Putting on the Dog

by Cynthia Baxter

  I realized I was acting ridiculous. Shawn was a friend, and he was only trying to help me unwind. Besides, he was right about me being tense. I hadn’t even realized how tense until he’d started to undo some of the damage.

  I even pulled off the shirt before lying down.

  Shawn began working on me right away. He started by making small circles with his thumbs, up and down my spine. I could feel him gradually intensifying the pressure as my frozen muscles gave way. The warmth flowing through me was already reaching flood proportions.

  “How am I doing so far?” he asked in a gentle voice. I just grunted. Despite my initial resistance, I was already so relaxed I didn’t think I was capable of making my lips form an actual word.

  “Boy, you’re really tense. I can feel it in your muscles.” Shawn’s fingers dug harder as he worked out knots that were so deeply submerged I hadn’t even realized they were there. “I guess taking it upon yourself to investigate a guy’s murder is enough to do that, huh? Especially since I get the feeling Mick isn’t all that supportive of what you’re doing.”

  That’s Nick, a little voice inside my head whispered. But I didn’t bother to correct him. I was too busy luxuriating in the sensation of each of my neck muscles melting into mush. I closed my eyes, aware that I was sinking into such a relaxed state that I was practically in a trance.

  “But I bet anything you’ll find out who killed Barnett,” he went on, using the same soothing tone. His hands were traveling lower and lower down my spine. “In fact, I have no doubt that you’re one of those rare people who can pretty much accomplish anything you set your mind to.”

  As long as it doesn’t require movement, I thought, blissfully descending deeper and deeper into what could only be described as Nirvana.

  “You know how special you are, don’t you?”

  My eyes flew open.

  “Relax, Jess,” Shawn insisted, chuckling. “I’m simply paying you a compliment.”

  I grunted again. At least, that’s what I intended. Instead, I ended up making a noise that sounded dangerously like purring.

  “Actually, now that I’ve got you here, I’ll admit that I’ve been hoping to get you alone.” His fingers had worked their way upward again, and were nearing the back of my neck. I could feel his thumbs making those delicious circles again. “There’s something I want to say.”

  No tension this time. In fact, I was ready for more compliments. A whole stream of them, even. Like the massage, I was really getting into this.

  “If things don’t work out with Mick, I want you to promise you’ll get in touch with me. I really care about you, Jessie. I don’t know what you may have heard about me, but—”

  “Stop!” I cried, flipping over like a seal and bolting upright. “You and I shouldn’t be having this conversation!”

  Shawn looked stricken—and completely embarrassed. He stood with his hands frozen in midair. “I—I’m sorry, Jessie. I didn’t mean to . . . I just thought there was something kind of, I don’t know, special between you and—”

  “Don’t even say it,” I begged.

  I glanced around nervously, wondering why this had turned out to be one of the few times Nick hadn’t suddenly appeared without warning. Max sat up, the sudden change in mood instantly putting him on alert. Even Lou cocked his head questioningly.

  “Am I wrong?” Shawn demanded. “Jessie, have I been misreading your signals all week?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know, Shawn. But I do know I have to get out of here.” I grabbed the big shirt—Nick’s big shirt—and held it against my chest protectively. “Nick and I are...we’re...”

  “What, Jess? Madly in love? Engaged? On the verge of making a lifelong commitment to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?”

  “Doing our best to make this work,” I answered crisply. “And frankly, you’re not helping!”

  I flounced off, my two dogs trailing after me. My chest heaved with emotion, and for some ridiculous reason, my eyes were stinging.

  That...that playboy, I thought angrily. Coming on to me like that . . .

  But I knew perfectly well it wasn’t Shawn who was to blame. It was me. He hadn’t been misreading my signals. I really had been enjoying his company. And flirting with him. And maybe even having thoughts about . . . well, thoughts I shouldn’t have been having.

  Then again, I reminded myself, Nick hadn’t exactly been what you’d call “supportive” lately.

