Page 36 of A Spot of Trouble
Opal rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just go ahead and admit that you want to be home in time to watchJeopardy!so you and Larry Sims will have something to chat about if he ever leaves his room?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mavis picked a leftover piece of pepperoni from her plate and offered it to Nibbles, who took it with her tiny front teeth as if she were doing Mavis a favor.
Violet felt an immediate, intense longing for her Dalmatian. Sprinkles accompanied her almost everywhere, and the owner of Island Pizza kindly looked the other way when a certain retiree snuck her minuscule dog inside the restaurant in a walker basket, but due to an unfortunate incident involving flying pizza dough, Sprinkles had been deemedpersona non grataaround here.
“Please. We’ve all heard theJeopardy!theme song blaring from behind your door every evening like clockwork,” Ethel said.
Opal nodded. “It’s true.”
Violet bit back a smile. “Whatever the reason, I’m happy to give you three a ride home. Sprinkles is probably wondering where we are.”
Since Sprinkles wasn’t welcome at Island Pizza, Violet had left her dog in Mavis’s room at the senior center, glued to the vast array of satellite programming options, most notably DOG-TV. Then Violet had driven their foursome to the restaurant in her cupcake truck.Jeopardy!wasn’t exactly late-night viewing, so she’d need to drag her feet on the way back to the beach house if she wanted to continue avoiding her father, but she definitely didn’t want to get in the way of elderly true love in the making.
Sprinkles was still riveted upon their return, sprawled on Mavis’s little sofa with her chin propped on a throw pillow—Dalmatian relaxation at its finest. When Mavis changed the channel just in time to catch the opening bars of the Jeopardy theme song, Violet’s dog signaled her displeasure by hopping down from the sofa and pawing at the door.
Violet could take a hint, plus she didn’t want to interrupt Mavis’s new game show ritual—which, judging by the way she planted her recliner mere inches from the television screen—was intense. So once Sprinkles’s pink collar was safely clipped to her cupcake leash, they said their goodbyes and headed home.
On the way to the crest, Violet pulled her silver cupcake truck into the narrow strip of sand-covered pavement that served as the parking lot for the dog beach. She stood in the shallows with gentle waves lapping at her feet while Sprinkles chased the incoming tide and couldn’t help but wonder what Sam and Cinder were doing. Some sort of military-esque canine obedience drill, probably. Just the thought of it made Violet’s eyes roll. Was it really so awful that she wished Sprinkles would listen and behave because shewantedto? Because they had a relationship built on mutual love and respect?
Was she wishing for a miracle?
Maybe she was. She’d always thought of Sprinkles as spirited, and yes, her dog occasionally got into a spot of trouble, but nothing dire. She wasn’t Cujo dressed up in a Dalmatian costume, for goodness’ sake.
But today had been…not great. And now that Violet was alone on a quiet stretch of shore instead of in a noisy pizza restaurant planning her complete and total annihilation of Sam Nash, she was beginning to feel slightly terrible that her dog’s antics had caused the police department to lose the game. Surely, they’d bounce back and win the tournament. They had to.
As expected, Violet’s dad was sitting on the deck, staring out at the moonlit sea when she and Sprinkles slinked back home in shame. Violet was sort of glad he’d waited up for her, actually. Better to just face the music and get it over with.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring home a boxed pizza as a peace offering.
“Hi, Cupcake,” he said, smiling even though his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Violet felt a little pang in her chest at his use of her childhood nickname, which Ed March had adorably resurrected once Sweetness on Wheels had been born. “Can I sit with you for a minute?”
“Of course.”
Violet lowered herself into a rocking chair facing the water as Sprinkles greeted her dad, leaving a trail of wet paw prints on the deck.
“You two must have gone to the dog beach on the way home,” Dad said.
“We did.” Violet took a deep breath. “Listen, Dad. I want to talk about what happened at the softball game.”
He nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s talk.”
“I’m sorry.” Violet squeezed her eyes closed, and the tide roared in her ears. When she licked her lips, they tasted of salt and ocean spray.
Why did she feel like a kid again all of a sudden?
Dad finally turned to look at her, and his eyes narrowed. “Josh seems to think Sam Nash was involved somehow. You two aren’t…”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Violet didn’t blame him—not after the embarrassing Emmett episode.
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “No way. Never. Not in a million years.”
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying more. A simple no would have sufficed. Who was she trying to convince? Her father or herself?
Dad sighed. “Violet.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I promise. Sam ordered cupcakes, that’s all.”
