Paws for Love, A Novel for Dog Lovers

by Dana Mentink

  Nana Bett still stood watch in the empty store. She beamed, gesturing to the empty top shelf of the glass cabinet.

  Bill tied an outraged Jellybean to the lamppost outside the store and hurried in. “What happened? Were we robbed?”

  “No,” Nana said. “A certain wonderful customer came in and bought the whole batch—violins, jelly jumbles, and all.”

  “Who?” Misty asked, incredulous.

  “You’ll never guess.”

  Gunther came in from the back. “That wackadoodle actor.”

  Misty tried to decipher the mystery. “You mean…”

  Nana Bett nodded. “The great Lawrence Tucker himself.”

  “When? Where did he go? Why?” Misty sputtered, running to the window to peer out.

  “He left in a taxi about a half hour ago.”

  She sagged. “Did he say where he was headed?”

  Nana clucked her tongue. “He’s had a hard time. The acting business is a meat grinder, especially if you’re not a spring chicken anymore.”

  “But he walked away from all those people who are depending on him. He just…turned his back on them.”

  Nana pursed her lips. “Sometimes that’s the only way a person can cope.”

  Misty remembered those days when she’d hidden under her father’s bed, praying that no one would find her. Her heart lurched until she reminded herself she’d been a child then, a little girl. But aren’t you doing the same thing now? her conscience prodded. A tiny apartment from which you hardly ever emerge? A life lived through Skype? She zipped up her jacket and refocused. This isn’t about me. It’s about Lawrence.

  “I’m going to tell the director that I’m leaving.”

  “Isn’t there another way?” Nana asked, a dangerous plea in her voice.

  “No,” Misty said firmly. “There isn’t. Come with me back to the set, and then I’ll drive you home.”

  “But what about the festival?”

  “What festival?”

  Bill shrugged. “We were planning a six-week festival for the duration of the shoot. Just special sales and weekend activities for the tourists. The history museum was going to put up a WWII display and stuff like that. I guess that’s all off if the film is belly-up.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do, honey?” Nana Bett beamed her laser gaze on Misty.

  A ribbon of discomfort snaked through her belly at the thought of Bill and all the others and the end of their festival plans. But what could she do? Lawrence was gone. She was not the man’s keeper, or his dog’s.

  “There really isn’t,” she told Nana. “I’m sorry, Bill. Very sorry.”

  Their eyes met, and though she saw disappointment in his spring-grass eyes, they held no blame. Bill was too good a man for that. If things were different, if she was different, one of those self-assured, charming women, like the one from Bill’s high school, she might have hugged him, gathered close the muscular frame of that man who had taken on the mantle of parenthood in spite of his fear. She would have relished the connection that she’d experienced in the trailer, the sweet sensation of being close to another, cherished the proximity, basked in the easy affection.

  Instead, she gave him an awkward wave as she guided her grandmother out of the shop and back to her car. “Thanks for everything, Bill.” She patted Jellybean on the head as she went by. He plopped his fuzzy bottom on the sidewalk, and she thought the look he gave her was full of reproach.

  Nana wasn’t about to let the chance to meet a real live movie director sail by, so she accompanied Misty to Mr. Wilson’s trailer, where he was lying on his back with a damp washcloth over his eyes.

  “Who is it?” he said. “I’ve already given my pound of flesh, so unless you’re bringing coffee or my missing actor, go away.”

  “Er, it’s Misty Agnelli.”

  “Who?”

  “The violin tutor.”

  “And her grandma,” Nana put in.

  Mr. Wilson didn’t answer, but his gusty sigh briefly inflated the washcloth.

  “I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving. Bill Woodson, a shop owner in town, the one who makes those chocolates…you know, the ones with the little sprinkle things on top?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, he’s got Jellybean. He agreed to take care of him until Mr. Tucker comes back.”

  Mr. Wilson bolted to a sitting position, the washcloth splatting to the floor. “I don’t give a rat’s patootie what happens to that dog. I’m shooting all the scenes we can until Friday, and if Lawrence Tucker isn’t back by then, my producers are pulling the plug, and that dog can stay with the candy man for all I care.”

