Girl's Best Friend (9 page)

Chapter 15

♦     ♦     ♦

It’s not like I ever expected Ivy to be my best friend again just because I was helping her find Kermit. I didn’t want that. But I didn’t think she’d ignore me, either. Yet that’s exactly what happened at school on Monday. She didn’t even say hi to me in English (the only class we share), and whenever we passed each other in the hall, she averted her gaze. Like I wasn’t even there.

So I was completely surprised to find her sitting on my front stoop later that afternoon.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We need to talk about Kermit.” She said it like it was obvious.

“You couldn’t have asked me at school?”

“That would’ve looked weird. I didn’t want my friends asking a million questions. Plus, you didn’t talk to me, either.”

She had a point, actually. A few good ones, but I didn’t say so. “Have you heard from the dognapper?”

“Nope. I was hoping you came up with something.”

“Not yet.” I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other.

“It’s weird being at home without him.” Ivy rested her chin in her hands and stared off into space. “He used to sleep by my bed every night, then jump into it at, like, six thirty in the morning. I never even needed an alarm clock. Today I slept late and missed first period.” She bit her bottom lip and glanced up at me for a quick second. “I could buy a clock, I guess, but that’d feel like giving up.”

“It stinks. I know that,” I said gently. “But don’t give up. I’ll find him.”

Suddenly she glared at me and sat up straight. “You’d better find him, or else.”

“Or else what?” I wondered what she could possibly threaten me with. She already acted like a total jerk most of the time
and
she’d ditched me for no good reason.

“Or else I’ll tell Milo that you like him,” she said, grinning mischievously.

“But that’s—I don’t like him.” My voice came out squeaky with panic.

“You don’t? Cool.” She stood up and slipped on her sunglasses. “So that means you won’t mind if I ask him out sometime. I mean, if you’re not interested, I don’t see any reason for me not to—”

“Wait, why would you? You don’t even … ”

Aargh! I couldn’t believe she was pulling this.

“I thought you might need the extra motivation. You know, to find Kermit.” She grabbed her book bag and took off down the street without another word.

“I’ll find Kermit because he’s a good dog,” I called. “Not because of your threats.”

Ivy didn’t bother to reply. She didn’t even turn around.

So I pulled out my keys and headed inside.

When I walked by the basement door, I noticed a giant padlock on it. Also, Glen was waiting outside Isabel’s apartment. He was dressed in black cycling gear. His red and silver racing bike leaned against the wall. “Hey, Maggie. Is she home, do you know?”

“Isabel? She should be. Try knocking harder.”

He pulled off his helmet and hung it on his handlebars. “I swear I heard her in there, but I’ve been knocking for five—”

Isabel opened the door before he finished his sentence.

“Maggie! I thought I heard your voice outside. You’re just the girl I wanted to see.”

“Do you still want me to take Preston to get his nails clipped?”

“Of course. Come in.” Isabel opened the door wider to make room, and that’s when she saw Glen standing next to me. “Oh, hello,” she said, her voice shifting from warm to chilly in an instant.

“Isabel, do you have a moment?” asked Glen. “I was hoping to run something by you.”

“I have many moments,” said Isabel. “Why don’t you come in for some tea and I’ll tell you about the time I did summer stock with Mia Farrow?”

It was the kind of question that sounded more like an order. But Glen wasn’t falling for it. “I’d like to replace one of the walls in my apartment,” he said, ignoring Isabel’s request.

“A wall?” Isabel seemed perplexed, and I didn’t blame her.

“Yes, a wall in the studio.” Glen leaned against the doorframe. “That back bedroom that I use as my studio, I mean. The sound quality is off and it’s the strangest thing—every time I hit a low E note on my bass, the sound reverberates.”

“Reverberates?” Isabel tilted her head to one side.

“Vibrates,” Glen clarified.

“Yes, I know what reverberates means,” she said. “I’m just trying to figure out why that would be.”

“Me, too,” said Glen. “It doesn’t happen in any other room in the house. I noticed the problem ages ago, but I never gave it much thought. Not until the other day, when I accidentally knocked over my bicycle. It hit the wall, which shook like it was made out of cardboard.”

“It didn’t break, did it?” asked Isabel.

“Nope,” said Glen.

“No holes?”

