“Bro?” said Harmony. “What’s he doing?”
“Well, pointing, kind of,” said Bro.
“Meaning he’s picked up on something?”
“With a well-trained dog, yeah, but we can’t really—”
“Arthur!” Harmony bent down so we were face-to-face. How fine she looked in the moonlight, although very upset. “Please find Queenie.”
That was it! Queenie! I forgot all about the wishing well, the faint splash, wishful thinking, and started following this new scent trail of Queenie’s, no stronger than the last one. It led in a long circle, around the garden shed, where—
Ah. This was interesting. Queenie’s faint smell merged with a just-as-faint mousy smell, not far from a wheelbarrow. I stood over the small patch of field grass where the two scents were mixed together, and saw a short shoelace type of thing, which turned out to be a … mouse tail? Queenie could be … I wouldn’t want to say dangerous, but she could be shockingly quick, and her claws—as I knew from a single one-time event that would never be repeated—were shockingly sharp.
“Has he found something?” Harmony said.
“Not that I can see,” said Bro. “I’ll bet a dog peed here. That always gets his attention.”
Well, of course it does! Good grief! But no dog had peed here, not in a long, long time. I love Bro, but take my word for it, not his. I stepped away from the mousy smell, which quickly vanished, although Queenie’s smell did not. It led me toward the side of the house, where it sort of flowed into a whole bunch of other smells, including more recent ones of Queenie’s, and brought us right to the door.
“So Queenie was outside and now she’s back in?” Harmony said.
“I don’t know,” said Bro. “Let’s see what he does.”
Bro opened the door. I went in. What I was going to do was climb the stairs to the family quarters and get back to what I’d been doing, namely enjoying a good night’s sleep, but I smelled something odd. Not Queenie exactly, but … odd. The scent came from down the stairs, not up. I started down. The twins followed, not saying anything, but I could feel that I had their attention.
We stepped down into the basement, not the old scary cellar but the new nice part. The first door you come to leads to the laundry room. It was open and I went inside, following the odd smell.
Bro flicked on the light. It shone on a pair of golden eyes, looking up from a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.
“Queenie!” said Harmony. “What are you doing here? Have you ever even been in this room?”
“She looks kind of weird,” Bro said.
I thought so, too.
“Maybe she should see the vet,” Bro went on.
“First thing in the morning.” Harmony moved toward the laundry pile, but stopped at the sound of footsteps behind us. We all turned.
And there in the doorway stood Mr. Ware, his wild white hair wilder than ever, and his shirtfront a little damp.
“Oh, hi, everybody,” he said. “I just got back and I’m afraid I got a bit lost in your beautiful but somewhat confusing inn.” He glanced around. “Is there a problem? Maybe I can help.”
This … this cat we had in the laundry room began to purr. I’d heard Queenie purr, but only when she was gazing at herself in the mirror. Still, it was a nice, friendly sound. I could probably get used to it.
BRO’S MOUTH OPENED AND CLOSED. Harmony’s mouth opened and she said, “Thank you, Mr. Ware. No, there’s no problem.”
Mr. Ware peered into the laundry room. “Your cat looks mighty cozy.” His voice sounded older and scratchier than ever. Mr. Ware confused me. I tried to sort out everything I knew about him in my mind, but my mind didn’t seem interested in helping. What my mind wanted to do was just think about the Frisbee contest and never stop. I’d fought a big nasty bird for possession of that Frisbee and I’d won! Thinking about the Frisbee contest was way better than thinking about Mr. Ware.
“Cozy?” Bro said. “I’m not so sure she’s—”
Harmony broke in. “Bro, would you mind showing Mr. Ware the way up to his room?”
“Uh, sure.” Bro turned to Mr. Ware. “What room are you in?”
“The Daffodil Room, I believe.”
Bro nodded. “It’s real easy. Go back down the hall till you come to the stairs, and then two flights up, hang a left and—”
“Bro?” said Harmony. “Can you take him?”
“Take him?”
“Show him the way.”
“But—”
“That’s how Mom likes it done.”
