He pulls out his phone and listens to the message. From my vantage point, all I hear is a high-pitched yelling. Is it Aunt Miranda? I strain to hear, but he sees me listening and turns his body away from me. His face closes off, then blooms into an expression of irritation. I scrutinize him, thinking about my next move.
On the one hand, I don’t trust this pontifical, self-important Englishman, emphasis on ‘man’. Being treated like the proverbial fragile little lady has always chapped my ass. Add to that his ulterior motive: He’ll say or do anything to get back under Aunt Miranda’s wing, where the action is. Come to think of it, Aunt Miranda shouldn’t trust him either. I’m getting a real All About Eve vibe from this one.
On the other hand, if I need to swallow my ego to Huddie back, so be it. I owe it to him to take advantage of every opportunity, no matter how distasteful.
“Charlotte, please,” Henry says in a low voice. His posture has softened. “Your dog could be shivering on the street somewhere, cold and scared. And I hardly want to hint at it, but people have been known to steal animals.” A tiny cry escapes my throat.
“Shh.” He squeezes my shoulders. “Stay with me. The faster we find him, the better. Wouldn’t you rather he were here, being fed home-cooked morsels off your plate, and shoving you over in the bed till you’re teetering on the edge while he snores peacefully?”
Oh, Huddie. I let my eyes drift to the floor. I don’t want Henry to see my fear.
“All right, ma’am,” Blake breaks in, standing up and gathering his equipment. “You’re all set to print and scan, and I ran some diagnostics and cleaned off some malware. Today’s visit is $349.99. You should bring her into the shop soon if you want us to run updates.”
“Never mind, that won’t be necessary” Henry says, brandishing a credit card. Before I can intervene, the card is run through a swiper. “I can do the updates myself.”
“Wait a minute,” I begin.
“That will be all for today, thank you,” Henry breaks in.
“Well, great then!” says the boy, moving toward the door. “If there’s anything your husband can’t handle, just stop in or give us a call.”
“He’s not my…”
“I can handle quite a bit, can’t I, my dear?” Henry cuts me off, giving the young man just the lightest shove out the door, and closing it. “And at 350 dollars a visit, I’d certainly offer you more than 15 minutes of fiddling around!”
I feel my eyebrows hurtle skyward, and my mouth drops open.
“That is to say… Miss Bell, what I mean to say, is…”
“Bing!” Saved by the oven timer. I hurry to the kitchen to take out the egg-and-vegetable pie.
Heading into the kitchen, I grab my heavy-duty silicone oven gloves. As I’m bending over to heave the substantial pie from the oven, I’m aware that Henry is behind me. Why won’t he stop following me around? I need a minute to think. Whether it’s from panic or lack of sleep or the distraction of having a person in my apartment, I cannot cut through the fog. I’m edgy, and I know it. I have to keep my cool. I want my dog back, and as Henry has pointed out, two heads are better than one. Especially when one of the heads isn’t firing on all cylinders. I slide the pie onto a cooling rack, and turn around.
Henry is leaning, arms crossed, against the door jamb. “Did you make that?”
“Of course I made it. Do you see anyone else around here?” Easy, Charlotte, my inner voice tells me. Keep your eye on the prize.
“I mean, did you bake that? From scratch? And those little, what are they, mince pies, as well?” He sidles up to the counter, inspecting my wares.
“Yes, I did. Why?”
“It’s just I don’t know any women, apart from my mum, who do that.” He looks at me with that maddening eyebrow lift. “All the women I’ve dated have only ever known how to pick up the phone to order food.”
“Well I made them. Any other questions before you help me find my dog. I mean, that is why you’re here, isn’t it? I mean,” I suck in my breath and let out a long sigh, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t fair. Please, help me find my dog.”
“Apology accepted. I do have one question…any chance of a cup of tea? I was ejected from the offices first thing in order to come to your rescue.”
I stare at him. I can feel my breath rising and falling at a rapid rate, and I remind myself not to make an angry face. “One quick cup, then we get to work. OK?”
“Perfect.”
