Sunflowers and Sabotage

by London Lovett

  "I don't have a problem," Lola insisted as she walked toward the stools. "I have two problems. One is named Dad and one is Mom. Or John and Cynthia as they are known in their social circles." She hopped on the stool next to Les. It seemed my shop stools, ones intended for customers to use while they browsed through catalogs, were moonlighting as therapist couches today.

  "Lo-lo," Ryder said in the sing song tone he always used when he brought out the nickname. He walked over, picked up one of the unused sunflowers and handed it to her. "You don't have to worry about your parents' visit. I, on the other hand, am silently freaking out about it. You just can't see it through my steady as steel veneer."

  I joined the group at the work island, deciding there was far too much going on to ignore. "Why are you freaking out?" I asked. "Why is everyone freaking out? Les, stop procrastinating and eat your vegetables. Lola, stop worrying about your parents' visit. My parents visited a few months back and I survived unscathed." I held out my arms to prove my point but then was suddenly reminded about a rather public and vivid conversation, or, more accurately, argument with my mom about me spending far too much budget on decorative vases and expensive ribbons. It had left me feeling like a chastised little kid, and my mom and I didn't speak for an entire day. Then I came home to a batch of her chocolate chip cookies and I forgave her. (Making the little kid analogy even more accurate.) "Well, mostly unscathed," I added, knowing that both Lola and Ryder and even Elsie had witnessed the decorative vase argument firsthand.

  "Anyhow, I'm sure your mom is nothing compared to mine," I continued.

  A short, derisive laugh shot from Lola's mouth. "You've only met my mom briefly on that time they stopped in Port Danby on their way to South America. She was too jetlagged after their flight from Spain to be her normal self. This trip, she'll have time to peel away the jet lag and show her true self. And, I can tell you that Cynthia Button could give your Peggy Pinkerton a run for her money. In fact, I'll bet everyone here that her first comment will be something about my appearance. She'll turn her lip up at my Stone Temple Pilots' t-shirt. Or, she'll ask, 'was your hair always so curly' or 'was it always so red'? And she'll ask it with all seriousness as if she didn't ever notice that her one and only daughter had curly red hair."

  "Last time my mom visited, she asked me if I'd broken my nose because she had never noticed this little bump on the bridge." I rubbed my nose to point out the flaw, although it probably didn't need highlighting. "So there, I can take your mom's passively judgmental comments and raise you a broken nose. And, no, by the way, it was never broken, and the bump was always there."

  "Maybe it's from all that super sniffing you do," Les said with a laugh. He saw his comment fell flat. "I don't think this conversation is making these vegetables go down any smoother, so I'll be on my way." He hopped off the stool and winked my direction. "You have a cute nose. I'm going to see if your idea works. Maybe Elsie will give me some slack."

  "Good plan," I winked back.

  He hurried out the door with his bowl of mostly uneaten food.

  Ryder picked up the broom to finish where I left off. "All I know is, this is the first time I'm going to meet your parents. I'm worried they won't like me."

  "What's not to like?" I asked. "You are every parent's dream boyfriend."

  "I'm not rich," he said. "I know that's on every parent's list for a dream boyfriend."

  Lola looked at me. "He's right. Rich is number two on the list right under must have important connections in the antique world."

  "Great, I've already lost on one and two," Ryder complained.

  Lola hopped off the stool and walked around to his side. "You forget, I don't care what they think of you. Besides, Lacey is right. What's not to like? You are perfect in every way." She hopped up on her toes and kissed him. "Except the whole rich and antique thing," she added, unhelpfully.

  "All right, I think all of us have had enough of a pity party," I said. "I've got to get the sunflower arrangements out to Chesterton Park for the dog show."

  "I'll come with you to help," Lola said. "I could use a break from the shop. I've been cleaning and dusting and shining all day just to make sure the place sparkles for the visit. Not that it will matter because my mom will still find something to criticize."

  I handed Lola two of the arrangements. "Hey, pity party ended, remember? Here you go. I'm happy to have the help."

