Last Words at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  There was a dog in the beer garden.

  Sam Chapman frowned and paused in the back door of the Star and Sixpence, watching as the animal cocked its black-and-white head to gaze at her, as though hoping she might be carrying a sausage or two. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is all baby,’ she said, patting the rounded bump beneath her jumper. ‘Where’s your owner?’

  Taking a few steps to the left, she glanced over the low wooden fence towards the village green, squinting in the May sunlight and expecting to see an early-morning dog walker peering frantically around, but there was no sign of anyone. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar, either, and when Sam looked more closely, she could see its body was thin and the fur matted.

  ‘I think you’re a stray,’ she murmured. The dog whined and wagged its tail but stayed seated on the dew-covered grass by the wooden tables, keeping its distance. Sam bit her lip, wondering what to do. There must be someone she could call – the local council or maybe even an animal shelter – who would be able to find out quickly and easily if the dog had been reported lost. A month earlier, Sam would have known exactly who to ask: Franny Fitzsimmons, who had run the Little Monkham post office and knew everything about everyone. But Franny had passed away suddenly on Easter Sunday, leaving a hole in the hearts and minds of those who’d known her that was proving impossible to fill.

  Sam sighed and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. It was seven-thirty, too early to call for professional help, so she rang the pub’s chef, Gabe.

  ‘Sam?’ he said, answering on the second ring. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she assured him, momentarily touched by the concern in his voice. ‘I’m downstairs in the beer garden. I don’t suppose you’ve got any spare sausages in the fridge, have you?’

  Gabe let out an incredulous laugh. ‘We just had breakfast, Sam. Surely you can’t be hungry again already?’

  ‘They’re not for me,’ she said. ‘We’ve got an unexpected guest. Bring the sausages here and you’ll see what I mean.’

  He arrived a few minutes later, his dark hair damp from the shower and his stubble still glistening, with a plate of cold chipolatas from the restaurant kitchen balanced in one hand. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said in a low voice as the dog sniffed the air and pushed itself onto all fours. ‘Now it makes sense.’

  ‘I don’t know who to contact, but I don’t suppose anywhere is open yet,’ Sam said, her own voice soft. ‘So I thought if we could tempt him into the bar, we could keep him safe until we can find someone to help.’

  The dog took several steps forward, its brown eyes fixed on the plate in Gabe’s hand. It let out another whine. Gabe broke a chipolata in half and tossed it onto the grass. In a flash, it was gone. He threw another chunk, which vanished as fast as the first, and then glanced at Sam.

  ‘Go inside and wait behind the bar,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring him in.’

  She opened her mouth to argue, but the set look in Gabe’s eyes made her close it again. And she supposed he was right to be cautious; the dog seemed friendly and docile, but they had no idea of its actual temperament or what diseases it might be carrying. She couldn’t take any chances, not when she was nearly seven months pregnant.

  She watched from the safety of the bar a few moments later as Gabe encouraged the dog to settle by the grey, unlit fireplace. Its tail thumped the carpet with each piece of sausage; Gabe reached out to scratch behind the scruffy ears and Sam felt her heart melt as the wagging tail sped up to a frenzy. This wasn’t a feral dog – it was used to being stroked and loved. This was – or had been – someone’s pet.

  ‘You’re a hungry boy,’ she heard Gabe say as he knelt down to caress the animal’s head. ‘Wait here and I’ll see what else I can find for you.’

  The dog seemed to understand because it lay down flat and placed its head on its paws.

  Sam moved from behind the bar. ‘I don’t think we need to worry about him turning into Cujo,’ she said. ‘He’s a total softie.’

  Gabe stood up. ‘I’m sure you’re right. He’s very thin, though. I think he’s been missing for some time.’

  Sam eyed the dog’s bony haunches. ‘Maybe we should hold off giving him too much rich food. It might be a while since he’s eaten.’

  ‘I could boil a chicken breast with some rice?’ Gabe suggested, rubbing his chin. ‘That’s pretty bland.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll give him some water and see if Nessie knows who we should call.’

