Wednesday's Word: HOUND. The First Chapter of The Billionaire's Beagle

  Welcome to Wednesdays where I share an excerpt from one of my books using the previous day's word from the New York Times' game WORDLE. Yesterday's WORDLE was HOUND.

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CHAPTER 1

 

Wes stood in the hall outside his grandfather’s penthouse and worried at a hangnail while he tried to listen through the door. He caught snatches of the conversation: perpetual student, nose in a book, worthless. A bellboy with a room service cart rattled past, drowning out the hurtful words for an all-too-brief moment. Wes leaned against the wall and for maybe the first time since middle school, he wished for his mom. She knew how to stand up to his grandfather, but she mostly just avoided him. Wes lacked that ability. He sucked in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and rapped on the door.

The muffled conversation halted and footsteps padded across the floor. Lincoln, his grandfather’s attorney, opened the door. “Ah, Wes, my boy.” Lincoln extended his hand. “We were just talking about you.”

Wes blinked at the attorney and shook his pale, limp hand. The man never seemed to age. He’d been a senior citizen when Wes had first met him in high school when Wes’s dad had died, and now, nearly fifteen years later, he looked exactly the same: white hair, bushy eyebrows, red paisley bowtie. Maybe he’d been born a senior citizen.

Or maybe Lincoln was a vampire.

In which case, Wes should leave.

But out of familial concern tinged with the promise of a billion-dollar inheritance, Wes followed the attorney into the room, where he found his grandfather sitting in a wheelchair before a picture window overlooking the ocean. Boats bobbed on the horizon. And although Wes wished he could likewise sail away into the sunset, he took the chair across from his grandfather and folded his arms and legs.

His grandfather eyed him through the reading glasses perched on his sharp nose. Wes knew that he took after his mom’s side of the family, making him wonder if looking at his grandfather was like peering into a reverse mirror, giving him a glimpse of the man he’d one day become. A chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning passed over him.

Today, his grandfather wore a Japanese silk robe over a pair of black pajamas. Wes couldn’t remember ever seeing his grandfather in anything other than a suit. The casual apparel was a warning.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come.” Even with leather slippers on his feet, his grandfather still managed to be formal and stuffy.

“Lincoln told me you weren’t feeling well. I’m sorry to—”

Grandfather cut him off and shot Lincoln an annoyed glance. “I’m fine!”

“Good. That’s good…” Wes refused to look at his watch, even though a part of him itched to time the encounter so he could mentally prepare himself for the next one. This was a trick his dad had taught him. “You can do anything for ten minutes,” Dad had said.

So not true. You can’t hold your breath for ten minutes, as his father had proved when his car plunged off that bridge on the Northern Coast. Strangely, Wes’s mom and his grandfather blamed each other for Wes’s dad’s death, even though neither of them had been anywhere near Big Sur.

“My recent…episode—”

Heart attack, Wes wanted to correct him, but he bit his lip as his grandfather continued.

“—has given me pause.” The old man, clearly exhausted, leaned back in his chair, dangled one hand over the side, and rested his fingers on the head of Betty, a fat beagle who stuck so closely to Grandfather’s side she could have been another limb. “And made me reflect on the heavier matters of life.”

He studied Wes through his thick bifocals that reminded Wes of the all-seeing bespectacled eyes in The Great Gatsby that may or may not have been meant to represent God staring down upon and judging American society as a moral wasteland…just like his grandfather was judging him now.

“I have a favor to ask.” His grandfather’s voice cracked with pain.

Wes sat up. He’d never seen his grandfather emotional—even at his beloved son-in-law’s funeral. And his grandfather had most certainly never asked for a favor before—at least not from Wes.

“I want you to look after Betty.” He spoke as if the words caused him great anguish.

“Excuse me?” Whatever he had expected from his grandfather, this was not it.

“She’s getting fat.”

Wes gazed at the dog snoring beside his grandfather’s chair. Betty flicked one ear as if she knew she was being discussed but couldn’t rouse herself to intercede. Wes wished she would. He was certain the dog’s opinion carried much more weight than his own. And surely Betty wouldn’t/couldn’t think this…visit…please let it be short-term…a good idea.

“What do you know about beagles?” Grandfather steepled his fingers and gazed at Wes.

Wes’s thoughts scrambled. “They sniff out drugs at airports?”

“Yes. They have a powerful sense of smell.”

If that were true, Wes wondered how Betty, a fart factory, could stand being around herself.

