The Bookshop on Autumn Lane (26 page)

A
s soon as I asked about a collie, the young woman behind the counter at the Furry Friends Rescue Shelter smiled. “We've already had five calls this morning. With so many people vouching for you, this shouldn't take too long. But because you never officially registered him, we have to treat this as a new adoption. I hope you understand.”

“I do.” Heat crept up my neck. She was being very nice, considering my irresponsible behavior. “Can I see him?”

“Sure. There will be paperwork and a fee for last night's boarding. And adoption fees. But I can let you see him now if you want.”

She led me down a long corridor. As excited as I was to see Moby, my heart broke for the dogs we passed on the way to Moby's kennel. Some paced and barked repeatedly. Others hung back, too timid and frightened to greet us. Kit followed me and put a hand on my back when I stopped outside Moby's pen. My heart jumped to my throat when I saw him.

He was curled up in the far corner on the hard ground. The woman unlatched the kennel door and I entered. He opened his eyes at the sound of my approaching feet.

I knelt in front of him. “Hi, boy.”

He came awake slowly. His tail thumped on the concrete and he struggled to rise on his arthritic hind legs. I reached out to steady him. “I'm here, boy.”

He practically fell into my arms. I buried my head in his neck and his body wiggled as he came out of his sleepy haze. I was feeling a million years older than I had just a few months ago, but in my arms Moby transformed into a younger dog, circling around me and barking in rasping, uncontrollable bursts of happiness. He almost knocked me over in his enthusiasm.

From the door, the young woman laughed. “If the phone calls weren't enough, I'd believe your story now. He hasn't acted like this since we brought him in. Even when Miss Lively was here last night.”

Moby sniffed and realized that there were others in the kennel. He trotted over to Kit and leaned against his leg for a quick bark before returning to me. I captured him in my arms again, not sure I could let him go.

“Thank you so much for taking care of him.” In my mind I also thanked many other people. The ones who called on my behalf. Kit, who stood behind me, grinning at the reunion. My aunt, who wisely left her money to an organization like the Furry Friends Rescue.

Fortunately, the adoption process was quick. Kit stayed with Moby while I took care of the paperwork. Heavyweights like J. D., Sheriff Howe, Marva O'Shea, and even Mayor Bloodworth made the references part easy. I never dreamed I'd have the support of so many Truhart residents. I filled out forms and paid the boarding fee, with Kit's help. I was going to owe him big-time by the end of the day. Moby had been neutered long ago by some responsible owner, so all he needed was a visit to the vet to get rabies shots, a license, and a microchip, which was my decision. I promised to do all that first thing Monday morning.

Moby walked out with a slip lead around his neck provided by the shelter. But we stopped at a pet-supply store in Gaylord on the way home. Moby came in with us and we wandered the aisles looking for the right collar and leash. Everywhere we walked, people commented on our beautiful dog. Kit acknowledged it in his British accent and more than a few comments about Lassie and herding sheep in Scotland followed. Kit took it in with good humor.

We bought a leash, a bone, and a new bowl. I even purchased a collar and had a kind salesgirl make a dog tag for him for free. On it was printed the name
Moby
, my name, and my cell phone number. The one I was going to dig out of my rucksack and charge as soon as I got back to the bookshop.

When the tag was done, I held the collar up and prepared to place it around Moby's neck. “You know what this means, don't you?”

He sat at my feet and raised his chin. Waiting. As if he sensed the gravity of the moment. Warmth spread across my chest. I bent down on one knee and looked him squarely in the eye.

Thinking back at my vow of not owning a living thing, I realized how silly I had been. I had completely missed the point. It wasn't about ownership. It was about belonging together. It came with responsibility, but it was about love.

I slipped the collar around Moby's neck. His tail thumped again and I laughed.

Someone behind me clapped. Another person joined in. Before I knew it, a small crowd stood around us, clapping and laughing at the way Moby was attacking me with his tongue. I was on my backside. Happy to let him run all over me in his excitement. Through a haze of fur, I saw Kit standing over us. His eyes were bright with moisture. There was more that remained to making things better. But I had time.

For now, I had a dog.

* * *

It was early afternoon when Kit, Moby, and I made our way back to Truhart. The day was cloudy and brisk. The snow and ice had melted into large puddles that made the truck muddy, but the roads much better.

