Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lexi
The lobby was bustling, thank goodness. Tourists, gamblers, and wedding guests were all far too busy, tipsy, or living their own questionable life choices to notice ours.
We blended in perfectly.
I waddled through the marble foyer, clutching my “bump.” Ginger, a sudden model of serenity, remained still.
“Smile,” Gwen murmured. “Pregnant people smile.”
“Why?” I frowned.
“It makes you look less suspicious.”
“I bet that’s not supported by science,” I said between clenched teeth.
Gwen rolled her eyes, but I did try to look less suspicious.
The bellhop looked at me and I gave him a smile, although I’m pretty sure it came off more as a grimace.
He waved cheerfully as we passed. Miraculously, Ginger stayed quiet.
She seemed to sense the gravity of the mission and breathed softly, only occasionally twitching.
As we crossed the marble floor toward the elevator bank, my heart nearly stopped. A security officer stood by the elevators, chatting with a guest and, because fate enjoys irony, holding the leash of a German shepherd wearing a security vest.
“Abort,” I hissed. “Abort, abort.”
“It’s too late,” Gwen whispered. “Just look normal and keep walking.”
Sure, that was easy for her to say. She wasn’t carrying a fifty-pound dog.
The shepherd’s ears perked as we got closer. Then his nose twitched. His gaze locked directly on me, the world’s least convincing pregnant woman.
Holy crap.
The dog stiffened. His handler didn’t notice, as he was talking with someone. The dog’s tail stiffened, body tense and nose working overtime.
We are so screwed.
Basia bumped into me when I stopped. “Keep walking regularly,” she whispered.
“There’s a dog right there,” I hissed.
“I know, just walk past as quickly as you can.”
The shepherd suddenly surged forward, trying to stick its nose up my crotch.
“Eeek,” I squeaked, clutching my stomach and trying to look maternal and not like someone concealing a fifty-pound fur ball under a poncho.
“Ma’am?” the handler said, grabbing the leash. “I’m so sorry about that. He’s usually great with expectant mothers, but it does tend to excite him.”
Ginger, bless her heart, stayed silent but wriggled a bit. The motion made my baby bump lurch in ways that defied biology. I just hoped the guard didn’t notice. Panic kicked into my throat.
The guard blinked. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes, yes, I’m fine. The…ah, baby is just kicking a bit.” Ginger, either nervous or curious about the shepherd, had started squirming. “This movement is perfectly normal,” I babbled. “She practically performs an interpretative dance each time she kicks. The baby, I mean. It’s a girl.”
The guard looked a little confused by my monologue but ordered the dog to sit next to him. The shepherd immediately obeyed. “Well, congratulations. When is she due?”
My laugh came out strangled. “Due? She’s due, ah—”
“In two weeks,” Basia quickly finished.
“Or…sooner,” I amended as Ginger began wiggling again. “She really wants out.” I looked pointedly at Basia.
Luckily the guard just nodded. “My wife carried low, too.”
I gave him my best grimace and waddled past him.
Gwen was already at the elevator mashing the button to the penthouse with all her strength, as if it might make the elevator move faster.
When the doors dinged open, we tumbled inside, barely maintaining composure until the metal sealed us off from the world.
Basia broke first, wheezing with laughter. “Oh my God. Carried low. Are you kidding me?”
Gwen doubled over. “You even rubbed your stomach like you meant it, Lexi.”
“You make a very unusual pregnant woman,” Gray choked out. She couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard. Tears were leaking from her eyes. I tried not to be insulted that they were laughing at me.
“This was your plan, guys. I was simply trying walk normally past another dog while clutching a fifty-pound one against my stomach.”
As if knowing we were talking about her, Ginger poked her nose through a fold in the poncho. I looked down at her, and despite the absurdity of our situation, I couldn’t help smiling.
“I hope you know you’re an awful lot of trouble,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “Furry, smelly trouble.”
Ginger’s tail gave a small thump under the fabric. Apparently, she already knew that.
The moment the door to the penthouse shut behind us, we exhaled like a choir of deflating balloons.
“Operation Smuggle Ginger complete,” Gray said with a satisfied smile. “Nobody saw anything. No arrests, no alarms. I call that a win for fun.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Just get her off me.”
Gwen peeled off the poncho and tossed in on the back of the couch.
Basia and Gray started unwinding the shawl.
Gray caught Ginger before she fell and set her down gently on the carpet.
Ginger stretched, her fur a little rumpled but no worse for wear.
She shook a couple of times, like she’d just gotten out of the bath, and then started wagging her tail.
“Good girl,” Basia cooed, scratching her behind the ears. “You’re a natural criminal, just like your mommy.”
“I am not her mommy,” I protested. “And I’m not a criminal, either.”
Basia gave me a sweet smile. “Sure, card shark. Whatever you say.”
