Buried to the Brim

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Chin strap,” I said. She glanced at me. “Sorry, just thinking out loud.”

  “I don’t make hats with chin straps,” Viv said. She looked insulted at the thought.

  “Sure you do,” Fee said. “Remember the darling lace-trimmed bonnets for the youngest flower girls in the royal . . .”

  Fee’s voice trailed off under the power of Viv’s glare.

  I figured I’d better mediate the situation before Viv hurt Aunt Betty’s feelings and we ended up in an incident. I swear, my job was mostly to mitigate “incidents,” which was ironic because it was an incident of my own that landed me here. Thankfully, I wasn’t worried about Freddy’s feelings, figuring he had enough self-esteem to manage a rejection from Viv.

  “Come and sit down,” I said to Harry and Aunt Betty. “Maybe if we hear more about what you need, we can help you.”

  Viv shot me a dark look, which I ignored. I led both Harry and Aunt Betty over to the dark blue easy chairs we had grouped around a glass coffee table on the far side of the shop. This was where Viv did her consultations with clients, over tea and scones, going through our catalog to see what they required for an upcoming event, be it a wedding, funeral, graduation, garden party, you name it.

  Freddy trotted after his mama, sitting right at Aunt Betty’s feet when she sat on the love seat. Harry sat beside her while Viv and I took the remaining chairs.

  “I’m just going to get back to my fascinators, yeah?” Fee said. She gestured toward the workroom at the back of the shop. “I’ve got a hen party coming in later to pick them up and it won’t do not to have them finished.”

  “Are these the ones with the . . . uh . . .” My voice trailed off. A hen party in Britain was the equivalent of a bachelorette party on the night before a wedding in the States.

  “Yes, they’re the ones,” Fee said. “Pink satin top hats with a wide black satin band around the crown, finished by a sparkly pink, er, embellishment on the side.”

  I laughed. I knew exactly what the embellishment looked like. “Classy.”

  Viv looked pained. “I know the bride is your cousin, Fee,” she said. “But promise me we’ll never have to make anything that tacky again.”

  “I promise,” Fee said. Then she winked at me. “At least until Scarlett gets married.”

  A thrill rippled through me and I glanced at Harry and caught him smiling at me, which caused another ripple. A bride. I was going to be a bride. More specifically, I was going to be his bride. I couldn’t wait. It was only half a year away now. Mrs. Harrison Wentworth. It never got old.

  Fee left and I glanced at Viv to see if she wanted to start the conversation with Aunt Betty. She was too busy staring at Freddy. For his part, he seemed unaware of her scrutiny and emitted a big yawn and slowly slid to the floor. Harrison reached down and loosened the dog’s raincoat and took off his hat and boots. Freddy flopped over on his side and began to snooze.

  “So, why hats?” I asked. “Are they required at the dog show?”

  “Goodness, no,” Aunt Betty said. “But Harry and I got to talking about you, dear”—she paused to smile at me—“and your hat shop and the idea just hit me that maybe what Freddy needed was a dashing chapeau to garner some added notice from the judges. It’s his fourth year competing and I just can’t stand that he’s been runner-up three years in a row.”

  “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I can see where that would grate,” Viv said.

  “The PAWS competition is unique,” Harry explained. “The Pet Animal Welfare Society hosts the charity event every year. It’s open to all dogs and the purpose is to raise money for shelters all over the country. It has three categories: appearance, agility and obedience.”

  “There’s no conformation category,” Aunt Betty said. “So, truly, any dog can enter.”

  “What’s conformation?” Viv asked.

  “It’s an evaluation to determine how closely a dog conforms to the specific features of his breed,” I said. Aunt Betty gave me a surprised look, and I explained, “I never miss watching Westminster.”

  “In the PAWS competition, they score the dog’s overall appearance on how it carries itself, the quality of its teeth and coat, that sort of thing. The dog with the highest combined score in all three categories—appearance, obedience and agility—is declared best in show.”

  “So the PAWS dog show is more like a beauty pageant?” Viv asked.

