“He’s what?” one of them asked.
He’s…handsome, she thought glumly. Agnes pushed the thought away and turned back. “He’s a wanted criminal, right? You found a corpse? I assume he’s responsible.”
Sammy’s face suddenly tightened like he was trying to hold himself back from saying something. Of course an FBI agent wouldn’t want to give anything away.
“Actually, I think one of his sons is the culprit,” the other man said. “We’ve been looking for the corpse for a long time.”
Agnes shook her head, the words sickening to her. “This is not a family I want to get involved with. Come on, Finnie.”
But this time, Finnie was the one standing her ground. She looked from one man to the other, then back at Aldo, who hadn’t moved. “What exactly is he guilty of?” she asked.
“Guilty?” Big Mike looked confused. “It’s not exactly a crime.”
“Murder isn’t a crime?” Agnes demanded. “Since when?”
Once again, the two men shared a look, and the only thing Sammy was holding back now was laughter, which came bubbling out of him.
“Murder?” Big Mike asked, barely able to choke out the word.
“And isn’t that a gun in your jacket pocket?” Agnes said, her voice rising with tension.
Next to her, Finnie squeezed her arm. “Um, Agnes, I’m starting to think…”
“You really think Aldo Fiore could kill a guy?” Sammy asked, laughing so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Did you hear that, Mike?”
But Mike just shook his head, also laughing.
“Agnes, maybe we jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Without answering Finnie, Agnes turned for another look at Aldo. He was leaning forward now, his chin resting on his knuckles, staring at her. The smile had faded, and his expression was just wistful. Maybe sad.
“So…” Agnes turned to the men. “You’re not with the FBI, and that’s not a gun in your pocket, and there isn’t a corpse?”
Mike threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “We are with FBI,” he said. “But not the FBI…”
Sammy reached into his pocket, and both women drew back a little, but he only produced a business card, handing it to Agnes.
“Sam Robinson, owner of Flowers and Blooms, Incorporated. It’s a small nursery, trying to grow. I’ve been after the Fiore & Sons landscaping business for a long time. They buy the most product and could really help our bottom line.”
Oh dear. Agnes stared at him. Finnie let out a soft moan.
“And this?” Mike reached into the bulky pocket and pulled out a container wrapped in tissue, which he peeled back to reveal a small white flower unlike anything Agnes had ever seen. “This is a ghost orchid, one of the rarest blooms in the world.”
“Pretty,” Finnie said.
“We’re the only nursery in five hundred miles that can grow it.” Sammy beamed with pride. “Aldo’s son, Tony, who does want to do business with us, told us if we offered this to Aldo, he might come around and add us to his list of very exclusive vendors.”
“So, the ghost orchid is a…bribe.” Agnes slowly lifted a hand to her mouth to cover the string of very bad words threatening to tumble out.
“We like to think of it as an invitation to do business together,” Sammy said.
“And the corpse?” Finnie asked, her own voice sounding reed-thin.
“Wow.” Big Mike stifled a laugh. “You two are some impressive spies.”
“But what about the dead body?” Finnie stepped closer, straightening the glasses that refused to sit right on her face.
Sammy drew back, then nodded. “The corpse is another of the rarest plants in the world. One of our guys was at a landscape job that Fiore & Sons did, and they had one. If they were able to get a corpse, then they must have signed an exclusive deal with our biggest competitors, which is bad for us. Very bad.”
“’Cause Fiore & Sons is the absolute best landscaping company in the county. They get the biggest jobs and make the most money,” Mike added. “The whole family is highly regarded, but Aldo, well. He’s like…”
“Aldo’s the most respected man in his business,” Sammy finished for him. “He’s fair, smart, pays on time, treats everyone like family, and well, he always plays Santa at the mall. How can you not love a guy like that?”
Agnes pressed her fingers to her lips, his words coming back to her…
Do you always judge people so harshly, Agnes?
She wanted to turn one more time, but simply didn’t have the nerve. She was too ashamed.