“Not one.”

“Did it scuff? Because when you move out you’ll be responsible for any marks on the wall.”

“It didn’t scuff,” said Glen, standing up straight. “And I’m not planning on moving out, unless you know something I don’t.”

“No.” Isabel shook her head, frowning slightly. “Go on.”

“So I checked out the wall and it seems kind of flimsy, which is weird because the rest of the walls in my place are so strong … almost like they’re made out of a different material. So I was wondering, has anyone renovated? Maybe changed the structure of the place?”

“Well, I’ve only been here for twenty-five years,” said Isabel. “I don’t know what happened to the brownstone before I bought it, but there are certainly some quirks in the place. That’s what happens in old buildings. And considering that this one was built by the legendary Al Flosso—”

“Who?” Glen asked.

“Al Flosso, the famous magician. I told you all about him when you moved in.”

“You told me a famous
musician
lived here.”

“Who knows?” Isabel shrugged. “Musicians probably lived here, too.”

Glen shook his head, like he was trying to clear out some cobwebs. “Never mind. We’re getting off track and I’m running late. So please just tell me, is it okay to fix it?”

Isabel frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, starting up with construction.”

“I’m willing to take care of the expense and all the work, too, if that’s the issue. And it’s just one wall.”

“Which would change the integrity of the building,” she said, sounding slightly British.

“I’m not sure that a building can have integrity, but please just think about it.” As Glen backed away he waved to me. “See you later, Maggie.”

“See you,” I replied as he carried his bike upstairs.

“Reverberating walls.” Isabel shook her head. “Have you ever heard such a thing?”

“Uh, no,” I answered honestly, even though I suspected the question was rhetorical.

“Never be a landlady, Maggie. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Now where was I? Oh yes. Mia Farrow.”

“Actually, I’m here to pick up your dog for his nail appointment. Remember?” I leashed up Preston and headed for the door before Isabel could say much else.

The vet’s office was on the corner of First Street and Sixth Avenue in a space that used to be a restaurant. Some French place Ivy’s parents took us to so we could celebrate her tenth birthday.

It was super fancy—crisp linen napkins, three kinds of bread in the basket, classical music playing softly in the background, and people speaking in voices no louder than whispers. Weird food on the menu—they actually served frogs’ legs and snails and something called sweetbreads, which, according to Ivy’s dad, is actually the pancreas of a baby cow. (Although I still wonder if he was messing with us.) In short, the meal was disgusting.

We were excited about dessert, though. We had spied the large cart in the corner stacked with shiny strawberry tarts, cloudlike fluffy meringues, and dark chocolate cakes speckled with flakes that looked like genuine gold. But when the waiter finally wheeled it over, Ivy accidentally sneezed on it. The waiter recoiled, looking down at us like we’d brought a family of cockroaches to dinner or worse, like we
were
a family of cockroaches. “I’ll bring you your check now,” he’d said, all snooty. And we burst out laughing. Then we headed to the Uncle Louie G ice-cream stand for root beer floats instead—a delicious ending to a horrible meal.

The restaurant disappeared a while ago and no one missed it. The space had been vacant for over a year. Now the sign read
DR. REESE, LICENSED VETERINARIAN
out front. Inside, a row of chairs lined the lobby area and a receptionist sat at a large desk behind a small silver computer.

Framed paintings of fluffy puppies and cuddly looking kittens lined the walls.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the woman said. Her red hair was slicked back into a ponytail and she wore large glasses. She looked familiar, but this didn’t exactly shock me. Park Slope is such a small neighborhood, I always see familiar faces.

“Take your time,” I said, following Preston, who needed to sniff something in the corner.

The woman typed for a few moments longer and then looked up and smiled. “This must be Preston.”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“It’s been a slow morning. Slow summer, honestly. But I just opened two months ago, so I’m hoping things will pick up.”

“Oh.”

“I’m Dr. Reese.”

Last time I took Preston to the vet, all the doctors were in the back and three receptionists handled the patients. I tried to hide my surprise as we shook hands, but Dr. Reese seemed to pick up on my train of thought.