  “Precisely,” Aunt Betty said. She gazed adoringly at Freddy. “He’s a natural, don’t you think?”

  Viv said nothing but I nodded to make up for her lack of enthusiasm.

  “I like it,” I said. “It’s nice that dogs that aren’t purebred still have a shot if they can outscore the others. But won’t wearing a hat impede Freddy’s abilities somewhat?”

  I pictured Freddy in a top hat, leaping over rails and racing through tunnels. I didn’t think it would go well.

  “Naturally, I wouldn’t have him wear it for the agility tests,” Aunt Betty said. “Just for the initial presentation, so he can make a statement. It’s time somebody knocked that pompous blowhard Richard Freestone and his English bulldog, Muffin, off the pedestal once and for all. The man has won PAWS three years running. Enough.”

  “And you think a hat from my shop will do the trick?” Viv asked. It was clear from her tone that she had her doubts.

  “It will definitely give Freddy’s profile a boost,” Aunt Betty said. “Freestone has almost one million followers for Muffin and they endorse everything from leashes to biscuits. It’s galling.”

  Aunt Betty was petite and fine boned. I could tell she had been a beauty in her youth, as she was still quite lovely. Her hair was white and her eyes were a rich brown, she had an oval face that was faintly lined. My guess was that she was the same age as Harry’s parents, who were in their late fifties.

  “He does seem to wear a hat well,” I said. I gestured to the rain hat Harry had removed.

  “He’s very agreeable,” Aunt Betty said. “I’m sure he’d take to wearing a hat for the show. He’s quite smart.”

  “I can see that,” I said. Harry gave me a doubtful look. “It’s in his eyes.”

  “He also recently sired a litter of puppies,” Aunt Betty said.

  “Puppies!” I cried. I turned to Viv. “Just what the shop needs—a mascot. We should totally get one.”

  “No,” Viv said. Realizing she must sound harsh, she added in a softer voice, “Puppies eat hats, Scarlett.”

  “They prefer shoes,” Aunt Betty said.

  “Not helping,” I muttered. I glanced at Harry. “Does your building allow dogs?”

  “Uh . . .” Harrison glanced from me to Freddy and back. “I’ve never asked.”

  “You should,” I said. “Then we could get one of Freddy’s puppies and it would be like training for when we have babies.”

  It took everything I had to keep a straight face as Harry’s face went pale and he started to sweat. I knew I shouldn’t tease him but, oh, he made it so easy.

  “Or maybe we should get two or three puppies,” I said. “You know I really am hoping we have twins or perhaps triplets right after we marry. Wouldn’t puppies be fabulous training?”

  Somehow I managed to stay serious. It was Viv who blew it. She snorted. Harry looked at her and then at me.

  “You’re winding me up, aren’t you, Ginger?” he asked. He shook his head but a small smile played on his lips. “Just wait until you come home and there is a puppy.”

  “Promise?” I laughed.

  “No, no puppies,” Viv said. “Not here at Mim’s Whims. When you move in with Harrison, you can have one.”

  I glanced at Harry. We had agreed not to move in together until after we were married. Partly it was because I didn’t want to leave Viv to live alone above the hat shop but also because I wanted to save the whole cohabitating thi
ng until after we were man and wife. I figured after he saw the state I habitually left a bathroom in, he would be less able to ditch me once we were legally bound. But a puppy was a new factor in the equation.

  “Maybe I should move in sooner than we planned,” I said.

  “When did you say those puppies were available, Aunt Betty?” he asked. He’d been pushing to live together ever since we got engaged.

  “Oh, his litter is already spoken for,” she said. “I get my pick of the pups as part of the stud fee but the rest are already bought and paid for.”

  “Oh.” I was surprised at how disappointed I felt. I really do love dogs.

  “Don’t worry, pet,” Aunt Betty said. She patted my hand. “Freddy still has his meat and two veg. He’ll sire another litter.”

  I blinked. Meat and two veg? I glanced at Harry. Even after three years, there were still some British euphemisms that escaped me. He gave me a pointed look.

