CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

She wasn’t sure why, but Marie Fortune thought the man currently looming over her with a scowl on his face closely resembled her high school principal. When he frowned, it looked as if his well-trimmed moustache was also managing a frown of its own. But it was the way he looked out at her through the bottom of his glasses that did it, as if she were an insect he might be about to squash.

“I don’t understand,” the man who was not Principal Davis said. “It really is a very simple item. Why don’t you have it?”

“Well, that’s a very specific type of hair gel, sir,” Marie said. “If we kept it on hand, it would just collect dust. After all, you have a very unique dog.”

And,

she thought but did not dare say,

not all people think their dogs require specialized hair gel.

The man’s scowl deepened. For a moment, Marie was fifteen years old again, with Principal Davis looming over her.

Of course, it had always been easy to explain to Principal Davis why she was in his office again. It wasn’t quite as easy to explain to a wealthy and prissy rich man why Pampered Paws did not carry the specific dog hair gel he was looking for. He was not the sort of man who understood the world did not rotate around him. It was unheard of that Pampered Paws did not cater specifically to his dog, a wiry Saluki that seemed to know how expensive she was.

Even the dog seemed to be frowning at Marie. When she met its eyes, it looked away as if it could not be bothered with someone so trivial.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Marie told him, “but they don’t make hair or fur gel that is specific for only Salukis. The only one we can get that would benefit your pet is very hard to find and quite expensive.”

“I find that quite preposterous!”

Marie thought it was preposterous that a grown man would want hair gel for a dog. She did not say this, of course. Instead, she gave a sympathetic frown that the management of Pampered Paws had actually had them rehearse during training.

“Well, as you know, we’re a spa for pets, not a pet store,” Marie explained. “It’s why we don’t carry your specific brand. If you like, we can order it for—”

“I can jolly well order it myself at home!”

But you won’t,

she thought.

Ordering things online is something us commoners do.

“I understand, sir. But if you—”

“Daisy Mae has an appointment next Monday. I fully expect you to have the gel I have

specifically

requested for her grooming, or you’re going to lose me as a client!”

“I’ll make sure we have it for you, sir.”

“Good day,” he said. He spat out the word

good

like he’d just bitten into something sour. Daisy Mae and her tall mustached owner stormed to the doors. As they left, Daisy Mae looked over her owner’s shoulder and yapped to make sure they had gotten their point across.

Boy, had they. The point, as Marie saw it, was that she sometimes forgot just how much she hated her job.

Slightly jolted from the encounter with the doppelganger of her high school principal, Marie walked to the back of Pampered Paws Grooming and Salon, where there was an enormous window where clients could look through to see their cherished bundle of fur as they were groomed.

Currently, there was only a single dog being groomed at Pampered Paws—a labradoodle that was being groomed by Marie’s friend Kara. Kara saw Marie looking in through the window and gave her a thumbs-up. She then frowned, lifted the dog’s tail, and started trimming up the area no one really ever enjoyed trimming up.

Just before Marie turned away to see what she could find to do to keep busy, she caught a faint reflection of herself in the mirror. She was actually happy with how she looked today: her makeup wasn’t overdone, her shoulder-length brown hair looked messy-cute, and she looked well-rested.

Still, no matter how good she looked, there was no way to hide the fact that she was a thirty-nine-year-old woman working at a pet salon that catered to the rich and narcissistic. It was a far cry from her dreams of one day opening up a bed-and-breakfast somewhere on the coast of Maine. It was a dream influenced by her Great-Aunt June, one of her more eccentric family members. Or rather, it had been influenced by Great-Aunt June’s strange and grand beachside home. Whatever the inspiration, it was a dream that had seemed more and more ridiculous as Marie got older.

Not that it mattered. Because life had led her

here.

She’d tried to stay on the rails to follow a career path she only sort of wanted, and that path had dumped her off on the side of the road, right here at Pampered Paws. That bumpy detour had come during college, three semesters away from graduating. It involved a terrible dating relationship and then the unexpected death of her father. Before she knew it, veterinary school and the even fainter dream of opening that bed-and-breakfast all became taunting pipe dreams.

“Marie!”