  Chapter 3

  Chesterton Park was an impressive expanse of green space that was dotted with lush sycamores and walnut trees for shade. A children's playground, complete with tall twisting slide and a climbing wall, took up one corner of the park, while the rest of the space was covered with sports fields and walking paths. The Chesterton Dog Show occupied most of the free space. Competitors had set up portable kennels and dog runs along the paths. The more serious competitors had arrived in custom coaches, namely small motorhomes that were decorated with the names of the contestants. Some of the competitors had set up elaborate campsites equipped with mini refrigerators, chairs and grooming stations. Vendors were setting up pop-up kiosks and tables to display their products. A trailer set up near the vendors boasted that it was a traveling beauty salon for last minute touch-ups. The words The Foxy Dog Salon were painted on the side in fancy orange lettering. Across the field, a show stage had been set up on the baseball diamond. Several men were testing the sound system.

  Lola and I carried the arrangements across the field to the stage. "I need to find a woman named Terry. She's in charge of decorating the stage. I only met her once. She has short white hair and bright blue glasses."

  Lola leaned side to side to see where she was going past the sunflowers. "These bouquets make it a little hard to scout out a lady with white hair and blue glasses. Maybe we should put them down somewhere first."

  "Good idea. Let's place them on the stage. I think that's where they are going anyhow. Then we can look for Terry."

  With the arrangements tucked away safely on the stage, Lola and I were free to meander along the paths and admire all the beautiful dogs. One Bichon Frise was so fluffy and white like a cloud, he looked as if he had been plucked from the summer sky. His owner was sitting in a chair near the portable pen knitting what appeared to be a tiny sweater. A pair of Silky Terriers yapped away in the next pen. Each was wearing a colorful bow. Their coats were so shiny I could almost see myself .

  Lola laughed. "Maybe I should bring Late Bloomer out here. Do you think they have a stinkiest dog category?"

  "Oh, don't make fun of Bloomer. He's one of the finest dogs I know," I said.

  "I agree. But since I work with him all day and then sleep in the same bed with him at night, I think I have a right to bring up his stinks. And they are numerous and occasionally make your eyes water."

  "Speaking of making my eyes water—" I partially covered my nose to stop the onslaught of fragrances drifting toward us from every direction. My hand wasn't helping. I found myself, or, more accurately, my super sensitive nose, becoming more and more overwhelmed by the strong fragrances in the air. I stopped to stifle a sneeze. "Oh wow, I feel like I just walked into the perfume department in the store." A quick set of sneezes followed.

  "Here you go," the nice woman knitting the dog sweater chirruped from behind. She held out a tissue.

  I walked back to her. "Thank you very much. There are a lot of scents floating around. I'm smelling a lot of lavender."

  The woman nodded. "You've got a good nose."

  Lola snorted. "There's an understatement if I've ever heard one," she muttered under her breath.

  "Most of us use Ellen Joyner's Lavender Pooch shampoo for shows," the woman continued. "It leaves Danny's coat feeling like silk." She leaned down to run her fingertips over her dog's coat. The dog thought he was getting a treat and looked thoroughly disappointed when she pulled her hand away and left no goodie behind.

  "Yes, I've heard about Ellen's shampoo," I said. "Thank you for the tissue."

  Lola looked at me
with scrunched brows. "Why are you familiar with dog shampoo? Or is that crow getting his own special salon time now?"

  "No, although Kingston would probably love to be primped and pampered. Of course, he's not a big fan of baths. James and I were on the beach last night—" I was about to explain my knowledge of dog shampoo but Lola was instantly riveted to our beach picnic.

  "Oh, that's right. How was it? Romantic?" she asked with a flutter of her lashes and a simpering smile.

  "Stop that. James and I enjoy our trips to the beach. And yes, as a matter of fact, it was rather romantic. Except when Bear sprayed us with sand and salt water. But it was nice. I was about to tell you about the dog shampoo but forget it. Let's just look for Terry."

