by Laura Quinn
“I’m relying on Baron’s cuteness,” Claire said. She had learned the hard way to avoid such traps. Carrie was on the warpath since the council deferred her request for an expanded outdoor seating permit until October. When her stolen sandwich-board sign turned out to be confiscated by the village for being two inches too tall, Claire feared a nuclear reaction. To her surprise, Carrie had instead been eerily calm, simply looking forward to the day that karma caught up with the ogres.
“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Carrie said, succumbing to Claire’s secret weapon. “Do you need help? I’m testing my new manager to see if he can handle the place on his own. He thinks I went to the acupuncturist.”
“I’m all set now. I just have to get Baron and we’re going to run these over to the park.”
“Would you mind if I stayed in your shop while you’re gone? It’s a perfect spot to spy on my place without George knowing.”
Claire searched for an excuse, but the grey-blue eyes mesmerized her. “Uh, sure. I should be back in about fifteen minutes.”
“You’re an angel. I’ll check to see if you need to place any crystals. Doing business in this town requires all of earth’s positive energy.”
Claire ran back into the shop to get Baron and put on his official bandanna. Traci declined the offer of a ride to the park, wanting to stay and finish the window display.
Claire drove as quickly as she dared, worried about the pairing of a high-end designer and self-described hippie. Without the weekday traffic, she reached Lakeside Park in record time. The tents were hives of activity, with all the local groups preparing for the large crowds expected the next day. Baron woofed to Emma, who was setting up North Haven High’s tents with her friends.
The teenager ran over to pet him. “You should come over and see our junior achievers’ tent. The little kids we mentored are so excited about selling their phone straps and charms. They used the 3D printer for most of them, but some are hand-made, like the tassels. They’re tots adorbs and I told them they should start selling them online. We patchworked the leftover Vera Bradley fabric to cover the tables, since Mrs. Hamilton taught me that presentation is everything. Mr. Perkins is trying to set up the dunk tank, but he has no idea what he’s doing. I told him we have to figure out the optimum angle and speed to set the height and tension, but he won’t listen. He says he’s the softball coach and knows how it works thank you very much, but he obvs doesn’t. So, we’re going to practice our routine again while he rants. Maybe I’ll go by Zac and see if they need any extra help. I still need to earn more spending money. Oh my gosh, how many bags are there? It didn’t seem like that many last night. But, I was kind of zoning out with all those old people, no offence, talking so much. Do you want me to take Baron for a walk? Everyone would love to see him.”
It took a moment before Claire realized that Emma had stopped talking. Baron sat next to Emma, cocking his head just so to elicit the desired answer. “Okay, but only for a few minutes…” The pair ran off before Claire finished, “We have to run back to get the next load and Ms. Teaford is waiting…”
“We better hurry, so Scarrie doesn’t accuse me of sabotaging her business again,” Kim snarked. A young man emerged from the committee tent behind her, his muscles sculpting the tightly-fitted fest volunteer shirt. “How someone who gets so many colonic cleanses can be so uptight is beyond me. Maybe she drinks too much of her coffee.”
“Oh, hi Kim,” Claire said, pretending not to hear and, thus, avoiding another landmine. “Everything looks great here. I brought the chamber giveaways first, then I’ll come back with your committee bags.”
“Got to love the swag,” Kim said. “God knows we need something to divert our attention from the sheer boredom of the night. I trust we have adequate supplies of alcohol for the toasts.” She applied a fresh coat of bright red Guerlain lipstick before directing the volunteer to help. “Oh, Josh, the back of your shirt is torn. Maybe you should take it off.”
Claire struggled to pry out one box from her car, while the male model pulled out three and whisked them to the assigned table.
“Claire, dear, let him handle those. He’s very well equipped.” A four-carat diamond solitaire glittered on her left hand as she adjusted her Gucci sunglasses. “Do you want to take him back with you for the rest? I don’t mind sharing.”
“No need, Traci is at the shop, so she can help me. I’ll find Baron and we’ll be back soon.”
