Perfect Match

by Fern Michaels

  “Oh, there is one other little, teeny-weeny thing I forgot to mention,” Gracie said as she screwed her face up into a grimace.

  “And what would that other little, teeny-weeny thing you forgot to mention be?”

  “My dog. Where I go, he goes. He’s fully trained. In many ways. Gizmo will rip your throat out if you raise your voice to me. He will kill you if you lay a hand on me. That’s why we will be putting surround sound in this room. He likes soothing music. He’s really an angel. I guess you could say he’s protective. I just love him to death. Oh, and he doesn’t like people sneaking up on him, so you and Mr. Masters are going to have to wear a bell or have a bell on your person so he knows you’re coming. Once you get to know him, you will love him as I do. I guess we should say good-bye for now, Mr. Moose. I also want to thank you for your timely intervention. I so do not want to disappoint Miss Masters. She’s been most kind to me. Such a lovely person. You just stay right where you are, Mr. Moose. I can see myself out. My people will be here shortly to take measurements and will be back at seven tomorrow morning, so be sure the gate is open. Nice meeting you,” Gracie called over her shoulder.

  When the door closed behind Gracie Sweet, Moose let himself drop to the floor. He could hardly wait to tell Jake he was going to have to wear a bell around his neck. He guessed he’d have to go on eBay and order them. He cackled so loud he went into a spasm of coughing as he fought to get his breath. Things were certainly looking up around here. Then he rolled across the floor as another wave of laughter overtook him.

  “Nice going, Beezer,” he gurgled.

  Chapter Two

  Jake Masters’s doorbell rang ninety minutes after Gracie Sweet left the house.

  Jake looked up at Moose, who was slapping chunks of pastrami on rye bread, then lathering it with eye-watering horseradish—Jake’s favorite sandwich.

  “Better get that, Moose. Must be that person’s work detail. I can’t wait to see how this goes. I’ve already sent Beezer nine texts, and she’s ignoring me. Maybe you should try, since she’s so pissed at me. The first thing you tell her is I am not wearing any goddamn bell around my neck. If you want to wear one, be my guest.”

  “Do your own dirty work, Jake. Besides, it’s too late; I already ordered two pure silver bells whose tone is also pure, the sound crystal clear. I’m not about to cross that young woman. Remember her dog. If she says we wear bells, then we wear bells,” Moose growled as he stomped through the house to the front door.

  Moose took in a big gulp of air and swung the door wide to see a big man staring down at him.

  “Henry Neunsinger,” the big man in the ball cap and ponytail said, holding out a business card. “My two associates, Terry Egger and Wayne Arnold.”

  Moose gaped at the colorful business card, and commented, “It says you are a hairstylist.” With a perplexed expression on his face, he looked at the big man.

  Neunsinger sighed. “Turn the card over.”

  “It says you are also an interior decorator. You have two jobs!”

  “I don’t consider them jobs, I consider them professions. I style hair three days a week and I design and decorate three days a week. My client, Grace Sweet, hired me. We need to be clear on something right from the start. Even though Miss Sweet hired me, she said Mr. Jake Masters would be paying the bill. I require half of my fee up front when the contract is signed and the balance on completion. It’s my understanding that the job has to be completed in forty-eight hours. Is that your understanding? And you are . . . ?”

  “Moose Dennison. Well, Mr. Neunsinger, I just work here. You need to speak with my employer to confirm the arrangement you made with Miss Sweet.”

  Jake appeared from around the corner. His hand shot out. “Jake Masters.”

  Neunsinger gripped Jake’s hand and introduced himself and his associates.

  Moose handed the business card to Jake, who looked at it and turned it over. “A man of many talents,” he said quietly. He looked the big man over, noted the ponytail and the red ball cap, the flowing Polo T-shirt and the cargo pants. Work attire. “You’re from Summerville?”