“So, if you know the guy, maybe you can help us.” Mike held out the ghost orchid. “Give him this and put in a good word for FBI. Not the FBI, but…” He smiled. “We’re just an up-and-coming business and would love for his company to buy our products. It’s that simple.”
Finnie bit her lip and took the plant. “A ghost orchid. Well, that’s a new one on me, lad.”
“Thanks for your help, ladies,” Sammy said.
“Merry Christmas!” With a nod, Mike glanced over Agnes’s shoulder to where they’d been sitting at the food court. He shrugged and smiled, then the two men walked away, rounding the Christmas tree without looking back.
“Agnes,” Finnie whispered.
“I know, I know. We’re idiots. Fools. Conclusion jumpers. What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Finnie patted her arm and turned them both toward the food court. “He’s gone.”
Disappointment whipped through her. And regret. And frustration. And one little kick of what the hell was I thinking listening to Finnie Kilcannon?
“He left something on the table, Agnes.” Finnie gave a nudge. “What is that?”
Agnes shifted her attention to the empty table, seeing something white and folded on the surface. “The missing puppy flyer?” Frowning and hating herself for hoping it was more—a note of forgiveness?—she led the way back to where they’d been sitting.
Yes, that was the flyer, but the paper was intricately folded into the shape of a long-stemmed flower.
“A rose,” Finnie whispered.
“Oh.” Agnes let out a little moan. “Just like Nik.”
“In what way?” Finnie asked.
She smiled, surprised that tears welled up. “The day he came to my home to tell my parents he didn’t care what I’d done, that I would be his wife, he brought roses from the florist shop where he worked. And every year on the anniversary of that very day, he gave me a rose.”
“And now you have a paper one.” Finnie lifted it and handed it to Agnes. “What do you think that means?”
Agnes closed her eyes and dropped into the empty seat. “That I misjudged him.”
“We both did,” Finnie said, sliding into the next seat, taking off her crooked glasses so Agnes could see her gaze was direct and sincere. “I assumed the worst, believed old rumors, and did my level best to keep you from happiness because I was afraid of bein’ alone.” The confession came out raw and real, in thick brogue that reached in and tore Agnes’s heart out.
“Which is a testament to what a good friend you are,” Agnes said softly, laying two hands on her friend’s arm. “What’s a rose when you have a four-leaf clover?”
Finnie’s little frown formed. “Not followin’ ye, lass.”
“I believe I’ve seen a little stitching on the shelf that says, ‘A good friend is like a four-leaf clover…’”
“‘Hard to find and lucky to have,’” Finnie whispered. “Are you forgivin’ me, then, Agnes?”
She smiled and gave Finnie’s arm a squeeze. “’Tis Christmas, lassie,” Agnes said in a seriously bad imitation of a brogue. “I’ll be forgivin’ you.”
Finnie laughed, even though it was obvious she didn’t want to. “What a pair we are,” she mused, reaching down to pet Gala, who sat between them, her little head going back and forth as she followed the rhythm of the conversation and, knowing Gala, the heart of it, too.
Agnes looked down and twirled the
paper rose, noticing some writing on one of the petals. She stared at it, then looked up at Finnie, her eyes wide.
“A note?” Finnie asked.
Agnes lifted the petal to try to read, but all she could see was a few words…Christmas to you.
“It’s just ‘Merry Christmas,’” she said, a little disappointed. “And frankly, after how we misjudged him, that’s being generous.”
“Are you sure that’s all it says?”
She examined the flower, but the words disappeared under an elaborate fold. “I’d have to take it apart and ruin it to read the rest.” She brought it to her nose as if it had an actual scent, smiling at Finnie. “And I honestly would like to keep this as it is. A reminder not to judge so harshly.”
Finnie’s eyes welled up. “Oh, Agnes.”
“Hey, fuhgedaboudit, as Aldo and his hit men would say.”
But Finnie didn’t laugh. She shook her head, and one of those tears escaped.