Claire’s search presented little challenge; she simply headed towards the largest gathering of people. Baron’s fan club took turns petting him under Emma’s watchful eye. She turned away anyone who had dirty or overly-enthusiastic hands. The celebrity dog obliged his admirers by posing for selfies.
“Sorry, but I have to cut your appearance short,” Claire said. “We have to pick up Auntie Traci.” Baron’s audience was disappointed, but Claire assured them that they could see him in the parade the next day.
Driving slowly out of the park, Claire increased her speed down Main Street. She hoped Traci and Carrie remained civil, though if crystal placements threatened the design plan, all bets were off. She called Traci to tell her they would be there in a few minutes.
The designer was already in the parking lot, with the cart full of precious cargo. She was relieved to see Carrie walking back to her coffee shop, with no apparent bloodshed.
“You sounded stressed, so I thought I would save you time,” Traci explained. “Barbara called and told me to remind you to eat a proper lunch before you return.”
“Once I drop these off, I will. I’ve had the worst feeling about them since they’ve been in my care. Imagine if they were knocked over, or worse. I’d have to take out a loan to replace the items.”
“Some people in this town are too petty. I wouldn’t worry about it; let them get what they deserve,” Traci said, climbing into the passenger seat. She turned the air vent toward her face. “Sorry, I’m a grouch in this heat.”
Claire placed each bag in the back, padding any gaps with blankets. She put on her seatbelt, swore, then ran back to the shop to get the gloves for Kim’s bag, double-checking for any stray carob droplets. She drove very carefully along the return route, avoiding the pot hole at Lake Avenue and the speed bumps at the park entrance. Traci’s remarks about Carrie’s behavior were lost in the distraction of monitoring the cargo with her rear-view mirror.
“Earth to Claire,” Traci repeated.
“Huh?”
“Can you drop me off at the south end? I want to visit the gardening club before I check in with her highness.”
“Yes, of course,” Claire agreed, driving around the outer loop. “Thanks so much for all your help. The displays look fantastic and I never would have been able to get these bags done without your help.”
“It was my pleasure. Bob’s been working all weekend on something or other for his new client. Since his biggest competitor was arrested for fraud, I’ve become a business widow.”
“Maybe business will slow down once the first quarter is complete.”
“I hope not,” Traci said exiting the car. She avoided the shale path to protect her new Louboutins, but sunk in the wet grass. She decided to swap the heels for a pair of ballet flats stashed in her purse.
Claire returned to the committee tent and gladly let the volunteers carry the VIP totes to the table, remembering to add the glove box to Kim’s bag. Delivery accomplished, Claire’s civic duties were done for the day. She took Baron on a relaxed walk along the lakeshore. He looked expectantly at the lake, but Claire hadn’t brought his long swim lead. Instead, she took off her shoes and they splashed along the edge of the cool water, enjoying the splendor of a few moments of peace and quiet in the midday sun. A stray piece of algae wiggled over her foot caused her to shriek, ending the respite.
They walked along the vacant land, marked by a public hearing sign. Neon yellow spray paint modded the town’s name to Snob Haven, followed by a frowning face emoji. As they approached the manicur
ed lawns of the lakeshore’s mansion row, Claire turned back. She stopped when she heard her name being called. Zac ran over from Lydia’s backyard to talk with her.
“Hi Claire. Hey Baron,” the lanky teenager said, crouching down to greet his buddy. “Did you get the golden packages delivered?”
“Yes, thank goodness,” Claire said. “It was exactly like guarding the Oscars. How’s it going over here?”
“There’s a lot to do. The rental company is on its way with the third delivery, and we’re still finishing setting up the tables and chairs. It would go a lot faster if Mrs. Langdon-Reeve weren’t out here supervising everything.”
“Your sister may be in luck, then. She’s hoping to stop by and pick up some money for her shopping fund.”
“Doubt it. She guilted us all into working for free, since it’s a charity gig and all. She said we entitled few need to remember those less fortunate.”
