Diamond In The Ruff by Cindy Goyette

“I’m suspicious of people who don’t like dogs, but I trust a dog when it doesn’t like a person”
Bill Murray

The massive bridge from mainland Washington to the village of Orca Cove lay before me like the highway to hell. Not that Orca Cove’s a bad place. Quite the contrary. It’s just that heights scared the bejesus out of me—and it was going to take every bit of courage I could muster to cross it.

The sky was hazy as the sun threatened to burn off oppressive dark gray clouds. Spikes at the top of the bridge disappeared into the fast-moving fog. The looming structure reminded me of green metal toothpicks, supporting a wobbly death trap in the sky. It took my breath away and not in a good way.

Come on, Charlie. Put on your big girl pants and suck it up.

I tried to concentrate on the quaint town on the other side and the refuge it would provide. But all I could think of as I navigated my rental car across the bridge was that the Pacific Northwest was long overdue for an earthquake. Wouldn’t it be my luck to be on this bridge when it happened? I imagined I would feel suspended in the air forever during the plunge, but death would come quickly as the ice-cold water below swallowed us whole.

“I know,” I said, glancing down at my buff Cocker Spaniel, Noah, fast asleep on the seat beside me. “Stop being so dramatic.” But as I white-knuckled our way across the bridge, Noah was oblivious. He continued to sleep off the meds I’d given him to make the flight from New Jersey more tolerable. His snore reminded me of what an overweight lumberjack might sound like after a few too many beers. Hard to believe such a rattling noise came out of a twenty-two-pound fur ball, so adorable people often mistook him for Lady from Lady and the Tramp. A thorn in my side, but I was prone to overreacting when it came to my boy.

Four miles seemed a long time to contemplate one’s death. Cars behind me honked as I drove just under the speed limit, my eyes intent on the few feet of road in front of me. I tried to stifle the hysteria that rose in my chest and choked me.

Deep breaths, Charlie.

I did my best to ignore the impatient drivers behind us. Fate threw in a pack of serious bicyclists, making the bridge even more narrow. I focused on the toned calves pumping the petals on the bike of the woman in front of me, while wishing there was another way onto the island. But my unemployed status and dwindling bank account didn’t allow for luxuries like a private boat or seaplane.

Exiting the bridge, I let out a long breath. “That was stressful,” I said to Noah.

More snoring. Well, it was terrifying for me.

The sleepy town always made me feel like I’d entered a time warp and had surfaced in the 1950s. Quaint buildings, with brightly painted mismatched architecture for each mom-and-pop shop, boutique, and restaurant lined the streets. Because orcas frequented the area and drew many tourists, everything had a nautical theme, and murals of killer whales and other sea life decorated the buildings. Despite its appeal, the town remained a best-kept secret, and even during the height of the season, crowds were few and far between.

Couples walked hand-in-hand down sidewalks, others pushed strollers, and many had a canine friend on a leash. I knew from previous visits that many of the residents were retired, and there was a high population of artists on the island.

Back on solid ground and with this storybook town before me, calm released like water from a dam, washing my trepidation out to sea.

Not wanting to visit my aunt empty handed, I stopped at the town bakery and bought two giant molasses cookies, my aunt’s favorite.

As I started up the hill to Aunt Jo-Jo’s house, I felt excited at the prospect of seeing her again. She was not only my favorite relative, but she’d also been my savior growing up when my mom went off the deep end—which was more often than I’d like to admit. I spent snippets of my childhood on this island and some of my best memories were of my time here. But I’d been remiss, having not visited her since my uncle passed away about five years ago. Life had gotten in the way. First, there was college and then the life-changing decision I’d made to leave my tedious corporate job for the police academy. Like most people my age, I was perpetually broke, and travel wasn’t in the cards.

But my aunt seemed to understand, and we kept in touch through email and weekly phone calls. She was still my sounding board when dealing with my mom’s antics. Those calls kept us close, but there was nothing like face-to-face time.

Aunt Jo-Jo’s Craftsman house perched on the hillside like a proud bird overlooking its kingdom. From it, she had a fantastic view of the water and the, gulp, bridge. The house was painted royal blue with white shutters. Colorful gardens surrounded the property, and a small dog park flanked the west side of the house. A banner reading Future Home of Orca Cove’s First Agility Course stretched across the fence. A handful of dogs frolicked on lush grass while owners sat on benches in animated conversation.

A more modern structure sat behind the home, painted the same shade of blue. A hotel for dogs–Wiggle Butt Manor.

Ten individual rooms were decorated with children’s furniture, on which the four-legged guests slept. Each room had a theme. There was a One Hundred, and One Dalmatians suite, a Lassie room, and one had French Bulldogs and a Paris theme.

I parked in the gravel driveway behind a mud-splattered Jeep Cherokee with an I love Golden Retrievers bumper sticker peeking out from beneath the dirt.

Rousing Noah with a quick belly rub, I got out of the car and stretched. The chill of the late September air reminded me that fall was around the corner. “Come on, Boo.” I slapped my thigh.

