by Lacey Baker
It wasn’t quite the season for tourists yet so they weren’t out in full force, asking questions and pointing fingers, staring in awe at the people they most likely considered country for living in this small town. In another two weeks, the weekend of Memorial Day, the town would be brimming with them, all looking for Sweetland’s reputed serenity and delicious cuisine. The last time he’d been home had been at the peak of the season, the week of the Fourth of July and Sweetland’s annual Bay Day celebration. The atmosphere had been practically giddy, the pull to stay and enjoy the festivities as alluring as that of any controlled substance. Yet he’d still returned to Seattle. To his pristine, expensive, coveted, empty-as-sin town house and the job that was beginning not to need him as much as he needed it.
Coming out of the municipal building he sat on the benches across the street at Old Towne Square, watched as others walked their dogs and listened as Dixi barked. He’d thought about letting her out of the carrying case but decided against it. Chasing her around town wasn’t his idea of a nice leisurely walk through the streets where he’d been born. No, he wanted some quiet time to absorb everything that he’d left behind, to see whether—if he opened his hands wide enough—he could grasp what it was that kept Michelle here and made Gramma such an advocate for this small town.
Half an hour later he was walking again, taking in all the new shops that had popped up since the last time he was here. There was Boudoir, a shop that sold women’s clothes, soft and frilly things like negligees and other night apparel. The front window was garbed in pink-and-white silk, lots of lace, and other things that put men in mind to go in and spend a bundle. Just across the street was Wicks & Wonders, which looked like a candle shop, but with all the stars and moons dangling in its front window Quinn figured it might be geared toward a more mystical clientele. Then again, a candle shop could be the next stop after the nightie store. That would be a great marketing strategy and he wondered if the owners had teamed up on the plan.
At the top of the street was Jana’s Java, which Quinn knew he’d visit at least once before he left. At home it was Starbucks that kept him coming back for more and more, until Tiffany, the morning clerk, knew his order by heart—venti caramel macchiato, extra hot, extra caramel. This shop looked strikingly different, however, with a beige awning that stretched almost to the curb providing a sort of patio for its customers, who sat in high-backed wrought-iron chairs at round high-boy tables sipping brews. Here, the marketing ploy was undoubtedly to have whatever the outside seated customers were drinking omit a scent that would eventually engulf the entire block until, Quinn decided, they just had to have a cup. He rationalized his decision to go inside was that it was on his way—the vet was just across the street on the corner of Trailway—and not that the marketing ploy had worked in any way.
The moment he walked inside he almost turned right back around.
“Well, if it isn’t Quinton Cantrell,” said Louisa Kirk, with her tight-fitting floral sundress and floppy summer hat to match, giving him a huge smile.
She sat at a table—a regular-height table—with her partner in crime, as Quinn and the twins used to call them, Marabelle Stanley. He remembered the two were just about inseparable. Gramma used to say she wondered how either of them had broken apart long enough to meet and marry a man of her own. And even after their marriages you never saw them with said men, just together as usual.
Well, as much as he’d like to, Quinn knew he couldn’t avoid them. And should probably thank Louisa for saying his name so loudly that everyone sitting inside the coffee shop, including the two clerks working behind the counter, had looked up to meet his arrival. To them he nodded with a small smile as he moved to the table near the front window where the ladies sat.
“Hello, Mrs. Kirk, Mrs. Stanley, it’s wonderful to see you both again,” he said in his famous doctor-talking-to-possible-investors voice and completed it with his leave-the-females-wanting-more smile.
Reaction: Marabelle with her butter-yellow complexion blushed right to the roots of her coal-black hair, which Quinn knew instinctively had been dyed—probably because her eyebrows and the few tendrils of hair at her chin were a much lighter shade. As for Louisa, the sterner, much more astute member of this twosome, she smiled as if she knew exactly what Quinn had done.
