“From scratch?” Addison said. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Only the best for my dogs.”
Addison returned the card to her clutch. “Well, I have other services available if you’re interested,” she suggested, altering her sales pitch to meet her customer’s needs. “And there’s always my upcoming fashion show.”
Alistair looked up from his glass of port with an expression of mild interest. “Fashion show?”
“I’m launching my new fashion line for dogs the weekend of the show. I still need volunteers to help model the designs if you’d be interested in involving Lilly.”
Alistair smiled. “Well that sounds—”
“Tasteless,” Penny cut in. “My dogs don’t wear clothing.”
Addison frowned. Penny might have been the best handler in the world, but she seemed to forget Lilly wasn’t her dog. She was Alistair’s.
“Well, you can count Baxter in,” Phillip piped up.
“Really? That’s great. Oh”—she clapped her hands—“I have the perfect letterman jacket in mind.”
“Sounds excellent. I was never on the football team. I’m more of a tennis man myself.”
The others had sunk into a heated debate about the historical purpose of the ankle fur on a traditional poodle cut. Phillip took the opportunity to draw Addison away. “So is your schedule fully booked tonight?”
“Why? Does Baxter need some grooming? I’m sure I could fit him in.”
His ears turned pink and he ducked his head. “I was asking more for myself.”
Addison blinked, her one-track mind focused on work now, imagining a collaboration between Penny’s dog supplies and her fashion line. Forget a whole aisle in the pet shop. They would need the whole store. “You need grooming?”
Phillip laughed and it sounded clear and musical. Oh, how she could listen to it all day long, maybe even record it and set it as her ringtone. “No. I was wondering if I might steal you for a dance.”
“Oh.” Addison wanted to slap herself for being so stupid. Sometimes she opened her mouth before her brain had caught up. Batting her eyelashes, she tried to hide the blunder with her best flirty look. “I’m sure I could spare a little more time.”
“Good.” He took her hand. “Because they happen to be playing our song.”
Phillip led her to the other side of the historic ballroom where couples circled the dance floor to the classical jazz music. Although he was hidden behind his bar, she could sense Felix’s eyes on them as they passed. She kept her gaze forward, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a two-year-old. He’d called her “delusional.” Well, she thought, how was that for “delusional”?
At the edge of the dance floor, two dog minders approached them. They wore suits with red cummerbunds and bow ties, even the women, maintaining the elegant air of the evening. The minders took Baxter and Princess while Phillip swept Addison away. And the man could dance too. But of course he could. He was perfect.
Addison had learned how to ballroom dance as a teenager from online videos. Because what princess wouldn’t be able to dance with her Prince Charming? While she realized a long time ago on some disappointed level that she wasn’t, in fact, an undiscovered Disney princess, she’d obviously been preparing for just this night. For Phillip.
“So how long have you been competing in dog shows?” she asked.
“A few years now,” he said. “It’s something special Baxter and I can do together. It’s a shame your doxie can’t enter. She looks well-bred. Were you upset when you found out you couldn’t show her?”
She shook her head adamantly. “Not at all. I knew she had the deformity when I brought her home.”
“You did?”
“I adopted Princess from the San Francisco Dachshund Rescue Center where I volunteer. She was dropped off by her owner after she realized she’d never be able to win a competition because of her angular limb deformity. When she’d first been picked up at the breeder, there was no way to know. It surfaced as she grew older.”
Phillip nodded and spun her in a circle, her dress shimmering beneath the chandeliers. “Even if I couldn’t show Baxter, I would never give him up. He’s like family to me.”
Addison felt her heart swell until it left her lungs no room to breathe. Could Phillip get any more perfect?
“I enter him into competitions because I want to see him win,” he said. “But many breeders and owners see it as their own win. It doesn’t matter what dog they use to get there.”
