CHAPTER 19
I f ever there was a perfect day, it would be this one.
The air is cool and crisp, and the breeze is just right as it sends the autumn leaves cartwheeling down Main Street.
It’s the very next morning and I’ve got Fish in my tote bag, along with Chestnut, Acorn, and Sherlock on leashes as we make our way down the cobbled streets on our way to Memories and More—a decidedly garlic-free zone. Or at least I’m hoping.
The clouds are dark and ominous, and word is that the next storm could usher in the white stuff—as in snow. Forget about a white Christmas. We might just be having a white Thanksgiving.
And speaking of all things fall, all of Main Street has been properly decorated for this cozy season as strings of fall garland swoop from one street lamp to the next as far as the eye can see. Wreaths comprised of fall leaves dot every window and door, and there are even a few scarecrows interspersed, not to mention dozens of pumpkins set out in an effort to keep the seasonal magic alive.
From where I’m standing, I can see Macy’s shop, Lather and Light. And my mother’s shop, Two Old Broads, is right across the street from that.
Main Street is the beating heart of Cider Cove, if there was one. The inn is also technically located on Main Street—at the very end of it—and that’s exactly why I walk this way just about every single day—mostly for coffee and to clear my head, but on occasion, I stop in and visit with my sister or with the two old broads across the street from her.
I come upon Memories and More and pause to admire the storefront window filled with scrapbooks of every shape and size, buckets full of pens in a rainbow of colors, scads of large square sheets of paper spread out with all sorts of patterns on them, and all sorts of instruments to slice, dice, and chop both pictures and paper alike, all of which are advertised on special.
I’ve never scrapbooked before, and looking at the array of sharp-looking instruments, I’m hoping to come away with all of my fingers intact.
Although I did come prepared and brought along at least two dozen photos of Emmie and me when we were kids. I figured if I’m going to be here trying to shake the poor man down—a new widower at that—I might as well have a little fun while I’m at it.
I never relish speaking to someone who’s lost a loved one, and seeing that he’s lost his wife, I can only imagine he’s lost in grief and just as stressed out as one can be. Here’s hoping that seeing his sweet pooches will brighten his day even a sliver.
I reach down and give both Chestnut and Acorn a quick pat on the back.
“Are you ready to head on in and see your daddy?” They look up at me with slightly quizzical expressions. “I bet you’re excited.”
We step inside and immediately we’re ensconced with the cozy, warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon coming from what looks to be a few lit candles over by the registers. The place isn’t very large, but it’s not small either, and there’s more than a smattering of bodies huddled around the tables.
The walls are a warm butter yellow and Christmas carols play over the speakers, putting everyone in the holidaymood.
The entire shop is lined with circular tables, and each one is filled to the brim with groups of women busily working away on their various projects, all of them looking far more intricate than I would have imagined. Just beyond the women busy with their crafts, there are tables filled with endless supplies of pens, papers, foils, and tools to create just about anything.
So let me get this straight, Fish muses as she takes a good look around. You hoomans actually want to remember every last detail of your lives? And you want photographic evidence to back this?
“Not every detail,” I tell her. “Just the good ones.”
Georgie should make a scrapbook of all of her shenanigans, Sherlock says with a soft woof. I bet it’d be a bestseller!
“It would be entertaining to say the least. But these books are generally made to be appreciated at home. I don’t think anyone would buy someone else’s scrapbook.”
Oh, they’d buy Georgie’s. Sherlock doubles down on his theory.
Yeah, they’d buy it, Fish mewls. And then they’d lock her up for the safety of the general public.
She’s not wrong. And come to think of it, Sherlock isn’t either. I’m sure I could make a mint entertaining people with Georgie’s more than colorful life.
The table to our left is brimming with luxuriously gorgeous scrapbook albums that look to be as large as a ruler in each direction.
There are so many designs to choose from, so many patterned papers, and die cuts that look like 3D stickers ready to embellish just about any memory and immortalize it in a time capsule of fun and whimsy. Honestly, I don’t know where to start.
But lucky for me, the only thing I’m truly here to start—is questioning Beau Betty.
We make our way up to the front and, sure enough, there’s a man standing behind the register with a nametag that reads Beau. He just so happens to be helping someone close out their transaction, so I take advantage of the moment and give him a good once-over.
Beau is tall and stocky with a double chin and a doughy face. His hair is mostly gray, which matches the facial scruff on his cheeks. He has some serious bags under his eyes and looks as if he’s more than a little deficient in the sleep department, which is totally understandable. He’s dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, and without saying a word, I can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here. Also understandable. If something happened to Jasper, I’d be laid out in bed for six years at least.
The customers take off and he offers an affable smile my way.
“Welcome to Memories and More. I’m Beau Betty. How can I help you?”
We step in close and I give a little wave. “Hi, my name is Bizzy Baker Wilder. I own the Country Cottage Inn down the street.”
“Ah yes.” His eyes darken at the mention of it. “I’m familiar with it.” Far too familiar. He glances down at the pooches, and I’m hoping they’ll brighten his day a bit. “I see you’ve got a few doggies with you. And just so you know, all dogs are welcome. In fact, we’ve got a sink in the back along with some clean bowls next to it in the event they get thirsty.”
“Thank you,” I tell him just as Fish pokes her head out of the tote bag. “I’ve got a cat, too. But she’s very well-behaved. Some might say better behaved than the doggies.” I give a little laugh, and all three said doggies shoot me a look.
Really, Bizzy? Sherlock moans. Et tu?
“ Sorry ,” I mouth his way. Honestly, I’m not even sure I believe that Fish is better behaved. I was just trying to make small talk. I nod over at Beau and smile in anticipation of him saying something regarding Chestnut and Acorn, but there’s dead silence. “Well, this is my cat, Fish,” I say, giving her a quick pat behind the ears. “This is my dog, Sherlock Bones.” I give him a quick pat as well. “And, of course, you know Chestnut and Acorn, ” I say, waving my hand over them like the prizes they are.
“Well, what a nice crew,” he muses as a faint smile comes to his lips. “Real cute, all of them. My wife was a big fan of animals of all shapes and sizes.”
Animals of all shapes and sizes?
Sherlock and I exchange a glance.
It’s like this man has no idea who Chestnut and Acorn are , Sherlock woofs.
Oh, Bizzy, Chestnut sniffs. I was afraid this might happen.
It doesn’t surprise me one bit, Acorn yips. That man acted as if he didn’t know who we were while we were living with him. Of course, he doesn’t remember us.
My mouth falls open.
Chestnut nods my way. I didn’t think he’d remember us either.
That can’t be right, Fish says. These dogs were Blythe’s babies. This doesn’t sit well with me.
It doesn’t sit well with me either.
I look at the man once again. “This is Chestnut and Acorn. Does that ring a bell?”
He gives a puzzled look. “You know, it kind of does and I’m not sure why. I’m sorry. My wife just passed away and my mind has been fuzzy all week.”
“My apologies. I’m so sorry about your wife. I happened to be at the inn the night she passed away. In fact, the dogs were with her that night as well. I’ve been keeping them myself.”
“Oh yes.” His voice pitches an octave as he looks down at the cuties in a whole new light. “ That Chestnut and Acorn. Sure, it’s great to see them again. And it’s so nice of you to take them in. Tell you what? I’ll give you a free set of whatever you want, on the house. It’s just good to know those sweet little dogs found a nice home.” A home which is not mine. I’ve never once picked up after them, and I’m not starting now.