“Nice to see you out and about, Quinton. Sweetland’s missed one of its younger citizens. It’s too bad such a horrible event had to bring you back,” Louisa told him.
“I wouldn’t say horrible, ma’am. My grandmother lived a very long and very full life. She always said we shouldn’t try to live forever, just to live as best we can.”
Both ladies shook their heads. They, too, could probably remember Gramma saying that.
“Yes, she did live a full life. And she opened that lovely bed-and-breakfast long before these others decided to try their hands in the hotel business. I swear, we’re getting so many copycats down here now. But none of them is like The Silver Spoon,” Marabelle remarked. “That’s what Nikki and Michelle were saying. It looks like she hit the jackpot with that idea.”
“Oh, Mary Janet always aimed high. Marrying Jacob Cantrell was certainly high. His father had just won the mayor’s seat from her father since old Jerry had already used up his two terms. Snagging Jacob kept her living high up the way she liked,” Louisa said with all the distaste she could muster.
Marabelle didn’t look as if she shared Louisa’s envy but chewed on a vanilla scone instead of saying anything contrary.
“Those two were a mix-match if ever I’d seen one. But they made it work. Had a good son out of the union, too. And he married…” Louisa’s voice trailed off.
She was waiting for Quinn’s response to her silent jab against his mother. He had no intention of obliging her.
“… that lovely gal Patricia, and look at all the beautiful children that came from that union,” Marabelle picked right up after dabbing a napkin to her mouth.
Quinn had witnessed the two hold these types of conversations before, where one would start a thought and the other would finish it. It was eerie to say the least.
“It was so good seeing all of you back together again,” Marabelle said, lifting her cup to her lips for a sip.
Louisa had lifted her napkin, dabbing at lipstick-coated lips as if she were the one who’d just eaten the scone and possibly had crumbs on her face. She wore lots of makeup that made her look more strange than attractive because it was so thick and the colors were clearly outdated. For instance, he’d seen young girls wearing blue eye shadow but doubted this particular shade of turquoise existed anywhere outside of the 1960s.
“A good-looking bunch you all are,” Louisa remarked when she’d put her napkin down. “I’m surprised none of you is married yet.”
Any line of gossip they could find, Quinn thought.
“No. Not yet,” was his only reply.
Louisa, however, had not gained her reputation by letting hot topics like this slip away so easily. “Shame. You’re such a fine-looking boy. And making all that money as a big-time doctor. You can certainly afford to buy yourself a couple of houses. I’m sure there has to be a woman running around to scoop you up by now. Women love property.”
Quinn couldn’t be 100 percent certain because he’d been away for a while, but he was almost positive Ms. Louisa was intimating toward the B&B and its tax obligations.
“I’m doing just fine in the single neighborhood, ma’am,” he replied because that was definitely a subject he would not discuss with the old busybody.
It was then that Dixi chose to let out a round of barking that sounded like she was threatening to break out of her travel box at any moment. Quinn silently thanked her for the distraction but held tight to the box.
“Whatcha got there?” Marabelle asked, looking down at the box.
“Why, is that one of Mary Janet’s dogs?” Louisa moved over in her seat as if that were going to keep Dixi away from her. “She was as proud of those things as she
was of her own human grandchildren.”
Louisa’s frown prompted Quinn to hold the box up to eye level of both ladies, pushing just a little closer to Louisa so she could get a better look whether she wanted it or not. “This is Sweet Dixi. She’s on her way to the vet.”
To his muted enjoyment, Louisa backed away using both hands to shoo him and the box out of her face.
“Well, go on with you. I don’t like four-legged houseguests. You go see Dr. Bellini, he’s right around the corner from here,” she instructed him.
“And he’s so good with animals,” Marabelle added.
“I sure will. It was nice seeing you ladies,” Quinn offered with a smile. “I’m just going to get a cup of coffee then I’ll be on my way.”
“You do that, son,” Louisa told him with only the mildest bit of courtesy. The rest was disgust that made Quinn want to laugh out loud.
