by Sue Pethick
All in a good cause.
Melanie had taken Shep out of the back seat and was checking him over. As Bryce stepped around the back bumper, she gave him a puzzled look.
“I thought you said he was injured.”
“He is,” he said. “I had to carry him all the way back to the car.”
“Well, whatever it was, he’s fine now.”
Astonished, Bryce hurried over to the sidewalk. The dog who’d been too lame to walk just minutes ago was leaping and prancing like a dervish. Other than the slick of foul-smelling mud on his side, in fact, there was no sign that anything was wrong.
“That’s great,” Bryce said through gritted teeth. “I’m so glad he’s all right.”
As Shep glanced over at him, Bryce could have sworn the dog was laughing.
CHAPTER 8
Melanie took Shep home and gave him a bath. As she set him in the tub and turned on the warm water, she almost wished that her collie didn’t enjoy bathtime so much; after what he’d put Bryce through, she sort of felt that Shep deserved to be punished.
Poor Bryce. He’d actually been pretty good about the whole thing, but he and his car were a mess. Luckily, Walt Gunderson’s nephew, Pete, had experience detailing cars and he’d been happy to come over and drive it back to his shop. Cold, damp, and without his shirt, Bryce had been in danger of hypothermia and Melanie insisted he take her car back to the inn. She and Shep had walked home, leaving a trail of stink in their wake.
While the first tubful of murky water drained, Melanie poured out a handful of coconut shampoo and worked it into the collie’s coat, carefully running her hands along his sides and down his legs, still searching for any sign of an injury. Not only couldn’t she find anything, but Shep didn’t even flinch as she made her inspection. There was no way he’d needed Bryce to carry him. It made her wonder what was going on.
Shep hadn’t greeted Bryce either of the times he was at the shop, and he wasn’t very friendly when Bryce came to the house, either. Might her dog’s behavior be a reflection of her own ambivalence?
Seeing Bryce again had reminded her of how much she still cared for him, and the contrast between their financial situations was sobering. It wasn’t as if money was everything, of course, but being faced with such a stark reminder of how far she’d fallen behind in the last four years had sent her into another spiral of self-doubt. Perhaps Shep was just acting on feelings that she’d been trying to hide. Well, if that was the case, she thought, then the only way to fix things was to be honest about how she felt and get over it.
Melanie had hosed Shep off before bringing him in the house, but it still took three tubs full of water to get his coat clean. By the time the shivering, bedraggled collie got out of the tub, bathtime had clearly lost its charms. She threw a towel over his back and gave him a rubdown.
“Serves you right,” she said. “Maybe next time you’ll watch where you’re going.”
Half an hour later, Shep’s coat was dry and the stench of rot had been replaced by a tropical bouquet. Melanie tied a bandanna around his neck and gave him a kiss.
“My, what a handsome boy you are.”
The sun was out and she still had the afternoon covered. With so little time left until the election, she thought, it would be a shame not to get out and canvass voters, like they’d planned. Melanie decided to give Bryce a call and see if he was up for it.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said when he picked up. “How’re you doing?”
“Better. Clean, at least.”
“Yeah, it took a while, but Shep finally looks like himself again.”
Melanie straightened the dog’s bandanna.
“So,” she said. “Are you ready to hit the hustings?”
“The hustings?” He laughed. “Since when did you become an old hand at politics?”
“It’s something Walt said; I had to look it up. Anyway, there’s a few hours of daylight left. You still up for some canvassing?”
“I’m pretty beat,” Bryce said. “But sure. Why don’t I swing by and pick you up in, say, fifteen minutes?”
“Great! We’ll be ready and waiting.”
As she hung up, Melanie gave Shep a stern look.
“All right,” she said. “Bryce is going to come with us and I want you to mind your manners.”
* * *
Melanie was at the window when Bryce pulled up to the house. She and Shep stepped out onto the porch and he waited patiently while she locked the door. When they got to the car, she opened the back door, put him inside, and slid into the front seat. Bryce opened his mouth and she held up a hand to stop him.
“Hold on a second,” she said. “Someone wants you to know how sorry he is.”
Melanie looked back at her dog.
“Aren’t you, Shep?”
The collie hung his head, looking pitiful.
Bryce nodded.
“That’s okay. No hard feelings.”
“Okay,” she told the collie. “Lie down now and be good.”
Melanie snapped her seat belt buckle.
“There’s not a scratch on him,” she muttered. “He must have thought you were playing a game of some sort. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s all right.”
She nodded.
“Thanks for taking us. I guess it could have waited, but I was afraid that if I didn’t start now, I’d just keep putting it off.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m feeling better. And you’re right: It’s important to keep the momentum going.”
Bryce put the car in gear and made a U-turn. Melanie looked around.
“So,” she said. “What do we do first?”
“That’s up to you. Did you bring your list of likely voters?”
She bit her lip, remembering the halfhearted attempt she’d made the night before.