I stretched, raising my hands above my head, and then rolled my back and shoulders until the feeling came back into them again.
“I think we should celebrate the successful mission with room-service pizza and wine,” Gray said. “But water for you, since you’re the only one actually pregnant here,” she said to Basia. “You in, Lexi?”
“Pizza and wine? Yes, but only after I disinfect,” I said, already backing toward the bathroom. “Maybe you all forgot I’ve been wearing a dog as outerwear. And make my pizza cheese, please.”
I used the facilities and scrubbed my hands twice. When I opened the door, Ginger was waiting there for me. “Seriously?” I leaned on the doorjamb. “We need to discuss personal space.”
She wagged once and sat directly on my feet.
I changed my clothes to make sure I was hair-free and returned to the living room.
Forty minutes later, we sprawled on the huge sectional, pizza boxes on the coffee table, shoes off, watching a crime thriller.
Ginger, naturally, had glued herself to my side even while accepting bites of pizza from the other girls.
Every time I shifted, she shifted. When I reached for my wine, she rested her chin on my knee. When I sighed, she sighed louder.
“She’s obsessed with you,” Basia observed.
“I think she’s plotting something,” I said. “This is not devotion. It’s reconnaissance.”
Gray snorted and Ginger tilted her head at me, as if weighing the truth of that. I stared directly into her brown eyes. “Who just materializes out of the woods, picks a random human, and hitchhikes to a casino? Where did you come from, Ginger?”
The dog immediately rose and jumped off the couch, padding toward Basia’s and Gwen’s room.
We watched her stalk off. “Well, looks like she didn’t want to answer my question,” I said.
Gwen shrugged. “You probably insulted her.”
“Please, she’s a dog,” I countered. “She has no idea what I’m saying.”
I stretched out a bit more now that I didn’t have a dog on top of me and became engrossed in the TV show. Then suddenly Ginger reappeared, carrying a tube of lipstick in her mouth. She padded straight over to me and set it delicately at my feet.
I sat straight up. “Lipstick? Is she giving me makeup advice?”
Basia leaned forward, frowning. “Hey, that’s my lipstick. She must have dug that out of my purse.”
“Was your purse open?” I asked Basia.
“Probably,” she admitted.
“Well, we may have a klepto dog on our hands, so I suggest zipping up everything.” We stared at the lipstick, then at the Ginger, who sat patiently staring at me as if asking me to do something with the lipstick.
“What are you trying to tell us, Lassie?” Gray mused. “That Lexi needs to wear more makeup?”
If dogs could roll their eyes, I would swear Ginger did. Then she gave a sigh and trotted off again.
Baffled, we watched her go.
“If she brings back a candle, I’m calling an exorcist,” Basia said.
A minute later, Ginger returned with a plastic apple from the decorative fruit bowl. She dropped it neatly beside the lipstick.
“Lipstick and fruit,” Gwen said. “Okay, what the heck does that mean?”
“She’s making a stash to take with her to the shelter?” I suggested.
Ginger gave an audible huff as we stared at her.
“I think she’s trying to tell us something,” Basia said.
“With a tube of lipstick and a plastic apple?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Basia said and started petting Ginger. “What are you trying to tell us, you adorable, sweet doggie?” she asked in a weird singsong voice.
Gray tilted her head, studying the dog. “Lipstick and an apple…what do they have in common?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Unless she’s hungry and doesn’t know lipstick isn’t for eating. Maybe the lipstick smells good and she wants to eat it.”
Gray snorted. “She had plenty of pizza. I don’t think she’s hungry.”
“Maybe she is trying to tell us something,” I murmured. Something felt off.
Ginger, apparently, wasn’t done yet. She trotted off again, nosing through the corner by the armchair, and came back dragging a folded throw blanket.
She dropped it squarely in front of me and sat.
A tube of lipstick. A plastic apple. A blanket.
Then she looked up expectantly, tail wagging once, as if awaiting applause.
“What…the heck?” I asked.
We all stared at Ginger, who had eyes only for me, like she was pleading for me to figure it out.
“Maybe she’s nesting?” Basia offered.
“With an apple and lipstick?” Gwen said. “I get the blanket, but the other stuff doesn’t make sense.”
“She’s a dog,” Gray replied, waving a hand. “It only has to make sense to her.”
Gwen furrowed her brow as she looked at Ginger. “Maybe she’s curating a vibe.”
“A vibe?” I repeated as I studied the strange pile at my feet. Lipstick. Apple. Blanket. It felt almost like a coded message. “She’s a dog. Do dogs vibe?”
“Dogs can vibe,” Gwen insisted.
We spent several more minutes on unproductive speculation and several wild theories before we gave up.
“How about we just agree that she’s eccentric,” Gray declared. “And we love that for her anyway.”
I wasn’t sure about the love part, but eccentric seemed to fit, so I went with it. What else could it be?