(Just like I'd told myself how much she loved daycare when I was living in DC. She did, but it was no substitute for time in the park with me.)
I lugged the extra-large dog bed back to the house.
"What's that for?" my grandpa muttered, taking a long sip of his coffee. "That dog has enough dog beds already."
I handed him the morning paper that I'd snagged while I was outside. "It's for your workroom."
I dragged the bed down the hall and wedged it into the far corner of the room before he could object. He loves to work on miniatures even though his hands tremble so bad some days it takes him five minutes to place one little piece. And I figured if Fancy was going to be home with him all day she'd want a comfy spot to keep him company while he worked.
"What do you mean, it's for my workroom?" he asked when I returned.
I flashed him my best smile. "Fancy has to stay here today."
"Doesn't mean she needs a bed in my workroom."
"Well she's going to want to stay close to you. And lying on the floor can hurt her joints."
"She has a bed in the living room. She has a bed in your room. She has a bed in my room. She has a bed in the office. And now you think she needs a bed in my workroom, too?"
"I don't have time to argue about this. I'm running late. Fancy needs to stay here today. Please look after her. And please, let the bed stay?"
He muttered something under his breath before taking a long sip of his coffee, but at least he didn't continue the argument.
I turned to Fancy who was now leaning against the wall watching me. "I'm sorry, girl. I have to go. You have to stay here."
She ran to the door and looked back at me, eyes wide.
"No. You have to stay here."
She sunk onto her haunches, every line of her body full of hurt and rejection.
I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Disappointing a dog is never easy.
Fortunately, Fancy is easily distracted. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed her a doggie ice cream from the freezer. She immediately perked up when she saw what I had in my hand.
"I will have you know that it is way too early in the day for you to be eating something like this," I told her.
She didn't care. I'm not even sure she was hearing what I said at that point. All of her attention was focused on the ice cream treat in my hand.
"Be good for Grandpa. I'll be home in…ten hours." (I knew that wouldn't mean anything to her. She's actually pretty good at telling time, but anything past about five hours is just "a long frickin' time" in Fancyworld.)
I handed her the container and she immediately raced out back to eat her ice cream while I made a quick exit. "Love you, Grandpa."
"Love you, too."
Chapter Six
I drove towards the barkery wondering just how bad this little protest demonstration was going to be. I mean, how many crazy cat ladies can one town have? One? Two? Three at most, I'd think.
Turns out the answer was ten. Which seriously surprised me. Who knew there were ten women in the Baker Valley who were so passionate about bringing their cats out to lunch with them that they'd gather to protest our store at seven in the morning?
But there they were. Janice was brandishing a hand-made sign that read "Cats Need Love Too" with little cat paw prints painted on it. Next to her Patsy Blackstone had a sign that read "Cat Hater!" written in a color that looked very much like fresh blood but clearly was not since it was still bright, bright red. The other signs were just as absurd. And the other women looked to have dressed themselves out of the same out-of-date, over-the-top fashion magazine as Janice and Patsy.
Wow. Just…wow.
As I approached the front of the store they converged on me, waving their signs and shouting out little phrases about what a horrible, cat-hating person I was. I'll give them this, they were all in with their protest. But I am not a morning person at the best of times. And when you make me leave my dog at home and then surround me with bad perfume and loud shouting, well, you get the worst of me.
"Back off!" I snapped.
(There may have been two more words in the middle of that sentence, but let's just go with back off for the sake of politeness.)
They gasped and stared at me in horror, moving like some sort of twisted version of the Stepford Brides.
"Did you hear what she said?" one of the ladies said to another.
This after waving a sign in my face and shouting at me?
I glared them down. "Leave now or I'm calling the cops."
"We have every right to protest an unfair establishment." Janice planted herself directly in front of me, the ladies arraying themselves behind her.
"You may in fact have every right to protest the fact that we don't allow cats. But you do not have the right to threaten me or anyone else who wants to enter my establishment. So back off."
(Once more, there might have been a couple extra words thrown in there.)
Janice stepped closer. "Or what?"
Fortunately for me, I heard the little chirp of a cop car trying to clear a crowd and the sound of tires on gravel behind me. The cavalry had arrived.
The ladies all backed up an extra step, but they didn't disperse. I was tempted to turn around and see who it might be, but Janice and I were locked in the midst of an intense staredown and I wasn't going to be the one to blink first.
She needed to know who she was dealing with.
I heard the car door slam and the sound of the cop's feet on the pavement as he approached. "What seems to be the problem here?" he asked.
I winced. It was Officer Clark—the man who'd dragged my eighty-two-year-old grandpa out of his home in handcuffs and who would probably arrest him again given half the chance.
"Officer Clark. These women are disrupting my business."
He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, looking back and forth between the women and the front of our store.