A ginger-haired teenager who Claire didn’t recognize joined the conversation. “Yeah, well, I just lost a chunk of money in bitcoins,” he said, offering a bottle of imported water to his friend. “Maybe I should apply to one of her charities. Do you think I’d qualify as an environmental fragility?”
“Hey Keckers, this is my boss, Claire, and this is Baron.”
“Suh, bro,” the teen said to Baron, shaking the offered paw. “I could make a sick website for you, or set up your network security. I could even do some cross platforming…”
“Nah, she’s fine,” Zac said. “Where’d you get this? If it’s from the bar, Mrs. Reeve’s going to have a fit.”
“She’s over there measuring the spaces between tables. No way she can see us behind the hedges. Anyway, she got all these for free, so it’s not like I’m taking it from her,” Keckers said. “Since my parents are paying $500 each for this party, I think I am entitled.”
“Clever idea,” Claire said. “No wonder she always raises more charitable funds than anyone else in town.”
“My parents are going too,” Zac said. “It’s really an excuse to drink way too much in the name of a social cause. The bus company donates transportation, so the sky’s the limit at the bar.”
“Yeah, July 5th is like Christmas for us,” Keckers said. “The rents will give us anything as long as we shut up and leave them alone. That’s how I’ve gotten to tech camp for the past three years instead of those lame entrepreneur programs.”
Baron rolled on his back, snorting in the tall grass. “I think that’s a subtle hint to get going,” Claire said. “See you tomorrow!”
She chose the long way back, avoiding the crowds and any further delays. Keckers’ booming voice carried over the distance, though the conversation was clearly intended for Zac’s ears only.
“Ok, real talk. That bike is just waiting for a race down this hill. It’s a ten-speed, so retro,” he said. “Who’s gonna know?”
“Ah youth, such rebel rousers,” Claire said to Baron. “Do you think we should alert the chief to this grand theft bicycle scheme?” His answer was to keep walking.
With most of the shops closed on Sunday, it was the best day to bake savory treats. While dogs drooled over liver lovers, the smell was far less pleasant to humans. When Claire and Baron returned to the shop, she poured pulled out a chilled bowl of water for him and poured herself a large tumbler of iced tea. They shared one of the leftover sandwiches from the fridge.
Break over, Claire set out ingredients and began with the barbeque beef squirrels, as they required several bastings while baking. Then, she made the dreaded liver cookies, followed by trays of thinly sliced sweet potatoes for the dehydrator. Next on her list was an idea inspired by the window displays from the prior night. She set out her alphabet cutters, to spell out “Three Woofs for the” in peanut butter cookie letters, to be followed be a red, white and blue bones. She filled the grinder with freshly shelled unsalted peanuts, singing “sometimes you feel like a nut” from the classic commercial. Baron awoke, but ran past her into the retail space. He returned to the kitchen and nudged her.
“The peanut butter isn’t quite ready yet.” The determined dog ran back to the shop, woofed once, then ran back to Claire, nudging her again. This time, she got the hint and followed him to the front door. An impeccably dressed woman, bearing a strong resemblance to Audrey Hepburn, waved frantically.
“Are you ok?” Claire asked through the door.
“Yes, but I simply must talk to the owner of this nouveau establishment extraordinaire.”
“I’m Claire, the owner. Our grand opening is Friday, or you could come to the soft opening on Thursday. The village codes—”
“I have never been one to be deterred by mere rules, and I simply can’t wait until Thursday. You must make an exception por moi.”
“How about if I get a sample bag for you? Then, you can come back when we’re open. Or, I’ll be at the Farmers market Tuesday.”
“But my little angels have already tried your delicious confections and devoured them. They have never shown the slightest interest in doggie treats until now. So, you must let me in. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
Baron, who had been studying the woman, barked his approval. Claire had a feeling this was an offer she couldn’t refuse, for better or worse. She pulled out Baron’s leash from her apron pocket and invited her inside.
The woman’s aura billowed around her as she breezed through the door. She greeted Baron, cooing that he was the most adorable host she had ever met. “Oh, Claire, this is precious, absolutely magnifique.” She stopped to admire the bakery cases, then swooped from one display to the next.
