Jane’s new tenant, Frank, works for Uncle Bob. He discovers Uncle Bob isn’t the
jolly fellow he pretends to be. But before Frank can quit, Bob is murdered.
Frank is arrested, and Josie has to fight to clear Frank’s name.
“You want Stuart here for a full day, correct?” Beverly asked.
“Yes,” Josie said. “Daycare in the morning, grooming and spa services in
the afternoon.”
“You lucky dog,” the short, sturdy receptionist said.
“Here are his papers,” Jane said. “Stuart’s shots are up to date and he’s been
neutered. I brought his food.” She pulled a ziplock bag of kibble from her big
pink purse.
“Good,” Beverly said. “We recommend that. Some dogs don’t tolerate different food.”
Stuart seems very tolerant, Josie thought. He’s on his third treat.
“I don’t want Stuart playing with other dogs,” Jane said. “He’s too shy. But
he needs exercise.”
“I know this handsome fella,” Frank said, and Jane’s tenant took Stuart’s red
leash. “I've finished my morning chores, so I’ll give him personal playtime.”
“That’s six dollars for fifteen minutes,” Beverly said.
“We’ll take half an hour,” Josie said, and Jane nodded.
“Gourmet cookies are three dollars each,” Beverly said.
“He’ll take two,” Josie said. An hour gone, she thought.
“Our pool is chlorine- and chemical-free. Thirty dollars for thirty minutes,”
Beverly said.
“Done,” Josie said.
“A light workout in the gym is thirty dollars,” Beverly said.
Jane interrupted. “What if Stuart’s too tired?”
“Then he’ll sit with me in the small dog park,” Frank said. “After he naps,
he’ll have lunch.”
“His grooming starts at one o’clock,” Beverly said.
“We want a full grooming,” Jane said. “His coat washed and cut, ears cleaned
and plucked, nails trimmed, and er, glands cleaned.”
Josie knew her prim mother couldn’t say “anal glands.” Especially in front of
Frank.
“That’s sixty dollars,” Beverly said.
“Your groomer will take special care with the hair around his eyes,” Jane said.
A tiny worry wrinkle showed between her eyes.
“Karen is the best,” Beverly said.
“He’ll be fine, Mom,” Josie said.
“Stuart is a bugeyed dog,” Jane said. “If you don’t groom the hair right, it
can grow into their eyes. Some poor dogs go blind.”
“That’s terrible,” Josie said, eying the brown fringe hanging in Beverly’s
cute pug face. She focused on the calming blue wall. Mom’s dithering again, she
thought.
“What else do you have at the spa, Beverly?” she asked.
“A blueberry facial,” Beverly said.
“Won’t that stain Stuart’s fur blue?” Jane asked.
“No, dogs love our facials.”
“Sign him up,” Josie said.
“What color polish do you want for his nails?” Beverly asked.
“Polish!” Jane said. “Stuart is a boy.”
“Some of our dudes get their nails painted to match their neck scarves or
collars,” Beverly said. “It’s dashing.”
“No, thank you!” Jane said.
“What about a massage?” Beverly asked. “Karen can give Stuart a fifteen minute
or a half hour massage.”
“Half an hour,” Josie said.
“Many dogs enjoy aromatherapy with their favorite fragrances.”
“Like steak, hamburger and chicken?” Josie asked.
Beverly smiled patiently. “A dog has a highly sensitive sense of smell, so we
use small amounts of therapeutic grade oil, usually lavender or spearmint.”
“Go for it,” Josie said.
“We can also streak his hair your favorite color – maybe blue to match your
pretty pantsuit.”
“Certainly not,” Jane said.
“I guess you won’t want the extreme make-over then,” Beverly said.
“Stuart is perfect,” Jane said, bristling on behalf of her dog.
Frank took charge. “Let’s go, buddy,” he said. Josie silently thanked him. Her
last sight was Stuart Little, tail wagging, eagerly following Frank through the
yellow door.
I've just spent more on a dog than on my entire annual clothing budget,
Josie thought.