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh.” Aunt Betty had been referring to Freddy’s man parts. A meat and two veg. I tried not to laugh. I failed.

  Freddy rolled over so he was belly up. It was clear that he required a tummy rub and I was happy to oblige.

  “Look at how sweet he is, Viv,” I said. “I think you could definitely make him a hat that would give him some added pizzazz.” I turned to Betty. “When would you need the hat?”

  “The competition begins in three weeks,” she said.

  Viv frowned. She studied Freddy, whose tongue was lolling out while he stared at her with his big brown eyes. She was going to crack. I knew it. In five, four, three . . .

  “All right, all right,” she said. “I’ll do it but just this one time.”

  “Yay!” I clapped. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll influence a whole new market, and hats for dogs will start trending.”

  If looks could kill, yeah, I’d be six feet under.

  Chapter 2

  “Has Freddy arrived yet?” Viv asked. “He needs his final fitting.”

  “Not yet,” I said. I was perusing the Evening Standard I’d grabbed at Notting Hill Gate the night before. There was a charming article about the royal tots, which I devoured, as I was totally enamored with those kids. Apple cheeked and clear eyed. I just adored them all. Thank goodness Harry and Meghan were making more for us all to love.

  “Please tell me you’re not having baby pangs,” Viv said. She leaned over my shoulder and squinted with distaste at the article. Viv wasn’t really the maternal type.

  I put my hand over where I assumed my uterus was, you know, behind the slight roll of chubby belly that sat between my hips.

  “Nope, not even a spasm,” I said. “However, I am having some puppy pangs, which are just like baby pangs but for puppies.”

  I batted my big baby blues at her.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  Darn. Well, it was worth a try.

  Woof!

  Viv and I both turned to the door. Freddy pranced in, no raincoat today, as if he owned the joint.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a dog?” I asked. “He’d really add a whole new layer to our advertising. We could feature him on all of our promotions.”

  “Scarlett, we sell hats,” Viv said. “There is no correlation between dog owners and hats. If you can find me statistics that prove dog owners buy five times the number of hats as non–dog owners then I could see where you’re going with this, but if you’re just wanting to get a pet, we can acquire a fish.”

  “A fish?” I asked. I knelt down to scratch Freddy’s ears. He leaned against me as if he’d been waiting for a good scratch all day. Handsome boy. “You can’t cuddle a fish.”

  “Precisely.”

  I rolled my eyes and then turned to the door. Harry was holding it open for Aunt Betty. They seemed to be having an intense discussion.

  “You didn’t say that to him, did you?” Harry asked.

  Aunt Betty jutted out her chin in a stubborn pose. “No, but somebody should.”

  “Aunt B, going after the sponsor of the dog show is not going to help Freddy win the competition,” Harry said.

  “This is bigger than the dog show,” she said. “I think that dog food was making Freddy sick. I don’t care if Gerry Swendson is the biggest sponsor of the show. His dog food is bad.”

  Harry glanced up and met my gaze and shrugged as if he had no idea what to say. I turned to Aunt Betty. “What’s this about bad dog food?”

  “The winner and the three runners-up for the PAWS dog show get a year’s supply of food from Swendson’s Dog Food, the company that sponsors the show,” she said. “Freddy was a finalist last year, so he won some dog food, but it made him sick and I threw it all out.”

  “Are you sure it was the food?” I asked. “He didn’t get into the garbage or some strange plant at the park?”

  “No, I’m quite sure it was the food,” she said. “And I think someone needs to talk to Swendson about it to warn him that his quality control is no good.”

  “I can try and look into it for you,” Harrison said. “My company investigates all sorts of investment opportunities. I can see what the word is about the quality of Swendson’s Dog Food.”

  “Oh, would you?” she asked. “It would relieve my mind, knowing someone was doing something. I mentioned it to several people last year but everyone made excuses just because Swendson is a sponsor. Our dogs need better care than that.”

  “Agreed,” Harry said. “Don’t think on it anymore.”

