he do so anyway? I couldn’t afford to pick up and move. Finding another space this size in Carmel would be nearly impossible. If I had to, I would make sure he knew of Fiona’s existence to drive home his love of Peter Pan.
“Where’s Mick Watkins?” Logan growled.
Phew. He wasn’t after me. On the other hand, I felt obligated to defend my fellow tenant. “Beats me, but you’d better get in line. You’re not the only one looking for him. His wife has first dibs. What’s the problem?”
Logan arched a bushy eyebrow. “I’m throwing him out. Lock, stock, and barrel. Too many complaints. Too much noise. ”
I’d never heard more than a few barks coming from inside Wizard of Paws. Everything was indoors, including the air-conditioned doggie play yard.
“Do you want to take over his lease?” Logan asked. “You could expand your business.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine with the size of the business right now.”
I would never admit to him—or to my father—that at times I felt overwhelmed by the responsibility. I was paying bills and wasn’t in debt, but being a storeowner wasn’t for the faint of heart. Dealing with customers. Balancing books. Arguing with suppliers. Thinking of my father made me wonder how he was doing. He had been upset when I’d gone out on my own... to make fairy gardens, no less. Fanciful, he’d said. Impractical. We talked often, but rarely at length, and not in the past few weeks.
A car honked. Mick and his gorgeous German shepherd, who were crossing the street, reared back and let a two-door coupe pass. Then they jaywalked toward us. Mick was carrying a to-go cup of something from Hideaway Café, the sole restaurant in the Village Shops across the street.
I waved. “Hey, Mick, Emily’s looking for you. She came into my shop to find you, but you’d gone. She went that way.” I pointed to the far end of the courtyard.
“I’ll call her. Thanks.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Petra Pauli, the councilwoman, leaving Hideaway Café. Coincidence? Or had she and Mick met for a tryst, as Joss had hinted? Was Emily right to be concerned that her husband was having an affair?
Not your business, I reminded myself.
Logan strode toward Mick, cutting him off before he could enter Wizard of Paws. “We need to talk.”
“Why?” Mick gave Shep a hand cue. The dog sat straight, with his body over his hips.
“You’re a nuisance.”
“Says who?”
“The place is shabby.”
What was Logan talking about? Mick had recently painted Wizard of Paws inside and out. There wasn’t a nick or a scratch to be found. Even the front door with its etched glass panel was pristine. Not one smudge mark.
Logan wrinkled his nose. “The plants look withered.”
“I do my best,” Mick countered. “I change them out every six months.”
Mick was telling the truth. He’d set out artificial turf pads so owners could curb their dogs before harming the plants. Some owners simply wouldn’t comply. Even so, the Pretty in Pink azaleas were young shrubs and the flowers that were in bloom looked wonderful against the building.
A gaunt middle-aged woman, talking on a cell phone, strutted out of Wizard of Paws and cut around Mick. The screen door closed with a bang. “Out of my way,” she demanded.
“Sure thing.” Mick edged to the right and rolled his eyes. I understood the gesture. The woman wasn’t his favorite patron.
Passing me, the woman raised her nose haughtily as if I smelled. Why? What had I done? She paraded across the street and turned back. I shuddered. If looks could kill.
“Neighbors are complaining.” Logan continued his rant. “There’s dog hair everywhere. I hate dog hair.”
“Which neighbors?” Mick glowered at me. “You?”
“Uh-uh.” I swatted the air. “Not me.” I hadn’t carped about anything. “I like animals. All animals.”
“Not her. Other neighbors,” Logan said. Until now, I’d never noticed what a grating voice he had. “I want you out, Mick.”
“Listen up, Logan, you got a complaint”—Mick aimed a finger at him—“talk to my lawyer. My lease is ironclad.” He gave a tug to the leash, and Shep obediently followed him.
With a huff, Logan turned on his heel and stomped away.
In a moment of comically bad timing, as Mick reached for the screen door of his shop, the main door swung inward. The dark-haired man who was leaving pushed the screen door, which bumped into Mick. Shep scuttled backward and barked.
The man—Gregory Darvell, a renowned dog trainer—hurried outside and knelt on one knee. He put