Dachshund to Death by Wilson C.B

Author:Wilson, C.B.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I had no problem finding the baking tent after exiting through another strategically camouflaged door into the main hotel. I just listened for the barking. Seriously, the noise amplified the closer I got. My head pounding, I finally fumbled for my earplugs. Hotel guests had to be infuriated. Somehow I’d be blamed for this racket. I knew it.

On my last visit to the beachside baking tent, I’d found Noel. Needless to say, I hadn’t noticed the fresh pine-scented holiday garland draped from the eight poles forming the tent’s peaks. I had to admit that the festiveness lightened the atmosphere.

The seven contestants, all dressed in dark pants and white chef’s coats with a gingerbread pattern, milled about in their baking-ready cooking stations, except for Eve. She slumped on a folding chair, her grief poorly hidden behind paparazzi-proof dark glasses.

Sandy’s sister, Britney, pushed through the group of event judges, who had closed ranks to avoid contact with her opportunistic microphone. Her cameraman hung back with the other reporters, wisely waiting for his cue.

The ten wannabe-gingerbread-house-resident dogs, dressed in vote-for-me attire, looked for trouble on the red carpet. Not a plush Hollywood runway, but a basic dog show run. I keenly felt the absence of Renny, the Queen Cavalier. No way she’d have allowed this chaos. More than ever, I prayed her puppies would arrive soon and be healthy. Which left order entirely up to me.

Sandy stopped me two steps inside the tent, with her tablet in one hand and the other twisting her ponytail. Foreboding stirred.

“Where are the Dachshunds?” she asked.

I understood without actually hearing her words. I removed my earplugs. “In Noel’s office.” Sandy, rattled? It had to be bad. “Don’t worry. I haven’t lost them. What’s wrong?”

“I know. It’s just…”

Puppy pandemonium drowned out her reply. A Frenchie lunged for Misha the Fashionista’s froufrou frock, and the rest of the contestants took sides. The ensuing comic scrum included both humans and canines and looked so much like an exploding holiday ribbon bag that I wanted to laugh.

I didn’t. The incessant barking made the absurdity of the situation far from humorous. I couldn’t hear myself think. I felt like the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights until the fifty or so spectators milling around the dog walk turned the evil eye on me. Not one of them was willing to take odds on my ability to rein in order.

Enough! I marched to the center of the stage. Hands on my hips, I yelled, “Quiet!”

My bellow worked. That the chaos paused shocked me as much as everyone else. I realized that the secret to taking charge wasn’t about conquering my fear of failure but knowing that failure wasn’t an option. The simplicity of it boggled my mind.

All eyes focused on me, I continued issuing orders: “All competitors to the starting area.” I noted the time. “We will begin in five minutes.”

Mumbled criticism spread across the tent. Not that I cared who called me “another bossy Barklay.” Likened to my aunt Char? Best compliment ever. I pressed the stopwatch feature on my Google watch.

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