 

“But there is so much more to them. Did you know beagles can be traced back to Ancient Greece? And it’s thought that in the eleventh century, William the Conqueror brought the Talbot HOUND to Britain. The Talbot is the ancestor of the modern-day beagle, which can run prey to ground. They’re hunting dogs, meant to roam free and wild.” Grandfather cocked his head. “Men are not meant to run free and wild. The animal-man is an enemy to God.”

 

What did that even mean? Was he referring to the work of zoologist Desmond Morris, who argued man was not a fallen angel, but a risen ape?

 

 

Grandfather must have read his mind because he answered the unspoken question. “My greatest wish is to see you settle down and shoulder responsibility. Get a wife! Father children! Teach them to love and serve God.”

Huh. Wes guessed that his grandfather hadn’t read Morris’s The Naked Ape. Which was disappointing since Wes would have liked to talk about it with him.

“But since I can’t force you to marry,” Grandfather continued, “I’m giving you my dog.” He wagged his finger in front of Wes’s face. “You two need each other.”

Wes scrambled for the right words. “I’m sure Betty would disagree.”

“She doesn’t have a choice!” Grandfather barked. “And neither do you! I’m going to Hacienda Hot Springs. It’s a healing and recovery center. My doctors think it best. Betty can’t come. They don’t allow pets.” His tone told Wes that his grandfather had tried to persuade the hospital otherwise. “This, of course, is a short-term arrangement.”

“I hope so,” Wes breathed out. “For Betty’s sake,” he tacked on. “I’m sure she’ll miss you.”

“Are you still living on that floating coffin?”

“The Seabird, yes.”

“You’ll move in here while I’m gone.”

Wes glanced around at the lush penthouse filled with his grandfather’s antiques and mementos. A giant stuffed swordfish hung above the dining room sideboard and a moose head sat over the fireplace mantel. All these dead trophies spoke of violence. Wes preferred living with books and live creatures…other than Betty, of course.

“Not here.” Once again, Grandfather read his mind. “You can have your own suite.”

Wes let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to be surrounded by his grandfather’s things. Already, he felt his youth slipping away after only the five—or was it ten?— minutes he had spent in his grandfather’s home.

“I don’t need to tell you that if anything should happen to Betty while she’s in your care, you will be immediately disinherited.”

“Huh, what?” Wes tensed.

Grandfather beckoned Lincoln, who stepped forward and placed a briefcase on a side table, clicked it open, and withdrew a sizeable legal document. “You must learn to be a wise and capable steward.”

Wes knew that he should be offended that his grandfather didn’t think he was responsible enough to care for a dog, but since he shared his grandfather’s doubts, he couldn’t muster any outrage. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll take care of my dog,” Grandfather said through clenched teeth.

“Of course!” Wes eyed Betty. The beagle was so fat she could hardly waddle. How much trouble could she be? And staying at the hotel would be okay. He could have room service deliver his meals. Maybe this would be good—give him more time to finish his screenplay about the Civil War.

“I’m not asking you to oversee the hotels.”

Relief whistled through Wes. After his grandfather’s return from the recovery center, Wes would take that research trip to Gettysburg.

“At least not yet.”

Images of the Pennsylvania countryside vanished. “What? Aren’t there managers?” He stumbled over his words and thoughts. “I mean, I don’t want to interfere…or jeopardize anyone’s job.”

“While I’m gone, you’re going to live here at the hotel and work at every position, starting with bellboy.”

“But I did that before college!”

“And if I remember correctly, you weren’t very good at it.”

“Look, that thing with Mrs. Hendricks was not my fault. The judge threw out her case—”

“There should never have been a whiff of scandal!” A vein throbbed in Grandfather’s neck.

“You’re right,” Wes backpedaled, eager to calm his grandfather. The last thing he wanted was for his grandfather to die and leave Wes in charge of…anything. “I should have avoided her.”

“Wrong!” Grandfather struggled to stand.

Wes didn’t know what to say. With his eyes he pleaded for Lincoln to do something, but Lincoln stood like a stiff sentinel.

Grandfather collapsed back into his chair, defeated by his own weakness. “You’ll be a bellboy, a valet, a waiter, a member of the housekeeping staff, a security guard...”

“Wait. While I’m doing all this, what’s going to happen to Betty?”

“What do you mean?” Grandfather growled.

“What’s she going to do?”

His grandfather clearly hadn’t thought of this. “She can stay in your room, but you’ll need to make sure she’s well taken care of in your absence.”

“Of course.”

“And I don’t need to remind you that there are security cameras throughout the hotel. I’ll be watching.”

“Right,” Wes said, even though he secretly thought the entire situation was completely wrong.