by Laura Quinn
“I thought my date might appreciate a man in uniform,” he said, then blushed and clarified that he meant his dog date. The North Haven Dog Haven adoption coordinator grabbed him as an escort for Minnie, a one-hundred-fifty-pound St. Bernard mix. Marti was in charge of taking and posting photos of the rescue dogs, and didn’t miss the opportunity to capture several snaps of Nick and his date.
Mike was the first of the dignitaries to arrive, wearing a black three-piece suit with a red tie and matching carnation, already wilting from the heat. Claire noticed the darker black silk band around his arm, presumably signifying his mourning. He apologized that his wife was unable to attend.
“You look quite suave,” Claire said. “But, feel free to take off your jacket. You must be roasting.”
Mike’s eyes swept over Claire’s t-shirt and shorts before declaring that “one must be suitably dressed for such occasions.”
“I haven’t put on my formal apron yet.” She excused herself to talk with Fiona, Mike’s new secretary. Her stomach lurched as she thought of Mike’s alleged attraction to the striking young woman. An affair with her was even more difficult to imagine than one with Kim. What would either see in him? Claire tried to focus on small talk, purging the thoughts from her mind. Fiona’s cherry-red lips smiled at Claire’s compliment about her efficiency, noting her tote bag neatly concealed an assortment of chamber provisions. She pulled out the official red ribbon, securing it at each end with double-sided tape and tying a bow that Martha Stewart would envy. She rested the ceremonial scissors, two feet in length, against the front door while she ran to Mike’s beckon.
“Fi, this badge is crooked. Can’t you do anything right?” he bellowed. “What sort of an idiot would I look with that on the front page?”
The dutiful assistant repositioned it so that the title of Chamber President was perfectly perpendicular to the light grey pinstripe. She pinned it into position and the slightest trace of a smile came to her face as Mike’s squeal set off howls from the basset hounds. Thunderous paws breached the door as Minnie burst through, dragging Nick from the other end of the leash. “Sorry y’all,” he yelled as he ran to catch up with his charge. The ceremonial red ribbon fluttered behind them.
“That would totally go viral,” Emma said, watching the scene from inside. “I don’t suppose anyone filmed it?”
“I told you it was bad luck to open during retrograde,” Peggy said. “But no one ever listens to me.”
“I swear it was an accident,” Fiona said. “My hands must have trembled.”
“Who could have guessed how much trouble that little prick could have caused,” Marti said. Between convulsions of laugher, she replayed the incident to Bob, who arrived a minute too late.
Claire struggled to maintain a straight face as she helped Fiona put up a new ribbon and bow, just in time for Olivia to greet the local press, fellow chamber members, and patrons. Traci took charge of arranging the Posh Pup staff, guest rescue dogs and volunteers in front of the store for photos. Mike emerged looking restored, though his teeth were clenched more tightly than usual. Claire took her place in front of the ribbon with Baron. Mike signaled to his assistant to prepare the scissors and pulled out his notes. Before he began, Fiona whispered to him that the impact broke the giant scissors.
Circumventing Mike’s nuclear reaction, Claire asked Peggy to run upstairs to get the pair of scissors on the desk. While they waited, Claire answered questions about Baron’s breed, spelling Eurasier several times. No, they are not related to bears or lions, a question that used to sound strange to her. They are part of the Spitz family and typically have a black mask on their muzzle and distinctive markings around their eyes that look like eyeliner. Attention suddenly focused on Nick, having gained temporary control of his charge. The shelter representative suggested he take Estelle, a small Shar Pei mix from the senior rescue, instead.
Mike cleared his throat and apologized to the crowd for the delay. He readied his notes as he saw Peggy emerge from the shop, holding the scissors. The professional and amateur photographers readied their cameras and cell phones for the ceremony to begin.
“Why would you have a murder board?” Peggy shrieked at Claire. Her clammy hands shook the poster board above her head. The crowd was silent as it watched the explosion. “Look at it! You’ve got lists of suspects and ways to kill people like they’re items on a shopping list. A murder board!” Her voice shook as she repeated the last words and she flung the offensive object into the street. “I knew there were bad vibes here. I just knew it. You’re literally begging for trouble, and I want no part of it!” She stripped off her apron and threw it down, the scissors falling and stabbing the ground. She ran through the parking lot to her car.