We drove down the center of Truhart. A new orange street sign read the new temporary name of Main Street: Autumn Lane. Someone had been busy, repairing all the damage done to the Halloween decorations. The scarecrows and the spiderwebs were back in place. And a line of people stretched all the way around the block to get into the house of horrors. When we pulled into the alley I heard a chorus of moans and screams coming from inside the old grocery store. Hopefully, the community center committee was making lots of money for their dream.

Kit stopped the truck in front of the Dumpster. The blue tarp waved in the wind.

“What's that?”

I pushed Moby out of my lap and shrugged.

Kit got out of the truck and I helped Moby down. Kit walked into the delayed headlight beams and inspected the tarp. All that remained from the night before was a fine layer of water in the corners that would come off with a good shake-out. He reached up and yanked on a rope. It was securely tied. All the years of working summer stock had taught me the value of wrapping tarps around props and stage equipment in order to protect them from the elements.

“Wasn't this on Lulu?”

I shrugged. “What's a little snow and ice? She's tougher than she looks.”

The smile on Kit's face when he turned toward me was as bright as the sunshine behind his golden head. I grabbed the bag from the pet-supply store and Moby's leash.

I was almost at the back door of the store when Kit grabbed the frame and stopped me. “You did that for me?”

I fumbled with the doorknob and pushed past him into the bookshop. “I was so busy getting that tarp on that I didn't notice how scared Moby was. That's how I lost him.”

Kit closed the door. “If you hate books, why did you bother covering the Dumpster?”

“You love books.” I released Moby's leash and grabbed his new bowl from the bag. I didn't look at Kit as I poured an extra-large heap of dog food. I added a little warm water to soften it, and placed it in front of Moby. “If some old book is so bleeding important to you, then you should have the chance to find it.”

Moby attacked his dog food and I peeked at Kit from the corner of my eye. His head was cocked at an angle and his eyes watched me intently. His earlier smile had been transformed to something else. Something speculative. Something that made me nervous and happy at the same time. For once, I had done something right.

“You decided all that even before last night?”

I grinned and leaned against the stair rail.

“What about the store? You could still sell it to Reeba Sweeney's pawn client and make enough to get a head start on your trip.”

I played with the bannister. “She's a bully. She doesn't care what happens to Truhart.”

“And you do?”

“She wants to control everything here. I hear she's trying to get the Amble Inn to sell to a casino group.”

“But what about Angkor Wat?”

“I'm still going to make that trip. Someday.” I could feel his eyes scrutinizing my face. “There's really no rush. I have a dog, you know. And I have you to watch out for. Besides, Angkor Wat is even more run-down than Truhart. Who's to say that one empty ghost town is better than the other?”

Kit walked toward me in a slow stride. Before he could say anything I started up the stairs. “I need to get out of these wet boots. They don't really work with your royal duds I'm wearing.”

“You are a bit of a fake, you know that?” Kit said, following me to the bedroom.

“What?”

“You are a fake.”

I lifted my chin and crossed my arms. “Says the man who pretended to study birds?”

He leaned against the doorframe and watched me balance on one foot as I changed into a pair of Converse sneakers. “I'm working on that pretending thing. I'm not always good at being honest with myself.”

“You're not that bad. I was furious when I called you a liar, Professor. You've actually come a long way since then.”

“I'm trying. Your mother talked about walking in other people's shoes? Sometimes I think I spend too much time in other people's shoes.”

I stood up from tying my laces. “You?” I wasn't used to seeing him second-guess himself. I crossed the room to stand in front of him.

He started to adjust his glasses, then he thought better and removed them. He looked younger now. “As a professor of literature, I get too caught up in other people's stories. Sometimes I need to remember to live my own story.”

“You
are
rather obsessed with other people's words.”

“Is it that obvious?” He seemed so vulnerable when he asked me that. I almost loved him more for his insecurity.

“Hmmm. I'm trying to imagine how
your
story would go. The one you make for yourself using your own words, Professor.”

He pulled me close. His voice was husky. “It would be about a man and a woman. And it would have a happy ending. Perhaps you would be willing to help me write it?” My knees were suddenly weak and I reached out to him to keep from losing my balance. He grabbed me and held on.