  The week had started out badly when he’d decided at the last minute that he wasn’t even going to join me in the Bromptons. Next, even though I was clearly intrigued over the mystery behind Devon Barnett’s death, he had done everything he could to discourage me. Then, of course, there was the childish way he’d reacted to Shawn. Not that his jealousy was completed unfounded. I couldn’t deny that I’d developed a crush—a teeny, weeny one—on Shawn.

  One thing was certain: It was time for another consultation with my expert on affairs of the heart.

  As I strode across the immense lawn of Shawn’s estate, I took my cell phone out of the tote bag and dialed.

  “Betty? I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  “Of course not, Jessica. I’m always pleased to hear from you!” The warmth in Betty Vandervoort’s tone told me how sincere she was. “And it’s not a bad time at all. I was just having a lovely conversation with that charming parrot of yours.”

  “How is Prometheus?” I asked, suddenly missing him terribly.

  “Couldn’t be better. In fact, he’s right here on my shoulder. Say hello to Jessica, Prometheus.”

  “Awk! Shake your booty, Mamma. Shake your booty!”

  “Sounds like he’s fallen in with a bad crowd,” I commented, laughing. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me Leilani has turned into a lounge lizard. What about Cat? Has she taken to hanging out on street corners?”

  “She’s not doing nearly as well as the others, poor thing,” Betty replied seriously. “Her arthritis seems to be getting worse, Jessica. Right now, I’ve got her lying on the heating pad.”

  A flash of guilt shot through me. I wondered if I was suddenly getting all my priorities wrong. Leaving my poor pussycat behind while I went galavanting off to the Bromptons, getting massages from movie stars who whispered sweet nothings into my ear . . .

  “But I have wonderful news!” she went on. “Remember the audition I told you about?”

  I cringed. I’d completely forgotten—something else to feel guilty about. “Did you get the part you wanted?”

  “I certainly did. You’re talking to the latest addition to the Port Players! I got the role of Katalin, the condemned woman—exactly what I wanted.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” I exclaimed. “Not that I’m the least bit surprised, of course.”

  “I’m going to have to brush up on my ballet, but that’s part of the fun,” she went on, sounding more and more excited. “I’m ready to expand as a performer, and this is the perfect opportunity. But what about you, Jessica?” Betty asked earnestly, reinforcing my belief that she was capable of reading minds.

  I took a deep breath. “Remember that . . . that person I told you about? The one who’s in the movies and—”

  “I believe you’re referring to the handsome Hollywood heartthrob who—as Prometheus would say— makes you want to ‘shake your booty.’ ”

  “That’s the one. He just told me that if Nick and I ever break up, the first thing he wants me to do is call him.”

  “May I ask what the two of you were doing at the time?”

  “Swimming,” I answered quickly. “We were, uh, at his pool.”

  “I see.” Betty hesitated. I could only imagine the picture she was conjuring up in her mind. Then again, whatever it was, it couldn’t have been too far from the truth. “Jessica, I’m going to give you an assignment.”

  “You mean . . . like homework?”

  “Exactly. You only have a little time left in the Bromptons, r
ight?”

  “We’re coming home on Sunday.”

  “Then I want you to put aside some time between now and then to spend with Nick. And while the two of you are together, I want you to focus on all the things you like about him. All those little details that made you fall in love with him in the first place.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Then what?”

  “That’s it, Jessica. That’s the assignment.”

  It sounded too easy. But I knew Betty well enough to sense that what she was proposing had a lot more to it than met the eye.

  “Sunday night,” Betty went on, “when you’re back in Joshua’s Hollow, you can come over and tell me what you discovered.”

  Not only do I have an assignment, I thought glumly as I hung up. There’s going to be a quiz.

  I was beginning to wonder if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Having only a day and a half left to figure out who had murdered Devon Barnett was bad enough. Now, thanks to Betty, I was also supposed to make myself fall in love with Nick all over again.

  Speaking of Nick, his car was nowhere in sight. Frowning, I glanced at my watch. He was late. I wasn’t any happier than he was over the prospect of spending an entire evening stomaching Marcus Scruggs. But Suzanne was a good friend. I wasn’t about to leave her to the wolves—and especially not to just one wolf.

