Double Dog Dare (The Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Series) (5 page)

“At any rate,
” she went on, “her husband is a wreck, as you might well imagine.  And that’s what I wanted to mention.  Someone by the name of Amanda Rickey called the house this morning.  It seems some of his friends are getting together on Wednesday evening at his house for a—not a memorial service exactly, but a show of support. Apparently they had all planned a big anniversary party for the Barrys and now it seems to have turned into a wake, if you can imagine anything so tacky.  I suppose they didn’t want to waste the catering.  She wanted to know if we would come. Of course I didn’t know the man at all, but I suppose you can hardly say no.”

“How did she know Miles would be here?” I asked
, holding on to my hat as a sea breeze flipped back the brim.

“It’s a small island,” Miles said with a shrug.

“And the concierge service has a list of all the people who are in town,” his mother added.  “That’s what I would do if I were giving a party—I’d ask them for the list.”

Miles
said, “Party?  You’re right—tacky.”

“Well,
what can you expect? The people here are so strange.  Give me my friends back in Myrtle Beach any day. They may be old and cranky, but at least they know how to act at a funeral.”

I was starting to like her more and more.  I said, “I don’t want to sound ignorant, but I’ve never heard of her. 
Was she supposed to be famous?”

“Famous might be an exaggeration
,” Miles said.  “Besides that vampire thing—”

“Werewolf,” I corrected.

He shrugged.  “She couldn’t have had much of a career. My impression was that she was just starting out. She was only in her twenties.  And yes,” he added before I could ask, “her husband is my age.  Maybe older.  Definitely a trophy wife.”

“Miles, please,” his mother admonished.

“I was going to say gold digger,” I said, “but it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

“Thank you, Raine,” said Rita—I really
had
to get used to calling her that, if only in my head.  “My thoughts exactly.”

“About the gold digger or the trophy wife?” Miles said, and at his mother’s exclamation of exasperation he held up a hand of surrender. “Sorry.  It’s entirely possible she was a nice person and I’m sorry she’s dead. No one deserves that.  But I’ve known Alex
Barry for years and I can assure you he’s
not
a nice person.  It’s hard to be as sympathetic as I probably should be.”

I turned to look at him over my shoulder.  “Does that mean you’re not going to the wake, or whatever it is?”

“Of course I’m going,” he replied.  “It’s good business.”

Rita shook her head in dismay.  “Where did I go wrong?”

I tried not to smile.  Like I said, I was really beginning to like her.

We had reached the bottom of the steps and Melanie, who had raced to the surf’s edge, called, “
Let him go!  Let’s play Frisbee!”

Cisco’s ears were so far forward they were in danger of flying off his head, and his tail slammed back and forth against my legs.

I glanced at Miles.  “Is it okay to let him off leash?”

“I don’t see why not.”  He nodded toward a red-and-white striped pavilion a few feet away, where lounge chairs, a table and even a cooler were already set up.  “That’s our tent.  I’ll put your beach bag there.”

“Wait.” I dived my hand into the bag and dug out the flying disc and the tennis ball, then knelt to unclip Cisco’s leash.  He took off toward Melanie like a shot.  “See ya!” I said to Miles and raced after my dog, fully prepared to have the time of my life.    

“Glad you’re learning to relax!” he called after me, and I barely spared him a wave as I splashed into the surf with Melanie and Cisco.

Melanie and I tossed the Frisbee back and forth and laughed out loud as Cisco bounded through the water and twisted in the air to catch it.  Miles joined us for a time, tossing the ball into the surf for Cisco to chase.  I loved watching Cisco paddle out and over the undulating waves, then dive under like a pelican and come up with the tennis ball in his mouth, amazing everyone.  The four of us swam together for a time, jumping waves like children and letting the tide carry us to shore.  Then Miles brought out a paddle board, which neither Melanie nor I had the patience to master on our first day out, so he took it out beyond the tide line while Melanie, Cisco and I went back to the tent for cold drinks and a fresh layer of sunscreen.

I was ready to relax and sit in the shade for awhile, but Cisco and Melanie were nowhere near that point.  Rita suggested we look for seashells, which was the kind of clever compromise only a mother could come up with.  I pulled on my cover-up and my hat
and was content to walk at a leisurely pace along the shore line with Rita while Cisco and Melanie romped ahead. 

There were other pavilions like ours on the beach with people sunbathing around them, and a few people swimming,
kayaking or paddle-boarding in the sea, but for the most part the beach was quiet and relatively uncrowded.  “This is not really a family-oriented beach,” Rita explained.  “Not like back home, anyway.  But it’s nice for a change, and Melanie seems to have a good time here.”

“Little girls always have a good time when they’re with their daddies,” I pointed out, but even saying that caused a small hidden pain in my heart, which I quickly sealed off and pushed away
.  Not even my memories were untainted now.

  “I suppose that’s true,” she answered with a small laugh.  And then she glanced at me.  “I want to thank you, Raine.  Melanie is a different child now, and it’s mostly because of you.”

“Me?”  I looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you did.  When Melanie lived with her mother…” She cut herself off with a small shake of her head.  “Well, the less said about that the better, I suppose.”

I had never met Melanie’s mother, who had abandoned her daughter—literally—last year to live in Brazil with her new husband, surrendering custody to Miles in the process.  She still texted and talked to Melanie on the phone, and Melanie seemed pretty sanguine about the whole thing, but I would never understand how a mother could do that—just walk away from her daughter for the sake of a man.