“Okay,” Bro said. Which was the right answer. How Mom likes things done was how they always ended up getting done.
“I wouldn’t want to make work for anyone,” Mr. Ware said. “If I can be useful here with this cat situation, I—”
“Bro doesn’t mind a bit,” Harmony said. “Do you, Bro?”
Hey! Did Harmony just sound a bit like Mom?
“I guess not,” said Bro. “This way, Mr., um—”
“Ware,” said Mr. Ware, who had by now pretty much crowded into the laundry room with the rest of us.
Bro stepped into the hall. Mr. Ware followed him, and I followed Mr. Ware. If this was how Mom wanted it done, then that was that. We headed down the hall and came to the stairs. Bro switched on a light and we went up, Bro, Mr. Ware, and then me. One thing about old people: They don’t climb stairs like young people. But Mr. Ware did climb stairs like young people, smooth, quick, easy—in fact, not so different from a cat. My mind left off thinking about the Frisbee contest and got ready to do some serious thinking about Mr. Ware. It was still getting ready by the time we came to the guest room floor and stopped at the door with the yellow flower.
“Here you go,” Bro said.
“Many thanks.” Mr. Ware took out his key. “You seem to be having a busy day.”
“Kind of,” said Bro.
“Anything to do with your cat?”
“Partly, I guess. Queenie won the cat beauty contest at the fair today.”
“Ha-ha. No surprise there.” Mr. Ware opened the door. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“And now she’s worn out from all the attention?”
“Maybe,” Bro said. “Or she’s sick. We’ll probably take her to the vet in the morning.”
Mr. Ware paused in the open doorway. “Oh?” he said. “Do you have a good vet?”
“Yeah.”
“Always nice to have a good vet. What’s his name?”
“It’s a her,” said Bro. “Dr. Tess.”
Mr. Ware nodded, and then without another word stepped into the Daffodil Room and closed the door. Click went the lock.
I lay down, right outside the Daffodil door. The carpet was nice and soft, would do very nicely as a bed for the night.
Bro looked down. “What are you doing?”
I stretched out, sending the message that I was fine. Go on back to bed, Bro. I’ll just settle in here, not because of the softness of the carpet—comfy, yes, but not nearly as comfy as our bed, mine and Bro’s—but because … because … The truth was I wasn’t particularly sure about the reason. It just felt right.
“Arthur? Arthur. Arthur!”
There are many ways of saying my name, some harder to ignore than others. I rose, and Bro and I made our way back through the house to the family quarters. Harmony was already there, headed into her room. Golden eyes gazed at me over her shoulder. Purring started up. She was purring, just from the sight of me? I could get used to that.
“Harm?” Bro whispered, what with Mom’s room being down at the end of the hall. “Do you hear that? What’s going on with her?”
“She’s just so happy that she won.”
“Yeah?”
“What other reason could there be? But she does feel a little warm to me.” Harmony patted the head of our purring … guest? Was that what she was? “You’re seeing Dr. Tess in the morning.” Harmony carried the guest into her room and shut
the door.
Not long after that, we were bedded down, me and Bro. We each have our own pillow, but I always end up liking his better, hard to explain why. Soon Bro was fast asleep, and I was on my way, closer and closer and … did I hear some footsteps, in the house but somewhat distant? I wasn’t sure. I listened for a bit, heard nothing—well, maybe a car started up, somewhere or other—and then sank down and down into a lovely dream, all about snacks and running very very fast.
“You’re right,” Mom said. “She does feel a little warm. On the other hand, all this purring—it’s so unlike her.”
I opened my eyes. Sunshine was streaming into our room. Morning already? That was quick. I rolled over. Bro was already up, standing out in the hall with Mom and Harmony.
“But purring’s good,” Bro said.
“I don’t know,” said Harmony. “Maybe she’s trying to tell us something.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see what Dr. Tess has to say,” Mom said. She took out her phone. “Hi, Yvette Reddy here. Our cat Queenie doesn’t seem well. Could we bring her in to see Dr. Tess?” She listened. “Really? I see. Thanks. Bye.”