I stared at his strong hand, a lump forming in my throat.

This was a man who never laughed at me when I screwed up my words. A man who cared about me even when I put hot sauce on his Dinty Moore or wielded a broom that landed us in jail.

“I'm not sure I'm good at writing,” I said in a shaky voice.

“You can dictate to me, then.” I was terrified of what came next. But I wanted to find out. In the worst way. I lifted my chin and met his blue gaze.

“I love you, Trudy.” Four simple words. Hearing them was terrifying. But I was braver than I had been just a few short months ago.

I took a deep breath and let the words come. They turned out to be the easiest words I ever spoke (or wrote).

“I love you too, Kit.”

O
n the morning of October 31, Kit and I entered the 88th District Courthouse in Alpena. Our lawyer, Flo's brother-in-law, Jacob Tipman, had already recorded our side of the story and presented a document to the judge. He wasn't sure if he could get the case dismissed. But he felt confident that the judge might be amenable to reducing the charges.

Kit looked dashing in his gray wool pants, tweed blazer, and narrow silk tie. I, however, felt dressed for Halloween in a pencil skirt and silk blouse borrowed from Elizabeth Lively. She insisted that nothing in my wardrobe, including my tapestry coat and oversized sweaters, would be appropriate in court.

I wore shiny high-heeled pumps that I found in Aunt Gertrude's closet. They were stylishly retro. Aunt Gertrude would probably laugh to know I was wearing them to my own arraignment. Fate.

In my aunt's shoes and Elizabeth's skirt, my long shanks felt like they went on forever. Judging by the way Kit kept eying my calves, he didn't seem to mind the brevity. The clerk behind the desk must have felt the same. His eyes were glued to my legs as I entered the courtroom. Instead of defending me from the ogling eyes of a stranger, Kit actually winked at me.

We took a seat in the gallery and waited.

Over the past week I had tried my best to block out the upcoming arraignment. Jacob said that we would most likely pay a fine. But he couldn't rule out the possibility of a trial. The worst punishment was Kit's burden. He could lose his visiting-professor status at the University of Michigan in January. Even worse, he could lose his visa. When I asked him if he was worried, he kissed me and told me that he had never felt better. But I caught him on the phone with the university and the consulate twice. I didn't realize I was fidgeting until Kit put a hand on my knee.

The clerk spoke loudly. “All rise for the honorable Judge Alice Sweeney.”

My heart sunk like a rock in Echo Lake. So much for my new tactic of impressing the judge with my shapely calves. “He” was a “she.”

Even worse, “she” was short, squat, and the spitting image of Reeba Sweeney. I almost fell off my aunt's heels when I saw her walk out the back door and take a seat behind a large desk. Kit stiffened as well. But then I looked closer. There were subtle differences in the shape of her face and nose. The real giveaway was the fact that her eyes showed no recognition when she saw us.

Sisters? Twins? I was going to face a Reeba Sweeney clone. My relief was replaced with nervousness. Was Reeba vindictive enough to complain about me to her sister?

Two defendants were called to the bench first. I was surprised how quickly their cases were heard and subsequent trial dates were set. Jacob had warned us that an arraignment was not a trial. Things moved quickly in the arraignment process.

When it was our turn, Kit and I were asked to stand before Judge Sweeney together. I was surprised to find my knees shaking. Kit took my hand as the judge read the charges.

“Do you understand your rights—”

A commotion broke out from the back of the courtroom. Judge Sweeney's mouth dropped open as she stared at something over my shoulder. She took off her glasses and turned to the clerk. “What . . . is . . . that . . . in the back of my courtroom, Levi?”

I turned around and saw four familiar figures sitting in the back row. They waved when they saw us. Kit's shoulders started shaking as much as my knees had a moment ago. I squeezed his hand and sent him a warning.

The bailiff scanned the group several times, collecting his thoughts. Finally he said, “Your Honor, I see a ghost, a lunatic, a zombie, and a .. . I think it is a clown. But not like any I've ever seen.”

“That's what I thought.” The judge rubbed her eyes and replaced her glasses.

“Uh, it
is
Halloween, Your Honor.”

