning, Whiskey! I’m leaving a cup of hot coffee out here to help you get started. The Breeder Breakfast begins at seven. See you then!”
Despite my mother’s teachings, I could not find it in my heart to say thank you. Susan seemed to do almost everything right. As a result, almost everything she did offended me.
The coffee tasted good, much better than last night’s burger. Jeb had probably been right when he said Susan wasn’t to blame for that. Most concession stands produce mediocre fare, at best.
I’d been looking for ways to fault Susan ever since I met her. It’s satisfying to suspect an attractive woman of having hideous flaws. In this case: compulsive lying, marriage-busting, and food-poisoning. Two out of the three were still distinct possibilities.
I didn’t know what to make of her interest in Jeb. Was she just a loyal fan? He seemed to think so, and I wanted to believe him.
What about Mitchell Slater? If he’d left his wife for Susan, she must have given him a reason. According to her, she would have been his “trophy.” Whatever that meant.
Standing in the shower, letting hot liquid jets revive me, I mulled over Susan’s possible reasons for insisting I come to the dog show. Was I really here because of Abra? Or did she need me for another purpose? And if so, what was it? I was hardly the best choice in personal protection even if I did come with a professional cleaner willing to work for free.
I couldn’t buy the notion that she’d invited me and Abra because she wanted to “do good works.” I’d lived long enough to recognize Susan‘s type. Sure, she was a reputable breeder and a frequent volunteer. But I believed that her personal agenda always came first. As soon as I could figure out Susan’s intentions, I would know why Abra and I were here. Then I might be able to guess what would happen next. For now, though, I was completely in the dark.
Chapter Fourteen
Overnight the temperature had dropped sharply, imparting a silvery finish to the still-green grass. I inhaled decidedly autumn smells: morning dew mixed with damp earth and drying leaves.
After the ordeal of the previous evening, I felt surprisingly strong and upbeat. Even my stomach seemed normal. Until I entered the exhibition hall and caught a whiff of the hot breakfast buffet.
Hello, gag reflex. Good-bye, morning calm.
I was desperately scanning the walls for a restroom when a smiling woman with a nametag I couldn’t read and a haircut I coveted waved at me.
“Good morning! I’ll bet you’re here for the breakfast, aren’t you?”
“That was the plan. But first I need to find a bathroom. Fast!”
Helpfully she pointed to what would have been eleven o’clock on the dial, and I galloped off. When I reached the bathroom stall, I realized that I had no cookies left to toss, just a lot of unhappy gastric juices. So I hung out for a while, breathing deeply and eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.
Susan’s name came up a few times. All references were factual comments about either her Breeder Education committee or her scheduled address to the breakfast crowd. In every case, the words chosen implied emotional neutrality, proving only that the speakers were aware anyone could be lurking behind a stall door.
I emerged from my personal “recovery room” just as one woman remarked to another, “Did you get a look at that bitch Susan brought in as Bad Example? Oh my god, what a mess!”
Both women stood at the sink, brushing chin-length silky blonde hair. Our three pairs of eyes met in the mirror, and they stopped talking. But only for a second.
“She looks awful,” the second woman whispered, her voice husky with disapproval. “She has no sense of shame.”
“None at all,” the first woman agreed. “She turns everything into a circus.”
Didn’t they know I could hear them?
Still grooming their tresses, they frowned at my not-quite-blow-dried curls. My hair was so thick and unruly that it broke brushes. So I finger-combed and hoped for the best.
“A little discipline wouldn’t hurt,” the second woman said.
“She just doesn’t care,” sighed the first woman.
Wanna bet? I was all set to defend my dog and myself, not necessarily in that order, when a stall door opened, and out stepped Ramona Bowden, wearing what looked shimmery silver pajamas. The two blondes blanched.
“Hello, girls,” Ramona said. “I couldn’t help but overhear you. Wait until I tell Susan that you’ve been gossiping about her niece.”
“Her niece?” I blurted. “I thought they were talking about me! Or my dog.”
As usual, Ramona failed to acknowledge my existence, but the two blondes stared. Ramona peered down her aquiline nose at them both.
“Lauren. Lindsey. Best of luck to you. I’m quite sure you’ll need it.”
“We weren’t talking about Susan’s niece!” the woman named Lauren insisted, but Ramona had already swept her considerable bulk from the room.
“Then who were you talking about?” I asked.
“Susan’s niece,” the woman named Lindsey admitted.
“Susan Davies recruited her niece as a bad example… of what?” I said.
