A Miracle at Macy’s: There’s only one dog who can save Christmas. Lynn Hulsman Marie
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offer you more than 15 minutes of fiddling around!”
I feel my eyebrows hurtle skyward, and my mouth drops open.
“That is to say… Miss Bell, what I mean to say, is…”
“Bing!” Saved by the oven timer. I hurry to the kitchen to take out the egg-and-vegetable pie.
Heading into the kitchen, I grab my heavy-duty silicone oven gloves. As I’m bending over to heave the substantial pie from the oven, I’m aware that Henry is behind me. Why won’t he stop following me around? I need a minute to think. Whether it’s from panic or lack of sleep or the distraction of having a person in my apartment, I cannot cut through the fog. I’m edgy, and I know it. I have to keep my cool. I want my dog back, and as Henry has pointed out, two heads are better than one. Especially when one of the heads isn’t firing on all cylinders. I slide the pie onto a cooling rack, and turn around.
Henry is leaning, arms crossed, against the door jamb. “Did you make that?”
“Of course I made it. Do you see anyone else around here?” Easy, Charlotte, my inner voice tells me. Keep your eye on the prize.
“I mean, did you bake that? From scratch? And those little, what are they, mince pies, as well?” He sidles up to the counter, inspecting my wares.
“Yes, I did. Why?”
“It’s just I don’t know any women, apart from my mum, who do that.” He looks at me with that maddening eyebrow lift. “All the women I’ve dated have only ever known how to pick up the phone to order food.”
“Well I made them. Any other questions before you help me find my dog. I mean, that is why you’re here, isn’t it? I mean,” I suck in my breath and let out a long sigh, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t fair. Please, help me find my dog.”
“Apology accepted. I do have one question…any chance of a cup of tea? I was ejected from the offices first thing in order to come to your rescue.”
I stare at him. I can feel my breath rising and falling at a rapid rate, and I remind myself not to make an angry face. “One quick cup, then we get to work. OK?”
“Perfect.”
“Sit down at the table,” I bark. “I mean, please. Have a seat.” I flick on the electric kettle and in short order, I’m setting a cup of strong, milky tea and a plate of mince pies in front of him.
“Thank you,” he says. He bites into one of the pies, and moans. “God, this is unbelievable. What are you, a witch?” He takes a drink of tea, and greedily pops the rest of the pie into his mouth. “Heaven!”
I can’t help feeling proud. Half the time when I bake, I just do a ring-and-run, leaving the leftovers at the door of the elderly couple in apartment 1F. They always leave an index card under my door thanking me, but it’s not the same as watching someone appreciate my food.
“Well done, really. This is absolutely superb. You’ve got quite a talent.”
“Thank you.” I’m starting to warm to him a little. “Hudson loves my cooking. I like to think I’m pretty handy around the kitchen.”
“The kitchen, yes, but you were taken to the cleaners with that house call.”
I feel steam rising. “It was an emergency.”
“I could have fixed your computer problems easily.” He bites into a second pie. “Oh, mmm. These may be better than my mother’s,” he marvels. “And I meant to mention earlier, a single woman like yourself shouldn’t open the door to complete strangers. This is, after all, New York City.”
“I didn’t open the door to a stranger. I opened it to the Geek Squad.”
“Perhaps, but who was standing there? I could have been a common psychopath.”
“Could have been…” I mumble under my breath.
“At any rate, I’m here to help. You’ve made the right choice. Now, we can finally do something that will work.” He mutters something that sounds like, “…pleased you’ve come to your senses.” I grit my teeth and smile. “Thank you for helping,” I manage to cough out.
Ooh, it would feel so good to smack him across his smug, beardy face right now, but I can’t afford to be emotional.
“We have an understanding. I’ll use you to get what I want. Just as you’re doing with me. I need my dog; you need Aunt Miranda’s approval. One hand can wash the other. It’s a win-win, right?”
“Sounds perfect,” he replies.
I push away the little voice in my head that reminded me that, in a nutshell, this was James’s modus operandi and the reason I wasn’t standing next to him at the openings of his top-shelf restaurants. But today was a new day. As they say, “All’s fair in love and war.” At least I think that’s what The Art of War said. I don’t know, I really only skimmed the first few pages. Or maybe that’s from a Humphrey Bogart film. It doesn’t matter.
Henry Wentworth has something I need and I’m not going to give up until I get it.
“Slow down there,” Henry calls. I’m already halfway up the block. Once my feet have hit the sidewalk, my body kicked into high gear. I couldn’t slow down if I wanted to. Henry does a little jog, and catches up with me, panting slightly. “It’s a good thing I wore trainers today. Now, tell me again, where exactly was Hudson when he slipped away? We’re going to retrace your steps.”
It didn’t matter to me that I’d been all over the park with Officers Curtis and Scrivello. Today was a new day, and Henry Wentworth had a new perspective. If I had to pretend to trust him to find my dog, then that’s what I’d do.
“Hello there, what’s that?” he said, gesturing to Paws & Claws, a mom-and-pop pet supply store on the avenue. “Have you ever been there?”
“Yes,” I tell him, “that’s where I get Huddie’s food. I know the lady who owns the place.”
“Let’s make a detour, then. Follow me.” I swallow the urge to tell him not to boss me around, and I do as I’m told. After all, it’s not the worst idea.
He surveys the complimentary water bowl that Mrs. Rabinowitz leaves out for passing dogs. This time of year, its deep blue with a yellow Star of David painted on the bottom. I see Henry take in the kitty-cat menorah sitting in the window, waiting for sundown when she’ll turn on the right number of bulbs for this night of Chanukah. She spies me through the window, and waves enthusiastically, gesturing for me to come in.
Once Henry pushes open the door, tinkling the shop bell, Mrs. Rabinowitz races over, pumping her elbows and leading with her ample, pigeon-shaped bosom.
“Come in! What, you never visit anymore? Don’t tell me you’ve been getting Hudson’s food from the internet, God forbid, puh puh puh,” she spits. “We haven’t seen you in weeks!”
I open my mouth to ask if she’s seen Huddie, but before I can form the words, she holds up her hands in surrender.
“I get it,” she says before I can speak, “you’re a young girl, you’re busy with the young men, and the social life, and the this and the that.” She gives a not-subtle-at-all nod to Henry. “Where’s my little bubbeleh?” she asks.
“That’s the thing, Mrs.…?” Henry replies.
“Rabinowitz,” she offers, scowling. “Everyone knows that. But what? What’s the thing? Is something the matter? Talk to me.”
Henry pulls a card from his pocket, and gestures toward a cup of pens on the counter. “May I?” She