“I haven’t really finished it yet. I guess I thought we’d just head out and see how it goes.”
“Do you have a script? Topics you want to discuss?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I don’t need a script. We’ll just stop by, let them see how adorable Shep is, and remind them why I suggested we have an election in the first place.”
“Okay.” Bryce gave her a skeptical shrug. “So, how do we go about doing that?”
“Why are you asking me? You’re the one in charge.”
“Which means that I give the orders and you find a way to carry them out.”
She crossed her arms.
“Who made that rule?”
“Every boss in the world.” He winked at her. “Come on, what’s the most efficient way to canvass everyone in Fossett?”
“Well . . . I guess we could start at one end of town and work our way across.”
“Have you got a map?”
Melanie felt a twinge of irritation. Was he really going to make her do everything? What was the point of having him along if he wasn’t going to help?
“Why don’t we just get started and see how it goes?”
“Fair enough. Have you got something to take notes with?”
“Um . . .”
Bryce nodded.
“We’ll stop at Fossett House first,” he said. “I’ve got a legal pad in my room.”
* * *
Fossett’s north side was a rural patchwork of agricultural concerns. Technically, the area lay outside the city’s boundaries, but people there considered themselves residents, and excluding them would cause hard feelings. Melanie had chosen the sparsely populated area as their starting point so she could work out any kinks in her approach before hitting the higher-density areas where news of any missteps might give their opponent an edge.
Their first stop was the old farmhouse that Paul and Flora Grieb had turned into a chicken retirement home. Wooden coops dotted the landscape and wire pens surrounding the property held a motley assortment of geriatric hens pecking earnestly at the ground. Arching over the narrow driveway was a wooden s
ign that said:
GALLINA CANSADA
Home of the Happy Hens
Bryce raised an eyebrow.
“Unless I’m forgetting my high school Spanish, Cansada means ‘tired,’ not ‘happy.’”
“The hens are tired and happy,” Melanie said as she opened her door. “Tired of laying eggs and happy they’re not on the menu.”
She got Shep out of the back seat and felt an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach. It was one thing to talk about canvassing, she realized, but quite another to actually ask someone face-to-face for their vote.
“Flora loves my dog,” she said, trying to banish her nerves with bravado. “I’ll bet we get a donation here.”
As advertised, the border collie was welcomed with open arms and the three of them were ushered into the sitting room like royalty. Flora had a smudge of flour on her nose and an apron over her blue calico dress. The house smelled of cinnamon and apple.
“Baking pies today, Flora?” Melanie looked at Bryce. “Her apple pies are to die for.”
“Oh yes,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “The women’s club is having a bake sale.”
She gave the collie a pat on the head.
“Would Shep like a little treat? I’ve got some of those bacon things left over from Halloween.”
“I’m sure he’d love one.”
As the older woman tottered off to the kitchen, Melanie and Bryce walked over to the couch.
“I told you,” she whispered. “We’re in like Flynn.”
She sat down and clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.
“You okay?” Bryce said.
She nodded. “Just nerves.”
Flora came back and gave Shep his treat.
“Sorry Paul isn’t here,” she said. “We heard a coyote last night. He’s out counting the chickens.”
“Wow,” Melanie said. “A counting coyote. Who knew?”
Flora was in the dining room, retrieving another chair. She paused, looking nonplussed.
“What? A counting coyote? Wherever did you hear about that?”
“No, it was just that you said you heard one and—” She sighed. “Never mind.”
So much for winging it.
Flora brought the chair in and sat down, carefully tucking the dress around her exposed knees.
“I suppose you’re here to talk about the election.”
“That’s right, we are.”
“Oh, my. This is very exciting. Things are usually so quiet around here, and now we’ve had two candidates show up in one day.”
“Two?”
“Oh yes. Rod Blakely stopped by around noon and Paul insisted he stay for lunch.” Flora simpered. “That’s why I wanted to give Shep a little something.”
Melanie’s smile faltered. Had Rod already canvassed everyone in town? she wondered. Suddenly, it looked like the Griebs’ shoo-in votes might be in play. As the seconds ticked by, she realized how poorly prepared she was. She literally had no idea what to do or say.
Bryce leaned forward confidentially.
“Do you know, Flora, that bacon treat is the first contribution Shep has gotten to his campaign?”
Melanie stared. What was he doing?
“A contribution?” Flora looked flustered. “Well, yes . . . I suppose it was. The first, you say?”
“The very first.” His smile was warm. “I really admire a woman who knows what she wants.”
She reached up and patted her hair.
“Well, Shep’s always been a good dog. I think he’d be a good mayor, too.”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed. Was Flora blushing?
“I agree. And I’ll bet that if Shep could talk, he’d tell you how proud he is that he can count on your vote.”
“Oh. Well, yes.” She lifted her chin. “Of course he can.”
Bryce turned toward Melanie.
“You hear that, Mel? Sounds like Flora has already made up her mind.”
He stood and the other two followed suit.