  The dog’s eyes followed Gabe as he crossed the room and it let out a soft whine when he disappeared through the kitchen door.

  Sam gave the animal a commiserating look. ‘I know the feeling.’

  She called Nessie’s number. Her sister answered almost as fast as Gabe had. ‘Hi, Sam. Everything okay?’

  Sam allowed herself a smile. ‘Yes, everything is fine. I just need to pick your brains – or maybe Owen’s . . .’

  A minute or so later, Sam had the number of the local vet and a dog shelter based around fifteen miles away. ‘But I’ll be coming over shortly,’ Nessie said once she’d relayed the information. ‘If we ever find Luke’s school shoes, that is.’

  The comment made Sam grin; she could imagine sandy-haired Luke tearing through the rooms of Snowdrop Cottage in search of the missing footwear. Equally, she could picture his father, Owen, exhorting him to slow down and remember where he left them. And she’d be willing to bet it was Nessie who found the shoes first.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said into the phone, her tone wry. ‘See you soon, hopefully.’

  Moving with exaggerated care, she filled a bowl with water and eased out from behind the bar, trying not to startle the dog. It watched her actions with interest, muzzle resting on its salt-and-pepper paws, but seemed otherwise relaxed.

  Sam placed the bowl of water on the floor and stepped back. ‘Almost our finest brew,’ she said. ‘Cheers.’

  The dog got to its feet and began to slurp noisily from the bowl.

  Sam watched in sympathy. ‘Thirsty as well as hungry. You’ve had a tough time, boy.’

  Reaching for her phone once more, she left a message at the vet’s practice; Owen had suggested trying there first, in case someone in the surrounding villages had reported their pet missing. Failing that, they’d also be able to check for a microchip, which might result in a happy reunion and had the added bonus of giving the dog a quick medical once-over. The dog shelter was a last resort, Sam decided, to be contacted in the event that the owner couldn’t be found.

  The dog lay down once more and seemed content to watch Sam potter around the bar, undertaking the various tasks that needed to be done before opening time. Nessie’s arrival caused a flicker of interest; it raised its head as she pushed open the door and took a few measure steps towards the fireplace.

  ‘Oh, he’s a Border collie,’ she said and held out one hand for the dog to sniff. ‘Hello, I’m Nessie. Welcome to the Star and Sixpence.’

  The animal eyed her for a moment, then the reappearance of Gabe caused it to turn away. The scent of warm chicken filled the air.

  ‘Just a small portion for now,’ he said, placing the plate on the floor beside the water. ‘We don’t want to overload you.’

  ‘No collar?’ Nessie asked, once the dog had started to wolf down the rice and chicken.

  ‘No sign of one,’ Sam replied with a sigh. ‘It might have fallen off or got caught on something, if he’s been missing for a while.’

  Nessie frowned. ‘He can’t belong to anyone in Little Monkham – we’d know.’

  ‘We’d certainly know if he’d been lost,’ Sam said. ‘So I’m thinking one of the other villages. Hopefu
lly the vet will be able to help, once they open. I’ve left a message.’

  ‘I wonder what his name is,’ Nessie said. ‘Something bouncy and fun, I think. Although I suppose there’s always a chance he’s a working dog, from one of the farms.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sam replied. ‘We won’t know until the vet gets in touch.’

  Gabe smiled as the dog gave the now spotless plate one final lick and then ambled underneath the table in front of the fireplace, sinking to the carpet with a huff of apparent contentment. ‘Another satisfied customer.’

  ‘He seems happy enough under there,’ Nessie observed. ‘Why don’t we let him sleep? Gives me a good excuse to leave the hoovering until later.’

  *

  It was another hour before Sam’s phone rang. She recognised the number on the screen as belonging to the vet and reached across the kitchen table to snatch up the handset eagerly. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Emily Bell here,’ a female voice said, with a cheerful Australian twang. ‘I got a message to give you a call – I hear you’ve found a stray dog.’

  Sam relayed what little she knew.

  ‘I can stop by after the morning surgery,’ Emily offered. ‘Around one o’clock?’