  "Yes?" a voice came out from behind one of the tiny portable trailers. A head of white hair followed. "Did someone call me?" Terry had switched her bright blue glasses for black sunglasses. "Lacey, you're here." She came out from behind the trailer wiping her hands on a work apron. "I was just tossing some trash." Her shoulders deflated some as she looked at my hands clutching nothing but a tissue. "I was expecting you to have the arrangements finished. I need to set up the stage—"

  "Yes, I brought them. In fact, I placed them on the stage before walking through the event to find you. They are very tall. I think you'll be pleased. The paw print ribbon was a great idea, adds a touch of whimsy."

  "Wonderful, I can't wait to see them." She led us back down the pathway. A blue vintage teardrop camper was being towed up to the vacant spot closest to the stage. The side of the trailer was painted with a picture of a cocker spaniel. The name Belvedere was painted in purple beneath it.

  "Oh, there's Avery Hinkle." Terry turned back to me. "Just a moment. I need to tell her where to hook up her electricity." Lola and I waited while Terry went up to the window of the truck pulling the camper. It was hard to see clearly through the tinted windshield, but it was easy to spot the silhouette of a dog sitting regally in the passenger seat. The backseat was filled with items that were probably for the show. A tall man was scrunched in beside the pile of things.

  "Boy, it seems this dog show stuff goes to their heads a bit. That dog is sitting as if he's used to being chauffeured around like a prince, while the humans sit in the back surrounded by his doggie fineries and toiletries," Lola said quietly, considering we were surrounded by pampered pups and their owners.

  I leaned closer to her. "Well, with a name like Belvedere."

  Terry returned quickly. "All right then, we can continue. I couldn't very well let Avery Hinkle search around for the electrical hookups," she said as if we should know this famous Avery Hinkle.

  Lola was never one to just let things pass. "Is she some sort of big shot in the dog world?"

  I elbowed Lola lightly but knew my admonishment was only going to egg her on.

  Terry looked slightly taken aback and utterly shocked that we had no idea who Avery Hinkle was. "Avery is, for lack of a better phrase," she said with a grin, "top dog around here. Her cocker spaniel, Belvedere, wins every show."

  "Sort of takes away from the fun, doesn't it? I mean why does anybody show up if they're just going to hand the ribbon to Belvedere?" Lola was feeling ornery. She was apparently practicing for her mother's arrival.

  Terry sputtered over her answer and looked both annoyed and yet slightly intrigued about Lola's questions. "Well, I suppose there is always a chance that a finer dog is entered and steals the show . . . so to speak. My, my, I'm certainly talking in puns today."

  We reached the stage and the sunflower arrangements. I was just as happy not to continue our silly conversation.

  "I love them," Terry cheered. "You're right, the ribbon is perfect. I know just where to place them."

  "Wonderful. I'm glad you're happy with them." I pulled her receipt out of my pocket. "You paid in advance so there's nothing left to do except say 'have a terrific and successful show'."

  "Thank you so much, and I'll be sure to pass on the good word about Pink's Flowers," she added.

  "That would be greatly appreciated."

  Lola and I headed across the field. "Good thing she had already paid in advance with your snide remarks about the dog show," I said as we headed toward the walking path.

  "It wasn't snide," she countered. "It seemed like a logical question." We passed the famous duo of Avery and Belvedere as she said it. Avery, a curvy woman in slightly undersized clothes, was pulling a royal blue banner out of a thick plastic bag that was dotted with paw prints, just like the ribbons on the sunflower arrangements. A tall, broad shouldered man, the backseat occupant, left his task of setting up a dog pen to help Avery unfurl her banner. It read Belvedere, 2018 Chesterton Grand Show Champion. Many of the other competitors were watching the whole scene, some with awe and some with envy, it seemed.

  Lola and I headed along the pathway.

  "I wonder if she just changes the year each time or if she buys a whole new banner," Lola said. "I still say it must be a pretty dull contest if everyone already knows the winner."

  "I see your point. But then, like Terry said, you never know when a new champion is just waiting to upset the status quo."

  Chapter 4

  Lola and I had planned to leave the park and stop for a bite to eat somewhere on the way back to our shops, but one of the food vendors was selling yummy looking taco salads so we ordered two, with the works, including a nice dollop of guacamole, and hung out for awhile.