“So it is.” She put a hand over the paperwork in front of her and looked at the ceiling, attempting to guess. “And don't tell me: The defendants are from Truhart.”

“Correct. At least temporarily.”

She sighed and shook her head. I thought I heard her mumble, “Of course; Truhart,” under her breath. Then her lip curled in the corner and she began to laugh. When she recovered, she finished reading the document. Then she looked at me. “I have information from your attorney along with the report from the dispatcher, Bernie Parker. You lost your dog?”

“Yes, I—” I faltered until Kit squeezed my hand. “Uh . . . Yes, Your Honor.” Another squeeze. We were doing pretty well with hand-squeeze communication.

“And it says here that Judge Hamner was in a rush to get to his leadership-appreciation banquet. It was the night of the storm. And there was a misunderstanding?”

“Yes, that is correct, Your Honor,” said Kit.

Her eyes rose from the report in her hand. She shuffled the papers in front of her, looking for something. When she found it, she said to Kit, “You're British!”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“He's a lord!” Marva called from the back of the room.

Judge Sweeney put a hand to her lip to silence her. Then she smiled at Kit again. “Where are you from in England?”

“My family home is in Knightsbridge. But I recently resided near Cambridge, where I am a professor.”

“England.” She stapled her fingers together and took a long breath. “I love
Downton Abbey
. I hope to visit the real castle next year. Is that close to Knightsbridge?”

I watched as the judge practically melted in Kit's presence. Who had I been fooling, to think that my considerably nice clothes and long legs might sway a judge, male or female? Kit was the master. I had almost forgotten about his buttery British voice that had ladies swooning across Harrison County.

Judge Sweeney and Kit had a short discussion about
Downton Abbey
. I had no idea what they were talking about. Something about a lord from England marrying an American with money. I was pretty sure Kit's accent grew thicker as he amped up the charm.

From the back of the room, Marva excitedly chimed in, “Ask him if he has met the queen.”

That brought the judge back to the present. She put a finger in the air and admonished Marva. “No talking in this courtroom unless I request a response.” The clerk, remembering his job, called for silence.

Judge Sweeney pressed her lips together and frowned at her paperwork. After a moment, she asked Kit to approach the stand. They spoke in hushed voices. I held my fist to my mouth and tried not to laugh as she asked him if he actually
had
met the queen. When they finished, he stepped backwards until he was next to me again. Then she was all business again.

“Dr. Darlington, you are aware that if you commit a crime in the United States, you are subject to all the laws and potential punishments that apply in this country?”

Kit ran a hand around his collar. “I understand, Your Honor.”

She focused on me next. “Ms. Brown. You were the one holding the broom.”

Glad to have the opportunity to talk, I said, “The floor was filthy, Your Honor.” Behind me, Corinne snorted.

“Hmm. So you were cleaning when Judge Hamner was . . . ah . . . swept off his feet?”

I stole a glance at Jacob Tipman. He stared straight ahead. I wasn't sure what to say. “Things were . . . messy.”

“Your family has donated a considerable sum to the Furry Friends Rescue Shelter.”

“That was my great-aunt Gertrude.”

“She was a generous woman. That is a very good cause.”

She glanced back at her paperwork. I held my breath as Her Honor examined Mr. Tipman's document and the original report. “Did you find your dog?”

“Yes. He's mine now. At first I didn't think I should own any living thing. Until I realized how wrong I was. We should all belong to ea—”

Kit's elbow connected with my ribs. “It was a bit of a personal lesson for Trudy. She's got it all figured out now.”

I reached for his hand and nodded. “Especially the part about belonging.”

Judge Sweeney removed her glasses and turned to the recorder. “Why don't you strike that last part, Levi.”

Then she gazed around the room. “I fail to see any reason why this has to be drawn out in court and waste taxpayers' dollars. Your lawyer has issued an apology on your behalf. Judge Hamner made it to his . . . roast.” She said the words with disdain. “I am reducing this to an infraction. You can pay a fee of one hundred dollars to the county clerk. The incident will appear on local police records, but nothing else. No further course of action is needed.”

A cheer went up behind us. I threw my arms around Kit and gave him a giant kiss. Then realizing where I was, I pulled away. Judge Sweeney leaned forward with her hands on her desk. “Take that outside, Ms. Brown.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. Sorry.”