  “Here I’m trying to focus on all the things I love about Nick,” I grumbled, “and he doesn’t even have the decency to help me get through this evening.”

  Still muttering to myself, I marched inside, fed the dogs, and hurried into the shower. At least one of us could manage to be on time—and to look presentable.

  As I yanked off the shower knobs, I heard the front door slam shut. Nick’s home, I thought. Finally. I wrapped one towel around my dripping head and another around my damp torso, then stepped out of the bathroom, prepared to give him a lecture on the virtues of punctuality.

  “Nick, where on earth were you? Have you forgotten that—”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. No, Nick hadn’t forgotten. No, he hadn’t carelessly left me on my own to cope with Marcus’s gushing hormones.

  Au contraire.

  Nick was decked out in a tuxedo. Not just any tux, either. If I remembered my movie trivia correctly, his suit looked a lot like the tux James Bond had made famous. Black vest, no cummerbund, smart black bow tie. With his lean frame, he looked as if he’d leaped off the cover of GQ.

  As for his dark hair, it had been cut—and styled. From the looks of things, Nick had actually allowed someone to put gel in his hair. True, he had been known to flirt with hair products on rare occasions. But it wasn’t something that came naturally—not to mention something he’d ever been particularly good at. This look definitely indicated professional intervention.

  If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought he’d also had his eyebrows tweezed.

  Even the dogs seemed impressed. Max sniffed his pant leg respectfully, probably picking up on the scents of all the other individuals who’d worn that suit. Lou hung back, as if he wasn’t quite sure this was the Nick he knew.

  “Wow!” I finally uttered.

  “I thought you’d be pleased.” Nick looked uncharacteristically smug. “At least, I hoped you would.”

  “You look...wow!”

  “You already said that.” He grinned. “But please, feel free to say it as many times as you’d like.”

  As I walked over to him, I sniffed the air suspiciously. At first, I assumed I was just smelling the fragrance of his hair products. Then I realized it was cologne.

  He’d really gone all out. And the fact that he was wearing a tux, just as Shawn had that first night, wasn’t lost on me.

  “I’m afraid to touch you,” I told him.

  “In that case, all this was a complete waste.”

  I laughed, then kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll do my best to get past that,” I assured him. “But first, we’ve got a serious social obligation ahead of us. I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

  I dashed into the bedroom, towel-drying my hair and twisting it into a knot I hoped would pass for sophisticated. Then I pulled on the flowered sundress and high-heeled sandals that had prompted Devon Barnett to think I was “somebody”—however briefly.

  When I stepped back into the living room, I got a pretty favorable reaction myself. Maybe Devon Barnett had decided I wasn’t anybody. But Nick clearly felt otherwise. In fact, if we’d had another half hour or so before we were scheduled to meet Suzanne, there’s no telling what would have become of his carefully gelled hairstyle.

  “You’re going to put Marcus to shame,” I commented as the two of us drove to the restaurant.

  “From what you’ve told me about him,” Nick observed, “that doesn’t sound very difficult.”

  That was true enough. It was also a reminder that while we looked as if we were both dressed to kill, we were actually in for a killer of an evening.

  “Come on,” I said with a sigh as we relinquished Nick’s Maxima to an eager parking attendant. “Let’s get this over with.” My enthusiasm over Nick’s conversion from Raggedy Andy to Prince Andrew was already fading. I was too busy bracing myself for the evening ahead.

  Suzanne had chosen one of the Bromptons’ trendiest restaurants for our rendezvous. As we headed inside, I remembered reading that it stood out from all the other chic, expensive eateries because of its Farmer in the Dell décor. In fact, it was housed in a building that had once been an actual barn. It still had the rough-hewn wooden walls, the cavernous ceilings, and—if I wasn’t mistaken—the subtle smell of horse sweat and manure.

  The prices, however, were definitely Bromptons-style. The same went for the clientele, who were dressed for a night of Manhattan-style clubbing instead of a hoe-down. I was surrounded by so many designer labels I felt as if I’d wandered into the Academy Awards.

