Page 18 of Worst in Show

AlCaponesGhost25: A true Chicagoan then.

SingerQueen: You?

AlCaponesGhost25: No I definitely need ketchup.

SingerQueen: Touché. I assume you’re here for the mob channel.

AlCaponesGhost25: Possibly.

SingerQueen: And to force riddles down the throat of unsuspecting strangers of course.

AlCaponesGhost25: Of course. Can’t help myself.

SingerQueen: I have the answer by the way.

AlCaponesGhost25: To life?!?! *surprised face emoji*

A laugh bubbles up my chest.

SingerQueen: I wish. No your Uber riddle. Al Capone = tax evader Anakin Skywalker = taxi Vader.

AlCaponesGhost25: *standing ovation*

SingerQueen: *takes a bow*

AlCaponesGhost25: I have met my match.

My face warms. I know it’s stupid, but that just made my day. I start a message to tell him so but erase it. Too personal. Then I start typing a good night but erase that too. Finally, I just send a smiley face before I close my laptop and set it aside. I should get to sleep anyway.

I pass right by the entry of Canine King Thursday morning on my way to the post office. In the process of simultaneously trying to make myself invisible and giraffing my neck to see through the open door, I almost trip on the curb. The store is coming together nicely. The counter has been wrapped in natural wood boards for a rustic look, the wall displays are up, and half the shelves are already stocked and organized by type and color. I hate to admit it, but it looks flawless.

“Finally stopping by to wish me welcome like the other neighbors?” a voice says behind me. His voice. “How do you like my window displays? I’m going for something less predictable, sort of bringing the outdoors inside.”

Behind the glass, large potted plants in woven baskets mix with artificial turf, fence segments, and crates of exclusively white and brown toys. Very design-y.

“It’s certainly unique for a pet store.” Some might even call it pretentious…

“Dog boutique. No need to bombard customers with all the colors of the rainbow like some sort of carnival attraction.”

I glance toward the colorful mishmash in Happy Paws’ windows. “You mean like our store.”

“Your words, not mi—”

Before he finishes his sentence, the electrician who’s up on a ladder hanging light fixtures swears loudly.

Leo hurries past me. “Is there a problem?”

“You could say that.” The man grunts as he makes his way down. “Those wires need to be replaced at the switch, all the way.” He gestures across the ceiling.

“What do you mean? Why?”

“The fire code wasn’t the same when this was built, and there’s some signs of rodent activity.”

Leo stiffens. “Rodents as in mice?”

“Yup.” The guy folds up his tool kit. “Is it okay if I leave the ladder?”

“You’re heading out? I thought you were finishing up today.”

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