Stay Calm and Collie On. Lane Stone
Then I turned to Dana. “Am I ever glad to see you! It’s been crazy here.”
She came around to join me behind the desk. “And it’s only Monday.” She looked at the dashboard document on the computer screen. “Looks like we have double the number of dogs in day camp than usual!” She checked to be sure the lobby was empty, then she broke into a little dance. “Yayus!”
I had to laugh. “The schedule is like that all week.” I took a deep breath and looked longingly at my office. It’s along the back wall, as is the reception desk, but tucked behind a wall. When I was at my desk, I could see and be seen by the staff, but not by pet parents on the other side of the counter. On said desk there was a to-do list I’d pummeled into submission. I rubbed my forehead and tried not to think about the amount of money I’d spent making Lady Anthea Fitzwalter’s first visit to Buckingham’s a success. Her week-long stay, topped off with the Pet Parent Appreciation Gala, should give us financial stability, assuming any small business could ever have that. With all the new day camp and boarding clients, not to mention grooming appointments, my gamble was paying off.
I turned back to Dana. “We just have to keep our heads above water this week and we’ll be fine. I’ll be in my office. Yell if you need me.”
I made a beeline to my computer to check the status on the few arrangements yet to be finalized. There was an email from Beach Blooms with a photo attached. For the gala, they had initially proposed gardenia topiaries to delineate the space on the beach and gardenia plants for centerpieces, but gardenias were toxic to dogs. What did they have for me this time?
How about yellow orchids and coral roses to mirror the sunset? The photograph was of a sample on the beach at Roosevelt Inlet, at sunset.
Perfect! I wrote back.
All of the gala arrangements had fallen into place just like that. The Event Request Form had been approved almost before the ink was dry. The Noise Amplification Form had been signed overnight by the mayor and city council.
I kicked my sandals off and put my feet up on my desk. I laced my fingers behind my head and sighed. I don’t know about you, but when my nails were done and my house was clean, I felt like I could do anything. Only one of these was the case, but that’s the feeling I had. Like I could rule the world. Of course, my house was clean. Lady Anthea had asked if she could stay with me. My cottage-style house in a new section of town was cozy but modest, whereas the Inn at Canal Square, in historic downtown Lewes, was old-world elegant. It’s very expensive, but each of their seven rooms was decorated with antiques. Who wouldn’t prefer that? Lady Anthea, that’s who. Her own house had a name, it was Frithsden. Mine did too. It was house.
The walls in what we called our Sleepover Suites were decorated with photographs of the estate that she’d provided. There was one for each season. Our customer restroom had framed photos of the Frithsden gardens that looked natural and free, but at the same time planned, a feat only the English could pull off. Those images I’d lifted from the internet. Downton Abbey has nothing on Frithsden. Then there was the revelation, thanks to Wikipedia, that we had been mispronouncing the name of her estate for over a year. It wasn’t Frithsden, like we’d been saying, it was Friz-den. For about a month we’d all walked around repeating it, over and over, so we wouldn’t slip up when we met Lady Anthea in person. Obviously, she was used to something better than my spare bedroom, but she emailed that if I had a guest room, and that if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, that’d be A-OK with her. Actually, “brilliant” had been her word. She’d said she would enjoy getting to know me better. Truth be told, it was a lot more convenient for me. My house was in the residential area behind Buckingham’s and in easy walking distance.
At five o’clock on the dot, pet parents flooded into the lobby. I could hear Dana checking out day campers. Shelby, my assistant manager, had joined her and was checking in overnight boarders.
The main phone line rang. “Buckingham Pet Palace, this is Sue Patrick.”
“This is Kate Carter, Robber’s mom,” the voice on the other end of the line said. The eyes of her female collie mix were circled with dark brown fur, making her look like she was wearing a mask. Robber was a regular at day camp and always used our door-to-door service. Lewes was a beach town but not everyone here was on vacation. We’re happy to pick a dog up from his home. For a fee, of course. I’ve heard of pet spas in California that use limousines. Show-offs. We’re happy with a Honda van painted our signature golf-course-green with our logo. “Could you tell me what time she’ll be brought home?” Kate asked.
“Henry left at the regular time. He was dropping off four dogs. Would you hold while I check to see where he is now?” I left my office and headed for the reception desk. “Shelby, have you heard from Henry?” Then I noticed she had a phone to her ear.
Shelby had been my first hire. She was forty-five, about five years older than me, and five-foot nothing. With that red hair, she may not be tall, but you wouldn’t call her short. She shook her head, no, then put the phone under her chin. “It’s Mr. Andrews. So-Long isn’t home. He says he absolutely must eat at five sharp.” Shelby’s eyes betrayed just a hint of a roll, nothing the customers in line would notice. Then she pointed to Dana, who was on a call herself.
“Paris isn’t home either,” Dana stage-whispered, her shiny hair swaying. “I have Mrs. Rivard on the phone.”
“I’ll call Henry.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and speed-dialed his work cell phone. While it rang, I whispered for Dana and Shelby to tell Kate Carter, Charles Andrews, and Betsy Rivard we’d call them back. After a generous number of rings, the call went to voice mail. I knew he’d see the missed call and didn’t bother to leave a message. “He’s not answering. Maybe he’s walking a dog in now.”
The three of us took care of the remaining ten clients in line.
“Who was the fourth dog in the van?” I asked.
Shelby searched in her curly hair for her glasses, finally extricating them. “Dottie, that Dalmatian puppy, was with them. We haven’t heard from Dayle Thomas. She’s the pet photographer, right?” She reached over and dialed the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll try Henry’s cell again.” No answer. Enough of hoping he’d see the missed call. “Call me, Henry!” I told his voice mail. I walked around the counter and looked out the front window. Shelby had reached Dayle Thomas, and I went back to the reception desk to get the latest update.
“Ms. Thomas says Dottie is there. She had just gotten home from her photo shoot when Henry got there.”
Dana moved closer to me to whisper, “Where is she?” She motioned to the large photograph of Lady Anthea Fitzwalter seated on what looked like an antique bench, ankles crossed, and flanked by two of her corgis. She was the centerpiece of the painting, but the bottom half of an ornately framed portrait of one of her ancestors could be seen over her shoulders.
“She’s at my house.” I dialed my van driver again. Nothing. “She’s freshening up.” Why did I just say that? I hate it. It implies you were something else before. All I know is, it’s a phrase you don’t want to overthink.
The bay window of our gift shop gave a better view of the side parking lot, empty except for my Jeep and Shelby’s Prius.
Shelby raised an eyebrow. “She’s probably running up your phone bill, making international phone calls to her idiot brother, the duke.” There was a lull with no clients, so Shelby could speak loud enough for me to hear from the store where I was straightening a row of tiara chew toys. We may have Googled Lady Anthea’s brother. We may have done it a lot.
Dana giggled. “That’s harsh.”
“Can either of you explain to me how he can make the same speech at every charity event and museum opening he goes to, and still not speak in complete sentences?” Shelby taught high school English until she had quit in a blaze of glory. She and her husband, who had been an analyst on Wall Street, visited our ocean one Christmas break and they never went back. She took a job walking