Neither Mike’s calls for silence nor his glares were effective in quieting the reactions that erupted in Peggy’s wake. Zac and Emma were laughing so hard, they could barely type everything on their phones. Barbara tsked them and gave Claire’s hand a supportive squeeze. Despite her experience on the front line of many PR disasters, even Claire was momentarily shell-shocked.
A shrill burst called everyone to attention. “That’s quite enough,” Marti shouted, the silver whistle dangling from her wrist. “We’re here to celebrate the opening of this incredible new shop. Let’s get it together, people.”
A dog barked and Emma and Zac seized on the moment. They chanted, “Some bark, some scream, we all team for ice cream.” Barbara and Marti joined in as Zac live-streamed the hashtag CornyChorus. Claire encouraged the crowd to join in, resulting in participation from everyone except Mike.
“Okay guys, we hear your screams and barks,” Claire said to the crowd. “Let’s get this ceremony started so we can get to the ice cream bars.”
Mike took his cue and read his notes about welcoming North Haven’s own Clarissa Noble and her furry companion Baron to the Northshore’s top shopping destination, as spearheaded by the chamber, and other self-aggrandizing comments. He closed with a call for a one-minute silence for the late village president, a much loved and respected member of North Haven, and conduit for new businesses. He bowed his head, discreetly wiping away his tears. Sixty seconds later, he cleared his throat and introduced the new shop owner.
“I’ll keep this nice and short,” Claire promised. “First, I must thank my precious Baron, whose food fussiness launched our new venture.” The charismatic dog stood proudly as cameras and phones snapped him from every angle. “Thank you to my fantastic staff, Barbara, Zac and Emma, and Peggy, in absentia, for helping The Posh Pup Pawtisserie open on-time and magnificently. Come up here and take a bow.”
As they assembled, three hands and one paw waved in a choreographed royal manner, to the crowd’s delight. Claire continued, “Thank you to Sam Mason for her incredible transformation of this space and Traci Hamilton for her decorating wizardry. Marti, my best friend since we were toddlers, I couldn’t have done this without your unwavering support. And thanks to Bob, my second oldest friend, who will undoubtedly write only glowing reviews in tomorrow’s paper.”
Claire assured the crowd of Bob’s resolute integrity by sharing a memory from their teenage years. Even an attempted bribery of extra pizza and coveted tater tots refused to sway the high school journalist’s review of the cafeteria’s new lunch program. When the crowd finished applauding the ethical editor, Claire continued her acknowledgments. “Thank you to Scoops for donating the human ice cream, so that proceeds of all ice cream sales today will benefit our local shelters. You’ll notice many of their volunteers and adorable spokesdogs walking around today.” She stopped to applaud their work and called up Berty, the infamous baton-stealing Boston terrier to demonstrate the donation vest. Her owner assured the crowd she wouldn’t steal anything today.
“Finally, I would like to thank the chamber, village officials and all of you for coming to our opening. Baron and I are most grateful for your pawtronage and hope you enjoy your day.” She cut the ribbon and said “Welcome!” in tandem with Bar
on’s woof. He accepted the red bow and pranced into the store in a well-documented entrance. The crowd cheered and waited patiently as two and four-legged customers explored the new business. Nick and Estelle guided people to alternating areas to manage maximum capacity.
Claire called her team to the back room so they could quickly strategize how to work without Peggy. Marti took over floor duties, turning rescue coordination to Traci, who welcomed the distraction. Barbara answered questions and helped guests with their purchases, while Emma and Zac worked behind the counter. Claire settled Baron into the office with his favorite cheesy bone, asking Emma to keep an eye on the furry ambassador. Claire armed herself with a fly swatter to deal with sweet-seeking bees and headed to her scooping zone on the patio. She noticed the local tricycle of terror was padlocked to the front gate, and hoped none of her guests had been mowed down by the notorious Deloris Dill.
