Wags to Riches Read online

  Wags to Riches

  By Ally Roberts

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Wags to Riches

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2019

  Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Books by Ally Roberts

  ASKING FUR TROUBLE

  CAUSE FUR ALARM

  WAGS TO RICHES

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  ONE

  I was a new person.

  The old Wendy Walker was gone, replaced by this new version of me.

  The new me was still divorced, still penniless, and still walking dogs to try to make a living.

  But, unlike the old Wendy, the new me liked seafood.

  Well, clam chowder, at least. Or, to be more specific, the clam chowder from The Perfect Catch.

  It had been a couple of weeks since my dinner there with Tate, and I’d been back twice to have more chowder. My first time back had been more of an experiment than anything else, to see if I really did like it, or if that evening when I’d first had a bowl had just been some sort of fluke. A little mix-up with my taste buds or something.

  It had not.

  I’d now had three separate bowls and each had been tastier than the previous one. A creamy flavorful base, hunks of thick potato, and bits of savory clam—it was amazing how something seemingly so simple was so delicious. I was hooked.

  Which was why I was at the marina on a Monday afternoon, waiting eagerly for my next bowl.

  Maggie, the blond hostess who had brought me to my table that first night with Tate, returned to the hostess podium positioned just outside the door of the restaurant with a white paper bag in her hands. I reached for it, my mouth already watering.

  “You’re really a fan of the chowder, huh?” she asked. She’d rung me up each time I’d ordered a bowl to go.

  I handed her a ten-dollar bill. “It’s delicious.”

  “You should try some of the other things on the menu.” She gave me my change. “The crab cakes are to die for.”

  I just nodded. I wasn’t a huge seafood fan, despite having grown up on the island, and I wanted to take it slow. Stick with what I liked.

  And what I liked right now was clam chowder.

  “You sure you don’t want to hang around and eat here?” Maggie motioned toward the tables in the restaurant. About a third of them were full but I expected that to change soon. It was almost noon, and it was a beautiful summer day, which meant plenty of locals would be streaming in. “We have some lunch specials, you know. Two-dollar domestics and a free basket of hush puppies with any lunch plate. And I think Jonah is offering another afternoon cooking class. If that’s something you’re interested in. It would be a good way to try some of the other stuff on the menu.”

  Cooking class? I didn’t know Jonah Garrison, the owner of The Perfect Catch, was offering those. I had to admit, I was definitely interested. But classes cost money—and that was something that was in relatively short supply at the moment. And probably for the foreseeable future, considering my financial circumstances, I reminded myself.

  I shook my head. “Not today. I…I’ve got some stuff I need to do.”

  This wasn’t exactly the truth. I’d already taken Trixie and Duke for their morning walk, and I had nothing pressing on the agenda for the rest of the day.

  Yeah, I didn’t have money for a cooking class, and I didn’t have money for in-house dining, either. As it was, I felt a little guilty splurging on a four-dollar bowl of chowder, especially when I could buy a can of it at the store for less than half that price. But I knew it wouldn’t taste nearly as good, and I knew that little treats like this, those little indulgences I allowed myself, went a long way in the personal care department.

  Maggie smiled. “I get it.” She glanced at the clamshell-shaped clock attached to the wall directly behind her. It worked perfectly with the restaurant’s décor. “I’m here for another few hours and then it’s on to my next job.”

  “You have two jobs?”

  “I host here a few days a week, but I also do fitness classes.”

  “That must keep you busy.”

  “Not busy enough,” she said. “I’d love to pick up more hours here, or even start serving, but Jonah hasn’t taken the hint.” She frowned. “Oh well. I might just start offering more classes at Gym-azing.”

  Gym-azing was a local fitness place, tucked into a strip mall near the bridge that offered the only route back to the mainland. I hadn’t been inside but I’d seen their ads in the local paper and on social media sites. With state-of-the-art equipment, personal trainers, and a calendar filled with different fitness classes. Every time I saw an ad, a small part of me was tempted to check it out. Until I remembered I didn’t have money for a gym membership.

  “More classes?” I asked.

  “I’m a fitness instructor,” she explained. “You know, Zumba, Pilates. I can pretty much teach anything.”

  I gave her a quick once-over, noticing for the first time how fit she was.

  She cocked her head. “A friend of yours works out there, I think.”

  Surely she must be mistaking me for someone else. I didn’t have friends. “Oh?”

  “Asher. Asher Ellsworth.” Maggie smiled dreamily. “He doesn’t take any of my classes, unfortunately. But he comes in a couple of times a week to work out.”

  I felt my cheeks begin to warm as I imagined Asher in workout clothes. I had no doubt he looked terrific in them.

  Maggie chewed on her lower lip, looking like she wanted to say something.

  “What?”

  She glanced down at the podium. “I saw you guys together a couple weeks ago. You were eating dinner. At Burger Barn, I think?” She looked back up at me. “Are the two of you…dating?”