“Well, we’d better let you get back to your pies. I plan to be the first in line at that bake sale.”
Bryce took the older woman’s hand in both of his.
“Thank you so much for your support.”
“What was that?” Melanie hissed as they walked back to the car.
“That,” Bryce muttered, “is called salvaging a bad situation. It’s something lawyers get a lot of practice doing.”
He opened the car door and Melanie put Shep inside.
“It’s also the reason why you should have had a plan before you walked in there.”
“Come on,” she said, attaching the dog’s harness. “How was I to know that Rod had been here first? Besides, you were practically seducing that poor woman.”
Melanie imitated Bryce’s rich baritone.
“ ‘I really admire a woman who knows what she wants.’ ”
He smirked.
“Just playing to the jury, sweetheart.”
Melanie got into the car and made a note on the legal pad. Flora Grieb: yes. Donation received: 1 bacon-flavored dog treat. Paul Grieb: ?
The next three houses were a bust. At the mention of Shep’s candidacy, the three of them were quickly turned away. No one seemed interested in Melanie’s plan to make her dog the mayor, but then no one said anything about Rod Blakely, either. As they started off again, she checked the tally on her legal pad. Out of four homes canvassed so far, they’d gotten one firm yes, one firm no, and six question marks.
Bryce was still standing outside his open door. Melanie leaned across the front seat and looked up at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are there beehives around here?”
“Why? Are you allergic?”
“To hornets, yeah. Not to bees.” He shook his head. “I keep hearing a buzzing noise.”
Bryce flinched as a shadow passed overhead.
“What was that?”
Melanie peered through the windshield at a black quad-copter hovering nearby.
“Oh, that’s Les and Sal’s drone. I’ll bet that’s what you heard.”
She stepped out of the car and waved at it.
“They use it to keep an eye on their marijuana farm. They’re probably wondering whether they should sic their dogs on us.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, continuing to wave. “They’ll recognize my car.”
At Les and Sal’s, they were lectured on the futility of the election process, handed two homemade brownies, and ushered back out the door.
“I tossed them into the bushes,” Bryce said as he got back into the car. “Think they’ll notice?”
“That depends.” She looked around. “Where’s the drone?”
“I waited until it was out of sight.” He started the engine. “Maybe the coyote will eat them and leave the hens alone.”
“No,” she said. “If the coyote eats them, he’ll just get the munchies for chicken wings.”
On her legal pad, Melanie wrote: Sally Jennings: probably not. Leslie Jennings: ? Donations so far were one bacon-flavored dog treat (eaten) and two pot brownies (left in bushes). It was starting to feel like the entire afternoon had been a waste of time.
She looked at Bryce.
“This isn’t going very well, is it?”
He shrugged.
“I told you, canvassing is hard work.”
“I know, but it’s taking forever.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost six already and we’ve barely talked to anyone.”
“That’s because we started late, plus we’re out in the boonies. Once we hit the residential areas, it’ll go a lot faster.”
“I don’t know,” she said, staring at the tally. “I still think we need to get some publicity if we’re going to pull this thing off.”
He shrugged and looked away.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” he said. “But we’ll need to find someone we can trust. There are a lot of slimy characters out
there ready to take advantage.”
Melanie tapped the legal pad. They’d had the same argument earlier that morning. She understood the importance of getting out and talking to the voters, but what was wrong with finding someone else to help them drum up a little enthusiasm? Especially now that they knew Rod Blakely was covering the same ground they were.
“Surely, some of them are legit. I mean, I never would have come up with this plan if I hadn’t seen that story on TV.”
Bryce took a deep breath.
“Tell you what. My friend Dave Giusti is the entertainment editor at the Gazette. Why don’t I give him a call and see if he can send someone out to do an interview with you and Shep?”
“You think they would?”
“All I can do is ask.”
She thought about that for a moment. An interview in the paper wouldn’t generate as much excitement as one on television, but it’d reach the people most likely to actually move there. It would also be a lot easier to get someone they already knew interested in Shep’s story.
“All right,” she said. “Sounds good.”
“But that doesn’t mean you get to slack off.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “No slacking. Got it.”
Melanie felt her stomach growl. She’d been so nervous that she’d hardly eaten since breakfast.
“Listen, are you hungry?”
“Starved. Why? What have you got in mind?”
She grinned.
“You like bar food?”
CHAPTER 9
The Leaky Faucet Saloon was the oldest business in one of the oldest buildings in Fossett. Built by and for lumbermen, it was made entirely of wood, from the cedar siding to the oak floors, maple tables, and Douglas fir paneling inside. It was also a popular place for dinner.
Melanie grabbed a couple of menus from a stack by the door and Bryce followed her to the last available table—a wobbly two-seater just outside of the bathrooms. Heads turned as they crossed the room, no one bothering to hide their curiosity. Shep waited until Melanie had taken her seat, then lay down as far away from Bryce as he could, carefully tucking in his tail lest it be trod upon by anyone using the facilities.