Noah’s flowing ears swayed as he jumped to the ground. He followed me like a shadow as I walked up to the pet hotel and rapped on the door. When no one answered, I opened it and stuck my head inside. “Hello?”

Barking erupted from the back room when we entered. The lobby held a desk and two overstuffed chairs, along with a giant bucketful of dog toys. A collage of photos taken of guests over the years hung on the wall. Noah gave me a look that said: what the heck, I thought I was the only one.

“You’ve led a sheltered life,” I said. “You’re not one of a kind.”

Noah was not a “dog person,” and he couldn’t care less about the canines eager to greet him. He glanced toward the barking dogs, yawned, and then leaped onto a chair and curled into a compact ball. I opened the door that led to the pet rooms and made my way down the hall. A wall of guest suites was to my left. Dogs of all sizes and colors stuck their noses out of low, barred windows to greet me. I bent down and said hello to each of them. I didn’t want to be rude.

The door at the end of the hall opened as Martha stepped inside. “Oh, dear!” She patted her chest as if she needed to restart her heart. “Charlie! You scared me half to death.”

Martha had worked with Aunt Jo-Jo for as long as I could remember. They argued constantly, but they’d take a bullet for each other. Martha’s curly gray hair looked like a startled ferret on her head, and her glasses were askew. She wore faded overalls and lime green Crocs.

“Sorry to scare you,” I said. “We just got here. Is everything all right?”

“One of the dogs is AWOL,” Martha said. “That teenager we hired must have failed to latch the kennel, and when I opened the hotel door, the slippery rascal bolted.”

I grabbed a leash off the hook. “What’s the breed?”

Martha scratched her head. “Basic brown dog. Size of a lab, soul of a scoundrel. Answers to Maya, if she’d ever bother.”

“I’m on it,” I said.

Heading back to my car, I called for Noah to join me. Not buying into the urgency, he lumbered off the chair and followed. Back in the rental car, we set off down the street, driving up and down the hilly roads that made up the neighborhood. Charming houses had well-manicured lawns, and vibrant flowers were abundant.

I watched the road while quickly scanning the bushes for a hiding dog. I wished I would have asked how long Maya had been missing. A dog like that could make it to the main road in minutes. I prayed a car wouldn’t hit the runaway.

I soon spotted a tan blur leap over a six-foot fence three streets down, disappearing into a backyard. Slamming on the brakes, my arm automatically jerked out to stop Noah from flying off the seat. I told him to stay, grabbed the leash, and jumped out of the car. I was five-foot-ten, and for once, I didn’t curse my height.

Standing on my toes, I could easily see over the fence and into the yard. The dog chased a flock of chickens while a middle-aged woman dressed in a low-cut top and shorts that might have fit her twenty years ago yelled at Maya to stop. Yielding a broom, she chased the dog in circles with little effect.

“I’m here to help,” I yelled over the fence. “Maya, come here!”

If the dog could flip me off, she would have. The look she gave me had the same result. Maya was on a tear.

“Do something,” the woman said, near tears.

I put my foot onto a nearby wheelbarrow, pulled myself up on my forearms, and swung my leg over the fence like they’d taught me in the police academy. Dropping into a crouch on the other side, I straightened and stepped between Maya and a chicken seconds before what would become the last moment of the feathered creature’s life.

“Come here.” I leaned down to the dog’s level and motioned her forward.

But Maya had other ideas. She charged at me, knocking me on my backside before pushing off me like a diving board, ready for round two.

I struggled for breath as I reached up, and almost caught her mid-flight, but she dodged me, leaving me laying on the ground flat on my back.

I got to my knees, then staggered to my feet. “Okay,” I said, out of breath. “You win, you slippery devil.”

I swear she laughed at me.

Out of ideas, I looked at the woman still wielding the broom like a baseball bat, and the chicken, who ruffled her feathers as if she was trying to pull herself together. They didn’t look impressed by my ungraceful moves.

Apparently satisfied that she’d proven her point, Maya walked slowly over to me and ducked her head, allowing me access to her collar. Getting a firm hold of it, I gave Maya a nod. She’d earned my respect. Pushing my hair out of my face, I turned to the woman. “Sorry about that. We’ll get out of your way.”

Neither the woman nor the chicken looked particularly grateful.

Dragging the dog, who continued to lunge at the flock behind us, we made our way back to the car, where Noah still snored undisturbed. Yin and Yang, I thought as I shoved Maya into the backseat.

“Wait,” the woman called, running toward me.

Keys in hand, I paused by the door.

“You dropped this.” She handed me my phone, covered in mud and what I guessed was chicken poop.

I carefully took it, holding it by the corners, trying not to gag. “Awe, thanks.”

“And thanks to you, too, Maya,” I said under my breath.

I got into the car and looked in the rear-view mirror, about to back out of the space, when I spied Maya biting down on one of the cookies I’d planned to bring to my aunt. A twinkle sparkled in her eyes, and she held my gaze as she swallowed.

So, this was how it was going to be?

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Excerpt from Diamond In The Ruff by Cindy Goyette. Copyright 2025 by Cindy Goyette. Reproduced with permission from Cindy Goyette. All rights reserved.