“Seriously, Finn, don’t—”
“Agnes.” She reached out and wrapped her gnarled little fingers around Agnes’s hand. “Do you realize how far you’ve come? How much you’ve changed? How soft and sweet and forgiving you’ve become? No one can ever accuse my Agnes of having sharp edges.”
Against her will, Agnes felt her own eyes fill. “Oh, Finnie. Thank you.”
“’Tis true. You’re a sweet woman, and don’t let anyone ever say different.”
“It’s not that, which is nice, but…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I like being ‘your Agnes.’”
“Well, you are. Like it or not. I’m afraid I wrecked your romance.”
“No, you didn’t. You changed my life.”
They held hands for a moment, both smiling through tears as Gala slid to the floor and let out a contented whine.
Chapter Thirteen
Somehow, the lady with the bags and two kids moved like she was on roller skates. At least it felt that way as Pru and Lucas followed Tor on a tear into Dillard’s. The crowds parted for him, but some of the people yelled at Pru and Lucas as they passed. A few people laughed. But most jumped out of the way to avoid what might first look like a runaway horse.
He raced into Dillard’s, ruffled a rack of sweaters, zipped right through a family of shoppers, and bumped a mannequin that Lucas grabbed seconds before she toppled.
“Hey!” a saleswoman hollered at them.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Lucas said quickly, then looked at the mannequin. “You, too, lady.”
Pru bit her lip and kept running after Tor, trying to watch the woman with the bags and kids as she passed the lingerie section.
“Stop!” she yelled, as much at the woman as the dog.
She did pause, but only to glance at some handbags, which was long enough for her to realize a dog was running at her. She let out a little shriek, dropped her bags, grabbed her kids, and Lucas vaulted ahead and managed to snag Tor before he launched himself at the lady.
“You have a puppy!” Lucas cried out, forgoing any explanation.
“In your bag,” Pru added, breathless, pointing to the largest paper shopping bag, from Old Navy. Just then, it wiggled, wobbled, and fell to its side.
“Mommy, look!”
Out scrambled the baby basset, who paused in surprise just long enough for Tor to let out a furious bark. Then the puppy took off like a shot, tripped over one of her ears, rolled once, and popped up. Then she right darted into lingerie and hid under a rack of robes.
Lucas and Tor followed, while Pru offered a smile to the woman. “She got in your bag on the train,” she explained, looking over her shoulder. “We’re trying to get her back to the pet store.”
“I want that puppy, Mommy!” her little girl called out.
The mother looked a little shell-shocked at the whole situation, pulling both kids back. “But you can’t have it, honey,” she managed to say, her gaze on Pru. “Please tell her.”
“I’m sorry,” Pru said, slowing to look down at the child. “That’s Buttercup. And she already has an owner, and they are very upset that she’s lost.”
The little girl opened her mouth to wail, but her mother dropped down to console her, so Pru rushed toward Lucas, who was doing his best to hold on to Tor.
“Where is she?” she asked.
He nodded toward a round table laden with bras of every imaginable size. “Under the underwear.”
“I’ll get her.” She flew to the table, lifted the skirt, and the minute she did, Buttercup shot out with a pathetic little bark and a roll over the carpet. Pru reached for her, but Tor was faster, breaking free from Lucas and diving toward the little dog.
For a moment, they all froze, but Tor gently eased his teeth over the back of the puppy’s neck, lifting her tenderly like a prize.
“You got the puppy, Tor!” Lucas exclaimed. “Quick, Pru. Get a picture. That’s gotta be worth some RACK points.”
Her heart practically folded that he cared about her silly contest when there were so many other problems at hand, but she did manage to get a shot or two, then a ten-second video as Tor took a few steps, and some shoppers gathered around the underwear displays and started to clap.
“Feliz naughty dog,” one of them sang out, making everyone laugh.
“Feliz naughty dog,” someone else sang in the same tune, getting another cheer, so loud it made the puppy squirm, so Pru reached down to ease her out of Tor’s mouth.
“You are not a naughty dog,” she cooed in Buttercup’s ear. “And neither are you, Tor.” She petted his head and smiled up at Lucas. “You want to take this little girl back to The Animal House?”