  “Yes,” Neunsinger said, his voice and tone matching Jake’s. “Been there for a good long time, 117 West 7th North Street, but these days I’m so busy I only take a few select clients. If you’re thinking of calling for an appointment, I’m booked through the end of December. Miss Sweet is a client. I’d like to get started. If you have any other questions, we can talk as I work. ‘Time is money’ is my motto. Just so you know, I do not like to waste my client’s money or waste my time. Let’s not be so formal—call me Henry.” He looked pointedly at Jake’s mop of dark curls and itched to take a scissor to them. His gaze traveled to Moose’s wild mane of straggly gray hair. which was down to his shoulders, and winced. That would take a lot of work.

  Jake nodded. Whatever he had expected in the way of fast tracking Sweet’s renovations, this was not it. He did understand the “time is money” concept, however. He led the way, the motorized wheelchair whirring softly over the polished floor.

  Moose opened the door, and Henry gasped. The two assistants groaned.

  “Lights, please,” Henry said. Moose obliged. This time there were no gasps, just stupefied expressions on the trio’s faces. For the first time in his life, Henry Neunsinger was literally speechless. He walked over to the bank of windows covered with thick burgundy velvet drapes and pulled them aside. A cloud of dust enveloped the room. Everyone started to sneeze and cough, even Jake.

  “The last time I saw drapes like this was in a funeral home, and that was twenty years ago,” Henry said as he covered a robust sneeze.

  “They came with the house,” Jake said defensively.

  “What about the rest of this . . . stuff? Do you want to save it or sell it or have it taken to the dump?”

  Jake thought about it. He knew when he was beaten. Finally, he just said, “Get rid of it.”

  The trio walked around, taking notes and mumbling to each other. The one word that both Jake and Moose heard over and over was disaster.

  Henry, with years of expertise under his belt, sized up the situation in a minute. “Since we are on a tight schedule here, that means we’re going to be working around the clock to meet Gracie’s deadline. That means we’ll be working through the night. You do understand this, right?” Henry said. His tone of voice clearly said he didn’t care one way or the other if Jake agreed or not.

  “Price,” Jake said through clenched teeth. “You said something about half up front and the other half when the job was completed. So how much?”

  Henry looked at Terry, who was busy scribbling on her clipboard. She fished a mini calculator out of her pocket and tapped at the keys. She showed the readout to Wayne, who then pulled a contract out of his backpack. Henry was the last to view the readout. “You forgot the travel time to and from.” He looked at Jake and Moose and said, “It’s customary to feed the crew. If you don’t, that means we have to order in, and that takes time and money. That means your total would go from sixty-seven to sixty-eight thousand dollars. Just so you know, I do not negotiate. One other thing—it’s entirely possible we will go over the figure I just quoted you. If so, are you okay with that? It’s already written into the contract. What that means is I might have to bring in other people to help us finish on schedule.”

  Jake looked like he was going to pitch a fit, but Moose clamped his hands firmly on his big shoulders, and said, “We have no problem with that. I’ll prepare your food. Am I to assume you want breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

  “You assume correctly.” Henry looked down at Jake Masters, who finally got the point and nodded to Moose to write out the check.

  Moose was back within minutes with a check he handed over to Henry, who in turn handed it to Terry to put in her briefcase.

  Everyone looked at everyone else, until Henry said, “We need to get to work. You can leave now.” He was already tapping out a text on his phone, as were Terry and Way
ne. There was nothing left for Jake and Moose to do but leave.

  When the door closed behind the two men, Henry sat down on the desk chair and looked at his colleagues. “This is a challenge. The only thing this room has going for it is the size and the view out these windows. I know what Gracie likes; I just don’t know if we can deliver in forty-eight hours. We may end up going over the price I quoted. I hate when that happens, but the bottom line is I want a pleased client. I don’t want her saying ‘It’s okay, Henry.’ I want her to say ‘I love this, Henry!’

  “Wayne, this . . . this ugly carpet has to go. God knows what’s under it. Make it work. Call Steve Wise and anyone else you know who can help with the floor. Terry, call Cheryl, tell her the measurements on the windows and to go to the fabric store and get the dotted Swiss and get out here with her sewing machine. Get rid of these drapes ASAP. We’ll have to take all the discards ourselves since we can’t get a Dumpster here in the time allotted. Donovan has a big pickup—call him. Gracie wants a fish tank, so, Terry, you’re in charge of that. Call Handyman Mike to do the painting. Misty Mountain Green is the color I want on the two walls. Gracie is ordering the computers, printers, and faxes. The desk is going to be a problem, but I have some ideas. Wayne, aside from the floor, you are in charge of the plants since you owned your own nursery at one time. I’m going shopping now, so let’s get this show on the road and make Gracie happy.”