Kit led me away and I wobbled out of the courtroom on Aunt Gertrude's heels.

Later, when we paid the county clerk for the fine, the clerk leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You're lucky you had Judge Sweeney. Sweeney hates that leadership dinner. Refuses to attend every year until they include a vegetarian option on the menu. She's an animal lover and a vegan, don't you know. . . .”

* * *

We lingered at the courthouse long enough to thank Jacob Tipman, Flo, Corinne, Elizabeth, and Marva for coming to the arraignment and supporting us. Then we followed the small cavalcade of trucks and SUVs back to Truhart. The house of horrors was due to open its doors for a few short hours before trick-or-treating, and a bonfire was scheduled at the public beach later. Beer, pizza, marshmallows, and vegan chili—in my honor—were being served. It might not be much of a town, but Truhart had a way with celebrations that made a person feel right at home.

We drove Kit's truck down the two-lane county road. “You thought you had Judge Sweeney in the palm of your hand with that cheesy accent,” I teased.

He wiggled his eyebrow and said, “Why would a bloke like me do such a cheeky thing?”

“Ha! It turns out the day was saved by the animal lovers of the world. Not the Anglo—anglopeels.”

“Anglophiles?”

“That's what I said.”

I tickled his neck and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to distract him from his driving. “I love you, Kit. Even when you think you're best friends with the queen.”

“I love you too, Trudy. Even when you try to play sexy in heels that you can't walk in.”

We took advantage of every stop sign and red light on the way to Truhart to show each other how great our love was.

I had been so sidetracked by giddy relief that I didn't realize we were in front of Books from the Hart until Kit cut the engine. Someone tapped on the windshield and hollered, “Is everyone all right in there?”

I lifted my head from Kit's neck.

“We're here,” he said.

“Back where I started.” I gazed up at the old building, feeling nothing but pride in the way it had been fixed up. I thought of that first morning in Truhart and my introduction to many of the people I had grown to care about. Life had a funny sense of humor.

That's when I saw Lulu.

She was parked in the no-parking zone, directly across the street from us. “What—”

Kit beamed at me, as if he'd been keeping the secret for too long. “Happy birthday, love—”

I was out of the truck and tripping on my aunt's heels before he could say more.

Lulu looked fabulous. Her chrome was polished, her newly waxed body shone. Even the sidewalls of her tires gleamed in the sunshine. Doc stood on the sidewalk beside her, dangling my Pikachu keychain from his index finger. “Check her out.”

I let my hand trail over Lulu, opening the trunk, inspecting everything, and asking Doc all sorts of questions about what he had done to the engine. Finally I stepped away. “How did you do this?”

Doc lifted his chin and nodded to where Kit stood, casually leaning against his truck with his arms crossed. Moby sat next to Kit, now, wagging his tail and happy to be attached by a leash that had an official license on the collar. “Dr. Darlington had me and Vance take care of everything. A new cylinder and valve and a little extra TLC. She drives like a charm, now. Backwards and forwards.”

Doc placed the keys in the palm of my hand. “Take her for a ride.”

I opened the door. The black cat jumped from underneath the car.

Moby erupted in a series of high-pitched barks and led Kit across the street. The cat disappeared into the brush. “Sorry I scared your cat, Doc.”

He scratched his head and looked at me. “My cat's a ginger tomcat.”

That was strange. Maybe Aunt Gertrude's old cat, Piewacket, had a daughter.

I clutched Pikachu and stood with all the loves of my life, wondering if things could ever get better than this.

But they could. Eagerly, I opened the back door.

Together Kit and I lifted Moby into the backseat. Kit walked around to the passenger door and grinned across at me.

He was making all my dreams come true. I wished I could do the same for him. But the bookshop was empty now. We had spent the last week searching the Dumpster and the store. No sign of a lost manuscript. Kit said he didn't mind. But I felt badly.

I threw the pumps in the backseat with Moby. I couldn't stop smiling as I stared at Kit over Lulu's roof. “Thank you.”

He lifted his shoulders. “No thanks necessary.” He ducked his head and folded his considerable height into the passenger seat.

When I started the engine, she purred like a newborn kitten. Lulu hadn't sounded this good since California. Maybe even since my brother bought her all those years ago.