Janice turned to him. "We have every right to protest."
I took a deep breath. Being angry and irrational wasn't going to help any. "I realize that they probably do have the right to protest, but I would ask that they do so somewhere that doesn't threaten or intimidate our customers."
He smirked at me. "They're little old ladies. They're not threatening anyone."
"Do not call me a little old lady."
I thought for a second Janice was going to whap him with her sign, but she stopped herself just in time.
"See?" I said. "When I arrived all ten of them converged on me. I'd really appreciate it if you could keep them from doing that to my customers."
I was pretty sure he was going to ignore me and let them continue their protests. And then I didn't know what I was going to do. If the cops won't help you, what other options do you have?
But another cop car pulled into the parking lot. It was Matt. I'd never been so happy to see him in my life. (Not that I let myself feel that for more than a split second, because…reasons.)
He stepped out of his car with a nod and smile for all of the ladies.
"Hi, Officer Barnes," one of the ladies called. "You never have said whether you'd like to come over for Sunday dinner. My niece would love to meet you."
"I'm sure she would, Ms. Highsmith, but I'm still pretty tied up with taking care of my father's house and starting the new job and all."
Liar. I was pretty sure he spent most of his free time crashed out on his couch watching TV.
"What seems to be the problem," he asked, joining us and looking pointedly at Officer Clark.
"These ladies are protesting the fact that the owners of this establishment won't allow cats."
"They swarmed me when I arrived," I added.
Officer Clark glared at me, but I didn't care. It was true.
"Janice," Matt turned his charming smile her way. "We've been through this before. You can't obstruct a business this way."
She glared at him, but didn't answer.
He turned and scanned
the parking lot. "You and your ladies can protest, but you will have to do it over there." He pointed to a grassy area at the far end of the parking lot, at least a hundred feet from the entrance. "No shouting at customers either, even if they park right by you."
"No one will see us over there."
"They'll see you just fine, Janice. Look, Peter Nielsen just pulled in. I'm sure you'll be on the front page of the paper tomorrow. If that doesn't make your point for you, I don't know what will. Now go."
"Before he can take his pictures?"
"Yes. Now."
Janice looked like she was going to argue her point further, but when Matt wants to be intimidating he's very good at it. She stormed away in a huff, her ladies following after like a gaggle of geese.
Jamie came out as soon as they started to walk away, a coffee in each hand. "Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?"
Officer Clark turned to snarl at her, but stopped himself when he saw the attractive woman holding a cup of coffee for him. Jamie flashed him a dimpled smile with a head tilt.
I felt ill. Not Officer Clark, please. I'd rather she kept seeing Lucas Dean.
"Officer Barnes?" She held out the other cup of coffee.
"Best not. Wouldn't want to be seen playing favorites." He winked at me before returning to his patrol car.
Whatever that was about.
"Well, then. Now that that's over." I rushed into the barkery as fast as I could. I was not going to think about Matthew Barnes one moment longer than I had to.
(Even though I was extremely grateful he'd saved us from the cadre of crazy cat ladies outside.)
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful although I was not amused by the pictures and article that Peter Nielsen posted to his website for the noon edition of the Baker Valley Gazette. It accused us of being elitist snobs from the big city who didn't want the scummy locals messing up our place. The fact that the protest was about cats was barely even mentioned.
I had to give the man credit. He knew how to stir up controversy.
We spent the afternoon dealing with angry locals who stormed into the store to tell us they had as much of a right to frequent our establishment as some hoity-toity tourist. (Having poor Greta sitting in the front window of the barkery certainly didn't help, but I didn't have the heart to tell her to leave. She was my only regular customer after all.)
Jamie handled it with aplomb. Each time someone stormed through the door Jamie greeted them with a big smile, a coffee, and a cinnamon roll. On the house. By three o'clock we were getting freebie seekers who could barely pretend to be angry, but she treated them all the same.
Chalk it up as a business expense. Like I've said before, Jamie makes the best cinnamon rolls in the world. By the end of the day, thanks to Janice Fletcher, everyone in the county knew it.
Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. Take that, Janice.
Even though the day had turned out well, I'd missed Fancy. She may spend most of every day snoring in her cubby, but it's still nice to have her around. So when I returned home I was more than happy to sit down on the floor and let her crawl all over me and lick my face for a good five minutes.
My grandpa said she'd spent most of the day lying five feet from the door waiting for me to come home. Poor girl. Seems she'd missed me as much as I'd missed her. Too bad I was going to have to leave her at home another day. No telling what Janice was going to pull next.
Chapter Seven
You're probably wondering at this point why I'm telling you all of this and no one's shown up dead yet. Don't worry, it's coming. But I felt I needed to get all the pieces in place first so you'd understand how it was I ended up in jail for murder.
Yep, me.
