by Liz Dodwell
Doggone Christmas
A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery
Book 1
LIZ DODWELL
Doggone Christmas: A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery (Book 1)
Copyright © 2014 by Liz Dodwell
www.lizdodwell.com
Print ISBN-10: 1939860164
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-93986016-3
Published by Mix Books, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Tracy,
Who makes every day a holiday
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
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Author’s Notes
Liz Dodwell
One
ALL I WANT FOR CRISTMAS IS TO BE A BUTIFUL PRINCESS.
“Well, that didn’t work out,” I thought ruefully as I looked at the childish note. “How old was I when I wrote that? Six, maybe?”
I glanced at myself in the dusty old mirror propped against a pile of boxes. I’d never been a pretty child but braces had taken care of the crooked teeth and color-in-a-bottle gave highlights to my otherwise mouse brown hair, but there was nothing I could do about my one green eye and one brown. Oh, I’d tried colored contacts but they were so uncomfortable and it seemed rather like stuffing your bra with socks: they had to come out eventually, so what was the point? Now, at 27, I was resigned to the fact that I was passably attractive, sometimes sexy but never beautiful.
I was in the attic of my mother’s home, the family home in upstate New York where my two brothers and I grew up outside a small town with the improbable name of Mallowapple. Two years ago my parents had split up, leaving Mom angry and embittered. Seb and Keene, my brothers, and I had been trying since then to persuade Mom to get out of the rambling old farmhouse that she couldn’t possibly maintain, and she’d finally agreed. That’s why I was in the attic, freezing my you know what off on a really cold November day – just after Thanksgiving - and making a start on clearing out thirty years of keepsakes while waiting for the realtor to arrive.
There was a sudden burst of high-pitched yaps mingled with a throatier bark. At the same time my mother’s voice came from below, “Polly, he’s here!”
“Coming!” I climbed down the attic steps then raced down to the first floor reaching the front door just as the man hit the bell, which caused the dogs to increase their volume and excitement.
“Enough!” I clapped my hands and gave ‘the look’ as three heads turned to me. Angel, a pitbull / Rhodesian ridgeback mix, Vinny, a miniature poodle and Coco, a toy poodle.
“Back!” I pointed to an old blanket on the floor and the trio obediently moved to it.
“Stay!” Then I opened the door.
The man standing there was nothing less than gorgeous. Close-cropped wavy brown hair, ice-cool gray eyes etched with laugh lines, and the most sensuous lips; he had a rugged air about him yet was dressed in a dark bespoke suit that had been tailored to complement his athletic frame, and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck.
Way to make an impression, Polly, I thought, feeling conscious of my dusty attic attire, no make-up and hair pulled into a severe pony tail. Still, I did my best to put on a brave face and smiled brightly at Mr ‘Hottie.’
Unfortunately my dogs, though very obliging with the commands, ‘Enough’ and ‘Back,’ had never quite got the grasp of ‘Stay,’ and as the realtor reached out his hand to introduce himself, my mutts hurled themselves joyously at the stranger, knocking him to his back while they drooled and slobbered a welcome. The attache case he’d been carrying flew from his grasp, the top popped open as it landed and the contents were strewn across the front porch.
“Leave it,” I shrieked. “Off, off!”
The dogs totally ignored me and continued their ministrations on Mr. Hottie, who actually wasn’t looking quite so hot right now as he struggled to regain his footing. I grabbed Vinny and Coco, one under each arm and, herding Angel, managed to shove them back in the house and close the door.
Thoroughly embarrassed, I turned my attention to the scattered papers, snatching them up and stuffing them back into the attache case, which I then held out to the realtor who was brushing dog hair from his expensive suit. I wondered if I should mention the streak of slobber down his left pants’ leg but decided it might be better to just apologize.
“I’m so terribly sorry. They’re not usually quite that boisterous. They must really like you.”
He glared fixedly at me and, to give him his due, didn’t flinch at my odd-colored eyes as most people did. Of course, he might still be in shock so I pressed gamely on. “You must be from the real estate company.”
“And you must be Mrs. Parrett,” he practically snarled.
“No, that’s my mother, Edwina. I’m Polly Parrett.”
When he remained silent I babbled on, “Um, well, come on in. You won’t have to worry about the dogs any more. Now that they’ve met you they’ll settle right down.”
Still he said nothing, just raised his eyes a little, so I opened the door and led him inside.
Angel, Vinny and Coco were relaxing on various items of furniture and, as promised, paid no more attention to us, though Mr. Hottie glanced a little furtively at them. At that moment my mother wheeled herself in. Much to my relief she was in her best greeting visitor mode. “Hello. I’m Edwina, how nice to meet you.”
This time, Mr. Hottie did show momentary surprise. He didn’t know she was invalided and in a wheelchair. Taking her hand gently he responded, “The pleasure’s all mine. I’m Tyler Breslin, Breslin Realty Associates.”
