Chapter 20
Chester flew up the porch steps, moving as fast as his little legs would carry him. Quinn lowered onto one knee, catching the pup in her arms.
She giggled as he wiggled and squirmed, his small pink tongue licking her hand and arm. “You act like you haven’t seen me in weeks. It’s only been hours.”
“But a lot longer in dog hours,” Morgan joked.
Quinn scratched his back. “Did Morgan tell you we have a surprise?”
Grace and Ariel waited nearby, keeping a firm grip on Can-dee, who warily watched Chester greet Quinn.
Woof. She let out a timid bark.
Chester froze. His ears shot up. The pup’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to figure out where the bark came from.
Quinn kept a steady hand on him and scooched to the side, giving Chester an unobstructed view of her living room and Can-dee.
The two looked at each other, unmoving, as if frozen in place.
“Well?” Morgan nudged her pup. “Why don’t you go over and say hello?”
Chester took off like a rocket, skittering across the floor.
Can-dee stood still, watching while he began prancing in front of her.
Woof. Woof. Chester barked loudly, a bark Morgan recognized when he was excited, like when neighbor Beatrice brought Mr. Pickles, her rabbit, over to play, or when he found a new piece of driftwood to add to his collection.
It was the same bark…a bundle of enthusiasm rolled up into one energetic ball of fur.
Can-dee slunk down, her front paws sliding forward…so close she was almost touching Chester. The two dogs, now paw to paw and at eye level, stared at each other.
Morgan held her breath, wondering what was going through their minds. It was almost like looking in the mirror.
In the blink of an eye, Chester sprang to his feet. He playfully batted at her. She batted back.
Can-dee ran to her new box of toys. Digging through the heap, she grabbed hold of a stuffed elephant and shook it before tossing it in the air.
Chester leapt forward, easily catching it.
She worked her way through the box, tossing toys up, all of them donated by Morgan, letting Chester catch them.
Quinn clapped her hands. “We were right. These two know each other and are more than likely siblings.”
“I think it’s safe to let them play unsupervised.”
“Chester…Esther.” Quinn dropped to her knees. “Come here, girl.”
The dog promptly dropped the toy and trotted over, rubbing up against her leg. “She answers to the name.”
“Esther,” Ariel repeated. “It’s a great Biblical name.”
“Esther…Esther,” Quinn sing-songed. “I like it much better than Can-dee.”
“Me too.” Morgan patted her stomach. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to dig into our Mexican feast.”
The friends grabbed plates and began filling them with food. Along with Morgan’s tacos and chips and cheese were enchiladas, tostadas, tamales and Ariel’s homemade guacamole.
Grace dipped her chip in the queso and took a big bite. “Speaking of names…have you named your new home?”
“The cottage?” Quinn asked.
She nodded.
“No. Although I would like to call it something other than the Mentschler place.”
They took turns throwing out contenders, all of which, for one reason or another, missed the mark.
Quinn polished off the rest of her tostada. “I might have an idea.”
The women finished their food and stashed the leftovers in the fridge before following her out the back door and down the steps.
Esther, with Chester hot on her heels, dashed past. Side by side, the pups began sniffing around the flower bed, or what was left of it.
“The monarch butterflies love these flowers.” Quinn tapped the top of the blooming fall asters.
“Call it Monarch Cottage,” Morgan suggested.
Ariel snapped her fingers. “What about Monarch Meadow?”
“It’s not really a meadow.”
“More like a mini meadow,” Grace said. “I think it fits.”
“Monarch Meadow it is.” Quinn corralled the pups, coaxing them back inside. “The night is still young. I was thinking we could swing by Harbor Dockside. They have a new band playing tonight.”
“I wouldn’t mind taking a walk.” Grace lifted both hands over her head in a long stretch. “I need to burn off a taco or two.”
While Quinn tracked down the bar’s event calendar, Morgan, Grace and Ariel took turns freshening up in the bathroom.
Quinn was the last to take a break. She grabbed her jacket from the hook and caught up with her friends by the door. “The band is starting their first set in about fifteen minutes.”
“What happened to Chester and Esther?” Morgan asked.
Grace held a finger to her lips. “Over there.”
Tiptoeing around the couch, Morgan’s heart melted when she found Chester and Esther curled up side by side, their paws overlapping and fast asleep.
“How adorable,” Quinn whispered. “Esther has a home and a new friend.”
Morgan hugged her. “The best home possible. She won the puppy lottery.”
“I swear, these two are siblings.” Ariel pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture. “There’s nothing like finding family.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Morgan said. “I know exactly how Chester and Esther feel.”
With the pups peacefully snoozing, the friends made the short trek to the main drag, cutting through an alley before reaching the harbor’s downtown district.
Despite the bar being busy for a Saturday night, they found an empty table near the back, giving them a semi unobstructed view of the stage.
Several islanders stopped to chat, some of them with Quinn, a few with Grace but the majority with Ariel, who owned Locke Village’s popular hotspot—her coffee shop.
“Ariel is popular,” Morgan teased.
“Hey, these folks are smart. They know where to find the best coffee on Easton Island,” she boasted.
A server arrived to take their drink order, returning moments before the band started. They played a mix of music from nineties pop to classic rock and even some newer country tunes.
During their break, Morgan excused herself to use the restroom, the closest one being near the dining room.
She took care of business and started to head back when she noticed a familiar figure seated at a table off to the side. It was Priscilla Finkpin. She appeared to be having a serious conversation with the man across from her.
Morgan could feel the tips of her ears burn. He fit the description Greg had given her of the Bay News reporter. She slipped in behind a beam, pulled her cell phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of them.
She returned to the table and tapped out a quick text to Greg, attaching the photo of Prissy and her dinner companion. Is this the reporter who stopped by Locke Pointe earlier today?
His reply was quick and to the point. Yeah. That’s the guy.
“Great.” Morgan blew air through thinned lips.
“Uh-oh.” Grace leaned in. “What’s wrong?”
“A Bay News reporter stopped by Locke Pointe earlier today, asking a bunch of questions about me and the Easton family. He mentioned something about Easton Harbor Art Gallery.”
“About the alleged fake artwork?” Quinn asked.
“That would be my guess,” Morgan grimaced. “The reporter is here having dinner with Priscilla Finkpin.”
Ariel’s eyes grew round as saucers. “She’s at it again.”
“Despite promising me she wouldn’t write a hit piece about Ryze’s claim,” Morgan sighed.
Quinn hopped off her barstool. “Do you want me to march over to their table and ask them what the heck they’re doing?”
“It won’t do any good. If anything, it will only make matters worse. I was na?ve in believing Priscilla when she gave me her word. I had hoped…”
“She no longer had an axe to grind with the Easton family.” Grace finished her sentence.
“Yep. I guess I was asking for too much,” Morgan said. “It looks like the Easton family will once again be back in the spotlight, and not in a good way.”