But first…
After Janice's failed attempt to boycott our business things actually settled down for a few days. Other than a nice little bump in sales of cinnamon rolls, it was like it had never happened. We actually had to hire in some temporary counter staff so Jamie could spend more time in the kitchen preparing four-packs of cinnamon rolls that we sold throughout the day. It was beautiful.
To tell you the truth, I almost wanted to kiss Janice and Peter Nielsen for their brilliance in driving so many new customers our way.
I should've known it wouldn't last.
Janice and Patsy barged through the barkery door at two o'clock one afternoon, cat carriers in hand. That's right. Carriers plural. Each of them had one.
I took a deep, deep breath. Jamie was in the back and I knew the elderly woman working the café counter would be no help in banishing these women for once and for all.
"Janice. Please leave my store. I have told you repeatedly that cats are not allowed here."
I glanced towards Greta who'd put down her book and was watching us with interest. Hans was still his usual calm and collected self, but there was no doubt he was focused on the two carriers and what they might contain.
I did not need this. If they let those cats out and Hans wasn't good around cats…
Janice shoved a piece of paper in my face. "It doesn't matter what you want. You can't make me leave. Pookums has every right to be here. I need him."
I scanned the paper. "Are you serious?"
She stood up straighter. "Of course I am."
"You had Pookums declared an emotional support cat?"
"Yes."
I glanced at the date. "You only got this letter yesterday."
"I was just making official what's always been true. I need my Pookums with me."
I pressed my lips together, hard.
Chapter Eight
Yet again, I feel I have to take a moment and explain something here. I have nothing against emotional support animals. I've met a number of wonderful support animals over the years—ones that allowed people with anxiety to experience the world and ones that could detect potential seizures. I am all for emotional support animals. And if someone had walked into my store with a cat as a legitimate emotional support animal, I would've made it work.
I assume they would've kept that cat close, though. And that they would've understood that taking a cat into a dog barkery wasn't going to be the best idea. But if they'd insisted on being there, I would've respected that.
But this?
This was not legitimate. And Janice Fletcher knew that as well as I did. Which is why I went from calm to trembling with rage in about ten seconds. Not only was this woman trying everything she could to mess with my business but she was taking advantage of something that should be respected.
"Jamie," I shouted.
She came out of the kitchen, her smock covered in baking flour and a small smudge on the side of her nose. "What? What's wrong?"
"You need to deal with this." I shoved the letter into her hands, glared at Janice and Patsy for a long moment, and then retreated to the barkery counter. I literally felt like breaking something in that moment, but I knew I couldn’t. Not without making things worse.
As I stood there I fantasized about taking up a sport like taekwondo that would let me break boards. I could keep a stack out in the dog run and go back there and shatter them into little pieces whenever I needed a release. (It's possible customer service is not exactly my forte.)
I spent the next few minutes while Jamie dealt with Janice Fletcher and Patsy Blackstone, mentally breaking boards. Finally, Jamie had it settled. "Please follow me."
She turned towards the café side.
"Where are you taking us?" Janice demanded.
"I appreciate that you have an emotional support animal, but in the interest of safety and health, I have to ask that you come sit on the café side away from any dogs. You'll receive the same level of service and have the same menu of options to order from, but I can't let you sit on this side."
"I'll sue you."
Jamie stared her down. "For what? We're letting you stay here."
"It's discrimination."
"No. It's not. Now, please. Follow me." There was steel behind her words.
I grabbed a cleaning rag and wiped down all of the tables even though they were already clean.
Greta called me over. "What is this that happened just now?"
I explained to her about the cat issue and how now Janice had found a way around my ban by having her cat declared an emotional support animal. Greta found the whole concept very confusing but admitted she had heard some of the same news stories I had about emotional support peacocks and fish.
She shook her head. "This woman, she is wrong. She must be dealt with."
"Agreed. I'm just not sure how."
Chapter Nine
About twenty minutes later Jamie came to join us. "They're gone. Thankfully. I managed to convince them to keep the cats in their carriers this time, but that won't work next time."
"You're a saint, Jamie. I was ready to kill that woman."
"I know." She chuckled. "Your face was very, very red when I came over."
"So what do we do now?"
"Already done." She waved her phone at me. "I took a copy of the letters and called Mason Maxwell. He'll be by in an hour or so."
"Mason Maxwell? Really?"
He was an amazing attorney. The best in the county. But he also intimidated the heck out of me and was not cheap. I should know. He'd helped us out with my grandpa's little murder charge.
"He's the best. Aaand…It turns out his family and Janice's hate each other."
"I didn't realize there was a big Maxwell contingent in Baker Valley. Or Fletcher for that matter."
"Oh, Mason Maxwell is a Mason. When his mother married out of the family, she gave him Mason as a first name so he'd still carry the family legacy."
A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies Page 3