  “Pulling the plug?” Misty queried.

  Nana nodded. “That means they won’t make the movie, not now. Say, since you’re up, Mr. Wilson,” she said, offering up her blue autograph book, “would you mind giving me your autograph?”

  He blinked, grabbed the book, and signed it as if it were one of the zillions of papers his assistant handed him each day. “If Tucker doesn’t return by Friday, this movie won’t ever see the light of day,” Wilson snapped.

  “Maybe you could get another actor?” Misty suggested. “One without a dog?”

  Wilson huffed. “Let’s face it, this isn’t exactly a blockbuster production in the first place. Tucker is past his prime, and he was lucky to get this gig, but if he doesn’t haul himself back to the set by Friday, there will be no movie. And once word gets out that he abandoned ship, Tucker won’t have a career either.”

  “Mr. Tucker,” Nana corrected.

  “Yeah, well, he’ll be a has-been, because no one will sign him once they hear how he bugged out on this film. He’ll be lucky to get work on denture commercials.”

  “That’s terrible,” Misty said.

  Wilson lifted a shoulder. “That’s business.”

  “So all the actors and film crew…they’ll be out of work too?”

  “We’ll land on our feet. We can go back to Los Angeles and find other gigs.”

  And when that happened there would be no more festival, no more tour buses, and likely no more career for Lawrence Tucker. Her stomach tightened down to walnut size.

  This is not your problem, she reassured herself. There is nothing you can do about it. “Okay, well, thanks very much, Mr. Wilson.”

  He nodded absently. “Hey, can you tell that Bill guy to bring us some more of those sprinkle candies?” He waved a hand. “Ah, never mind. You’re leaving. I’ll have my assistant phone him.”

  On the way to the car, Nana looked for Larry, the unfortunate Jellybean wrangler. “I want his autograph too. He was hilarious trying to get that dog out of the tank. I think he could have a future in physical comedy.”

  But Larry must have been elsewhere, so Misty started the car slowly along the narrow road that led out of Albatross, her mind churning along with the wheels.

  No Tucker.

  No movie.

  No help for Bill.

  Nana was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “There’s nothing I could have done,” Misty blurted out.

  Nana nodded.

  “I mean, I don’t even know where Mr. Tucker is.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And even if I did, it’s not my job to talk to him. These people, these actors, are from a different world. I’m just a musician. I can’t talk anybody into anything. I’m not good with people in the first place, let alone movie people.”

  More nodding.

  They were approaching the one and only stop sign at the end of Main Street. Then Albatross would be behind them. Permanently. It would become an odd adventure to add to her journal. Really, the only adventure she’d recorded in a very long while. But what a sad ending for Lawrence, for Jellybean.

  For Bill.

  “It’s not my responsibility,” she repeated firmly, allowing the words to stoke her courage. “There is no reason for me to stay here.”

  “Just one thing,” Nana said, peering into the sid
e-view mirror as they rolled away from the stop sign.

  “What?”

  “The dog doesn’t seem to care about your reasons.”

  “What dog?”

  Nana pointed out her window at Jellybean as he jogged along the side of the road, trailing a section of chewed leash, keeping pace with the car. “That one.”

  Nine

  Bill sat in a bleary haze in front of the computer screen the next morning, staring at the keyboard and the photo of Jellybean he was trying to make into a missing-dog poster.

  He’d realized the dog/beaver had chewed through the leash shortly after Misty and Nana Bett departed. All day Friday he’d combed the town, searching every hole and crevice in Albatross while Gunther minded the store, which was painfully empty of customers. He had no idea how to contact Misty and tell her he’d lost the critter, and he wasn’t sure she’d want to know anyway. It was clear she wanted nothing more to do with the dog, the movie people, or the town of Albatross.

  Or him.

  Why did that thought sting? She was a casual acquaintance, a woman who liked her own quiet world, and she’d flat out said as much. Nothing personal against him. Probably just the pride of a likable man who wasn’t as likable as he thought. Thanks for the humility, God.

