Girl's Best Friend Page 9

  “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 of
fice 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.

  At least that’s what I thought until I noticed the troubled expression on Dr. Reese’s face.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  Rather than answer me, Dr. Reese turned to her laptop and began typing. “I just need to look something up. I’m sure it’s nothing, but—” Suddenly she gasped and raised her hand to her chest. “Oh dear.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m afraid his heart is racing at an alarming speed, which is symptomatic of a very rare heart condition. How old is Preston?”

  “He’s just four,” I said.

  “Four. How interesting.” Dr. Reese’s voice seemed flat, almost like she was disappointed. Then she stared at him some more. “He does look younger, though. Could almost pass for a puppy. Does he have any other health problems?”

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Dr. Reese said, frowning at him. “But I’m concerned with the way he’s panting.”

  We both studied Preston, who stared right back at us, pink tongue out, chest heaving. True, he panted pretty hard. But it was warm in Dr. Reese’s office. Plus, new places made him nervous. And didn’t all dogs pant?

  “I thought that’s how dogs cool off,” I said, suddenly remembering something I’d read in a book on dog care. “It’s what they do since they can’t sweat, right?”

  Dr. Reese chuckled, like she’d just heard something crazy. “Oh, Maggie. I understand why you want everything to be okay with Preston, but I’m going to need to talk to your parents about him.”

  “He’s not my dog, remember? He belongs to my neighbor, Isabel. She’s the one who made the appointment.”

  “Oh yes. Please have Ms. Franini call me as soon as possible. I’m afraid he’s going to need surgery, and soon.”

  “I don’t understand this,” I said as she rushed us out the door. “Preston seems so healthy.”

  “That’s the problem with the heart,” said Dr. Reese. “You never know when it’s really sick.”

  Chapter 16

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “You’ll be fine,” I told Preston as we headed out of Dr. Reese’s office. “Whatever the problem is, we’ll get it taken care of.” His eyes seemed bright and there was a spring in his step. So excited to be out of the vet’s office, he didn’t notice the nervous tremor in my voice.

  But rather than reassure me, his good mood made me feel worse. Poor guy had no idea of the trouble that lay ahead. I decided to stop at Beastly Bites and buy him a rawhide chew. It’s the dog equivalent of buying ice cream with rainbow sprinkles to make you feel better after a lousy day.

  Not that Preston knew he had anything to feel bad about. I’m the one who needed the chew. Er, ice cream. Because Preston’s happy innocence made me cringe with dread.

  Before I got to the pet store, I noticed an elderly woman stop in front of the Key Food and tie her golden retriever to a parking meter. She bent down to whisper something to the dog, then patted him on the head and went into the store. She dragged her folded-up red shopping cart behind her.

  Lucy and I developed this theory
a while back that everyone in our neighborhood sports some kind of wheels, and what you have depends on your age. Babies are in strollers and toddlers on tricycles or in wagons. When you turn five or thereabouts, you graduate to Razor scooters and bikes and maybe some in-line skates, just for the sake of variety. Then at seventeen, real scooters and cars. Which you keep for years and years. Finally, when you get really old, you wheel around one of those fold-up shopping carts. Or you’re back to getting wheeled around again, but this time in a wheelchair. It all comes full circle.

  Anyway, this lady had silver hair and a shopping cart, which meant she was most likely someone’s grandma—quite possibly someone’s great grandma.

  Her dog was adorable, but seeing him tied up like that—alone on the sidewalk—made me feel sick inside because it reminded me of poor Kermit.

  I’d been so preoccupied worrying about Preston, I’d almost forgotten about Ivy’s dog. And Ivy’s threats.

  But now the awful memories came back in a rush: how Kermit was gone and I’d messed up his safe return.

  I wished I could go back in time to Saturday.

  If I hadn’t walked in on Ivy trying to steal from me, I never would’ve gotten involved. Which meant Kermit would be safe at home. And I wouldn’t have to deal with Ivy’s dumb threats about Milo.

  But it was too late for that.

  I kept my eyes peeled in case I spotted Jane or someone else with a Dial-A-Walker sweatshirt. Parminder and Cassie hadn’t yet called me back. And their silence made me nervous.

  The old woman’s golden retriever was on the yellow side of gold, and fluffy like a baby lion cub. He stretched out on the sidewalk, resting his big head between furry paws. He seemed content, happy to wait and happy to be out on this beautiful early fall day. Most people who passed by didn’t even notice him. But a few waved and one guy even reached down to give him a scratch behind his ears.

  The dog lifted his head and smiled, if dogs can smile, and wagged his tail like he was the luckiest animal around.

  It warmed my heart. At least for the moment. Then everything changed quite suddenly.

  The guy stood up and taped something familiar-looking to the parking meter: a blue index card.