Mom turned to the twins. “They’ll have to call back,” she said. “Dr. Tess isn’t in yet and they’re not sure when she’s arriving. Car problems. Well, actually it looks like someone let the air out of her tires overnight.”
“A prank?” said Harmony.
“If so, a very mean one.”
At that moment, Bertha called up the stairs. “Harmony and Bro? Someone here to see you.”
We went downstairs, and there in the front hall was a complicated scene. We had a person I recognized, namely Randa Bea Pruitt, the woman who ran the fair. Then we had another person I didn’t recognize at first. This person was a girl wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. She seemed a bit familiar, with those long braids and big dark eyes. Big dark eyes, like Randa Bea’s but even bigger and darker. Got it! Magical Miranda! A sparkling gown and a sparkling crown would probably make anyone look different. I cut myself some slack for not recognizing her right off the top, cutting yourself some slack being almost always the best move.
But there was more than Randa Bea and Magical Miranda, because also in the front hall stood two shiny bicycles, one red and one blue, with fat tires and big bows tied to the handlebars. Humans have a certain way of standing when they’re trying not to hop up and down, which was how the twins were standing now.
“Oh, boy,” Bro said.
“Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy,” said Harmony.
And then came a lot of jibber-jabber where Harmony was introducing Mom to Miranda, and Miranda was introducing Mom to Randa Bea, who turned out to be her mom. Had I already known that? If so, I really knew it now.
Not long after that, the twins and Miranda had taken the bikes outside and Mom was in the dining room with Randa Bea. Bikes or dining room? That was my choice. I took dining room.
No guests. You look for guests right away when you’re in the B and B business. Guests like to sleep in. I’d make a very good guest in someone else’s inn, but why would I go there? Ours was the best.
Mom and Randa Bea sat at Mom’s favorite table, the little round one in the back corner, with windows on two sides. Mom was pouring coffee when I went over and sat by the table. Had Bertha come to take their order yet? Mom usually had yogurt and fruit. Maybe Bertha had gotten Randa Bea interested in her maple-smoked sausages. That was my hope.
Randa Bea peered down at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m trying to think of some famous athlete—even one—who didn’t look athletic.”
Mom laughed. I wasn’t sure why. Were they talking about me? I was an athlete, of course—nothing could now be clearer—but was I famous?
“Sure can wag his tail,” said Randa Bea. “I’m so glad I added the Frisbee contest. We were only going to have the cat beauty contest at first.”
“Oh?” said Mom.
“Pamela suggested it.”
“Who’s Pamela?”
“Pamela Vance—publisher of Green Mountain Cat magazine. A great idea. But then I thought—why not dogs?”
“An Arthur-type thought,” Mom said.
They laughed. I noticed I was still wagging my tail. Well well. My tail is almost like a … a sort of … little Arthur on its own. What a strange thought, and somewhat frightening. I sat down on it at once, got things under control.
Randa Bea sipped her coffee. “Mmm. Very nice.”
“Thanks,” said Mom. “That’s our medium roast. We switch things up from week to week. A surprising number of our guests turn out to be coffee connoisseurs.”
Randa Bea nodded. “The ups and downs of dealing with the public.”
“It’s mostly ups,” Mom said.
Randa Bea looked around. “Your inn is lovely. And the town, too, from what I’ve seen. Are you from around here?”
“No,” said Mom. “But my ex-husband was. We bought the place thirteen years ago. It was pretty much a ruin back then.”
“Ex?” said Randa Bea.
“Yes.”
“So now, if you don’t mind my asking, you’re the sole owner?”
“Me and the bank,” said Mom.
Randa Bea smiled. “The bank part goes without saying. It sounds like you and I are sort of in the same boat, except you seem farther down the river.”
“Oh?” said Mom.
Randa Bea put down her cup, leaned slightly forward. “How did you get your ex to give up his half? Did you buy him out?”
“Couldn’t have afforded to,” Mom said. “But he didn’t really put up much of a fight.”
“Why not?”
Mom thought about that. “I’d like to believe because he’d lost his moral standing and knew it.”
“Moral standing?”