Customers flocked to the outdoor station, ordering single scoops, cones and sundaes. A commotion erupted in line as an elderly woman pushed her way to the front, claiming the heat was causing heart palpitations.
“Hi Nurse Dill,” Claire said. She recognized her grade school nurse, dressed in a perfectly tailored floral pantsuit and flouncy hat, in sharp contrast to her dour expression.
“Who are you?” she barked.
“It’s me, Claire Noble. I’ve known you since I was a little girl. Marti and I went to North Haven Elementary. She’s over there.”
“I’ve known a lot of kids in my time,” she said, squinting through her thick glasses. “Are you the ones they called pork chop and string bean?”
Claire tuned out the spectre of childhood taunts, focusing on a more positive reference. “My mother is Lauren Noble. Remember, she helped you with your books on our town’s history?”
“Is she here? I could use some help with a new volume.” The old woman scowled when she learned that Claire’s parents were on holiday. “Well, what have you got?”
Claire read off the selections from the list and her crotchety customer settled on a double-scoop of carob and bacon-peanut butter on a carob brownie base. “Don’t skimp on the jerky topping,” she ordered before dropping a dollar into the donation can. She took her corgi, nearly as wide as she was long, to a shaded table on the grass. “Here you go my precious. Eat your num nums.”
Bob asked Ms. Dill for a quote, but was given a flurry not fit to print. His photographer snapped a shot of the happy pooch, the doting senior and the flabbergasted editor. Bob stepped around the line to tell Claire he was leaving, assuring her that the day’s highlights eclipsed the opening debacle. She hugged him and laughed about the unplanned publicity.
An hour later, Claire’s phone buzzed with a text from Peggy. She stepped away from the ice cream cart for a moment while she texted a response, then talked with Barbara. Claire could hear the groans from inside when the manager broke the news that Peggy was coming back to work. Marti came out to check Claire’s sanity. Claire explained that Peggy apologized for her behavior, blaming it on a nightmare she had the night before, aggravated by the retrograde period.
“Are you serious?” Marti asked her friend. She thrust a warning finger in front of the person waiting to give his ice cream order. Claire admitted she was also wary of the return, but was well aware that they needed another set of hands to help with the long lines. She asked Marti to ensure that Peggy stayed behind the counter, limited to bagging and restocking treats. Claire helped the next two people in line, giving an extra-large portion to compensate for the delay.
“That girl is always such a drama queen,” the next customer said.
“Oh, hi Helen,” Claire said, relieved to see a friendly face.
“I’ll take a scoop of liver lickums in a cookie bowl for Pixie please.” She dropped two twenty-dollar bills into the can, then took a picture of her dog in front of the ice cream cart. The Great Dane consumed the treat in a few bites. “Hope you don’t mind that I use this on my Facebook page. You’re my favorite customer.”
“I’m not sure that’s true after this morning’s commotion. I’ll be on a lot of social posts, but for very different reasons.”
“No publicity is bad publicity, right? Besides, we’re all glad you’re looking into the murder,” Helen said. “Obviously, Traci is innocent, but Chief Baloney needs all the help he can get to reach even obvious conclusions.”
“I’ll try my best,” Claire promised. “Be sure to grab a few cups of ice cream to go for Pixie, my treat.”
“I’ve already been shopping and loaded up on everything. They’re holding my bags behind the counter so I can give you a break. I used to work at the ice cream shop when I was in college; I think I’ve still got the scooping action.”
Claire hugged her friend and took Baron out the back door for a short walk. She checked in with her team and was assured they had all taken breaks. Emma tried to convince Claire that Peggy wasn’t needed, but the owner insisted.
“She promised to be on her best behavior,” Claire said.
Though neither believed their boss, they acquiesced. Baron gave each teenager a supportive paw before embarking on a hosting sweep with Claire. Nick gave a thumbs up, pointing to Estelle’s vest, stuffed with donations. On her way back, several people commented how much they loved the shop. Everyone stopped to pet Baron, and he provided his fan club with perfect poses for photos. He continued to make photogenic appearances from behind the counter after Claire left to resume ice cream duty.
“Are you the owner,” a middle-aged man asked as she made her way onto the patio.
