The Guest List Page 14

  Abby quirked an eyebrow. “But why not go with me, stand with me, be with me?”

  Bunny rolled her eyes. “You’re not thinking. Carol and Donovan are why. She didn’t show herself to them at our graduation either. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” She was going to ask about the break-fast good-bye, then thought better of it. Rather than all this speculation, she should just call Mallory and ask her point-blank, except she didn’t have a phone number for her sister as yet.

  “The Abby Mitchell I know and love will sort it all out. That’s something else you can do to keep your mind busy. C’mon, we need to get this show on the road.”

  Abby hugged her friend. “From the day I met you, you’ve been my port in every storm I’ve gone through. I want to thank you for being my friend, Bunny.”

  “God, you’re going all mushy on me. Move, girl. I need to get to the airport.”

  Abby pressed the remote for the automatic garage-door opener. She sat in the Jeep for a long time, wondering if she had the energy to get out and walk into the house. Keep your mind busy, Bunny had said. Rest and read a book, Carol said. Drink some hot tea and take a nap, Donovan said. As if any of their remedies would make the pain go away.

  Abby turned the security bolt on the door that led to the kitchen. She sniffed at the new paint and carpet. Everything in her state-of-the-art kitchen gleamed and sparkled, thanks to Carol. Even the green plants nestled in the corners of the counters had a waxy shine that came from a bottle. Nothing but the best, the top of the line, she thought, wondering why she felt so irritable. Did she really need double ovens when she couldn’t even cook? Did she really need a forty-two-inch-wide Sub-Zero refrigerator?

  Everything was green and yellow. The ceramic bowl of short-stemmed yellow roses drew her eye. They were just too damn perfect with their baby’s breath and lacy green fern. In the blink of an eye, Abby whisked the bowl off the table and carried it to the garage, but when she looked at the glass-topped table it looked bare and naked. The whole look of the kitchen had suddenly changed. How could one bowl of roses do something like that? Abby walked back to the garage to bring the green bowl with the yellow roses back to the table.

  Get on with it, Abby, she told herself. Go through the rooms so when Carol calls you can goo and gush over her decorating.

  The great room was a work of art, its focal point being a monstrous fieldstone fireplace with raised hearth and wood-storage inset—complete with stacks of perfectly shaped birch logs. The mantel was old and intricately carved. On it were displayed family pictures, even one of Connor sitting next to Bobby on a bench outside a restaurant.

  Move on, Abby, move on.

  Deep comfortable chairs, the kind two people could curl up in, dotted the four corners of the room, with little tables full of mementos she’d had in her bedroom at Carol and Donovan’s house. They didn’t make the room better or worse. It was just a room with white walls and gay watercolor paintings on every inch of wall space. A sixty-inch television sat in a white cabinet with louvered doors. Next to it was an elaborate built-in surround-sound system. Misty green vertical blinds covered the French doors that led to the patio and pool area. She looked down to see that the blinds matched the ceramic tile on the floor, right down to the sea-green grout. The room was so put-together—so controlled. It made Abby cringe.

  The living room was formal and done in soft mint green with touches of brilliant yellow. Exquisite draperies that matched the stiff-looking furniture were pulled back from the bow window and allowed for a view of her immaculate manicured lawn and shrubs. Connor would have hated the room. In fact, Connor would have hated the whole house. His first question would be where was he going to prop his size thirteen sneakers for his daily beer. Once again she looked downward. Who in her right mind would install white carpeting?

  Abby sighed as she meandered into the dining room to look at the long expanse of table with eight chairs. Who was going to sit at this long table and eat? She didn’t have eight friends. And even if she did, she didn’t know how to cook.

  White carpeting there, too.