“He was—and is—having an affair. With the interior decorator I hired to do the final spiffing up of the inn, as it happens.”
Interior decorator? The only interior decorator I knew was Lilah Fairbanks, not a fan of dogs, as it turned out. She wasn’t around anymore on account of something to do with Dad, and he wasn’t around, either. I got the feeling I was following this conversation between Mom and Randa Bea very well. Ol’ Arthur was on a roll, no question! My tail got loose and thumped the floor. I rounded it up pronto and let it know who was boss.
“So because of that he felt ashamed and willingly let go of his share of the inn?” Randa Bea said.
Mom met her gaze. In my world, when we meet another one of our kind, we size them up. Was something like that happening now?
“Or there’s theory number two,” Mom said. “He’s swept up in a new adventure and is just too excited to care.”
“No flies on you,” said Randa Bea.
Kind of a weird comment. Yes, we had flies in the summertime, but Elrod had installed brand-new screens in the spring, and the odd fly that managed to sneak inside got whacked with Bertha’s swatter. There was not a single fly in the whole dining room—I’m very good at smelling flies, by the way, fly scent being strong and rather unpleasant, in case you didn’t know.
Meanwhile Mom laughed a very little laugh. “I’m much sharper after the fact.”
“Say hello to your twin sister,” said Randa Bea.
I glanced around. No one had entered the dining room. Did Mom have a twin sister? Why was I just finding that out now? Harmony and Bro were twins, of course, but not the identical kind, as Bro tells everyone they meet. Had Randa Bea gotten herself a little mixed up? It had to be that. I gave her a pass. Getting mixed up happens in life. Sometimes in bunches!
“Although,” Randa Bea went on, “you seem to be handling things much better than me. In my case—” Randa Bea’s phone buzzed. She took it from her pocket, glanced at the screen. “Terribly sorry,” she told Mom. “I have to take this.” Then, into the phone, she said, “Any news?” She listened. “Try that cousin of his in Connecticut.” She clicked off and shook her head. “And now the clown has disappeared.
”
“The clown?”
“Cuthbert. That’s his clown name but we all call him that in real life, too. He was supposed to deliver the bikes with Miranda and he didn’t show up, which is why I’m here. Clowns tend to be unpredictable in my experience, but we’ve had no problems with Cuthbert. Naturally Marlon never liked him, god knows why.”
“Marlon’s your ex-husband?” Mom said.
“Not quite ex, since the divorce is pending. It’s just been a mess.” Randa Bea gazed into her cup. “I inherited Sunshine Amusements from my dad. After my mom died, I took over for her, meaning I basically ran the show, my dad having … some problems. Then, when I married Marlon everyone said I should have a prenup agreement keeping one hundred percent ownership in my hands, but that seemed like such a coldhearted way to start a marriage.” She looked up. “On the other hand, the business side of me knew it made sense. So in the end the contract I never paid much attention to—but I signed it, god help me!—turns out to be full of holes. And Marlon is taking advantage of every single one. Through his lawyer, of course. Marlon himself is always traveling and unavailable.” Randa Bea drummed her fingers on the table. “Traveling with Ms. X, I assume.”
“Ms. X?” said Mom.
“There’s a Ms. X and has been for some time,” Randa Bea said. “I don’t know her name. Marlon denies the whole thing, but he’s slipped up a few times, including once when a friend of mine saw the two of them at a restaurant in Reno. I confronted him. He called my friend a liar. She’s a close, longtime friend. I kicked him out.”
“Close longtime friends are good,” Mom said.
“You betcha,” said Randa Bea. They clinked coffee cups. “Can I ask how your kids are handling the divorce?”
“On the surface, pretty well,” Mom said. “They’ve got each other, of course, and they’re both really into sports, meaning lots of physical exercise. As for what’s going on inside, I’d say that Harmony’s pretty much taking it in stride. I suspect Bro is very angry at his dad, but he doesn’t say so. I tried to get him to open up about it a few times. No go. But in my experience when people seem basically happy, they usually are, and he does.”
Bark vs. Snark Page 9