He went up to the counter and was only partially disappointed to find no caramel macchiato. And since it was a rather warm early evening, even though the sun would surely be setting in about an hour or so, he opted for an iced coffee in the flavor of the day that had been scribbled on the board out front and above the register. It was called Midnight Ice and was the perfect blend of a strong dark coffee and a light hint of vanilla. Sipping it as he walked out of the store, Quinn did smile. Not just at the way Sweet Dixi had been able to shut down Louisa and her probing questions about his personal life, but at how the exchange had felt oddly familiar and more than a bit entertaining.
* * *
Kraig Bellini was a transplant to Sweetland. He and his family had arrived, Quinn thought, sometime between his junior and senior year of high school. He only remembered that much because Kraig had an older sister, Alana, who had been in one of Quinn’s classes. Alana had been a very attractive girl, which of course had roused all the boys at Easton Senior Academy. Her half-Italian, half-African-American heritage gave her a very exotic look that—coupled with a body that had clearly begun and defeated puberty very early in her teenage life—made her very popular.
So Quinn wasn’t shocked when he saw the man in the white coat with tanned olive-toned skin and raven-black close-cropped hair come out to the waiting room carrying a fluffy white cat with startling blue eyes. Quinn wasn’t really an animal person, but he sensed this cat might be a purebred just by the way Kraig carried it, placing it gently into the owner’s arms. Then the owner placed the cat on a blanket Quinn was sure was silk before easing her body into a travel box vaguely similar to the one he used for Dixi.
Even thinking about the dog made her bark, and the woman along with her precious cat jumped in surprise. Kraig, who was most likely used to unruly pets, smiled.
“I’ll be with you in just a second, little one,” he said looking at Dixi, who’d pressed her tiny wet nose against the bars.
Quinn tapped the bar hoping to get her attention, but what he received was another high-pitched yelp. Why this dog didn’t like him he had no clue, but he figured the sooner he figured out what he needed to do to get her adopted, the better.
“Hi, you must be Quinn Cantrell.” A perky female who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen came through the same back door that Kraig had and stood at the front desk.
Quinn stood. “Yes, I am. But I don’t have an appointment.” He wasn’t totally sure how she knew who he was, but news traveled faster in Sweetland than it did on TMZ.
She waved a hand and gave him a brilliant smile—definitely a teenager, probably putting in some hours after school. “It’s fine, Michelle called to say you’d probably stop by because you had some questions. Dr. Bellini was at the house for the delivery of Mrs. Cantrell’s pups so he knows everything about them.”
“Good,” Quinn said. Because he knew absolutely nothing.
A bell that he hadn’t noticed before chimed above the door as the lady with the precious cat left the office.
“Mr. Cantrell. Good to see you back in Sweetland. So sorry for your loss,” Kraig said, extending a hand.
Quinn accepted the handshake. “Please, call me Quinn, Dr. Bellini.”
The doctor nodded and smiled. “And you can call me Kraig, considering we did about a year in high school together.”
“That’s right,” Quinn recalled. “You were entering ninth grade when your sister and I were graduating.”
“Correct.”
“How is Alana?” Quinn asked out of curiosity.
“She’s living in Baltimore with her daughter. Lost her husband about a year ago in Afghanistan.”
He frowned. “Really? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, me and my mom are trying to get her and Brittany to move back here but she’s determined to stay in the city so Brittany won’t have to leave her friends. She’s trying to get her own wedding photography business off the ground.”
“Wow, a single parent and entrepreneur. Well, if I remember correctly she was always ambitious. If anybody can do it, I’m sure Alana can.”
“That’s what we’re hoping. So which one of those beautiful Labs do you have with you today?”
Quinn pointed to the travel box with a slight frown. “I inherited the one they call Sweet Dixi, but I’ve got to be totally honest with you. I haven’t seen anything sweet about her unless it’s cool for Labs to urinate on hundred-dollar shoes and three-hundred-dollar rugs.”