  In the kitchen, Moose looked at the sandwiches that were now dried out. He tossed them and started new ones.

  “This is a nightmare. I hate this, Moose.”

  “Yeah, well, suck it up, boss. Of course, you could call Beezer and bail out if you’re that upset over the whole thing. Or is it that you’re put out that Beezer made it on her own, then walked away from it to follow her dream?”

  “She’s ignoring me. I didn’t know a thing about all she’s been doing these past couple of years. I want to strangle her for putting me in this mess. I do not want to be a matchmaker. How could she be so stupid to think I could do this?”

  “Don’t you have that all ass backward, Jake? You chopped her off at the knees. You just shoved her to the curb and gave up. What was she supposed to do, go crawling to you? She tried that, I have to give her credit. And then that didn’t even work, so she finally got wise and said screw it all. You have no one to blame for all of this but yourself, so give it up already.”

  “Look, you aren’t walking in my shoes. Neither is she. Do you have any idea what—”

  “Oh, spare me, Jake. I’ve heard it so many times, I know it all by heart. What’s sticking in your craw is your sister called you a whiny puke among other things. She doesn’t respect you anymore. That’s all gone—you need to realize that. If you want to ever see your sister again, you, my friend, are going to have to do some serious groveling. Read my lips. She-does-not-need-you, Jake! How does it feel?”

  “Shut up, Moose,” Jake said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. His eyes started to water immediately at the fire-hot horseradish. “I’m sorry, Moose. I didn’t mean that. I’m just upset right now.”

  “Well, as long as you’re upset, I might as well tell you that Gracie Sweet forgot to tell you something. She’s bringing her dog with her. When she first told me about the dog, I felt like I knew about it somehow, so I Googled the dog. Don’t look at me like that. How many dogs do you think there are out there named Gizmo? I only found two. One is deceased, and this one belonged to a soldier. The dog is a combat veteran. His handler was killed in Afghanistan. Gizmo made it home. He even got medals. The only dog in the entire world to get the Medal of Honor. The only dog in the whole world, Jake, and he’s going to be here in this house. The handler, a soldier named Alex Samson, was a friend of Gracie Sweet’s, and that’s how she got the dog. She said the dog was a killer. I thought she was blowing smoke until I read the Google report. Anyway, she’s bringing him with her to work. Like every single day.”

  Jake wondered how many more surprises were coming his way. He wiped at the tears in his eyes, finished chewing what was in his mouth, and looked up at Moose. “It’s okay. I like dogs. Off and on, I’ve thought about getting one but realize the bulk of his care would fall on you, so I just never followed through.”

  “You could take another crack at surgery, Jake. The docs say there’s a good chance you can get out of that chair if you do.” He must have said those same words over a thousand times these past few years. Then he wondered why he even bothered. Jake was deaf, dumb, and blind when it came to his physical condition.

  “Don’t go there, Moose. I’ve had enough.”

  “Yeah, me too. Beezer is right—you are a whiny puke.” Long years of mentoring and training Jake, plus the fact that he had been Jake’s father’s best friend, allowed Moose to talk that way to the kid he loved like a son.

  Moose blinked at the moisture in his eyes as he started to clean up the mess he’d made. Now he had to think about making dinner. Making dinner. That would be an event. For the past few years, he and Jake ate on the fly, takeout, fast food, a sandwich here or there, maybe some soup. While he considered himself an excellent cook, these past years he hadn’t worked at it. Obviously, he needed to resurrect his cookbooks. This now required thought. His first thought was Crock-Pot. Yeah, yeah, just dump everything in it and hope for the best. Somehow or other, he knew the big guy Henry, the boss of the outfit, was a meat loaf and mashed potatoes kind of guy. He decided at that moment that he liked Henry and was going to give some serious thought to getting his hair in shape. Ooops, styled was the operative word here. Maybe if he spruced up a bit, he might catch a few looks from Birdie Openhimer the next time he went to play bingo at St. Ann’s. Bingo, his one vice. And he always won at least once during the evening. And every time he left his winnings in the poor box before he left the church auditorium. If nothing else, it was a plan. He liked plans, even when they didn’t work.