“Yes, I’m Claire.”
“I have to tell you that this is the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had! It isn’t sickeningly sweet and I love the bacon. I might just get another scoop, with a brownie this time.” Conspiratorial laughter surrounded Claire as she thought of what to say.
“You’re always so cheap, George. I wanted you to see how good these dog treats are,” his wife confessed.
“Oh, good lord, are you trying to kill me?”
“Hardly,” Helen, a longtime friend said, admitting her complicity. “Claire uses only the best, human-quality ingredients, and you definitely need to reduce your sugar intake.”
“Well, then I guess I can afford another taste. Let’s get a double scoop sundae for Wrigley and me to share.” He deposited a fifty-dollar bill into the container. The golden retriever, bedecked in Cubs collar and bandanna, wagged his tail as the heaping plate was placed in front of him.
Marti announced that the Ice Cream Social would be ending in thirty minutes, so all final ice cream orders must be placed. Claire hurried to scoop out as many dishes as she could in the remaining time before putting up a closed sign on the cart.
As Claire washed up in the bathroom, Marti unloaded a torrent about Jill Tonelli. The fitness guru began the feud several years ago by pointing out Marti’s “chicken legs” in the middle of a packed spin class.
“Do you know that plastic bitch had the nerve to come in here, bursting out of her too-small tank top, promoting her new diet line?”
“Maybe she came straight from the gym?” Claire suggested, trying to temper the rising storm.
“And maybe her double-D’s are real. Give me a break! She came here to photobomb your opening. She doesn’t even have a pet. Maybe she wanted to steal your brownie recipe.”
Claire quickly changed the subject when they saw Jed walking towards the back room. He thanked Claire for inviting Scoops to participate, which resulted in a surge of new followers on their social media channels. Reporting that he sold out of nearly every flavor, he handed over two fat bank bags. Claire thanked him and locked the donated sums in the safe along with the takings from her stand. Claire pulled the velvet rope across the stairs, with a closed sign for the second floor. Upstairs, the rescue volunteers counted donations in their tins and vests while their dogs slept beside them. Every dog available for adoption had attracted interest, virtually guaranteeing a steady supply of forever hom
es even before the following day’s rescue fair.
Although the ice cream social portion was over, the shop was still filled with customers. Claire and Marti took over floor duty, sending Barbara and Peggy, then Emma and Zac on break. Baron also took a break, eating his four-paws chili and cornbread. People complimented all the treats and promised they would be frequent customers. George and Wrigley left the shop with a freezer bag filled with ice cream cups and brownies. Even Nurse Dill was less snappy, a sure sign of her having a good time. Claire was thinking how well all had turned out after a disastrous start.
Then the buzz stopped. All eyes were fixed on the middle-aged man who walked through the front door, wearing a baggy track suit, Penn State baseball hat and dark sunglasses. He looked down, pulling the cords of his black hoodie tightly over his cap, then shoving his hands in his pockets.
The poorly disguised character took the elevator up, while Claire ran up the stairs. She grabbed Traci just as the bell dinged. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what Larry is doing here.”
“He looks like shit, doesn’t he?” Traci said. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he admitted the affair.”
“I’ll ask him to leave immediately.”
“No, I told him to come Even though he has zero taste in women, he’s still an excellent accountant. He agreed to help before, and I’m holding him to his promise.”
“Really, Traci, I’ll get someone else to tally up the funds.”
“No, he can do it. He’s still the shelter’s treasurer anyway, so I have to deal with him on that level.”
“I feel so badly. If it hadn’t been for that rash of charity scams, I wouldn’t have even thought to request an independent accounting. I had a feeling today’s event would generate a lot of cash.”
“The people who matter would never doubt you,” Traci said. “But, now, if any of the charities think they were shorted, they can blame the rat, which is fine with me. He’s coming over Sunday to count up the weekend’s donations for our senior dog shelter. Maybe I’ll stitch him up, claiming he took some of our funds.” Seeing the look of surprise on Claire’s face, she assured her she was kidding. “Besides,” Traci said, “If I really wanted to hurt him, I could do much worse than that.”