  Abby continued down a short hallway, opening and closing doors. The linen closet was fully stocked with sheets, towels, bathroom essentials, and a new Water Pik still in its box. She counted twelve boxes of Crest toothpaste and six new toothbrushes still in their cardboard wrappers. The second and third doors led to walk-in closets with shelves for shoes, purses, luggage, and racks and racks for clothes. The only thing missing was a conveyor belt. The last door off the short hallway was an office with its own bathroom and minikitchen. Elaborate was hardly the right word. A state-of-the-art computer sat in the middle of a custom-built desk with yards and yards of space. Everything looked to be geometrically aligned. Did she dare move anything?

  In a fit of something she couldn’t describe, she swept her arm across the right-hand side of the desk, sending a China Doll houseplant, pencil holder, and a paper-clip box crashing to the floor.

  Maybe she needed to go outside and sit in the sun for a little while even though sun was her face’s enemy. Like she really cared anymore. If she did that, though, would she hear the deliveryman when he brought Bunny’s housewarming gift? It seemed like a lot of trouble, but she wrote out a note and taped it to the front door.

  Before she popped a Coca-Cola, Abby looked down the hallway that led to the atrium and the four bedrooms and baths that completed the house. She could always look at them some other day. Maybe she’d never look at them.

  The pool was beautiful, the arranged patio furniture with the striped umbrellas looked just right for a party. Too bad she didn’t know anyone to invite.

  She burst into tears. Her feet picked up wings as she raced into the house, through the rooms, and down the hall that led to her room and the one thing that had given her comfort over the years, Bailey, her old stuffed dog. She crushed it to her breast, her fingers working at the frayed, worn, nubby ears, and cried as she’d never cried before.

  It was a long time later, her eyes red and puffy, before she stirred and made her way back outside. She was blowing her nose when a man suddenly appeared from the side of the house.

  “Yo!” he said by way of a greeting. “I’m looking for Abby Mitchell.”

  Abby sniffed. “I’m Abby Mitchell. And you are?”

  “Steve Carpenter. I have a delivery for you from a Miss Bunny? The note on the door said you would be in the backyard. Nice place you got here,” he said, looking around.

  Abby stood in the shade of one of the umbrellas, not wanting him to see her tears. “Just leave it over there. I’ll take it in later.”

  The man glanced back toward his vehicle. “It’s not the kind of delivery you can just leave. It’s the kind you need to take possession of.”

  Abby started toward him, her frustration mounting. “What does that mean? Oh!” she said with sudden dawning. “You want to hand it to me so I’ll give you a tip. Okay, wait here,” she told him, turning and starting back toward the house.

  “Lady, I don’t want a tip,” he said, sounding insulted. “Stay put, and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Look, I’m not in a very good mood right now, so let’s not play games.”

  “I’m not playing games. Just stay there, and I’ll be right back.”

  Sometimes Bunny had a weird sense of humor, Abby thought. In spite of Mr. Carpenter’s command, she followed him to his car.

  “Eager to see what I’ve got, huh?” he said, when he turned to see her standing behind him. He opened the car’s back door and reached inside. “Here you go,” he said, handing her a leash, then a clipboard. “Sign here. No returns. Just so you understand that.”

  Abby blinked, then blinked again. At the end of the leash was a huge dog. “Is this—Is this my present? Oh, my God. It’s a dog!” Her face lit up with excitement. “Is it full-grown? Is it a boy or a girl? What’s its name?”

  The man standing in front of her with his baseball cap on backwards grinned. “Yep, it
’s a dog all right. I’d say he’s a mix of shepherd and a little Lab. He weighs ninety-three pounds. He’s full-grown and is three years old. He was a K-9 dog but got wounded in the line of duty so he can’t work anymore, On rainy days he limps a bit, but otherwise he’s fit as a fiddle. Your friend seemed to think he’d make a perfect pet for you. He really is a great dog. His name is Beemer.”

  “Beemer,” Abby repeated with a laugh. “He’s wonderful. Where do I sign?”

  “On the only line on the paper, lady.”

  “I have a name. Why don’t you call me by name? I hate the term lady,” Abby muttered as she scrawled her name, one eye on the dog and the other on Steve Carpenter.

