No Filter

by Heather Day Gilbert

  I was surprised to find an engraved metal tag stitched to the underside of the collar. It didn't appear to be a dog identification tag, since it said "Amber 457301." Coal was obviously not an "Amber."

  Why would Gerard go to all that trouble to hide a tag this way? And what on earth did it mean? Maybe it was the phone number for a woman named Amber? No, it was a digit short for that, and even if it was, why bother hiding it so carefully?

  I went into Auntie A's gardening shed and found a pair of scissors. After snipping the bothersome tag off, I shoved it into my pocket, then buckled his collar on again. Coal happily lumbered off to sniff out a new adventure, while I sat on a wrought-iron bench and watched yellowed oak leaves drifting toward the ground.

  Who was Gerard Fontaine anyway? That Ivy Hill Spiritual Center must be rolling in the dough for him to afford such luxuries, or else he was independently wealthy. But in that case, why would he choose to be a golf instructor?

  The air had actually gotten a little nippy, so I sighed and stood. Coal rushed to my side, as if he feared being left alone. I supposed he had been alone for an extended period of time, before Gerard's body was discovered. Had Gerard actually been killed on the golf course, then dumped into the pond?

  I looked into Coal's light brown eyes, which seemed to be full of sadness.

  Was it possible Gerard had been killed at home, maybe even in front of his Great Dane? It was probably unlikely, but the dog surely acted like he was grieving. He must've been quite close to Gerard. Dogs were capable of such incredible loyalty. I hoped Coal would find me worthy of his trust.

  Coal and I stayed up late for an impromptu Le Femme Nikita marathon. I loved the original series with Peta Wilson, and Bo had bought me the first season on DVD this past Christmas. It turned out to be the one highlight of the holiday season Jake had ruined by confessing all his affairs before walking out on me.

  The next morning, I managed to sleep in until nine since Jimmy had offered to handle the early morning doggie duties for me at the cafe. Coal woke me by bumping into my arm—he must've crept onto my bed once I'd fallen asleep. A dull knock sounded, and I realized someone was at my back door. Bo had the key, so it couldn't be him.

  I yanked one of my dad's old Oxford shirts over my head—they were some of the only mementos Auntie A had kept, maybe because she was proud he'd been a dentist. With Coal at my side, I peeked out the back window and saw a tall blonde woman with a deep tan standing on my doorstep.

  She was about to knock again when I opened the door.

  "Hello?" It came out a question, my voice scratchy from sleep. Who was this woman and why was she on my doorstep this time in the morning? "Can I help you?" I prodded when she seemed at a loss for words.

  She took a step back as if surprised at my gruffness. "Uh, yes. They told me this was your place—you're Macy Hatfield, right?" Her gaze shifted to Coal and she clasped her hands to her chest. "Oh, thank goodness he's here."

  "Hold on—who told you this was my place?" Coal pressed against my leg.

  "The woman at the shelter. She said you'd adopted Gerard's dog. I'm so glad he's okay."

  I was going to have to have a little chat with Summer Adkins, handing out my home address to just anyone. It seemed to me that once a dog was adopted, that kind of thing would be more privileged information.

  "Oh, please pardon me for not introducing myself. I'm Katie Givens—the masseuse at the Ivy Hill Spiritual Center for Healing." She teared up and pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes. "Gerard and I were very close, you see. He would've wanted me to take care of his baby boy." She peered around me and made a smoochy sound to Coal. The dog gave a low rumble.

  It wasn't a friendly rumble. He clearly didn't like her.

  I pulled the door closed a bit more, effectively blocking Coal from her line of sight. "So, you and Blackie here were tight, too," I said, deliberately giving the wrong name for the dog. "Why didn't you keep him when they asked around at Ivy Hill? I heard there were no takers because he was too big."

  She played right into my trap. "Oh, yes. Blackie is very attached to me. Sadly, I was out for training the day the staff sent the email asking for a new place to situate him, and I only found out later they'd accidentally left my name off the list." She tried in vain to peer over my shoulder to the dog, then gave up and looked at me beseechingly. "I would've dropped everything to pick up my big sweet poochie poo."