  Seemed like he was learning plenty of other lessons in humility at the moment. Misty and his ego aside, he was worried about that nutty terrier running lose, getting into who knew what kind of trouble. He chugged some coffee, put thoughts of the caramel-eyed Misty Agnelli out of his mind, and tried to focus again.

  He pushed the Print button and produced the picture he’d found after typing “Lawrence Tucker’s dog” into the search box. That had taken some time even with the computer’s intuitive spelling help.

  The picture came out, the animal appearing vastly more angelic and adorable than the stinker had a right to, and Bill found an old marker in the desk drawer. He laboriously wrote across the top: Missing dog. Contact Bill. Then he added his phone number and email address.

  He was twiddling with the pen when he realized it was nearly nine. A special emergency meeting of the Silver Screen Festival organizers had been called, and he’d offered the shop as a meeting place. He had a feeling it would be a short gathering. No Lawrence Tucker. No movie. No festival. Meeting adjourned.

  He found Fiona looking at books in her bed and hustled her into a set of almost matching, nearly clean clothes. She tugged on his pant leg and pointed to the backyard.

  “No, honey. Jellybean is still missing.”

  Her brow furrowed dangerously, and her lower lip turned down in a disappointed curve.

  “Maybe he went over to play with Lunk. We’ll ask Gunther when he comes in, okay?”

  When she was munching toast with strawberry jelly—not the dreaded preserves she detested, as he’d finally managed to discern—he hurried to make coffee, putting out as many of the leftover chocolates from the day before as he could.

  Vivian Buckley was the first to arrive, with Tinka tucked under her arm. She declined a seat and the coffee he offered.

  “I heard that the shoot is off.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Larry told me Lawrence did a cut and run. They can’t do the movie without him, can they?”

  Bill had no idea what they could or couldn’t do. “I don’t know, but maybe we should wait for official word from the director.”

  “The woman left. That violin teacher.”

  He nodded. “Yes. She went home.”

  Roger Tillson came next, a skinny man with a bald spot on the top of his head at odds with the long ponytail down his back. He was the proprietor of Albatross Hardware and the president of the historical society. “I’m all set with the presentation for next weekend. Got volunteers dressing up in WWII uniforms, and we’re setting up a miniature display of the Battle of Guadalcanal. It’s gonna be epic.”

  Vivian regarded him coldly. “I tried to tell you this morning that Lawrence up and left. They’re not going to film the movie. The whole thing is most likely off.”

  Roger helped himself to coffee. “Ah, I heard that was just a tiff. Actors are all uppity and such, not like normal people. They’ll get it straightened out.”

  “I hope so.” Volunteer fire chief Toby Gillespie was next into the shop, beelining immediately for a napkin, which he heaped with chocolates. His plaid shirt did not quite restrain his stomach from peeking through the gaps between the buttons. “We got the fire engine all shined up, and we’re ready to give tours of the station.”

  “How does that fit in with a movie festival theme anyway?” Vivian asked.

  “It doesn’t, but kids like to climb on fire engines, and these movie lovers are gonna have kids with them, aren’t they? That’s why you’re allowing kids at your Movie Time Tea Party or whatever it is that you’re hosting at the Lady Bird.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “I might as well cancel the order with the florist and the party rental place. I’m not going to need all those round tables after all.”

  Roger did not appear to have heard. “Oh yeah. People will lug their kids along too. We’ve got a genuine tank on loan from the Half Moon Bay Historical Society, and the young’uns are going to be all over that. You know, I was thinking—we could do this every year, even after the film has wrapped. It could be our shtick, you know? Every town needs a shtick. Half Moon Bay has the Pumpkin Festival, and Gilroy has the Garlic Festival. We need one too.”

  “If you’d stop being so Pollyanna for one minute,” Vivian snapped, “you’d realize that there isn’t going to be a movie filmed in Albatross. It’s all over, thanks to Lawrence. The festival has ended before it ever began.”