  “Okay, lady, I mean, Miss Mitchell. He’s all yours. Remember what I said, no returns. This is a live dog, not like that stuffed dog on your chair over there. You are going to take care of him, aren’t you?” He gave her a critical look.

  Abby narrowed her eyes. “Of course I’m going to take care of him,” she flashed back. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Because I’m a vet, and that makes me suspicious by nature. People are always dumping dogs and cats off on my doorstep, thinking because I’m a vet, I have unlimited resources for feeding them, taking care of them, and finding homes for them. Do you have any idea how many abandoned and unwanted dogs I have at the clinic as we speak?”

  “I have no idea,” Abby said, scratching Beemer behind the ears.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Do you want me to take some of them for you?” She waved her hand to encompass the fenced-in yard. “This is a big place as you can see, and I don’t have any neighbors. If you’ll take care of them—feed them and see to their health needs, they can have the run of the place. I’d hate to see you put any of them to sleep. You won’t, will you?”

  “Never in a million years. That’s not why I went into veterinary medicine. Do you mean what you just said?”

  “Of course I mean it. Do you have doghouses? I suppose they can sleep in the garage at night. It’s air-conditioned.”

  “Air-conditioned. Wonderful. You’re sure now? You know, they’ll ruin your bushes and grass. You don’t look the type to do pooper-scoop duty.”

  Abby didn’t like what he was implying. “Exactly what type do I look like?”

  Steve shrugged. “Rich. A little spoiled. This house looks like it costs more than I’ll earn in a lifetime.”

  “For the record, Mr. Carpenter, you’re wrong. I’m not rich. The house was a gift from my adoptive parents. All I wanted was a small house, you know, a cottage with some flower boxes. This,” she said, waving her arms, “is what I got instead, and, like it or not, I’m stuck with it.”

  Steve looked anything but sympathetic to her problem. “Do you know anything about dogs? Feeding them? Caring for them? Training them?”

  Abby shook her head. “No, but I can learn.”

  “Well, there’s nothing like a ninety-three-pound ex-K-9 to teach you I guess.” He handed her a piece of paper. “I’ve written up a few instructions, information about old Beemer here.” He closed the car door and opened his trunk. “I brought you a bag of dry dog food and some pig ears. Beemer is a highly trained police dog, Miss Mitchell. He’ll protect you and love you. I hope you’ll do the same for him.”

  “I love him already,” she said, bending to the dog’s level and allowing him to bathe her face with dog kisses.

  “Are you sure about this? Me bringing you all those dogs? The reason most people abandon a dog is because it digs or chews or barks or all of the above. If they’d just take the time to train their pets …” He broke off with a sigh. “It’s sort of a vicious cycle, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. It’ll be good for me, give me something to occupy my mind, and right now I really need to do that.”

  “Why?” he asked, scrutinizing her as if she had a screw loose.

  Unable to help herself, Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I guess I want to do something good for someone. You look sort of frazzled, kind of the way I feel right now. Is that a good enough answer?” She hoped it was because she sure as hell couldn’t tell him the whole truth.

  “It’ll do. Are you going to be home tomorrow?”

  Was she? She was supposed to report to the library at nine o’clock. But she had pretty much decided to call them and tell them she wasn’t ready to work yet. “Actually, I will be here. All day. I’m a writer. I work at home,” she blurted.

  The die was cast.

  “A writer! That’s pretty neat. I can’t hang two words together. What do you write?”

  Abby stared at the man across from her. Thirty at least. Wonderful dark, caring eyes, sandy hair, winsome smile. Rugged. Works out. “Mysteries. Well, actually one so far. I just sold my first book. I based it on a case that has never been solved, put my spin on it, and, well, you know.” Uncomfortable with talking about herself, she asked, “How old did you say Beemer is?”

  “A little over three years. Smart as a whip.” He consulted his watch. “Listen, I gotta get going. I’ll be by tomorrow with the crew. You’re sure now that you want to do this? They aren’t going to be easy to take care of, and they’re going to make one hell of a mess out of that beautiful yard of yours.”