  Aunt Betty turned to Viv. “How did the hat turn out? Did you decide on the bowler? I am just dying to see it.”

  Freddy abandoned me and approached Viv with a sniff and a small wag. She stared at him, clearly immune to his charm. He sat at her feet and looked up at her.

  “That’s better,” she said. “I’ll go get the hats.”

  “Hats?” I asked. “As in plural?”

  She gave me a look. “What? I couldn’t decide what he’d look better in—a trilby, a bowler, or a fedora.”

  “So you made all three?”

  She waved her hand. “Don’t make it into a thing. He has a very small head. It wasn’t that much work.”

  I waited until she walked out of the room before I looked at Harry. I made a face that I hoped indicated my surprise and he mirrored it, breaking into a grin that I returned. We both loved Viv but there was no question that she was a strange bird. Three hats for a dog? She could deny it all she wanted but she liked Freddy and she liked making the dog hats.

  “I hope she hasn’t gone to too much trouble,” Aunt Betty said. “I certainly didn’t want her to tax herself on Freddy’s account.”

  “Don’t you worry,” I said. “Once Viv gets an idea, well, it’s best to just let her run with it. Lucky Freddy. He’ll be the most dashing dog at the show.”

  Aunt Betty smiled but I could see it was forced and she appeared to be fretting.

  “Are you worried about the competition?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. She shook her head and her white hair sparkled in the store’s bright lights. “Best in show is Freddy’s for the taking, but I am concerned about Swendson’s food.”

  I nodded. My former job in hospitality, otherwise known as a people pleaser, usually helped me find the sunny-side-up or the glass-half-full angle to any situation. I racked my brain, trying to find the silver lining here. It was tricky.

  “Harry will figure it out,” I said. “He’s the best, and I’m not just saying that because I’m going to marry him.”

  “You’re right, dear,” she said. She glanced between us. “You two are going to make beautiful babies.”

  I felt my face get hot. Babies? We hadn’t even trained with a puppy yet! When I glanced past her at Harry, he was smiling at me in that way he did when he thought I was adorable in my embarrassment. This was one of the many reasons
why I was marrying this man. In a world that frequently considered me odd, my man got me.

  Viv, with an armful of hats, came back into the room. Being the mad hatter that she was, Viv hadn’t just made hats for Freddy but had pushed on and made matching hats for Aunt Betty as well. To quote my British friends, they were smashing!

  I sat beside Harry while Aunt Betty and Freddy did an impromptu fashion show for us. Despite his appearance of being a love lush, wanting never-ending tummy rubs, when Aunt Betty put him through his paces, Freddy was on task. He followed all of her commands instantly and when he pranced through the shop wearing his bowler jauntily perched over one eye, well, I didn’t see how he couldn’t win the dog show.

  Aunt Betty clapped her hands and looked overcome. “These are simply brilliant. Thank you, my dear, thank you so much. We have the cocktail party tomorrow night and I can’t wait to put our competition on notice.”

  She impulsively hugged Viv, who is not a hugger by nature, and to my surprise Viv hugged her back. She even reached down and patted Freddy’s hat.

  “Yes, I think these will do,” she said. “My work here is done.”

  With that, Viv left us in the front of the shop while she disappeared into the workroom to go shape, stitch and embellish some other client’s dream.

  Harry rose from the couch, and I joined him. I gathered the hats for Freddy and Aunt Betty and boxed them in nests of tissue paper in our trademark blue-and-white-striped hatboxes with the name Mim’s Whims scrawled across the lid with a silk braid cord for a handle. Harry was going to look adorable carrying these for his aunt.

  “See you at the pitch later?” he asked.

  “Pitch?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Rugby pitch,” he clarified. “It’s the Thirsty Lions’ first match of the season. Remember?”

  I hadn’t but I didn’t admit it.

  “Oh, right! Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” I said. This was the truth. I knew nothing about rugby except that Harry had been playing since he was a kid and he became a little crazed while following his favorite team, the Newcastle Falcons. His local club team was sponsored by a pub called the Thirsty Lion, thus the very original team name.