Tricia reached across to grab the slim phone book on the counter to look up the number. She grabbed her phone and dialed, and was pleased when someone picked up the call.
“Milford Animal Hospital. This is Georgia. How can I help you?”
“Hi, it’s Tricia Miles. My cat is one of your patients, but I’m calling about something else. I brought in a bichon frise last night. His name is Sarge. I was wondering how he was doing.”
“Hang on. I’ll find out,” Georgia said, and the line went silent as she put Tricia on hold.
Tricia continued to stroke the fur on Miss Marple’s head. She didn’t complain.
Eventually, Georgia came back on the line. “Ms. Miles, we have good news. Dr. Arnold said Sarge had a good night and she anticipates he’ll have a full recovery.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Even better news. Someone called late last night and left a message saying she’d like to claim the little guy. I’ve already spoken to her. She said she was a friend of Sarge’s deceased owner and will take care of his medical expenses and adopt him when he’s ready to leave our care. We’ve canceled the charges against your credit card and thank you for bringing him in.”
Tricia frowned. The place wasn’t officially open for the day and already someone had made arrangements to pick up the dog? And while she hadn’t really considered adopting the dog—just looking at Miss Marple reinforced the reality that her cat would be forever offended if she brought a canine into their home—she’d kind of liked the idea of bringing Sarge home. No doubt about it, he was incredibly cute and had been unmistakably devoted to his now-departed mistress. Tricia didn’t doubt that the poor dog would mourn the loss of his human mama.
“That’s good . . . I guess.”
“It is good,” Georgia insisted. “This lady assures us she knows the dog and that she’ll give him a happy life. She cried when I described Sarge’s injuries, and she’s eager to bring him home.”
“When will that be?” Tricia asked, feeling an odd constriction in her throat.
“If he continues to improve, in a couple of days.”
It sounded like Sarge had a happy future to look forward to, with someone who would love him as much as Elaine Capshaw had. Then why did Tricia feel so sad?
“Thank you,” she said with false bravado. “I’m so glad everything will work out for him.” Albeit with someone else.
“Is there anything else we can do for you today?” Georgia asked.
Tricia forced a smiled—extending it to her voice. “No, thanks so much.”
“We’ll send you a reminder in April when it’s time for Miss Marple’s booster shots.”
“Thank you,” Tricia said again, trying hard to sound cheerful. “Good-bye.” She hung up the phone and stared at it.
How had one of Elaine Capshaw’s friends heard about the dog’s fate? Was Sarge’s benefactor one of Elaine’s neighbors?
No matter. The situation was no longer any of Tricia’s concern.
But somehow, she wished it was.
Tricia leaned over the sales counter and perused the headlines in the Nashua Telegraph, then glanced over the feature stories and found nothing of interest. It wasn’t the newspaper’s fault—the fault was squarely on her shoulders. Depression was an emotion she seldom let dominate her, but today it tried mightily. She remembered in vivid detail how on weekends her ex-husband would wake her with a fresh-brewed cup of coffee. How she’d loved drinking that first cup of the day in bed while reading the New York Times.
Those days were long gone. And why did the memory have to surface right now?
Tricia glanced up and saw Ginny pause in front of the Happy Domestic. She pawed through her keys, and opened the door. Ah! Company. If only for a few moments. Although if Ginny was arriving an hour before opening, it stood to reason she had work to do. But still, Tricia grabbed her keys, locked up, and headed for the Coffee Bean. Thankfully, Boris was not around, and Alexa waited on her with her usual good cheer.
“I see Captain Baker has left,” Tricia said.
“Ja, ja,” Alexa said. “I told Boris it was foolish to involve you . . . but . . . men!” she said, and laughed, as though that explained everything. “Are you going next door to visit Ginny?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Everett tells me she’s ordered a proper Dumpster.”
“Yes, I believe she has.”
Alexa nodded. “She will make a good neighbor.”
Tricia held out a ten-dollar bill to pay for the coffee, but Alexa shook her head. “You tell her it’s a very small welcome gift from me.”
“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.”
She bid Alexa good-bye and took the coffees next door. Once again, she had to knock several times before Ginny appeared from the back room behind the counter. As Tricia hoped, Ginny was smiling. Good. She didn’t want her to think she was spying on her—or blatantly interrupting her.
“Coffee,” Ginny said after opening the door. “You’re a mind reader.”
“It’s from Alexa, actually. To welcome you to the neighborhood. And I just thought I’d come over to see how you’re doing.”
“How nice—on both accounts.” Ginny waved a hand around the shop. “At least I didn’t arrive to find chaos this morning.”
Tricia took an appreciative look around the store. The merchandise sparsely decorated the shelves, but the place was tidy and still inviting. “You’re in early.”
Ginny took a sip of coffee and blushed. “I feel like I’m playing house. Come on in the back and sit down awhile.”
Tricia dutifully followed Ginny into the back of the shop. Elizabeth must have made good her threat of having Davey’s things collected, for the playpen, changing table, toys, and diapers were gone. In their place was a desk, file cabinets, a table with a coffeemaker and microwave, and a small refrigerator. Everything Tricia had collected for the employee break room on the floor above her shop.
Ginny sat at the desk and ushered Tricia to take the hard-backed chair to the side of it. “I’m already getting to know the stock,” she said proudly. “And I like arranging stuff on the shelves. Thanks so much for loaning me Mr. Everett again yesterday. He’s such a doll, and he can fix things, too. The card rack was all bent out of shape, but he managed to put it back into its original shape. And he’s just as good with the customers here as he is at Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m hoping to find someone as good as him to work for me.”
Tricia smiled. “You’re not going to try to woo him away from me, are you?”
“Would I do that?” Ginny asked in mock innocence.
They shared a laugh, and then sipped their coffee in contented silence. Ginny was the first to speak. “I’m going to be ordering the Christmas stock this morning. I spent all last evening going through the catalogs. I think Antonio was bored to death, but he pretended to pay attention. I mean, it is in his best interest to know what’s going on here at the Happy Domestic.”
“What are you ordering?”
“Christmas doilies, angels, a few really cute nativity scenes, Dolly Dolittles in Christmas garb, some specialty chocolates—”
“What does Dolly Dolittle look like?” Tricia asked. She’d done all that eBay research but hadn’t yet seen the small china figurines and felt curious about them.
Ginny pawed through a stack of catalogs on the desk, picking one out and handing it to Tricia, who smiled in delight. Dolly Dolittle was an angel in Victorian garb. The cover shot showed a little girl in pastel blue, with a white fur collar. Her hands were thrust in a furry muff to match the collar, and the entire figurine was covered in iridescent sparkles. “She’s adorable.”
“Apparently they sell like crazy—especially at Christmastime. They’re one of the few angels that outlived the craze a few years back. I think one of the reasons may be that they’re still made here in the U.S. instead of China. They have a huge, loyal following.”