  He gave a moment’s thought to sending a text to Beezer but decided against it. Beezer had her own plan, and for whatever it was worth, he hoped it would work.

  Chapter Three

  Gracie Sweet could barely keep her eyes open. It was well past midnight, and Beth had yet to call. It was unlike her, as she was usually prompt and called at the same time each night, at ten o’clock, to get a business update and bring Gracie up to speed on what was going on in Nashville. Wherever she was, and whatever she was doing, Gracie hoped she was having a good time. Maybe another cup of coffee. She looked at the pot and decided she was too tired to even bother. Gizmo nudged her leg. He knew it was past their bedtime. “We’ll give it five more minutes, then we’ll hit the sack, Giz.”

  The 140-pound shepherd looked up at his mistress and tilted his head to the side as though to say “I’m holding you to the five minutes” before he lay down by her feet. She loved the dog almost as much as she had loved his previous owner. Tears pooled in her eyes. Don’t go there, Gracie. Her cell phone peeled at just that moment. She jacked her voice up a couple of notches, so Beth wouldn’t pick up on how tired she was.

  “Gracie, I’m so sorry. I was out, and my cell died. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. No. I’m wide awake. Well, almost.”

  “How’d it go? Tell me everything. But first, does Giz miss me? God, I miss that dog!”

  “He does miss you. When we’re at your house, he looks everywhere for you. Talk to him; I’ll put the phone by his ear.”

  Gracie smiled as she listened to Beth purr sweet ditties into Gizmo’s ear. She swore the huge dog grinned at her. He whimpered, then barked his own greeting before Gracie put the phone back to her own ear. “Well, I did it. Your brother was barely hospitable. That guy Moose doesn’t say much, but he does a lot of hovering. I sent Henry and his people over to renovate that . . . that . . . space. God, Beth, I could never ever work in such a dungeonlike atmosphere. They’re still there and will work around the clock. Henry said it could be done, and you know when Henry says something, you can take it to the bank.
He did call to tell me it was the ultimate challenge. Your brother ponied up the deposit and, as far as I know, was okay with it.

  “Listen, Beth, if I didn’t love you like a sister, I would not be doing this. Your brother resents me. I’m interrupting his life. He does not want to run your company. That is the only thing I’m certain of. When I told him what you called him, I thought he was going to go into orbit. I gave it to him verbatim. I think the whiny puke was what got to him. Yeah, yeah, before you can ask, I can make it work.”

  Beth Masters laughed, a really nice sound to Gracie’s ears. “Give Henry my best and remind him he is to do my hair when I hit the Country Music Awards. Notice I did not say if, I said when.” Beth laughed again.

  “Will do. So, any news? What’s going on in Nashville?”

  “You know, Gracie, I finally found the rhythm and the beat of the city. I know what makes it tick. I’ve walked hundreds of miles getting the feel of it. I’m comfortable here now. I found a singing teacher. I auditioned for him. He said I can’t sing worth a darn, but we all know that. He said I show promise. He’s a has-been here, but he knows everything and everyone worth knowing, and he agreed to take me on. One two-hour lesson every day. I started today, and I really like him. He’s a good coach. His wife is sweet, too. He has a studio on his property, all the equipment, blah-blah-blah, and he’s not expensive, either. John likes him, too.” John Rossmon was Beth’s significant other and a kick-ass guitar player with a singing voice that would make Tim McGraw turn green with jealousy, according to Beth, but on that point, Gracie agreed.

  “We’re finally settled in. The last piece of furniture was delivered today, so we’re comfortable now. We almost belong. We’re making friends, networking. The bottom line is, Gracie, I’m happy. John is happy. It’s going to all work out. I’ll still keep checking in nightly and e-mailing if I can’t make the call. I meant it when I said if you need me, I’ll come back, but only on a temporary basis. We’re still okay with that?”