  When I didn't respond, she fumbled at her purse, withdrawing a checkbook. "I'm happy to take him off your hands, and I'll pay you extra for the expenses you've had," she said, beaming a tragic—and definitely false—smile at me.

  I could feel my face freeze. "I'm not sure what game you're playing here, Miss Givens, but Coal here has been legally adopted." I emphasized his real name so she'd have no doubt I saw through her ruse. "He's not for sale. I'm sorry this was a waste of your morning." I slowly and firmly shut the door in her face.

  I peered out the kitchen window to make sure she'd left, then I filled a kettle to make my morning tea. Coal trotted along behind me, so I refilled his water dish. Katie Givens wanted her hands on my dog for some nefarious purpose, I was sure of it.

  Petting Coal's sleek forehead, I murmured, "Don't you worry, boy. You're safe now."

  4

  The cafe was in full swing by the time I headed over at eleven. I left Coal at home on his pillow I'd brought downstairs, planning to walk him on my lunch break.

  As I opened the door, Milo, who I was certain was one of the most Millennial Millennials in town, looked me up and down. His eyes looked huge behind the thin lenses of his glasses, which I was pretty sure he'd only bought for fashion purposes.

  "You're on fleek, hon."

  I knew he meant it as a compliment—after all, I'd finally discovered the plastic tote filled with all my good work clothes, so I was rocking my slim black jeans and a French-chic camel colored sweater. I'd swept my hair into a loose chignon. But I was his boss, and I couldn't let him set a precedent of calling me Hon.

  Before I could scold him, a young golden retriever broke away from the petting area and throttled past the cafe tables, nearly toppling one. In a brief moment of discernment, he slowed as he approached the wall, giving me an opportunity to loop my fingers under his collar.

  Jimmy lumbered into the room. Flattening one large hand to his chest, he pointed at the dog with his other. "That one has been giving me fits today, Miss Hatfield."

  I glanced down and nearly laughed. The dog's tongue was lolling out and he actually seemed to be grinning up at me, as if he were proud of his tiny revolution.

  With fresh resolve, I said a firm "No" before walking the dog back toward the petting area. "I'll take it from here, Jimmy. If he keeps tearing off like that, we might have to call the shelter."

  Jimmy gave a sigh of relief. "I'll clean up and help Milo, then."

  Milo looked up from spraying whipped cream on top of a drink. "Do be sure you clean up thoroughly, Jimbo."

  Jimmy didn't seem to mind the nickname, or maybe he didn't hear it as he walked into the back room, but I wheeled around. "Milo, please call the employees and the bosses by their actual names. I'm Miss Hatfield and this is Jimmy. Don't forget it."

  Milo's face was nothing if not dramatic, quickly shifting from an expression of surprise to disdain to one of considered approval. Milo didn't need this job—at age twenty-seven, this was actually his first job since he still lived at home with his wealthy parents. Maybe we'd made a mistake in hiring him, but Bo and I had both been impressed with his verve for marketing the cafe, which included utilizing social media apps we weren't even aware of.

  He adjusted his shirt collar and actually had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry, Miss Hatfield. It won't happen again." He shot me a winning smile.

  Bo walked in, carrying a fresh box of supplies. He slowed and glanced around, as if picking up on the charged atmosphere. "Everything going okay?"

  Milo shot a glance at my brother—more specificall
y, at my brother's large and straining biceps—and I hurried to put his mind at ease. "Everything's going well."

  I looked down at the retriever, who had settled next to my feet as if he didn't have a care in the world, and hoped everything was going well. In my DMV job, I'd rarely exercised authority, but today it seemed to flow naturally. Maybe I was a little stronger than I gave myself credit for.

  Coal couldn't get to my side fast enough when Bo and I walked in for lunch. As Bo set to work making grilled ham and cheese on sourdough, I walked Coal out to the back yard. Recalling the metal tag I'd snipped off his collar yesterday, I realized maybe that was what Katie had really wanted, not Coal himself, although Great Danes could definitely be sold for a hefty price.

