Chapter 23
MADDIE
“Good morning, Miss Smith,” the receptionist says, crisp and glowing in a winter white uniform with a stitched golden paw print.
She does her best to ignore Antoine's photographers behind us. Marco snaps photographs while Ben films video.
"And hello, Mr. Snorty!"
Snorty yips a greeting from my arms. He seems pleased. I bet it's the first time he's been called Mister.
“Thanks for having us,” I say, remembering Antoine’s script. Be polite. Act interested. And make the hotel shine because Las Palmas is picking up the tab for our hotel rooms, meals, and all the related expenses of the upcoming performance.
“My name is Anita. I’m the Canine Concierge here at Paws Las Palmas. May I give you two a tour of our facilities?”
“We’d love it. Last night, Snorty had treatments at the human spa. This one’s even more glamorous,” I say, eyeing the white marble and that central gold poodle statue with its tail held high.
"Why an additional salon for dogs?"
“Before the hotel opened, our research showed that guests at this income level expect elevated pet amenities. Paws Las Vegas was born. Some prefer their pets at their side. Most drop them off here to be thoroughly entertained. Let’s begin the walk-through.”
Anita gestures us forward. “We’ll start at check-in, where the real VIPs arrive.”
The lobby looks like a boutique airport lounge built for dogs: glass counters, digital sign-in screens, attendants in golden paw-print vests. One of them offers a Siberian Husky a chilled cucumber towel.
Snorty growls softly in envy.
We pass an arched viewing window. “This is our fitness wing,” Anita says. Then she opens another set of doors. “This is our hydrotherapy pool.”
It’s a softly lit space with temperature-controlled saltwater. Classical music plays low. I watch a black Lab float, eyes closed, like he’s in total Zen.
“And here’s our canine playground,” Anita says.
Snorty yips at the sight of puppy zip lines, tiny treadmills, and brightly colored climbing structures.
"It’s all vet-approved, entirely optional, and ridiculously popular,” Anita says.
Snorty sniffs the air with sudden intensity.
“What’s that scent?” I ask, curious.
“Oh. Your Frenchie must be smelling the Bark Bar and Bone Tasting Room, just ahead. Want to stop for a treat?”
“Tempting, but we’re on a tight schedule.”
“I’ll walk you out. And Snorty can take home a goodie bag, of course.”
But as we exit the Spa, I find myself looking both ways for that man in black. Who was he? And why was he hiding?