  ‘Nothing sooner?’ Sam asked, wondering where she might put the dog once it was time for the Star and Sixpence to open its doors.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ the vet said. ‘There’s just me and the practice nurse here this morning and we’ve got a full appointment book. Sorry.’

  Sam was just about to reluctantly accept the visit when she heard a volley of excited barks from the bar below. She reeled off the pub’s address and told Emily she’d see her after lunch, then heaved herself to her feet and made her way downstairs to investigate. She found her brother, Laurie, with his back pinned to the main pub door, his face white with fear. The dog stood growling, hackles raised as it stared at Laurie with an unwavering gaze.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Laurie said, his voice tight.

  Sam edged forwards. ‘I found him in the garden this morning. He’s been really friendly, up until now.’

  Laurie’s eyes flashed. ‘Yeah, looks friendly. Call it off.’

  Sam puffed out a breath. She and Nessie never had a dog as kids, or any kind of pet; their mother had always insisted it was enough work looking after the two of them, let alone throwing an animal into the mix. But even though the stray was growling and fierce, she wasn’t afraid. Perplexed at the sudden shift in attitude, but not alarmed – not the way Laurie was. Then again, she wasn’t the one being growled at.

  ‘Here, boy,’ she called, taking a few more steps and holding out a hand. ‘Come on, that’s enough now.’

  The dog’s head swivelled briefly her way, as though checking it had heard correctly, then resumed its narrow-eyed surveillance of Laurie.

  ‘Here,’ Sam repeated, a little more forcefully. ‘Now.’

  This time, the dog whined but did as she commanded. Ears flattened to its black- and-white head, it slunk to her side and sat down, although Sam noticed it kept a suspicious gaze trained on Laurie.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You must have scared him.’

  Some of the colour had returned to Laurie’s cheeks, but he looked far from happy. ‘Seriously – I scared him? I thought he was going to take a chunk out of me.’

  She glanced down at the dog, docile but wary. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to leave him in the bar once the pub opened. ‘I’ll take him upstairs,’ she said, making up her mind. ‘Are you okay to open up?’

  Laurie cast a mistrustful look in the stray’s direction. ‘Yes. As long as you keep the Hound of the Baskervilles away from me.’

  Sam couldn’t help smiling. ‘The vet is coming after lunch. Hopefully, she’ll be able to identify the owner and they can collect him.’

  Her brother grunted but didn’t move. It wasn’t until Sam reached the foot of the stairs, the dog at her heels, that she heard Laurie start to cross the room.

  ‘You’ll probably have to fumigate,’ he called, as she made her way to the first floor. ‘I bet it’s got fleas and god knows what else.’

  Recalling the bony body beneath the matted fur, Sam swallowed a sigh; Laurie was almost certainly right. She glanced at the dog and made a decision. ‘How would you feel about a bath?’ she asked brightly.

  *

  ‘Physically, he’s not in bad shape.’ Emily Bell finished her examination and stepped back to lean against the kitchen counter. ‘Thin, obviously, and his muscle mass is a bit less than I’d expect for a dog his age. But considering he’s probably been lost for at least a week, he doesn’t look too bad. Especially after his bath.’

  Sam managed a rueful smile, recalling how wet both she and the bathroom had been afterwards. ‘He seemed to like it.’

  Emily pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure his fleas did, but it takes more than soap and warm water to get rid of them.’ She paused, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handheld scanner. ‘And now to find out who owns him.’

  Sam watched as the vet passed the device across the dog’s haunches and frowned. ‘Something wrong?’ she asked.

  Emily tried again. ‘That’s weird. There’s no chip.’

  Now it was Sam’s turn to frown. She didn’t know much about owning a dog, but she did know that microchips were a legal requirement. ‘But I thought all dogs were supposed to have them.’

  ‘They are,’ Emily said. ‘But there’s no Microchip Police, unfortunately. Technically, no one is responsible for enforcing the law – vets will insist on their patients having a microchip, but there’s not much we can do if a client doesn’t bring their animal to see us.’

  Sam stared at the dog, who was sniffing Emily’s trousers with interest. ‘So now what?’