  I had shoved the tag into my jeans pocket, I remembered. After urging Coal to hurry up with his business, we rushed inside. Taking the stairs two at a time, I charged up to my room and yanked the jeans out of my laundry basket. Sure enough, the tag was still in the pocket.

  I tried to head back down, but Coal sat on the middle step, blocking me. I'd left the poor dog in the dust on my way upstairs, but now he wasn't about to let me get away.

  "C'mon, boy," I said, edging around him. He tried to keep a respectful distance behind me as we made our way down, although he tripped and plowed into me as he missed the last step.

  "Ouch!" I shouted, hitting the floor with my knees.

  "Sis?" Bo yelled. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing." I scrambled to my feet and walked down the hallway, grabbing my keychain from the transferware dish where I'd dropped it. I took it to the hall closet and turned on the flashlight on my phone. Getting down on the wooden closet floor, which caused Coal no end of consternation as he tried to divine my intentions, I leaned back, pushing at the back wall with both my feet. It gave, and a small, hidden panel opened, revealing my safe box. Moving Coal's wet nose from my face, I sat and opened it, dropping Coal's metal tag on top of my birth certificate, passport, and other valuable papers.

  "Food's ready," Bo called. "Where are you?"

  I shoved the box back into the hidden space. Coal began to whine and nudged into my hand, which made me drop my phone with the light down. After groping for the hidden panel, my fingers hit the edge of the small door, so I used my upper body to jam it closed.

  "Sis?" Bo didn't like to be kept waiting when he made the effort to cook for me.

  "Coming," I sing-songed, shushing Coal as I shut the main closet door.

  Bo peered down the hallway at me. "What're you doing in there?"

  I considered explaining the possible connection with Katie's visit and my consequent desire to hide Coal's tag, but that story would keep for now. As a child, I had let my imagination run wild, and I didn't want Bo thinking I was seeing things.

  Though truth be told, I felt like my imagination had died the moment my ex's lies were revealed.

  "Nothing important," I said, ambling over to the kitchen table. Bo situated an attractive plate in front of me. He had garnished the golden-toasted sandwich with a crisp pickle wedge, then added a bag of my favorite chips on the side.

  I took the first bite, allowing the comforting flavors to hit me full-on. I sighed. "How could Tara give this up? You did cook for her occasionally, didn't you?" While I knew Bo hadn't lived with Tara, preferring to wait until after marriage for intimate relations, I also knew he couldn't resist cooking for those he loved.

  Bo, who had already taken three bites to my one, stared at his plate. "Of course. Sometimes she stayed late and I'd bring her dinner."

  I wanted to ask Bo all kinds of questions, but it was clear he was still unwilling to share much information. How would Auntie A approach this conversation with him?

  She'd talk about herself, offering stories from her past to prod him into talking.

  "You know how Jake ran around on me," I started.

  Bo's head tilted up and his eyes met mine. Eyes that reflected a thorough disapproval of his wayward ex brother-in-law. His one-word response reflected it, too. "Yes?"

  "I asked myself a thousand times if it was something I'd done wrong. Maybe I'd been lazy about cooking and ordered too much take-out. Maybe I hadn't been as supportive as I should've been. Maybe I'd let myself go a little."

  Bo gave a fierce shake of his head. "No way, sis. It was nothing you did. Guys like that are jerks from the get-go; it just takes a while for it to become apparent."

  "I agree," I continued. "That's the conclusion I finally came to, that it was nothing I'd done." I stood and walked over to the sink, putting water in the kettle so I could give Bo some space. "It's probably the same in your case, you know, with Tara. It wasn't anything you did, I'm sure."

  My back was to him, but he didn't hesitate to respond. "It's not like that. It wasn't anything I'd done, just something she thought I'd done."

  "Okay, that's clear as mud." I turned on the kettle and returned to my seat. I didn't want to see my brother's wounded look, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. I immediately wished I hadn't because his pain was so intense.

  "Someone lied about me and said I was involved with her while I was engaged to Tara. This person deliberately torpedoed our engagement. I tried explaining that it was all a pack of lies to Tara, but she wouldn't listen."

  "Why would she believe some random woman over you?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't clam up.

  "Because the random woman produced ticket stubs and other receipts with my name on them to prove I'd been out with her on certain nights."