  I immediately flashed back to my dinner out with Asher. He’d insisted on taking me out after Trixie and I had taken down the person responsible for Tony Lamotte’s death. Dinner had been relatively quick—burgers and fries, and he’d treated me to a thick chocolate malt, too—so we weren’t at the restaurant long. But the feelings he’d evoked had lingered long after our dinner.

  We’d been friendly, even flirtatious, prior to that shared meal. But something had shifted that night. No, he didn’t kiss me—he didn’t even touch me—but the energy between us had changed, become more charged, more electric. It was as if a switch had been turned on, a breaker that had been powered down suddenly charging to life.

  I thought about the Instagram post he’d shared that night prior to our date, the one Shannon told me about and that I’d looked up almost immediately after hanging up with her. How he’d left the gorgeous view of his ocean because, in his words, he had a “more mesmerizing view” to look forward to that evening.

  I couldn’t say definitively, but I was pretty sure that new view somehow involved…me. The way he’d looked at me during our brief dinner, his blue eyes staring at me with an intensity I’d never noticed before, had made my entire body tingle.

  Maggie cleared her throat, shaking me out of the past and back into the present.

  I realized I never answered her question. “No,” I
said quickly. The heat was climbing back up my neck, marching toward my cheeks again. “We aren’t dating.”

  Her expression brightened. “Oh. Well, okay. I just thought I’d ask. He’s quite the catch…”

  All I could do was nod. Asher Ellsworth was indeed a great catch. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to fish. Not only because I was fresh from a divorce, but also because my own future seemed so uncertain. The job situation, the house…it felt as though everything in my life was sort of up the air. Throwing a romance into the mix felt like a not-so-great idea.

  At least that’s what my head told me.

  My heart was screaming something else.

  Fortunately—or maybe not—Asher had been incredibly busy with work the last couple of weeks, so our time together had been limited. I was still walking Duke twice a day, but more often than not, I was picking him up and returning him to Asher’s house, not the office. He’d even given me a key so I could let myself in and out.

  A key.

  It still sent shivers through me, knowing the slim silver key on my keychain belonged to Asher’s house. And that he’d given it to me.

  To take care of his dog, my brain said firmly.

  But my heart didn’t want to listen to logic. He gave you a key. To his house!

  An older couple approached the podium, looking to be seated, and I took that as a sign that it was time to head home with my chowder. I said goodbye and turned to go, just as Rudy Sanders walked out of the restaurant.

  “Wendy,” he said, with a nervous smile.

  I’d determined that Rudy Sanders, Dempsey’s owner and my newest part-time client, always looked a little nervous. I didn’t know if that was just part of an anxious personality or some unfortunate genetic combination that just made him appear skittish and high-strung.

  Maybe it was a little bit of both.

  “How are you?” I asked. “How’s Dempsey?”

  Dempsey was Rudy’s sweet little basset hound, a good boy who I occasionally took on walks when Rudy’s schedule got a little busy. I wasn’t entirely sure what he did for a living—he’d mentioned he was in finance, but I hadn’t pressed for details, as it wasn’t really my business. The only thing that mattered was that he wanted me to walk his dog…and that he paid me to do it.

  “He’s good,” Rudy said, nodding his head furiously. He licked his lips. “I’ll probably be calling you a little later this week. Looks like I’ll have a long day on Friday if I don’t get caught up during the week.”

  “It’s only Monday,” I reminded him. “Plenty of time.”

  He kept nodding. I wondered if it was a nervous tic or something. “We’ll see.” He held up his own white bag. “Probably shouldn’t have taken so long of a lunch break, considering the amount of work I have to do. But they had free hush puppies…”

  “It’s barely noon. Lots of hours left in the day.”

  He glanced at my own bag. “Whatcha got in there?”

  “Clam chowder.”

  “I’ve ordered that a few times here,” he said. “It’s pretty good. A little too salty for my taste, and the base is a little on the thick side. But it’s decent.”

  I thought it was more than decent. “It’s my favorite thing here.” I didn’t mention that it was the only thing I’d tried on the menu.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Really? I’m pretty partial to the crab cakes.”

  “Maggie’s said they’re good.”

  “Who’s Maggie?”

  I nodded toward the hostess station. Maggie wasn’t behind the podium, and I figured she was probably seating the couple that had shown up while we were talking. “The hostess.”

  His expression cleared. “Oh. Well, she’s right. Although there isn’t enough parsley and the mustard is a little on the heavy side.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him.

  He smiled. “You should try them. I’ll be interested to see what you think.”

  “I’ll let you know,” I said.

  He held up his bag. “Alright, I’m heading back to the office. I’ll be in touch, I’m sure.” He swallowed. “About the dog. I mean, my dog.”