“Sit down at the table,” I bark. “I mean, please. Have a seat.” I flick on the electric kettle and in short order, I’m setting a cup of strong, milky tea and a plate of mince pies in front of him.
“Thank you,” he says. He bites into one of the pies, and moans. “God, this is unbelievable. What are you, a witch?” He takes a drink of tea, and greedily pops the rest of the pie into his mouth. “Heaven!”
I can’t help feeling proud. Half the time when I bake, I just do a ring-and-run, leaving the leftovers at the door of the elderly couple in apartment 1F. They always leave an index card under my door thanking me, but it’s not the same as watching someone appreciate my food.
“Well done, really. This is absolutely superb. You’ve got quite a talent.”
“Thank you.” I’m starting to warm to him a little. “Hudson loves my cooking. I like to think I’m pretty handy around the kitchen.”
“The kitchen, yes, but you were taken to the cleaners with that house call.”
I feel steam rising. “It was an emergency.”
“I could have fixed your computer problems easily.” He bites into a second pie. “Oh, mmm. These may be better than my mother’s,” he marvels. “And I meant to mention earlier, a single woman like yourself shouldn’t open the door to complete strangers. This is, after all, New York City.”
“I didn’t open the door to a stranger. I opened it to the Geek Squad.”
“Perhaps, but who was standing there? I could have been a common psychopath.”
“Could have been…” I mumble under my breath.
“At any rate, I’m here to help. You’ve made the right choice. Now, we can finally do something that will work.” He mutters something that sounds like, “…pleased you’ve come to your senses.” I grit my teeth and smile. “Thank you for helping,” I manage to cough out.
Ooh, it would feel so good to smack him across his smug, beardy face right now, but I can’t afford to be emotional.
“We have an understanding. I’ll use you to get what I want. Just as you’re doing with me. I need my dog; you need Aunt Miranda’s approval. One hand can wash the other. It’s a win-win, right?”
“Sounds perfect,” he replies.
I push away the little voice in my head that reminded me that, in a nutshell, this was James’s modus operandi and the reason I wasn’t standing next to him at the openings of his top-shelf restaurants. But today was a new day. As they say, “All’s fair in love and war.” At least I think that’s what The Art of War said. I don’t know, I really only skimmed the first few pages. Or maybe that’s from a Humphrey Bogart film. It doesn’t matter.
Henry Wentworth has something I need and I’m not going to give up until I get it.
Chapter 4
“Slow down there,” Henry calls. I’m already halfway up the block. Once my feet have hit the sidewalk, my body kicked into high gear. I couldn’t slow down if I wanted to. Henry does a little jog, and catches up with me, panting slightly. “It’s a good thing I wore trainers today. Now, tell me again, where exactly was Hudson when he slipped away? We’re going to retrace your steps.”
It didn’t matter to me that I’d been all over the park with Officers Curtis and Scrivello. Today was a new day, and Henry Wentworth had a new perspective. If I had to pretend to trust him to find my dog, then that’s what I’d do.
“Hello there, what’s that?” he said, gesturing to Paws & Claws, a mom-and-pop pet supply store on the avenue. “Have you ever been there?”
“Yes,” I tell
him, “that’s where I get Huddie’s food. I know the lady who owns the place.”
“Let’s make a detour, then. Follow me.” I swallow the urge to tell him not to boss me around, and I do as I’m told. After all, it’s not the worst idea.
He surveys the complimentary water bowl that Mrs. Rabinowitz leaves out for passing dogs. This time of year, its deep blue with a yellow Star of David painted on the bottom. I see Henry take in the kitty-cat menorah sitting in the window, waiting for sundown when she’ll turn on the right number of bulbs for this night of Chanukah. She spies me through the window, and waves enthusiastically, gesturing for me to come in.
Once Henry pushes open the door, tinkling the shop bell, Mrs. Rabinowitz races over, pumping her elbows and leading with her ample, pigeon-shaped bosom.
“Come in! What, you never visit anymore? Don’t tell me you’ve been getting Hudson’s food from the internet, God forbid, puh puh puh,” she spits. “We haven’t seen you in weeks!”