  Roger licked a smear of chocolate off his finger. “That’s just a rumor. Tucker is probably resting or something, or it’s a publicity stunt. I read about that kind of thing all the time on Facebook.”

  “No, it’s not a rumor. I’ve known him since he was seventeen.” Her voice was strained and tight. “Lawrence is an emotional coward.”

  An emotional coward? That was a new one to Bill.

  “He’s coming back,” Toby said complacently. “You’ll see.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Vivian said. “How exactly do you know that, Toby? You’ve never even met him.”

  Toby unfurled a napkin and wiped his face with a flourish. “Because he left his dog, didn’t he? That means he’s coming back. A man doesn’t just leave his dog.”

  Vivian huffed out an enormous breath that ruffled Tinka’s fur and aimed a look at Bill. “Do you want to explain it to them?”

  “Well…” Bill started.

  “Well what?” Toby said, reaching for another chocolate. “I heard you’re watching Tucker’s dog, right? So he’ll be back.”

  Bill felt the weight of three pairs of eyes on him. The flicker in his stomach made him realize how Misty must feel when she was suddenly the center of attention.

  “Here’s what I know about the situation,” he said. “Yes, Lawrence left town, and yes, he left his dog behind.”

  “But he’s coming back, in your opinion?” Roger said. “Right?”

  He wanted to say yes, but rather than lie, he stayed silent.

  Vivian sighed. “He dumped the dog on you, didn’t he? Or the violin tutor did.”

  “No, not dumped,” he replied. “I offered to take charge of him.”

  “So you’re watching Jellybean?” Vivian asked.

  “Yes. And no.”

  Vivian stroked Tinka and skewered him with a look. “How can it be yes and no?”

  “I was watching the dog, but…”

  “But what?”

  But the dog ran away and Misty is gone, so now there is absolutely no reason why Lawrence would return to Albatross. He sucked in a breath.

  Suddenly a scrambling of claws could be heard on the cement outside. And then, to his utter astonishment, Misty stepped into the shop, clutching Jellybean. The dog perked up when he spotted Tinka and barked out a hi
gh-pitched greeting.

  Bill’s spirit leaped at the sight of Misty standing there, her strong musician’s fingers holding tight to the squirming dog.

  “See?” Roger said in triumph. “Jellybean is still in town, and that means Lawrence Tucker is not far behind.”

  “Well…hi,” Bill managed.

  Misty wiggled her only free finger. “Am I…interrupting a meeting?”

  “Just planning out the Silver Screen Festival,” Roger said. “Gonna be epic. So everything’s a go then?”

  Misty looked uncertain. “What?”

  “I mean, we can set things in motion for next weekend, right? ’Cuz Tucker is coming back, and the movie is going to be shot here after all.” Roger’s smile showed all his crooked front teeth.

  Misty looked from Bill to Vivian to the staring men. Then she cleared her throat, and her answer came out as a squeak. “Yes.”

  Roger and Toby high-fived each other and left the shop, exchanging details about tanks and howitzers. The door closed behind them, leaving Vivian still staring and Misty still preventing Jellybean’s dash to his lady love.

  “So,” Vivian said, holding Tinka closer, “you’re back, Misty.”

  She nodded.

  “And you really believe Lawrence will return?”

  She nodded again.

  Vivian was thoughtful for a moment. Bill could see the gleam of disbelief tangled with a hopeful yearning. Part of Vivian wanted to be proven right about Lawrence—that he was a selfish, weak disappointment—and part of her desperately wanted to be wrong.

  She caught Bill looking at her and gave her head a little toss. “I hope you’re right. There’s a lot at stake for Albatross.”

  Bill noticed Misty’s throat move as she swallowed—hard.

  “He’ll be back,” Misty mumbled.

  Vivian gathered Tinka and left.

  Bill didn’t know why his body was so tense, but he blew out a breath.

  “Misty,” he said in his best Ricky Ricardo imitation, “you’ve got some ’splaining to do.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  He ushered her out into the backyard, where she released Jellybean to play with a delighted Fiona.