“Oh, we were expecting a Mr. Woodford, not the owner.”
“He’s one of my associates. I usually only handle the upscale clients (What a snot! Upscale? What were we? Worthless?) but he had a family emergency and I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
“How very kind of you. We’re honored.”
Honored? My mother never spoke like this. She was acting as if Breslin was practically royalty.
“Why don’t we get down to business?” I piped up before the syrup got any thicker.
“Yes. My daughter is an excellent business woman. She has her own company, you know. She operates a pet-sitting service.”
Breslin turned to me. “And I can tell you’re uniquely qualified for that.” The acid was positively dripping.
I gave my sweetest smile, deciding not to rise to the bait, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything suitably snappy to say. “So Tyler, how should we proceed?”
Was that a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth? My God, perhaps the man could smile after all.
“Why don’t you give me a little background information, then I’ll take a look around the house.”
So I explained that we wanted to find something small and manageable for Mom and
hoped to get enough out of the old house to give her a decent nest egg. “We figured we should get the house professionally painted and cleaned but didn’t know if we ought to replace carpeting as well. Everything is terribly dated and my brothers and I plan to help with the costs but funds are limited.”
“You’re on the right track but let me quickly check something here.” Tyler got up from the chair in which he’d been sitting and stepped to the corner of the room. Bending over, he pulled up a corner of the worn old rug. “As I suspected, there are genuine hardwood floors under here.”
The floors weren’t the only thing he exposed. His butt looked like a shag rug with all the dog hair he’d picked up from the chair, though it was still possible to tell it was a sexy tight ass.
“Is that good?” my mother asked. Of course a tight ass is…. Oh! She was talking to Tyler.
“It’s great. For a relatively small amount of money you can get the floors refinished and you’ll immediately increase your home’s value and appeal. Hardwood floors are really in demand right now.”
Mom looked pleased and I was glad to see her in a good mood for once. While she waited for us downstairs I took Tyler on a tour of the old homestead – six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a peek into the attic, then down to the huge kitchen, old-fashioned morning room and the basement.
“You can see why Mom can’t go on living here alone.”
“I assumed you lived here as well.”
“No, I need to be closer to my clients, so I have a small place in town. When Dad was still here we’d talked about him and Mom one day retiring to Florida and I would take over the house to create a pet boarding center. There are more than 10 acres here as well, you know, and a huge horse barn with several other outbuildings. Of course, they’re all in need of some work now but I just can’t afford it.”
Sighing, I ushered Tyler back into the living room where Mom had set up a pot of tea with a few cookies and the bottle of sweet cream sherry that she always kept for special occasions. Oh, no! That bottle hadn’t been used since before Dad left, it must have turned to vinegar by now. And I was sure Mr. Hottie was more of a martini man.
“Do sit down, Tyler, and have a cup of tea,” Mom gestured to the hairy chair. “Or perhaps you’d care to take a little sip of sherry?”
Tyler didn’t miss a beat. “Sherry would be delightful, Mrs. Parrett.” Graciously he accepted the glass; I took mine with extreme trepidation. Together we toasted to a successful sale, then we sipped. The stuff was absolutely ghastly. I gagged, Mom simply didn’t know better and Mr. Hottie smiled warmly at Mom and said, “Delicious.”
While we sipped we discussed terms. Tyler urged that we not over-improve the property because we risked not getting the money back in a sale. He told us he would work up some comps and get back to us with a suggested sale price in a couple of days, then he stood to leave. The dogs sensed something was up and came to say goodbye. Surprisingly, Tyler accommodated them by scratching their ears and three tails wagged happily.
“Thank you,” I said as I walked him to the door, “for being so nice to my mother and drinking that awful sherry.”
“Your mother is a lovely lady who’s had a really rough time. I enjoyed meeting her.” His smile this time crinkled those laugh lines round his eyes. Mr Hottie just went way back up in my estimation.
Two
In the few minutes it had taken for me to see Tyler out, Mom had reverted to bitter mode.
“It’s not fair that I’m being forced out of my home, especially with the holidays coming. If my disability money wasn’t so paltry I could fix the place up. Your father should do something. It’s his fault anyway that this is happening.”
Oh, Lord.
My mother had given riding lessons and been a fairly successful competitor in show jumping until a fall left her paralyzed below the waist. It also left her angry and depressed. Unable to ever ride again she couldn’t bear to keep her beloved horses or continue with her business. Dad was a trooper and took over the household chores along with the extra care Mom’s condition required. Then the lousy economy caught up and he was laid off from the accounting company where he’d worked for years. He struggled to make ends meet by working as a private consultant but, with the loss of health care insurance Mom’s incessant quibbling and ungrateful attitude became too much. He took off with the pharmacist who regularly filled Mom’s prescriptions. Though I was hurt and angry at his abandonment at first, having taken over the role of caregiver I had come to sympathize. And to give Dad his due, the pharmacist wasn’t some 20-something but a mature and intelligent woman.