“We see a lot of purebreds come through the rescue center,” Addison said. “People buy them because they’re so beautiful, but they don’t realize the work or cost that goes into them if they have health problems. And most of them do. Especially when they come from a puppy mill looking to make a quick buck.”
“I’m surprised you’re here supporting the dog show lifestyle after your experiences with Princess and your rescue center.” Phillip’s dancing became a little stiffer as he watched her expression. “Some people in your circumstance might look down upon dog shows.”
It was a touchy topic for any show dog owner; the rescue-versus-dog-breeder debate. Those passionate about dog shows were sensitive to the accusations from the general public and of course the local group SFAAC, San Franciscans Against Animal Cruelty.
Addison’s expression barely waivered. “I’m neither against nor in support of dog shows. I just support dogs in general. Purebreds and mutts alike. The only thing I’m against is disreputable breeders and puppy mills.”
Phillip seemed to relax, and he spun her once again. “You must really love animals. I do a fair bit of fund-raising myself for SFAAC. In fact, I’m hosting an event next weekend, if you’d like to attend.”
She beamed up at him with her pamplemousse pink lips. “I’d love to.”
“I thought you might be interested. You follow the dog show circuit, you volunteer at a rescue center, you’re a dog groomer.”
“I prefer the term ‘dog stylist,’” she corrected him. “My services encompass so much more than simple shampoos and trims.”
“Excuse me.” He flashed her a teasing smile. “Dog stylist. And by the looks of the dogs around here tonight, I’d say you’re pretty good.”
“I like to add my own special flair. Part of the Addison Turner experience. Hopefully after tonight, everyone in the San Francisco show dog world will remember my name.”
His hold around her tightened a fraction. “I know I certainly will.”
Addison smiled coyly and let him spin her around the dance floor a couple more times, while inside she was screaming Weeeeeee! like she was on the Tilt-A-Whirl. It was the perfect moment. She thought she could get lost in it forever—that is, until she caught sight of his Bvlgari watch.
Addison gasped, her waltz faltering.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Is that the time?” She stepped away from him. “I’m late.”
“For what?”
“Some of the guests have volunteered their dogs as models for a sneak peek of my fashion line this evening. I’m supposed to reveal them.” She started to back away to the edge of the dance floor avoiding the oncoming dancers.
“When?” he called after her. He tried to follow, but a couple bumped into him.
“In less than five minutes.”
“Wait! I haven’t gotten your number yet!” He gave chase, weaving in and out of dancers twirling under the chandeliers.
“I’m sorry. I’m late.” Finding Princess’s dog minder, Addison swept the doxie off the floor and into her arms. She waved at Phillip over her shoulder. “I’ll find you after.”
She scurried back across the ballroom as fast as her heels would allow. She’d been so distracted by Phillip that she’d almost forgotten the entire reason she was even there that night, the whole purpose of offering pro bono services, handing out free gifts, and working so hard—to promote her upcoming fashion show. She wasn’t about to waste all that time and
energy, even for Prince Charming.
Rounding the bar, she saw Felix eye her curiously. Perhaps curious of how things went with Mr. Perfect. She took on the cocktail tables and settees like a slalom course. The event organizer, Darcy, approached her, seeming to slink from the shadows in his black suit, shirt, and tie.
“Excuse me, Miss Turner,” he said. “Are you almost ready on stage?”
“Absolutely.” She tried to catch her breath. Her push up bra was too tight—but so worth it. “Give me sixty seconds.”
Melody would have prepped the dogs and positioned them all on pillows. However, this was Addison’s moment to shine, to make a name for herself. She wanted to ensure everything was perfect. Every dog on its pillow, every hair in place, every bow fluffed.
She carried Princess up the stage steps and ducked behind the curtain, ready to make some last-minute changes. But there had already been a few changes made since she’d left.
All the pillows were certainly in place, arranged neatly in a semicircle to show off each dog’s best features and, most important, her designs. Only, there was just one tiny little hiccup. Most of the pillows were unoccupied.