  "What? How is that possible?"

  "I haven't figured that out yet. I was just so embarrassed that this woman—a new coworker—was able to convince Tara that I'd been with her. You know I'd never cheat on a fiancée, sis. Or any girlfriend, for that matter."

  "Of course not. It's ridiculous."

  "I guess it's just a woman scorned and all that. I couldn't fight the accusations, and it got so awkward working closely with Tara that I decided to pull up stakes and head home."

  Coal, who had snuggled into his pillow, lifted his head for a moment to offer a loud whine, then returned to his resting position.

  Bo grinned. "Well, the dog's on my side, so I feel better."

  "You know I'm on your side, too. Always."

  Bo polished off his sandwich and dusted the crumbs from his hands. "Hey, let's you and I get out tonight. We've hardly done anything while we were setting up Barks & Beans, but they're having a chamber orchestra on the lawn outside Carnegie Hall at seven—Bach, I think. Didn't you used to like Bach?"

  I enjoyed a well-played harpsichord as much as the next girl, and the historic Lewisburg Carnegie Hall building was a gorgeous spot. Although it was doubtful they'd move a harpsichord onto the lawn.

  "Sounds like a plan." I glanced at the clock as I stacked our plates in the sink. "We'd better get back to work," I said.

  As if he understood English, Coal stood, stretched, and walked to my side, pushing against me for a final pet.

  "How do you do that?" Bo asked, opening the door for me. "It's like you're communicating with him somehow."

  I patted Coal's head, then told him to go sit on his pillow. He obediently marched off that direction. "I don't know, but dogs aren't stupid. They pick up on body language, tone of voice, all that."

  Bo clapped a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad we have you at the cafe, sis. You're perfect for this job. And I'm glad you've found a doggie friend."

  Though his words were cheery, his tone was despondent. I wished I could erase everything that had happened with Tara. I wasn't sure when my brother was going to attempt dating again, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be anytime soon.

  The concert was relaxing, even without a harpsichord. When intermission came, a tall man with black-framed glasses and a devilishly strong cleft chin strode toward us. The tips of his tousled brown hair touched the jaunty scarf he had twisted around his Oxford collar, and he'd topped this look off with a tweed jacket. The overall effect was one of bookish masculinity.


  My brother pushed up out of the lawn chair and reached out to shake the man's hand. "Dylan! Good to see you." He turned and gestured to me. "And this is my sister, Macy. She liked those prints you chose for the cafe."

  I stood. "Oh, this is the art gallery owner you were telling me about?"

  The man, who smelled a little like woodsmoke, gave a slight nod as he leaned my way and nodded. "Yes, I'm Dylan Butler—my art gallery is called The Discerning Palette. I'm glad you liked those prints."

  "Well, if left to my own devices, I wouldn't have picked Redon prints for that space." Noting his startled look and realizing how rude I'd sounded, I placed a hand on his arm and rushed to continue. "But I'm so glad you did! Somehow they pull out muted colors in the interior and they add a touch of whimsy, which is perfect for a doggie cafe."

  Dylan's raised eyebrows returned to normal and his voice held a note of appreciation. "You know your artwork."

  "I minored in art history in college," I said. "It hasn't really come in useful, though. I have no artistic skills of my own. I just like to admire beautiful things."

  "What did you major in?" he asked, stepping closer as the orchestra began to warm up.

  "Broadcast journalism," I said, somewhat under my breath.

  The music started and Dylan gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher before he whispered goodbye and headed back to his seat. Maybe he wondered how I wound up working at a doggie cafe instead of being an anchorwoman on the news. Shoot, it was a question I'd asked myself often enough.

  The bitter truth was that I'd had a bit of a breakdown after college. It was like the tragedy of my parents' early deaths by a stupid, random flood finally hit me in one swelling blow. The breakdown derailed my confidence...and probably left me wide open to the eventual advances of one Jake Hollings.

  I glanced over at Bo, who was gazing off into the distance as the music wafted around us. We were like orphaned Lost Boys, with no parents to tell us which people would prove dangerous to our psyches or which paths we should avoid.