The sound of her boss’s voice made her heart go cold. Marie turned around, putting on her best smile to face Deandra Lewinston. While pretty, the woman also resembled one of those motherly villains from a Disney movie. She’d had some plastic surgery done, but it was

good

plastic surgery so it was almost impossible to tell. Deandra had five children, but her boobs were still up nice and high where they were supposed to be, so Marie was pretty sure she’d had some work done there as well.

“Yes, Deandra?”

“Can’t you find something else to do besides watching Kara work?”

“Yes, I—”

“We have nine appointments coming in between noon and three. Before they arrive, I need you to make sure the ones that are left by their owners don’t have to wait to eat. And please, this time make sure to separate the vegetarian from the normal. I’m still getting an earful from Mrs. Thornton because her cocker spaniel’s breath smelled like fish for a week.”

“Of course.”

“And did you finish up with the bows for Precious? Mrs. Hight will be here soon to pick her up.”

“Yes, she’s all done and waiting.”

“Good,” Deandra snapped before heading off elsewhere.

Marie struggled to keep the smile on her face as she left the grooming area and headed into the spa rooms. She spent the next hour preparing the grooming stations she’d be using. She felt a special sort of defeat when she scrubbed the mirrors at the stations.

I’m scrubbing mirrors so dogs that are worth more than my car can admire themselves while I clip their nails and untangle their fur. How, exactly, did it come to this?

She knew the answers, but they were all rather depressing and sad. And she was sad enough as it was, making sure there were no streaks on the mirrors.

Following this cleaning, she set out the dishes and mats for the animal waiting area. She portioned out the food as if she were making a smoothie for a world-class athlete rather than a four-legged creature that sniffed and licked its own backside.

Done with this, she headed back to the front of the store. Right away, she saw a rather anguished-looking woman pacing back and forth along the front waiting area to make sure she was seen.

“Hello, excuse me?” this woman called the moment she saw Marie.

As Marie neared the woman, she saw that it was Mrs. Gloria Hight. She was dressed in a tight pink dress, accented by black sunglasses even though it was an overcast day. She was a regular to Pampered Paws—she and her little Yorkie-Pomeranian mix, a little ball of spastic energy named Precious. Mrs. Hight was a thirty-year-old socialite who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and likely the rest of the silverware set as well.

“Hi, Mrs. Hight,” Marie answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been standing here for

five minutes

waiting for someone to help me,” Mrs. Hight said in a snotty tone. “Is my Precious ready?”

“She is indeed,” Marie said, putting the cheer on thick. “She’s been ready for an hour and is currently enjoying herself in one of our Pampered Pads.” She hated saying this; a so-called Pampered Pad was really just a small kennel that was decorated to look like a little luxurious room for dogs.

Once, a client had complained because the Pampered Pads did not come with a television. Their bull mastiff was apparently a huge fan of Animal Planet shows and the client was furious that such an extravagance had been robbed from their pet.

Though that had been a crazy complaint, Mrs. Hight and Precious were equally terrible. Of all the dogs Marie groomed—and there were a lot—Precious was the absolute worst. The sad part of it was that Precious was actually a beautiful dog. But Mrs. Hight insisted that Precious be done up in a way that would make just about anyone who passed the dog want to punt it.

Marie led Mrs. Hight to the Pampered Pad currently occupied by Precious. There were bows and ribbons covering just about every inch of the dog’s head. She looked like some sort of scroll that needed to be unbound. Her hair was combed back to allow the pink ribbons to sit atop her head like weird antennae. The bows were smaller than the sort that would go in a baby girl’s hair, but cost about five times as much. They were pulled back so tightly, per Mrs. Hight’s instructions, that the poor thing’s eyes were about to pop right out of her head.

Also, it was clear the poor dog hated them.

Apparently, so did Mrs. Hight.

“And what is this miserable mess supposed to be?”

Um, your dog,

Marie thought.

“What do you mean?” Marie asked.

“This is clearly not what I asked for.” Mrs. Hight leaned down to pick up Precious. The dog jumped into her owner’s arms and instantly started kneading against her, trying to get the ridiculous bows off.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hight, but this is

exactly

what you asked for. If you like, I can get the grooming order and—”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I clearly said I wanted the ribbon to be intertwined in the order of pink, magenta, teal, white, then lavender. You have braided in the order of pink, teal, magenta, white, and lavender. Do you not know your colors?”

Marie did indeed see the mistake but found it hard to be as aggrieved as Mrs. Hight over the matter.