  “I’m sure. I could use the company. I don’t want to be alone, especially now. The house is so big and …”

  “Are you all right? You look … Well, you look like you’ve been doing a lot of crying,” Steve said hesitantly.

  “I have been crying,” she admitted. “My boyfriend … he died … unexpectedly … last week. I just got back from Oregon, from his funeral, a few hours ago.”

  Steve flinched with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Listen, if there’s anything I can do—” She shook her head. “How many dogs should I bring, do you think?”

  “All of them. Some of them. Whatever you think we can handle.”

  “We?” He looked perplexed.

  Abby swiped the wetness of her cheeks. “Yeah, we,” she said firmly. “That was the agreement. I said I would provide the place if you would feed them and take care of their health needs, remember?”

  Steve removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Yeah, right,” he said.

  “So what time is feeding time?”

  “Seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Abby gasped. “That early?”

  Steve smiled smugly. “I’m afraid so. I have to feed them early so I can do my rounds and open my clinic by nine.”

  “Oh, sure,” Abby nodded. “That makes perfect sense. Who’s going to pay for all the dog food?”

  “I will, unless you’d care to split it,” he said hopefully.

  Abby thought about the check Mallory had given her that she had yet to deposit. “Okay,” she said, knowing in her heart that Connor would approve. He’d loved animals. Carol and Donovan, on the other hand, would go ballistic. She felt lightheaded at the thought.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said, heading toward his car.

  Abby nodded. “What do I do if Beemer doesn’t like me?”

  “It won’t happen. An animal loves the person who feeds him and is kind to him. The only thing a dog knows is loyalty. Beemer might take a few days to really warm up to you, but once he does he will never leave your side. Trust me on that.”

  Abby smiled a real smile. “Okay, see you tomorrow, Steve.” She started back toward the house when she had a thought. “Hey, you want to come for supper?” she blurted. Bunny would view the invitation as getting on with her life.

  Sam stopped in his tracks. “What are you having?”

  “Well … ah …”

  “You don’t try out weird recipes on unsuspecting guests, do you? I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. I don’t like anything with strings or that looks like a weed. I love sweets. I would kill for sweets. I’m also partial to caramel-coated popcorn. I’ve also been known to nibble on dog biscuits when money is tight, which is most of
the time.”

  Abby laughed out loud. Steve Carpenter had a wonderful sense of humor. “It will probably be something frozen or something out of a can. I can’t cook,” she admitted, grimacing. “Except eggs,” she qualified. “I can cook eggs, fried, scrambled, or hard boiled.”

  Steve grimaced back. “I like eggs. Sure. What time?”

  “Seven,” she said as she calculated how long it would take her to shower and set a table. “The dog won’t fall in the pool, will he? Do I need to walk him on a leash or what?”

  “A leash will be good for a while. Take him to the edge and see what he does. If he looks like he’ll go in, swat his back end with a rolled-up newspaper. Do that a few times, and he’ll get the idea. Dogs can swim. It’s instinctive.” He pulled his cap down low over his face. “You know, this is a really good thing you’re doing.”

  “My friend Bunny, the one who had you deliver Beemer to me, said her grandmother always said when God is good to you, you have to give back.”

  Sam looked perplexed. “But you said …”

  “That my boyfriend died,” she finished for him. “Yes, and God gave him to me for four wonderful years. And now that I have all this,” Abby said, waving her hand about, “I can give back.” To hide her tears, she turned her head and looked over the expanse of green lawn. “Do you think I’m going to need a gardener?”

  Steve laughed. “Hell, no! After the crew is here a few days, there won’t be anything left to take care of. See ya.”

  Abby started back toward the house, Beemer at her side. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a silver streak heading down the road. Was it Mallory driving the car? What would Mallory be doing all the way out here? It was probably a trick of the sunlight. She walked into the house and locked the door, her insides shaking.

  Was it Mallory?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Abby woke slowly and snuggled against the comforting warmth of Connor’s back. She smiled, rolled over and threw her arm across … a furry body? She opened her eyes and shrieked.