“The receptionist just quit,” she said immediately. “You must’ve made your appointment with Blaire. She only lasted two weeks because she was allergic to animals. Can you imagine taking a job at a vet’s office with that kind of condition? She said she hadn’t thought it would be a problem. I told her that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard, and then she quit on the spot. I’ve got the worst luck!” Dr. Reese smiled at me. “Your dog is beautiful. He’s an Irish wolfhound, right?”

“He is. And actually, he belongs to my neighbor, Isabel Rose Franini? She’s the one who made the appointment.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” said Dr. Reese. “She’s the Broadway star.”

“You’ve heard of her?” I asked.

“No, but she made sure to tell me who she was. Shall we?” The doctor gestured toward two swinging doors, which led to a row of exam rooms. Preston and I followed her into the first one. It had a small platform at the center, two chairs on the side, and a bunch of animal anatomy posters on the walls. Skeletal views of a cat, dog, lizard, rabbit, and bird.

The whole place smelled strongly of disinfectant. In the background I heard dogs whimpering—something that made Preston nervous. His whole body shook as he pulled toward the door. Like he’d finally figured out where he was and what went on there.

“Nervous dog, huh?” asked Dr. Reese.

“Aren’t they all?” I asked.

“Some more than others.”

Suddenly a ferocious growl came from the back of the building. Then I heard a scuffle that sounded like a dogfight.

Dr. Reese glanced at the door. “Be right back.”

When she returned a few moments later, I asked, “Other patients acting up?”

“Yes, it’s a zoo back there.” She laughed to herself. “Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean.” Dr. Reese patted the platform with one hand. “He needs to be up here.”

Preston didn’t want to get up on the table, and once we convinced him to, he tucked his tail between his legs and started trembling again.

“It’s okay, Preston. This isn’t going to hurt at all,” said Dr. Reese.

She spoke to Preston in a calm and soothing voice. Then she stroked his front legs, softly and steadily. Moments later, when she lifted up one of his paws, Preston hardly noticed. Clearly Dr. Reese knew what she was doing.

“This will be over before you know it,” she promised as she picked up the nail clippers with her free hand.

Clip, clip, clip—the scissors flew and she moved onto Preston’s next paw without incident.

As I watched Dr. Reese work, I realized she looked really familiar. Not like I’d simply passed her on the street, but like I knew her. I just couldn’t quite place her. Not until I glanced down and saw that she had on black high heels. I’d heard them clicking against the tile floor when she walked and I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized it before … 

“You’re Brenda, right?” I asked. “Of Boutique Breeds by Brenda.”

Dr. Reese’s whole body seemed to stiffen. She looked up at me, alarmed. And once she met my gaze, I was sure of it.

“I ran into you last week, outside the Pizza Den. You had a dog in your purse and—”

“I’d never carry a dog in my purse,” Dr. Reese said as she moved on to Preston’s back paws. “And I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She seemed unhappy—like I’d said something offensive, so I backpedaled. “I’m sorry, but I ran into someone with a stack of flyers. She looked just like you. And I didn’t actually see the dog. I just heard it.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me.” Something about the way she stared me down made me doubt myself.

“Um, okay. I guess I was wrong.”

Dr. Reese sighed and put down the nail clippers. She’d already finished—that’s how good she was. Not just gentle but stealthy. I was impressed. “My twin sister is named Brenda. Maybe it’s her you ran into? She’s got a dog-breeding business in the neighborhood.”

“You’re a twin?” I asked.

She nodded. “Some people think we look alike, but I don’t see it. I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit sensitive.”

I knew how she felt. No one mixes me up with Finn anymore, but sometimes people make weird assumptions. Like since he’s a good soccer player, some people assume that I must be a big jock, too. Or sometimes it’s the opposite. Because I do well in school, they think Finn must do poorly, like we can’t both have the same talents because we once shared a womb. It’s dumb. Anyway, I was about to tell her that I had a twin brother, but before I had the chance, Preston leaped off the table and bolted for the door. He stared up at the doorknob and whimpered, desperate to get out.

“Not time to go yet, buddy,” said Dr. Reese. “We still need to do your exam.”

“Oh, we’re just here for his nails,” I said.

Dr. Reese smiled brightly. “Free exam with every nail clipping. This week’s special.” She knelt down, raised her stethoscope to her ears, and placed the round end to Preston’s chest before I could protest. Not that I would’ve—Isabel would be psyched about the free checkup.