I open my mouth to ask if she’s seen Huddie, but before I can form the words, she holds up her hands in surrender.
“I get it,” she says before I can speak, “you’re a young girl, you’re busy with the young men, and the social life, and the this and the that.” She gives a not-subtle-at-all nod to Henry. “Where’s my little bubbeleh?” she asks.
“That’s the thing, Mrs.…?” Henry replies.
“Rabinowitz,” she offers, scowling. “Everyone knows that. But what? What’s the thing? Is something the matter? Talk to me.”
Henry pulls a card from his pocket, and gestures toward a cup of pens on the counter. “May I?” She nods her head, and he chooses one, and scribbles on the back of the card.
In the name of all that is holy, why doesn’t he just print his phone number, email, and Twitter handle on his cards like everyone else in the 21st century? From the way she’s eyeballing him, I get the sense that Mrs. Rabinowitz is as suspicious of Henry as I am.
She loses her patience and quickly blurt out, “forgive me for being a buttinsky, but there’s something you’re not telling me. Out with it, already.”
“Hudson has gone missing,” I whisper.
She looks horrified and then Henry informs her briskly. “Here’s my card. If you hear anything from pet owners in the neighborhood, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call.”
She takes the card without looking at Henry. “What happened, my Shayna Maidel?” she asks me. I feel a lump rise in my throat. “Was he stolen? You poor dear.”
I shake my head no, pinching my lips together so I don’t cry. I don’t like to cry in front of people under the best of circumstances. I sure as hell wasn’t going to cry in front of Henry Wentworth of the Heavy Cardstock Wentworths. But Mrs. Rabinowitz’s eyes are wells of pure concern. I look away. There’s nothing worse when you’re trying not to cry than having someone be nice to you. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“We’re not sure. He was last seen around Columbus Circle. He slipped away without his collar and tags,” Henry says.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. How long has he been gone?”
“Not quite 24 hours,” Henry supplies. Mrs. Rabinowitz shakes her head and says a quiet string of what I think are Hebrew words, ending in A-meyn. She sighs a ragged sigh. “May God help the poor little thing. Lost in a big city such as this one.”
Bustling over to the bulletin board on the wall with photographs of her furry customers, she zeroes in on one and pulls out the staple. Some of the pictures were brought in by the pets’ families; others were taken with the old Polaroid camera she keeps behind the desk.
“Here, take this, and use it in health. She shoves a photo of herself clutching Huddie to her ample chest. Eyes at half-mast, he’s resting his head amongst her multiple chins and his face reflects pure bliss.
“You could show this to the police, maybe?” Henry accepts the photo, and studies it. “We have a flyer to hand out. If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Rabinowitz, would you keep this here? To show your customers, and inquire about whether they’ve seen Hudson?”
“Mind? Why should I mind? I love that scraggly little treasure like he’s my own!”
I’m afraid an ugly sob might escape if I open my mouth, so I simply hand over one of the fliers made from the Elfie photo.
“Look at the little boychik! Give me a stack of those. I’ll have my delivery boy, Sheldon, leave one behind with every order. Oy, my heart is going to break and fall out onto the floor,” she wails. “My dear,” she says to me, “tell me your name.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s Charlotte,” I manage. There. No sob. Back on solid ground.
“Listen to me, and listen to me good, Charlotte.” She cups my jaw with her hand and tilts my head, and looks me in the eye. “I’m saying this as a mother.” Her faded brown eyes start to blur as the tears pool. “There are people out there, not nice people, if you understand me. I hear all sorts from this one who rescues, and that one who works at a shelter. Enough said, am I right?”
I nod.
“We’re not going to let that happen to Hudson, kayn ayin hara,” she turns her head and spits through her fingers, “puh puh puh.”
I shake my head no.
“We have to find our boy, and find him fast. I’m going to get on the horn and phone every pet shop owner in the book and tell them to keep their ears to the ground. It’s good to have friends.” She pulls me into a squishy hug, and I stiffen in surprise. She’s having none of it. She squeezes tighter until I relax, then rubs my back. “Have faith, my Charlotte. Hope is needed most when times are the darkest. I know you’re not Jewish, and neither is Hudson, but Hashem watches over all of us.”