Kraig chuckled, his goatee making him look not older but rather more distinguished. He had a decidedly magazine-model look that Quinn figured the ladies of Sweetland probably adored.
“Ah, no, that’s not one of their more prominent traits. Let’s get her in the back and out of that carrier so I can take a look.”
Quinn carried the box back and momentarily thought how ugly the plain white contraption, with holes on its side and a latch lock door on the front, looked in comparison with the lavish gray cloth carrier the woman had used for the precious cat. Maybe they sold better ones here. It would probably go a long way toward finding Dixi a happy home, and maybe it would cheer her up a bit. Not that Quinn’s goal was to make the dog happy.
“So you’re keeping Dixi?” Kraig asked when they were in a smaller examining room.
It looked strangely just like one of the rooms at his clinic, with warm beige-colored walls versus stark white that can give off the antiseptic feel people tend to hate about hospitals and doctor’s offices. Those walls were decorated with portraits of real animals, not snapshots or posters sent from insurance carriers or pharmaceutical companies. Somebody had a good eye and took excellent pictures because these puppies and full-grown dogs, cats, and kittens looked like something a person—other than Quinn—wouldn’t mind having as a pet.
“I inherited Dixi, and my siblings inherited Dixi’s siblings,” he told Kraig and received a quick questioning glance.
“It seems my grandmother wanted all of us to share in the joy of Ms. Cleo’s offspring. She’s given all of us a puppy to take care of ourselves or to find a loving home for.”
Kraig nodded as he opened the box and took a wiggling, barking Dixi out. “Hey girl, I know you don’t like being caged in. Let’s get a look at you. My goodness, you’re so big now. When she was born”—Kraig spoke to Quinn now—“she was the smallest of the litter and weighed less than a pound. We’ll get her weighed in first, but she feels like she’s been eating enough.”
Quinn watched as he lifted Dixi to his face and let her lick a couple of times. “You’re such a friendly girl, aren’t you? Yeah, you are,” he said.
No, she’s not, Quinn thought with mild irritation.
As Kraig placed Dixi on the platform of a scale that looked like a tabletop version of the human ones they used at his clinic, he kept on talking to Quinn.
“One of the first signs of a happy and healthy Lab is their personality. They’re one of the friendliest breeds around and usually show their affection with lots of licking and general exuberance.”
Kraig continued as he sat Dixi on her feet, lifting both
her ears and feeling along her head behind them. He pushed her face back and looked at her teeth, her eyelids, then let her lick him once more. When his hands moved over her belly and her back Dixi panted like she was actually laughing. Quinn caught himself smiling.
“Another thing, you can keep your Lab happy by not keeping her tied up or caged in for long periods of time. They need exercise daily, and they love to run.”
“Noted,” Quinn said, thinking again that he’d find a better carrier for Dixi but not keep her inside it for too long. “Ah, so where does the urinating all over the place come in?” he asked, trying to remember why he was here. “I can’t very well tell a new owner she’s not housebroken.”
Kraig shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure she’s housebroken. Mrs. Cantrell was a stickler for that training and Maisy, my part-time receptionist out front, went over to the house and worked with the puppies herself. So it’s not that.”
“Maybe she has a bladder problem, a tumor possibly?”
When Kraig looked at Quinn again it was with another quizzical expression. “You work in the medical field?” he asked.
“How’d you guess?” Quinn asked lightly. “I’m an oncologist.”
Kraig nodded. “I see. You’re seriously watching this exam like you’ve made some diagnosis of your own. Only another doctor would do that.”
“Sorry about that,” Quinn said lightly, making a mental note to dial his own conclusions back a bit. He couldn’t help it, though; his mind was usually turning in medical circles. That thought reminded him that Dr. MacNamara hadn’t returned his call about William Riley yet. It probably would be a bit later when he heard from him depending on the doctor’s rotation schedule at the hospital.
