The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge (30 page)

Except Stewart.

And Lisa.

And, most of all, Hubert.

Larry Ringhofer spoke up again, and everyone, almost in surprise, turned to listen.

“Here's what we need to do. Fine him a hundred dollars. Or whatever. Two hundred. Call it a ‘special use permit fee' and not a fine. Make him pay for the stupid bones. Make sure he builds a sturdy kennel. And then let's go home.”

The crowd seemed pleased. It was not the fireworks and fire and brimstone they had hoped to hear, but it did appear to be a plausible and sensible solution. Everyone would be satisfied—well, everyone except Mr. Arden. And most everyone in the audience had no love lost for the man—even if his store prices were the cheapest in town.

Bill would get his dog, the townsfolk would get a good deal on a used car, and everyone would win.

And that was when Lisa let go of Stewart's hand and jumped to her feet.

Literally jumped, almost a foot in the air, as if she had been primed for this one specific moment in the meeting and had to speak now, or forever hold her peace. Heather Orlando remained seated, but with a very broad, very self-satisfied smile on her face. And as Lisa jumped to her feet, Heather turned around to face her cameraman and mouthed the words: “You are rolling, aren't you?”

Lisa was nearly breathless, without having exerted any physical energy.

“Your Honor…Mr. Mayor…Council Members…”

Everyone in the audience, including Stewart and Hubert, braced themselves for an eloquent, impassioned plea for mercy or justice or something.

Instead, Lisa took one step toward the mayor and said, as sweetly as she could, “May I request a five-minute recess?”

The mayor leaned back, surprised by the request.

“Well, this isn't exactly a trial or anything, Miss…Miss…”

“Lisa Goodly. I wrote most of the dog stories for the
Gazette
.”

“Oh yes, you're the clever writer. A pleasure to meet you. My wife thought your stories were quite funny—and touching.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Mayor. I don't think I'm a ‘Your Honor.'”

“Thank you, Mayor.”

“Well, Miss Goodly, this is not a trial, as I said, but…I could use a cup of coffee.”

He picked up his gavel, thumped it against the table, making that hollow sound, and stood. “Everyone take five minutes to stretch your legs. Get some coffee. And don't forget to thank Saint Paul's Lutheran Church for the coffeemakers and the coffee. Most appreciated. Five minutes, people. Then we start again whether you're here or not.”

Then he leaned toward Lisa and smiled.

“Will you need more than five minutes?” he asked sweetly.

“No. Five minutes is fine. Thank you.”

W
HEN THE
CROWD
stood, Stewart and Hubert were immediately surrounded by people wanting to pet Hubert, or to meet him, or to take a picture with their cell phones, or to post a selfie of them and Hubert. Stewart had wanted to ask Lisa what she was doing and why she'd asked for a recess, but the two of them, Stewart and Hubert, were surrounded by people, four and five deep, with no way of ignoring the questions or requests for photos.

Hubert looked up at Stewart and grinned again, as if he had not a care in the world. His two most favorite people were here, and all was right in Hubert's world.

He just doesn't know what might happen. We may be separated forever.

Lisa and Heather, now with the Action News cameraman in tow, descended on Bargain Bill. Heather actually grabbed him by the forearm, smiling while she did but not letting him slip away.

“Ms. Orlando,” he said, not noticing her hand on his arm, “I am so happy to see you again.”

“Mr. Hoskins, we have something you might want to see.”

Lisa could not be sure, but she thought he flinched, just a little. She reminded herself to watch the tape closely and study his reaction.

“But I have a lot of people here to greet. There are a lot of well-wishers and supporters. I need to at least shake some hands.”

Heather's smile did not leave her face, but her tone iced up, and even Lisa could see the pressure from Heather's grip on his arm increase.

“No, Mr. Hoskins. What we have to show you is more important that you chumming the waters for customers for your used cars. Much more important.”

Bargain Bill's eyes had that deer-in-the-headlights look, as if he knew something semi-monumental was about to happen but he really didn't want to participate in the unveiling.

Heather tapped at her cell phone and a picture popped up of a middle-aged woman in a denim jacket, with hair that would charitably be called flyaway.

“Do you recognize this woman, Mr. Hoskins?” Heather asked, the sweetness in her voice laced with a razor's sharpness. Lisa looked on in obvious admiration of her style.

Bargain Bill bent over the screen and studied it.

“I do not recall this woman. Was she a former customer of Bargain Bill's?”

“No, she is not a disgruntled car buyer,” Heather replied, to Bargain Bill's obvious relief. “I didn't think you would know who she was.”

“Okay, now can I talk to my friends?” Bill asked.

“No,” Heather replied. “You need to hear what she says.”

Heather tapped at the screen and the woman started to talk.

The woman appeared a bit puzzled, then a voice was heard, just off camera, saying, “Just tell your story, Judy. Like you told me.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, like I said, my name is Judy Kubista and I used to run the Rainbow No-Kill Animal Shelter and Dog Rescue organization here in Lewisburg—along with my friend, or should I say former friend, Emily Sillers. We had to close down months ago because ‘someone' never paid the electric bills on the place and spent the money on an RV.”

Judy Kubista's venomous glare was thick, and very obvious, even on a small three-inch screen.

A piece of paper appeared from off camera, with the question, “Do you recognize this dog?”

It was a photocopy of Hubert, printed in full color.

Judy took only a moment to answer.

“Nope. Handsome dog, but he never came through our shelter.”

“Are you sure?”