My heart lifts in my chest. I almost believe that it’s all going to work out.
“Now, what is the plan?” she asks Henry.
Henry tacks the photo back up in its place on the board. “We’re headed back to where the dog escaped to retrace Charlotte’s steps.”
She narrows her eyes. “Not the dog. His name is Hudson. And believe you me, he didn’t escape. Why would he? Look at her! Would you escape from a gorgeous girl like that?” She waits for an answer. “Would you?”
Henry takes a long look at me. “No. I certainly wouldn’t.”
“That’s right you wouldn’t! And neither did Hudson. Charlotte, my dear, didn’t you tell me Hudson loves the fountain at Lincoln Center?” Her eyes light up. “That he likes to jump and bite at the fronds of water?”
I feel myself smiling when I picture Hudson with his front paws in the water. Technically, dogs aren’t allowed up on the rim of the fountain, but I always let him sneak on. “Yes, he can’t get enough of it.”
“So, boom. You’ll have a little look around Lincoln Center. You,” she says accusingly, poking her finger into Henry’s chest. “You take care of this one. Make sure she eats. Make sure she rests.” She takes a card from the display tray and thrusts it at him. “You call me twice a day until you find Hudson, no excuses.”
He pockets the card, and assures her he will.
“Go on, dear,” she says to me. “See that bin of bones by the door? Walk up there and choose a nice one for when you find Hudson. Go.”
She watches me walk away before addressing Henry.
“Remember,” she says, pulling him to the side, and whispering. “The sooner the better,” she says. I strain to hear. “There are sick people out there,” she says even more softly. “I hear they take them to Canada. If you can, find him today.”
*****
I’m practically hyperventilating as we hop in a cab to head downtown. “Lincoln Center, please, driver,” Henry says crisply. “We’ll start there and if we come up short, we’ll head back to where you last saw Hudson.”
I can hardly hear what he’s saying. My blood roars in my ears. Against my will, images of animals in danger play like film clips across my brain. I wish I’d waited outside the pet store for Henry. Now I can’t unthink about creepy animal-nappers. I lean back against the seat, and t
ry to close my eyes, but that just makes it worse.
“Listen Henry, we’ve got to do something! We’ve got to do something now!”
“We are doing something. We’re going to check out spots that Hudson knows. Animals have an excellent ability to return to places familiar to them. First, we’re going to the Lincoln Center.”
“But what if he’s not there? I mean, I know this is crazy, but what if some scientists found him, and they want to take him to a lab, for you know, experiments?”
“Yes, that is crazy. Calm down, no mad scientists are roaming New York City’s streets searching for lab animals.”
“Lab animals! A-ha. You said it yourself,” I say, sitting up on my tailbone. “What if, you know, cosmetics companies are sending out interns to find strays? It’s illegal to test on animals, right?”
“Not exactly…”
“So they’d have to do it undercover, like, by dark of night.”
He squints his eyes and tilts his head. “Didn’t you say Hudson was lost late yesterday morning?”
“That’s not my point,” I could feel my blood start to race. He wasn’t listening to me at all. “What I’m saying is, they’d have to steal animals because they couldn’t buy them at a pet store or online because they’d get arrested.” The cab takes a sharp right, and I’m flung across Henry’s lap. He sets me upright and untangles his arms from mine. We’re hip to hip.
“Again, I don’t think you understand the regulations for cosmetics companies.” He looks down at our touching thighs. “I’d feel much more comfortable if you were to fasten your safety belt.”
I shift over. I can’t keep my hands still. I’m bubbling over with nerves. Now my brain is functioning on high speed. Suddenly, I feel like I see the big picture.
“I know what we have to do,” I say, buckling my belt. A strange calm settles over me. “We have to contact the FBI.” I pull out my phone and punch in the number for information.
Henry snatches my phone from my hand, and hangs up.
“Charlotte,” he says with exaggerated patience, “the Federal Bureau of Investigation is not going to get involved with finding a lost dog.”
A Miracle at Macy's Page 8