Nearly all the dogs were gone. There were only three out of the original ten left: a bull terrier in a black leather jacket with sunglasses on his head, the Maltese with the Rainbow Frenzy nail polish and pink tutu, and a miniature schnauzer wearing a bowler hat and monocle.
Addison dropped Princess by her pillow and shot from one side of the stage to the other, as though the rest must have been hiding around there somewhere. But Melody had already cleaned up the stage. Addison’s equipment was all packed away into her car. There was no place for them to hide. Not for seven dogs. And where on Earth was Melody anyway?
She checked her phone just as the clock struck ten. Addison stood frozen at center stage as the curtains began to part.
“No. Stop!” she cried out. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready!”
She darted to the front of the stage and grabbed both curtains, gripping them like she could keep them together, could prevent anyone from seeing before she could figure out what had happened. There had to be some mistake. Maybe they all needed to go for a walk at the same time, or all the owners happened to take them back or, she didn’t know what. Alien abductions?
The motorized track whirred far above her, dragging the curtains apart. She dug her heels in, not ready to give up yet. She’d worked too hard. Her hands cramped, her muscles screamed out as she grit her teeth and pulled back in a tug of war, struggling to resist their draw.
The entire room full of guests turned toward her, watching with curiosity and expectation of the fashion show preview that had been promised. The owners of the models gathered the closest, eager to see their stars shine, including Alistair and Penny. Oh God, she thought. Penny Peacock.
Addison held the drapes for as long as she could, arms outstretched, heels slipping on the stage. The crowd began to chatter, laughing at her antics, but she wasn’t kidding around.
Finally when the curtains threatened to tear her in two, they ripped out of her desperate grip. She was left standing alone in the middle of the empty stage. The floodlights poured down on her glimmering sequined dress, lighting her up like a disco ball.
The gathered dog lovers grew still, tense with anticipation. It seemed to her that they held one collective breath, like this was some kind of magic show and she could go “Alakazam,” and the missing dogs would suddenly appear.
But she was not the Wizard of Oz. She was the fraud hiding behind the curtain, and she’d just been revealed.
As though searching for some explanation, some friendly face, her eyes roamed over the party, over the breeders and owners, the judges, the staff, Phillip Montgomery III, and even Felix. But they all just stared back. After a few hushed moments, the murmurs began, then the vicious snarling and growling—not from the dogs but from the human guests.
“Where are the dogs?” Judge Boyd demanded, succumbing to a coughing fit.
“My dog was supposed to be up there,” a voice said, but Addison couldn’t quite pinpoint who with the lights glaring down at her.
“What’s happening!?” a woman cried. “Where did they all go!?”
Someone screamed. “My dog! My little angel! She’s gone!”
Addison spotted Kitty Carlisle in the crowd, cradling her dog protectively.
The event organizer appeared at the bottom of the stage. “What’s going on?” Darcy hissed up at Addison. “Where are they?”
“I … I don’t know. Th–they’re gone.” Her answer was barely a shocked whisper, but a man nearby heard her.
“They’re gone!” he yelled. “The dogs are gone!”
Addison recognized Rex Harris’s smooth cadence. She squinted against the spotlights, peering at the faces, but instantly regretted it. Enraged expressions glared up at her, wide eyes, clenched fists. She wanted to close her eyes, make it all go away. It couldn’t be real.
From the sides of the room large men in dark suits drew closer to the stage with placid expressions and purposeful movements. Security, she realized, getting ready to subdue the crowd if necessary. Or maybe me.
“How!?” one woman cried out. “Where did they go!?”
“She lost them. She lost our dogs!” a man with red hair screamed. He rushed the stage, maybe to come look for the dogs himself, or maybe to strangle Addison.
She stepped back, but the security guards took action before the irate man could get his hands on her.
The redhead shrugged the guards off and jabbed a finger in her direction. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Give me my dog,” someone else was saying. “I just want my dog.”