  I spotted Suzanne perched on a banquette in the back corner, half-hidden by a haystack.

  “Over here!” she called, waving madly.

  As we neared the table, she added, “Do I look nervous? I sure feel nervous! Anyway, I’m glad you two could make it!”

  “I don’t recall being given a choice,” Nick observed cheerfully, pulling out a chair.

  My worst fears were being realized. Suzanne was dressed to the nines, a sure sign that she’d already made an emotional investment in the evening ahead. The thick waves of her flame-red hair curled around her face and shoulders voluptuously, and her cheeks were tinged with pink—maybe from too much blush, but more likely from excitement. Her round blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes that told me she’d gotten a little carried away with the mascara. The same went for her lipstick, a deep red shade that gave her full, sensual mouth the pouty look of a model.

  But it was her dress that was the killer. It was a 21st century variation of the classic Little Black Dress, with the emphasis on “Little.” In fact, it appeared to be modeled on those wide rubber bands that are frequently wrapped around the stems of broccoli. Suzanne’s abundant curves tested the limits of the stretchy fabric, like a boa from Raffy’s Reptile-A-Rama who’d just swallowed a large mammal. It also exposed enough thigh and cleavage that I seriously feared for Marcus’s ability to remain in control.

  “You look great!” I said sincerely as I sat down, my heart aching over all the effort she’d put into an evening that was guaranteed to disappoint her. “By the way, this is Nick....”

  “Hi, Nick.” Suzanne didn’t seem particularly interested in meeting my possible Mr. Right. She was too busy watching the restaurant’s entrance for the person she seemed convinced would be hers. Her face lit up like Max’s every time the door opened, then sagged with disappointment.

  “Marcus is late,” she moaned. She was clearly doing her best to act cheerful, but I could see that her ability to maintain a stiff upper lip was fading fast. “I hope he’s not lost. Are you sure you gave him the right directions, Jess?”

  My stomach churned with
anger—anger that was directed more at myself than at Marcus. Why did I even mention him? I wondered. Why couldn’t I have kept my big mouth shut, at least this once?...

  “Oh, my God,” Suzanne suddenly cried. “Is that him?”

  I followed her gaze to the front door. There he was: the one and only Marcus Scruggs, striding in on long, gangly legs that reminded me of Lou’s. For the occasion, he’d donned jeans, a white T-shirt, and what looked like a very expensive sports jacket. Miami Vice, a couple of decades too late. He kept running his fingers through his blond hair, cut so short it could be mistaken for stubble, in a pointless effort at grooming. In his other hand, he held a single red rose. The Marc Man clearly meant business.

  Which was bound to be bad news. My heart sank. I glanced over at Nick, looking for some moral support. He didn’t notice. He was too busy making a huge dent in the basket of rolls the waiter had just placed on our table.

  “You must be Marcus,” I heard Suzanne coo, using a voice I’d never heard emerge from her lips before.

  “Well, hell-o, Suzanne Fox.” Marcus, meanwhile, sounded like he was imitating a sleazy nightclub emcee. As she stood up to give him a polite kiss on the cheek, he looked her up and down without the slightest trace of subtlety. “Whoa! Jessie said your name was Fox, but she forgot to tell me that you are a fox.”

  I suppressed the urge to groan. I’m sorry, Suzanne, I thought woefully. I am so, so sorry....

  “And Jessie forgot to tell me that you’re an absolute charmer!”

  My mouth fell open. I could hardly believe what I was witnessing. Suzanne, the serious, accomplished medical professional—someone with whom I had once mapped genes and agonized over matrix algebra—was giggling like a geisha girl.

  “So tell me: What other attributes of yours did Jessie fail to mention?” Marcus asked, leering as he slid onto the banquette beside her.

  Her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes gleaming, Suzanne countered, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to find that out for yourself!”

  I nearly fell off my chair.

  I snuck another peek at Nick, curious to see if I was the only one who felt as if I’d just entered a parallel universe where everything was turned upside down. But he’d moved onto the crudités, looking as if he wasn’t minding this half as much as he’d expected.