“Do you mind my asking how you heard about my shop?”
“I’m on the fest committee and took a teensy peek in my bag. It was the same old dreary tat they put in every year, except for your heavenly contribution. As I told you, my little dahlings are quite particular, and I may well have given your package away, but I could smell the most divine odeur. I couldn’t resist nibbling the blueberry bliss biscotti, and knew Charlotte and Emily would love the selection, which they did.”
Claire remembered the Yorkies’ names from her list. “Oh, you must be Ms. Vanderloft.”
“Call me Lana, all my close friends do.” She darted around the shop like a gazelle, selecting items and stacking them on the counter. “These are absolutely going to be the star of the after-party tomorrow. Bunny thought she scored the coup de grâce getting Miranda Lambert to sing, but just wait until I present these to Ms. Lambert’s beloved dogs, which I insisted must be invited.”
“Miranda Lambert, wow,” Claire gasped.
“I wish I could invite you, but tickets are sold out and the captain refuses to allow anyone extra on the yacht. I had to disinvite four people to make room for her dogs and their handler.”
“No, no, that’s fine,” Claire said, trying to slow her racing heartrate. She had met many celebrities before, but she was used to that in the PR world. Having her hand-crafted treats given to a celebrity was a completely new experience. “Do you happen to know what they like?”
Lana pulled out her gold iPhone and consulted her notes. Claire packed up the products already selected while her glamourous customer picked out a selection of special treats. Her hands trembled slightly as she wrote down each dog’s name on the individual bakery boxes. She calmed herself enough to pull perfect bows from the spool of paw-print ribbon and tucked Posh Pup cards securely under each knot.
“Oh, you have ice cream too!” Lana exclaimed, raiding the freezer. “And pawghetti and meatballs. I love it! Chef can heat these up onboard.”
“I’ll tuck in some flyers for our ice cream social and grand opening Friday. We have a sundae bar planned for the dogs and…"
Lana’s phone rang with an aria from La Traviata. “Excuse moi, I have to take this. Claude will take the packages.” She glided to the door, held open by her chauffeur, then stopped suddenly and turned. “Please add a selection of Monsieur Baron’s favorite treats to my bill. He�
��s been such a delightful host.” She blew a kiss before walking to her Rolls Royce.
“How is her bill going to be paid? It must be over $500,” Claire whispered to Baron. He jumped up so that his front paws were on the counter, just in time for Claude to walk up and hand her a black credit card.
“Ms. Vanderloft prefers to have her card on file with establishments she frequents,” he said. “I have the credit concierge on the phone.”
Claire listened as the agent explained the procedure, taking note of the phone number and code needed to approve immediate payment. The credit was set up indefinitely and service was available twenty-four hours per day. She returned the phone to Claude, who picked up the six heavy shopping bags.
“Don’t you want to wait until I ring up the total?” Claire asked.
“Between you and me, Madame would say that she didn’t give a rat’s derriere how much it costs.” Claude loaded the packages in the seat beside him, then returned to the shop. “Ms. Vanderloft asked me to remind you to add Mr. Baron’s treats to her bill.”
Claire watched the Silver Phantom drive away. “Did that all just happen, or am I dreaming?” Baron woofed. “I suppose you would like to select your host gifts now?” Baron woofed again, leading Claire to the freezer. “That wiped out most of our ice cream supply, but Barbara will be impressed with our sales on a day that we aren’t even open.”
Baron took his peanut butter ice cream pop to his bed, making himself comfortable as he licked his reward. Claire finished grinding the peanut butter and mixed a batch of peanut butter cookie dough to cut out the letters for the window. While they baked, she ground more peanuts to restock the ice cream cups in the freezer. She was just gathering ingredients for the next flavor when Marti arrived, arms filled with Chinese takeaway boxes.
Claire threw open the door for her friend. “Wait ‘til you hear our news!”
Baron ran over to his favorite aunt, showing her the remnants of the rawhide stick. “Oh, that looks delicious, but I think I’ll stick to human food tonight.”