“Yes, ma’am, I can correct that if you’ll just give me about twenty minutes.”

“I don’t have twenty minutes! I’m a busy woman!”

Mrs. Hight was practically screaming now. Not to be outdone, Precious joined in, yapping away. The dog seemed to notice that they had attracted the attention of the other four clients sitting in the waiting area. This only spurred them on even more—dog and owner alike.

“I have spent more money than I care to even think of at this place! If you can’t pay attention to a simple color scheme…”

In all of her barking and yapping, one of Precious’s bows fell off. It went flying across the room before landing at the feet of a Husky puppy that had just been brought in. It peed on the floor a little over all the commotion.

To make things even worse, Marie saw Deandra storming across the store. “Mrs. Hight,” Deandra said, “what can we do to remedy this situation?”

“Oh, well, I’d suggest hiring someone competent. Someone that knows their colors!”

“I assure you,” Marie said, “I know my colors.”

“Do you?

Do you?

”

Precious and her owner yapped in tandem, like a weird chorus. The dog wasn’t even barking at Marie, tough. The little mutt was just barking to add to the noise. Marie couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Hight had trained her to do this very thing.

“Mrs. Hight, it was a simple mistake,” Marie pleaded.

Mrs. Hight and Deandra both looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Deandra then looked to Mrs. Hight, her eyes swarming with sympathy. “I promise you, we will make this right. The price of the entire job will come directly out of Marie’s pay.”

Mrs. Hight nodded, satisfied with this solution. “That sounds very reasonable. You may want to look over her shoulder to make sure she gets the colors right.”

Something inside of Marie rose up in that moment. She was usually very well-mannered and non-confrontational. She rarely lost her temper, and when she did, it was in an almost childish way. It had only occurred once in recent memory—an unfortunate incident at a Patriots game with her boyfriend. She recalled that moment now, but the words were already on her tongue, prying her lips apart.

“Again,” she said, “I know my colors. I’ve also worked with many dogs, some even more spoiled and stupid than yours, so I know

them

, too. And anyone can tell that your dog

loathes

these ribbons and bows.”

“You can’t talk to m—”

“Look at the poor thing,” Marie said. “She hates them. And I don’t blame her. They look awful.”

“I know my dog! Don’t you tell me…”

Marie was well aware of the words coming out of her mouth. She was also aware of her volume. Everyone in the store heard her. She could not stop the words from coming out. The only other noise in the place was a low whine coming from Precious’s throat.

“Marie—” Deandra said.

“Oh, and you…well, I’ll make it very easy on you, Deandra.”

Some part of her brain told her to shut up. But she kept thinking of those dreams in college, and even before college. A vet, a bed-and-breakfast owner. A job at Pampered Paws was so far removed from any of that, making the next two words not only easy to say, but freeing.

“I quit.”

“Good!” Deandra yelled. “Finally!”

“Really?” Marie said. “Ah, Deandra. With one less worker, you may actually have to spend some time here and get to know these awful people.”

She was a little scared because she could not afford to

not

have a job. But she’d been putting up with this nonsense for over a year. She’d had enough. She could not stop the smile that came to her lips. Then, as if it were the worst insult of all, she reached out and scratched Precious under her chin.

The dog wagged its tail. Mrs. Hight cringed.

Marie headed straight for the door, giving a little wave to everyone who was staring. On her way out, she purposefully reached down and picked up Precious’s discarded bow.

She knew it was an immature thing to do, but she clamped it down right in her own hair. Someone behind her gasped. She hoped it was Mrs. Hight.

Marie smiled all the way to her car. Then, when she cranked the engine to life, the smile faltered.

I just quit my job,

she thought.

What was I thinking?

She had no backup job waiting, and her resume was lackluster at best. She had never completed college and had no real skills aside from caring for dogs and cracking a good joke here and there.

She tried to reclaim the relief and freedom she felt inside Pampered Paws when she’d left, but it seemed to have gone the way of Precious’s loose bow.

She rested her head against the steering wheel. At least she had a boyfriend to go to—someone to gripe and complain to. Someone to encourage her and tell her everything would be okay.

It was then that she noticed Precious’s bow, still in her hair. She took it off and tossed it into the back seat. It felt very much like tossing that ridiculous job aside—as well as any real financial stability. It all sank into her in that moment, leaving her with just one question.

What was she going to do now?