“As quickly and quietly as possible.” He tugged Tor’s leash and brought him close to nuzzle his head, but his gaze stayed on Pru. “Did you get those bras in the photo?”
Her eyes widened, and she looked back at the table. “I might have. Why?”
He shrugged, some merriment in his dark eyes. “Might give a new meaning to RACK it up.”
She cracked up, waving to the small crowd and snuggling Buttercup close to her.
They were still smiling when they made their way back to the pet store, forced to stop for the carolers, let the train go by, and pause for shoppers to coo over Tor and the puppy. For his part, the greyhound never veered far from Buttercup, sniffing occasionally and licking her little ears.
When they reached the pet store, the same woman stood at the entry, but this time, they weren’t greeted with a warm hello. Her scowl shifted to a shocked gasp when she saw Buttercup in Pru’s arms.
“David!” she called into the store. “They’re returning him! They’ve surrendered Buttercup.”
Surrendered? Pru shot her a look, taking a breath to launch a defense, but Lucas put a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t sweat it, Pru. Let’s just get the dog back and get out of here.”
“There he is!” The manager, David, pointed right at Lucas, and the man with a camera on his shoulder swung around. “That’s the boy that caused all this trouble. And his dog.”
“Wait a sec—”
But Lucas added some pressure to quiet Pru. “Just give them the dog. Tor and I will stay outside.”
Before she could argue, he backed away, using his strength to guide Tor out of the store.
“That’s right,” David called after him. “Slink off, puppy thief.”
A jolt of indignation rocked Pru. “He’s not a puppy thief!”
David just rolled his eyes as he came around the counter. “Let me have her.” He reached out to grab Buttercup, and she instinctively backed up to protect the puppy.
“Be gentle,” she warned.
“Oh, that’s rich,” David snorted. “After what you and your loser boyfriend put us through today.”
“He’s not a loser.” Fury straightened her back, and something even more powerful made her turn to the camera, knowing it was trained on her and, if that red light meant anything, recording. “He’s a great kid who spent his entire day tryin
g to perform dozens of Random Acts of Christmas Kindness, including running through this mall trying to find a puppy who, I must say, should have been better protected.”
“Excuse me?” David spat the question.
“He should have been,” Pru said, speaking to the camera lens. “I speak from knowledge, since my grandfather and all my uncles run a canine rescue and training center, my mom’s a vet, and my dad trains therapy dogs.” The authority rolled off her tongue, spurred on by just how wrong this situation was. “Those puppies were being held in a flimsy pen that a child could knock over, and frankly, this store is lucky they didn’t lose more. It was pet negligence, actually, and they should be cited.”
“Okay, little budding lawyer, that’s enough.” He held out his hands. “Give me Buttercup, and go have your Christmas, kid. You’ve caused enough problems, and we don’t need any more.”
Before she handed Buttercup to the manager, she gave a comforting stroke to the little dog’s head and playfully flipped her long ears. “I hope you’re going somewhere wonderful, little angel,” she whispered.
As she gave up the puppy, something moved in her peripheral vision, and she turned to see the reporter who’d been talking to the camera earlier.
“What do you mean you’ve been performing Random Acts of Christmas Kindness?” the woman asked, coming closer with her microphone in hand. “That’s intriguing.”
“It’s a county-wide contest,” Pru explained. “And we’re here representing Bitter Bark High School.”
“Really? Can you tell me more?”
“I will,” Pru promised. “But if you do a story, can you please include my friend and his dog? This isn’t about me. The manager of this store has unfairly judged him and blamed him for something he didn’t do. In fact, this puppy could be halfway to who knows where if not for those two.”
The woman frowned, glancing outside. “Is he the boy handing out the candy canes and cute little sayings with the handsome racing dog?”
“Yes, that’s them. Tor Tidings!”
She chuckled. “Okay, let’s go talk to both of you. Would you mind being on the six o’clock news?”
Feliz Naughty Dog (The Dogmothers Book 7) Page 11