“We took pride in what we did. Or at least I took pride in what I did. I knew every dog that came through our doors. And this dog was not one of them.”

“One last question: Was there, or is there, any other dog rescue or animal shelter adopting out dogs in Lewisburg?”

Judy scowled.

“No. And that's just such a darned shame. We were the only ones doing it. And thanks to somebody spending our money on a crappy RV that I hope breaks down in the middle of the desert, no one is doing what we did in Lewisburg. Now people have to drive over to Sunbury or Reading. Thanks a heap, Emily.”

“And did you ever do any business with a man named Bill Hoskins at your shelter?”

“Nope. Never.”

“Thank you, Judy. You have been so very helpful.”

Judy tried to smile.

“And if you manage to track Emily down, let me know. Or just punch her in the nose for me, okay?”

The screen went black.

Heather slipped the phone into her suit pocket and smiled a sugar-coated smile at Bargain Bill, who looked more than a little nervous.

Actually, he looked a whole lot nervous, as if he were trying to think of some way out of this obvious dilemma.

“It appears, Mr. Hoskins, these dog rescue women never saw Hubert before. And never saw you. And since she never had him, Hubert could never have been adopted out—not by you, not by anyone.”

Bargain Bill swallowed hard.

“And it appears that your telling the good citizens of Wellsboro that he was yours is a very elaborate falsehood. In other words, you lied. To the public. That is not a good character trait for a man who sells used cars for a living, now, is it?”

Bargain Bill narrowed his eyes. Then he put on his best car salesman smile.

“Okay. You got me. Now what do you want?”

Mayor Witt banged on the table a dozen times, thinking that the muffled gavel sounds were hard to hear over the general rumbling of the crowd. Slowly, they began to make their way back to their seats, virtually all of them now holding a white foam cup filled with Lutheran coffee.

“Okay, everyone, sit down. We're about to start again.”

Hardly anyone paid attention, but eventually, the crowd quieted.

“Okay, now, we're back in session.”

He hit the gavel on the table one more time, as if a gavel banging made a meeting official.

Before anyone spoke again, Bargain Bill stood up. He stood slowly, as if he really did not want to stand, but both Heather and Lisa were staring at him. Heather had taken her phone and held it where Bargain Bill could see it—just in case he decided to change directions on them.

Lisa reached over and grabbed Stewart's arm and hugged him close to her, and smiled down at Hubert and gave his head a gentle pat.

She leaned up and whispered something in Stewart's ear and Stewart responded with a most quizzical look.

Bargain Bill paced a few steps.

He started off by saying, solemnly, “Your Honor…”

“Mr. Mayor is fine, Mr. Hoskins. I'm not a judge. I sell insurance, remember?”

Bargain Bill offered a weak smile.

“Mr. Mayor…”

He grew silent for a long moment, and looked as if he were thinking deep thoughts. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide as if a wonderful new thought had entered his consciousness, a liberating, freeing thought.

He turned to the crowd and opened his arms.

“First, I am publicly stating that I, personally, will pay whatever fine, or special fee, the city council deems right to levy against the actions of this poor dog. And I will pay for every piece of merchandise that he took from the Tops Market. As owner and operator of Bargain Bill's Dynamite Used Cars on Route 287 at Charleston Street, I have always tried to do what is best and sometimes I let my heart get in the way of my head.”

He looked down at his hands.

Heather leaned over to Lisa and whispered, “He's good.”

“I can see that a bond has developed between the dog and Mr. Coolidge, who rescued him from the streets,” Bargain Bill continued.

This is when Bargain Bill choked up and put his fist to his mouth as if he were holding back a sob.

“I have to admit to you—to all of you—my friends and family and customers and citizens of Wellsboro…that I have misled you. On purpose. A good purpose, but I have not been honest.”

No one expected a loud, collective gasp to ripple across the audience, but that was what happened.

“The poor dog there…he was never my dog.”

Another gasp, this one a little less gaspy.

“I lied to you. And do you know why I lied?”

He let the audience hang there for a long moment.

Heather leaned over again to Lisa and whispered, “I take that back. This guy is really good.”

“I lied to try and save this poor American dog from death. I thought I could make a difference in a poor dog's life. When Mr. Arden began offering a reward, I was terrified that they would catch the dog and put him to sleep.”

He paused, theatrically.

“And I could not live with myself if that happened.”

He sniffed loudly.

“So, I made up the story that the dog was mine. To save his life. To make sure he had a home. And now that he has found a loving home…”

Bargain Bill's voice cracked.

“I am happy. He has found what he was looking for. A home.”

The audience had been on the edge of their seats. Normally, to find this sort of emotion, people would have to pay twelve dollars for a ticket at the Arcadia Community Theater.

“We have saved this poor animal from death. And that alone is my reward.”

And then the audience stood, a few at first, then most everyone, and applauded. Some even cheered.

And Bargain Bill raised his head and looked skyward.

This time Lisa leaned over to Heather and whispered, “This is great publicity for him, isn't it?”

Heather nodded. “He is very, very good. And this will make a dynamite segment. Absolute dynamite.”

The mayor tried to bring the meeting back under control, but after everyone rose in their seats and began swarming over Bill and Stewart and Heather Orlando and Hubert, he decided that it was no longer necessary.

He turned to Paul Hatch, the city clerk, and nearly shouted over the noise.

“Issue a fine—or a fee, for one hundred dollars. Make sure he pays for the stolen merchandise. And make sure the young man with the dog buys a dog license, okay?”

“Will do.”

“And we can call this meeting closed, okay?”

“We can.”