Anymore than I could understand how a man could betray his family for the sake of a woman.

“Anyway,” Rita went on, “that situation was definitely not the best, and I’m afraid my granddaughter was growing up to be a bit of a brat.”

I diplomatically said nothing. 

“But then she met you, and when you gave her the puppy, everything changed. I really don’t know if she would have made it through the whole transition after her mother left if it hadn’t been for that little dog.”

“Puppies always change things,” I agreed, “and almost always for the better.”

“It gave her a purpose bigger than herself,” said Rita, “and made her feel important.  But even more than the puppy, I don’t think Melanie had ever had a strong female role model before. You gave her that, and that’s why I wanted to meet you, and thank you.”  She reached out and gave my arm a little squeeze, smiling.  “So thank you.”

Wow.  I had never been anyone’s role model before.  Certainly I had never thought about Melanie and myself in those terms. The only thing I knew about modeling any kind of behavior was in relationship to
dogs: if you respect them, they respect you back.  If you listen to them, they will listen to you.  If you remain calm and confident, they will be relaxed and secure.  Come to think of it, a lot of the same things pretty much applied to children as well.

Still, I felt awkward. “I didn’t even like kids until I met Melanie,” I admitted.  “She’s something special.”

“So she is,” agreed her grandmother indulgently. “And she’s completely crazy about you and Cisco.  Miles is too, of course, although I suspect in his case Cisco definitely takes second place.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling tongue-tied and inarticulate.  “Well, I’m crazy about them, too.”  I could feel my face go a shade of red that had nothing to do with the hours I’d spent in the sun.

“Oh dear,” Rita said. “Now I’ve done exactly what I promised Miles I wouldn’t do. I’ve embarrassed you.  Promise you won’t tell.”

I was somewhere between delighted and intrigued.  “Miles asked you not to embarrass me?”

“Wait.” Her expression went thoughtful.  “Maybe it was not to embarrass
him
.”

I laughed, and it was official: I really liked Miles’s mom.

Which, if I thought about it, only opened up a whole new set of problems.

I did not have time to think about anything right then, however, because
at that moment a big wet golden retriever came bounding up, tongue lolling, tail spiraling, spraying us with sand and salt as he barreled between us, did a quick 360, and raced the other way again. “Cisco!” I exclaimed.

But no sooner was the word out of my mouth than another golden
— just as wet, just as sandy and just as big—dashed between us, almost knocking Rita off her feet.  I could hear Melanie’s laughter in the background, and a male voice calling, “Cocoa!  Cocoa, you bad dog!” 
   I caught Rita’s arm to steady her as the two dogs raced away from us.  “Are you okay?”

“Good heavens,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back into place.  “Was that Cisco?”

The two dogs were running toward us again, followed by Melanie, who was followed by a  dark-haired young man in khaki shorts and a white tee shirt.  He called again, “Cocoa!  Cocoa, I’m going to wring your neck!  Come here, you rotten dog!”

If I were a dog, I would have come.

I stepped forward, raised my arm for attention, and called in a clear, don’t-mess-with-me-now voice, “Cisco, come!”

I should add that I said a little prayer, as I always did, that this time he would listen.  And he did. 

One of the wet goldens swiveled his ears toward me, did a minor course correction, and galloped to an attentive sit at my feet. I reached into the pocket of my cover-up for a treat—seriously, every garment I own has greasy hot-dog stains on it—and exclaimed, “Good dog!” as I popped the treat into his mouth.

Usually
, around this time the other dog would realize that something about Cisco’s behavior had generated a treat and would try to imitate it.  This dog was out of control.  He galloped around me, bumped my hands for a treat, reared up on his hind legs as though to jump on me, and only when I folded my arms and turned my back did he finally give up.  Cisco regarded him impatiently as he came to a stop before me and sniffed my hands until, having determined something else was required, he sat beside Cisco.  I said, “Good dog!” and produced another treat from my pocket.  I’m never without them.

Melanie came running up, out of breath and laughing. “Look, Raine, Cisco made a friend! They’re like brothers or something.”

“I am so sorry!”  The young man who had been chasing his dog arrived on Melanie’s heels.  “He’s a little headstrong.”

“That’s okay,” I said, smiling.  “I’m familiar with the syndrome.”

The two dogs, sensing no more treats were forthcoming, got up and started sniffing the ground.  I gave Cisco a sharp, “Ank!” in reprimand, and he immediately sat again.  In my house, we practice the implied stay, which means that whenever I give a command, the dog should continue doing it until I tell him otherwise.  Of course, the trick to making this effective is to make corrections last for only seconds, and as Cisco’s butt hit the ground, I said, “Release!”, and he went off to join his friend in sniffing for more treats.

“I wish I could get this knucklehead to do that,” said the young man with a grin, ruffling his dog’s ears.  “I hope he didn’t bother you.”

Rita said, “You’re American. It’s nice to hear a familiar accent.”

“Canadian, actually.”  He extended his hand.  “I’m Rick, and that’s Cocoa.”

We introduced ourselves and shook hands all around.  “Maybe they can have play dates,” Melanie suggested hopefully.  “Cisco and Cocoa, I mean.” She watched as one of the dogs tagged the other on the tail and a quick game of chase-and-tumble began.  Honestly, at a distance I couldn’t tell which was which.  They even wore the same red collar.