A man with a cul-de-sac of hair on his shiny head was arguing with security at the base of the stairs. She remembered his last name was Jackson. He climbed the stairs, security in tow to make sure he didn’t try anything funny. But he completely ignored Addison, his focus consumed by the Maltese who trotted up to him, Rainbow Frenzy nails clicking on the stage floor. Jackson picked her up and held her close as he headed off the stage, clearly glad to be one of the few people lucky enough to still have his dog.
The other two owners followed his lead, coming up to claim their dogs. A woman stepped forward for her miniature schnauzer, silent tears streaming down her face.
“It’s okay, Lemon Drop. I’ve got you now.”
The bull terrier’s owner glared at Addison as he led his dog off the stage. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Someone call the police!” Rex called out.
She wanted to find his ripped-up business card and jam it down his throat. They didn’t need the police. Because the dogs weren’t missing. They just couldn’t be.
Addison adored dogs too much to let anything happen to them. She wanted to pamper them, love them, and show them that they mattered. Melody could vouch for that. Where was she anyway? Why would she leave the dogs so close to curtain call?
Addison wanted to step up, to act like the professional she knew she was, a professional who would never lose a dog. But her legs felt like bendy Twizzlers, so she sat down on a bohemian pillow, trying to pull down her dress so the entire room wouldn’t see her underwear.
She couldn’t breathe. The spotlights roasted her like an oven, but maybe not as badly as the angry, laserlike glares shooting at her.
Next to her, Princess sat up on her pink embroidered pillow. Barrel chest jutting proudly, basking in the attention from so many worshipers at once.
Alistair Yates pointed his cane up at Addison from the ballroom floor. “What have you done with my Lilly?” His lip curled and spittle flew from his mouth.
“Nothing,” Addison panted, feeling faint. “I didn’t do anything with her.”
“Noooo!” a woman screamed. It drew out like someone was falling from a tall building. When Addison searched for the source, she saw Penny Peacock burying her hooked nose in her hands. “My Best in Show. My blue ribbon. M
y perfect streak. Gone. All because of you, Addison Turner!”
Addison sank deeper into the pillow and stared at her empty stage. She’d hoped to make a name for herself, but this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind.
4
Thrown to the Dogs
“Addison…? Addison…? Miss Turner?”
The voice broke Addison’s trance and she tore her gaze away from the stage to refocus on Officer Simpson.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just … I can’t believe they’re gone.” She held Princess closer to her chest, not willing to let her out of her eyesight.
Princess grumbled, probably annoyed that she hadn’t been able to touch the ground in the last forty minutes. She shifted in Addison’s hold and nestled in.
“I understand, ma’am,” the officer said. “I just have a few more questions for you.”
Addison nodded numbly, glancing at the middle of the stage floor where the dogs should have been and thinking that if she just stared hard enough, she would see a glimmer in the air, like there was a magic door the dogs had accidentally passed through.
Once the police had arrived and things started to sink in—the dogs were really gone—Addison could no longer deny it. She’d lost them. They were out there in the city somewhere, maybe wandering the streets. Or worse. In the hands of someone who wanted to use them for money or even illegal dog fights.
Officer Simpson scanned his notepad. “You said you were dancing when the dogs went missing?”
Addison cringed. It sounded so unprofessional when he said it. Why had she allowed herself to get so distracted on such a critical night?
“Yes. I was dancing with Phillip Montgomery the third.”
The officer wrote down his name. “You never saw anything before you left? No one hanging around the stage?”
“No. Everything was normal. It was perfect, in fact. Melody was just finishing up the last of the grooming.” Addison paused. “Actually, there was one person hanging around, way longer than any of the other dog owners. Kitty Carlisle.” She recalled the way the old woman seemed nervous as she stalked backstage, but looking back, maybe she’d been casing the place, making her evil dog-stealing plans.
Beauty and the Wiener Page 4
