My phone beeps with a message.
Where are you?
I frown. Why is Lana, the mayor of Smuggler’s Rest – the largest town on the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway where I live – messaging me?
At home. Where else would I be?
You forgot. I knew you’d forget.
Forget? What could I have possibly forgotten? Today is my day off. I only set my alarm because I’m tired of cleaning up Boozer’s mess if I don’t let him out early enough. I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I—
Damn. I did forget. I promised to help out at theMermaid Lagoon Race. Only in Smuggler’s Hideaway would people shove themselves into glittery mermaid tails, attempt to swim in them, and call it a festival.
Supposedly, it celebrates the island’s ‘heritage’ – smugglers hiding their loot on the island during Prohibition – but mostly it’s an excuse to drink questionable moonshine before noon and argue about whether mermaids are real. (They are. Ask anyone who’s had three shots of moonshine and seen the sunrise.)
I’m on my way.
I jump to my feet. My elbow hits the table and my cup of coffee wobbles. I try to grab it but it tips over before I reach it. Coffee spills all over the table. I slap a hand down to stop it but all I succeed in doing is burning my hand.
“Ouch!”
Boozer barks.
“Shush, baby boy,” I admonish as I rush for a towel. There aren’t any hanging in the usual spot – probably in the wash – so I reach for a paper towel. Only to notice the roll is empty.
“Figures,” I mutter as I whip my shirt off to use as a towel.
Once I’ve mopped up the mess, I throw the t-shirt in the overflowing hamper – I’ll get around to doing the laundry one of these days – before jumping into the shower. Boozer whines and pokes his snout into the shower.
“I’ll walk you before I go to work.”
He stares at me with his big, brown eyes. “Don’t make me feel guilty for working. If I don’t work, there’s no doggy kibble for you.”
He barks before settling on the bathroom mat to wait for me. There’s no such thing as privacy when you have a dog.
Once I’m dressed, I hook Boozer up to his leash. I open the door and he tries to rush outside. I hold him back so I can peek into the hallway first. Good. There’s no one around.
It’s possible I lied to my landlord about having a dog. It’s not my fault. I didn’t have a choice. There aren’t many apartment buildings on Smuggler’s Hideaway that accept dogs and I may have been kicked out of those. I can’t help it if Boozer gets excited when he meets other dogs.
We run down the hallway to the stairs. I know. I know. I shouldn’t let Boozer walk down two flights of stairs. It’s bad for his hips. But it’s better than him peeing in the elevator. Trust me. The smell of dog urine is impossible to mask. My nose wrinkles at the memory.
We exit the apartment building and I exhale a sigh of relief. We made it.
“Aha!” Melanie – aka the bane of my existence – shouts as she rushes around the corner.
I startle and Boozer howls in response. I scratch behind his ears as I allow my heart rate to settle.
“I knew you were hiding a dog in there!”
I have to tread carefully here. Melanie works in the mayor’s office. The last thing I need is for her to tattle to the mayor on me.
“I’m not hiding a dog.”
She points to Boozer. “What’s that?”
Boozer growls in response and I tighten my hold on his leash. He doesn’t usually snap at people – he’s more a lover than a fighter – but Melanie isn’t usual people. She’s a prude who enjoys ruining everyone else’s fun. She needs to find a new hobby.
“Boozer isn’t my dog. I’m dog-sitting.”