  I had to use my self-learned skills of blocking out the extraneous fragrances so I could enjoy the marvelous salad. I had such a terrible time ignoring outside smells when I was a kid that I could hardly ever finish a meal. I was so thin my classmates called me a stick figure. Slowly, and with considerable concentration and effort, I learned how to turn off my hyper sense of smell so I could enjoy food.

  Most of the picnic benches were filled with people working to set up the show, and visitors already swarming the park to get a look at the competitors. Lola and I found a spot under a tree near the mobile dog salon trailer. Coincidentally enough, Ellen Joyner, the woman Briggs and I had met at the beach the night before, was walking her very stylish poodle up the steps of the trailer.

  "Ellen, I'm over here," a woman called across the way. The woman in her mid to late twenties with thin hair that was clipped back from her cute, round face was being hurried along by two French bulldogs.

  "Melody, what are you doing? I thought you'd be busy grooming," Ellen called to her.

  Melody was slightly winded when she reached the steps. "I decided to offer my services as dog walker for the show," she explained to Ellen.

  Ellen glowered down at the dogs. "Are those the Crampton's dogs?" She glanced around the park. "I haven't been unlucky enough to run into Horace and Belinda yet."

  "They only just arrived. They asked me to watch Hamilton and Caprese while they set up."

  "Did she just say that bulldog's name was Caprese?" Lola whispered. "Isn't that a salad with mozzarella and tomato? What a strange name for a dog."

  I glanced at her. "Said the woman who named her dog Late Bloomer."

  "Yes but there's a whole history behind the name. Bloomer took a long time to, you know, bloom. Naming a dog after a salad is just silly." She lifted her bowl. "But there's nothing silly about these salads. Best I've had in a long time." She plucked out a chip and dipped it directly into the guacamole.

  I copied her maneuver. "I agree. These are delicious."

  Lola and I continued to nibble silently on our salads, enjoying each bite while we watched the activity at the dog show. Melody placed the two bulldogs in a dog pen and hung their leashes on a hook outside the door of the trailer. The two women and the poodle went inside.

  Just minutes later, an older couple, presumably the Cramptons because they headed straight to the pen to retrieve their bulldogs, arrived at the trailer. The man had a black beard with sprigs of gray and a belly that hung proudly over his belt buckle. The woman was far more fit and moved energetically and e
fficiently, reminding me a touch of Elsie. Only Mrs. Crampton had ginger hair tucked under a bright blue cap.

  They didn't seem pleased about finding their dogs sitting unattended in a pen. Mrs. Crampton stuck her hands on her hips (again reminding me of Elsie). She turned sharply to Mr. Crampton. "I certainly didn't pay her twenty dollars to leave my babies sitting alone out here," she said with enough force that it carried across to where Lola and I were standing. "I'm going to have to have a word with Melody."

  "Now, Belinda," Mr. Crampton said in a much gentler tone but his baritone voice still carried. "She probably had to go inside and help a customer."

  "Aren't we customers? We paid her money to walk the dogs, but I don't see my dogs walking," Belinda snapped.

  "Who knew we'd have a soap opera to watch while we ate our salads." Lola plowed her fork into the bowl for another bite but kept her gaze riveted on the unfolding drama.

  The Cramptons left their pooches in the pen while they marched up the portable steps to the trailer door. Belinda knocked sharply but then didn't wait to be invited in before swinging open the door.

  Unfortunately, their voices and the discussion were muffled within the walls of the trailer.

  "Darn, now we're not going to know how the story ends," Lola said.

  "Probably wouldn't be all that gratifying of an ending anyhow. Are you ready to head back to Port Danby?" I asked.

  "I suppose so."

  I walked a few feet to a trash can and tossed my mostly empty bowl. Lola did the same. Right then, the light door on the trailer swung open hard enough to smack the outside wall. The Cramptons marched down the steps looking none too pleased with their visit. Lola and I walked toward the path which took us closer to the couple, close enough to hear Belinda complaining. Only she was no longer griping about Melody and the lack of exercise for her dogs. She had some rather choice words for Ellen Joyner, the woman with the poodle.