  The vet sighed. ‘I checked the database of missing pets to see if any dogs matching his description have been reported as lost, but I didn’t get anything. The local shelter might have something – we should contact them next.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘Then they’ll take him in and start the process of rehoming him.’ Emily gave Sam a speculative look. ‘They’ll probably ask whether you’re interested in having him, subject to satisfactory checks.’

  Sam thought back to Laurie’s terrified expression and shook her head regretfully. ‘I don’t think we can.’

  Emily nodded. ‘Don’t worry. There’s still a chance we’ll find his rightful owner.’

  ‘And everything can end happily ever after,’ Sam said, dropping one hand to ruffle the dog’s ears. ‘Hang in there, boy.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘Oh no.’

  Nessie stared down at the sheet of paper on the desk and felt a chilly sense of foreboding creep over her, in spite of the hot June sunshine that threatened to turn the small office into a sauna by lunchtime. How had she made such a stupid mistake?

  Both Sam and Laurie looked up, but it was Sam who spoke first. ‘Problem?’

  ‘I think so,’ Nessie said, flicking through the pages of her diary. ‘Connor gave me his holiday dates a few weeks ago and I signed them off. Except that I must have looked at the diary for July, not June. And now we don’t have a cellarman for Midsummer Merriment.’

  Laurie shrugged. ‘That’s hardly a problem. I’ll do it.’

  An awkward silence filled the air, during which Nessie didn’t dare look at Sam. Laurie was keen and desperate to get more involved with the day-to-day running of the Star and Sixpence, but there was still a lot he didn’t know. And there was no way he could manage the cellar during what promised to be one of the busiest weekends of the year so far, especially not with the additional demands being made by the guest cidermakers taking part in the festival.

  ‘We’d be happy for you to help out,’ Sam said, her tone carefully encouraging. ‘But managing the cellar while Connor is away will be a big responsibility, especially with the extra demands of the cider festival. I’m not sure you’re ready for it.’

  Nessie’s heart
sank when she saw the bullish look that crossed Laurie’s face. ‘I don’t suppose we could ask Joss, could we?’ she asked Sam quickly. ‘He did say he’d like to get more involved.’

  Her sister sighed as one hand curled protectively around her bump. ‘I think he meant with the baby, but he did mention the pub too, so I suppose he is the logical choice.’

  Laurie stood up, pushing his chair back so fast that it screeched against the polished floorboards. ‘I’m the logical choice. I’ve watched Connor run the cellar for months now – I know everything he does. Why drag in a stranger when I can do the job with my eyes closed?’

  He looked furious, Nessie thought, an emotion they seemed to see more and more frequently these days. ‘Laurie—’ she began, but Sam interrupted.

  ‘Joss isn’t a stranger – he knows our cellars better than anyone,’ she said, her tone sharp. ‘It’s thanks to him that the Thirsty Bishop is an award-winner.’

  ‘So it’s got nothing to do with you wanting to play happy families?’ Laurie countered. ‘Nothing to do with you wanting to keep the father of your baby dangling while you flirt with Gabe?’

  Sam’s expression darkened. ‘Can I remind you, yet again, that my relationship with Joss or Gabe is none of your business?’ She glared at him, green eyes flashing with undisguised irritation. ‘This is exactly why we won’t give you more responsibility, Laurie – you throw a tantrum when you don’t get your own way.’

  Nessie wanted to groan out loud. Laurie’s behaviour was toddler-like, but she could understand his frustration too; it was almost ten months since he’d revealed himself as the brother they hadn’t known they had and he’d been working hard to prove himself for most of that time. And here they were basically saying they didn’t trust him.

  ‘Sam is right,’ she said, summoning up what she hoped was the same sympathetic-but-firm look she used on Luke. ‘But perhaps we could ask Joss to mentor you while he’s here – get him to share his knowledge and assess whether he thinks you’re ready to step into Connor’s shoes next time?’

  Laurie let out a snort of derision. ‘Oh, please. Spare me the patronising bullshit – it’s obvious you’re both determined to treat me like a staff member instead of your brother.’