  I swallowed back a chuckle. Poor guy really was a nervous Nellie. “Tell Dempsey I said hi. Give him some pats from me.”

  He nodded, his head bobbing back and forth like a rocking chair on steroids. “Will do, Wendy. Will do.” He hurried off with his leftovers, heading the opposite direction I was going.

  I turned toward home, wanting to get there quickly so my chowder would still be hot, when I noticed someone pacing outside, along the side of the restaurant.

  I squinted.

  It was Jonah Garrison.

  Or at least I was pretty sure it was.

  He was probably a few years older than me, with a mop of reddish-brown curls and a neatly trimmed goatee. But now, with his hands on his head and his chest heaving up and down as he paced a straight line, he looked like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

  My gut tensed. Anyone with eyes could tell that something was wrong.

  I just didn’t know what.

  I hesitated, my midsection angled toward home but my feet pointing in Jonah’s direction. He didn’t notice me. I was pretty sure the building could be on fire and he wouldn’t notice…especially when he leaned against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, his head now firmly cradled in his hands.

  I felt a tug of sympathy.

  He was clearly distraught about something.

  I hesitated. I didn’t really know him and he didn’t know me. It wasn’t my business to find out what was bothering him.

  But that had never stopped me before.

  I clutched the bag with my chowder and walked toward him. My flip-flops squeaked a little on the concrete and I thought for sure he would notice as I approached.

  He didn’t look up.

  I stopped just a few feet in front of him.

  “Jonah?”

  His hands were covering his face but he shifted a finger so that an eyeball became visible.

  I took this as an invitation to talk. “Um…is something wrong?”

  Another finger moved, and I found myself staring at a pair of wide green eyes. He looked shell-shocked and I felt my own eyes widen in alarm.

  “Jonah?” My voice wavered a little. “What’s wrong?”

  “The money,” he rasped. His eyes were bulging now, and his breathing sounded wheezy, as if he were in the middle of an asthma attack.

  “Money?” I repeated.

  “It’s gone. All gone.”

  TWO

  “Your money is gone?”

  Jonah’s hands slipped back over his eyes. All he did was nod and slump his shoulders. At least the wheezing had started to subside.

  “Like someone robbed the restaurant?” I looked around us, half-expecting to see a masked robber hustling away from the restaurant carrying a loot bag full of cash.

  He didn’t answer verbally, just shook his head no.

  I sat down next to him on the cracked and pitted concrete, doing my best to avoid the gum permanently adhered to the pavement and the mysterious oily stains that dotted the surface.

  “What happened?” I asked. And then, in a more hesitant voice, I added, “Have you called the police?”

  Calling the local police was never my go-to suggestion when something went awry on the island, but it was probably the logical thing to do. Especially if someone had stolen money from Jonah. Although that was still unclear, since Jonah said no one robbed the restaurant.

  He straightened almost immediately. “Police?” He shook his head. “No.”

  It was a strange reaction, and I wondered if he’d had some kind of bad experience with Detective Owen Simcoe or Chief Ritter. I could most definitely relate, if that were the case.

  “No?” I said. “But you said…”

  His hands dropped away from his face, revealing an almost neutral expression now. The panic I’d seen in his eyes was gone, and his breathing sounded almo
st normal. It was as if I was interacting with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

  He pushed his back against the wall and got to his feet. “I better get back inside,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Lunch rush is starting and I have a class this afternoon.”

  I blinked a couple of times. Had I just imagined his breakdown and his mention of missing money?

  He glanced at the bag I was holding. “Your food was okay?”

  I suddenly remembered the clam chowder I’d ordered. “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t eaten it yet. It’s a to-go order.”

  He just nodded. “Oh. Well, if there’s anything you don’t like, let me know. My goal is one hundred percent customer satisfaction.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But about the money—”

  He shook his head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I almost breathed a sign of relief. At least it hadn’t been a figment of my imagination.

  But then I frowned. I couldn’t understand why he’d suddenly clammed up, especially considering how distraught he’d looked—and sounded—just moments earlier.

  I was about to ask about the money again when the back door opened and a teenager stuck his head outside.

  “Jonah?”

  We both looked at the kid. He was easily six feet tall, but as skinny as a telephone pole. His dark hair was pulled back into a miniscule ponytail, revealing a small metal stud earring in each ear. He was dressed in black pants and a white dress shirt, which I knew was not server attire. I was pretty sure he was a busboy.

  “What is it, Davis?”

  The kid’s eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes filled with worry. “Uh, there’s a bit of a problem in the kitchen.”

  Jonah eyed him warily “A problem?”

  Davis swallowed. “A…a fire.”

  Jonah’s eyes widened and I let out a small gasp. That didn’t sound like a bit of a problem. That sounded like a big one.

  “A fire?” Jonah said.

  The kid nodded. “Just a small one. But Guillermo can’t get the fire extinguisher to work.”