“Mom, we’ve been through this before. Dad signed the house over to you and it has a lot of equity. With the proceeds from the sale you should be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” And maybe my life will be a little easier. I won’t have to spend an hour a day driving out here.
“But it’s our family home. There are so many memories.” She had a point there. Then she started to cry.
I hated to leave her like this but I had a dog-walk to get to. Fortunately, at that moment one of my cats appeared and jumped on her lap. Cappy (short for Cappuccino because he had a strip of white hair above his mouth that looked like a milk mustache) resided with my mother. Actually, I had six cats but my little house in town was already maxed-out with pets so Lief, Ollie and Cappy stayed with Mom. So far it had been a perfect arrangement. My mother loved the cats’ company and they had the run of the whole house. I was concerned how things would work when Mom moved though, and realized I hadn’t mentioned that to Tyler. I’d have to give him a call.
Taking advantage of Cappy’s distraction I hastily departed. I’d be back in the morning anyway, to help Mom get dressed. Five days a week she had an aide who came in to bathe her and get her ready for the day. The rest of the time it was mostly up to me, and tomorrow the aide was off. Seb lived 1,000 miles away; Keene’s home was a two-hour drive from here but he and his wife tried to visit every other weekend and would stay overnight.
On the way to my house to drop off the dogs before my scheduled walk I dialed Tyler’s number. It went straight to voicemail and I was annoyed to find myself a little disappointed that Mr Hottie himself hadn’t answered. I left a message that we’d need a place where three cats would be OK then set aside all thoughts of real estate and got back to business.
Three
I’d enjoyed the dog walk. I don’t do a lot of hands-on work these days but one of my team of six was on vacation this week so I was filling in.
Back in my home office (OK, it’s the kitchen table) the time sheets were staring at me. I hated paperwork. One of these days I’d be able to afford an assistant to take care of such things; for now I just had to suck it up. I glanced at the clock. I should be able to finish by about seven, then I could reward myself with some of the pistachio gelato that was calling me from the freezer. Five minutes into my calculations the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I answered in my peppy work voice, “Pets and People, Too. This is Polly, can I help a pet or a person today?”
“Um, actually, I’m calling to help you.” Tyler!
“Oh, hello. Is this the realtor?” The realtor? Why didn’t I just say the man’s name? Why was I a blithering idiot all of a sudden?
“Yes, it’s Tyler.” Emphasis on his name. “Is this a bad time?”
Get a grip, Polly. I took a calming breath. “Not at all. You saved me from a mountain of paperwork. At least, temporarily.”
He laughed – I liked the sound.
“Polly, I got your message and I’ve found a couple of properties that might be of interest. Also, I’ve been running some figures that I’d like to go over with you. Do you think you might have a couple of hours tomorrow?”
“I have a really full calendar for the rest of the week. Let me look…..”
“Great.” He interrupted. “Then let’s talk over dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Uh, um, well, I’m not s
ure….” Mr Hottie was asking me on a date?
“That’s not a problem, is it? Strictly business, of course.”
“Of course,” I said coolly and gave him my address.
Annoyed at caving so easily to Tyler’s imperious assumption that I’d be readily available when it suited him, I consoled myself with the fact that at least I’d get a decent dinner – and I’d make him pay! Dinner! Oh, my god. Where would he take me?
Tyler Breslin, CEO of Breslin Realty Associates did not strike me as a burger and beer type of guy and with my seriously limited finances that’s about all I was familiar with. Hell, nearly all my clothes were ‘pet’ clothes – scruffy and comfortable gear that could handle dog drool or parrot poo. I didn’t have a thing to wear amongst the country club set if we went somewhere swanky. For that matter, I was still in my dirty old dungarees and sweat shirt from Mom’s attic and, beginning to panic, I realized I only had about an hour to get ready! And the house was a wreck!
I raced for the shower, shedding clothes on the way. Exactly fifty minutes later I was washed, coiffed and dressed in my only decent pair of black skinny jeans with a panther-print Lanvin top that I’d picked up for $100 in a consignment store a year before. For that price I figured it was a steal, though I really hesitated to shell out so much money. The fact that it was a charity store to benefit abused animals tipped the decision in favor of buying. If Tyler was really dressed up I figured I could tell him I assumed our ‘business’ dinner would be casual and suggest somewhere middle-of-the-road that would suit us both.
Just then the dogs’ ears’ pricked up. Can’t the man be fashionably late?
I grabbed the papers off the table along with the clothes I’d strewn on the floor and hid them in the kitchen cupboards. Fortunately that was no problem as I only had a few cans of food and a couple of cracked coffee cups. As I stepped into my shoes there was a knock on the door.
“Just a minute,” I yelled over the dog’s barking.
I’d opted for three-inch heels. I’m only five two and Tyler must be at least six two so I felt I needed an advantage. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, though. My life was spent running around in sneakers and the sudden thrust into the stratosphere had me a little wobbly. I tottered to the door.
