“So you did this? You deliberately sold Arthur this devil locket? But why?”

  “No devil is involved, dear, and I had to do it. He was going to buy you a ring!”

  Jen gaped at the other woman. “What? That would’ve been perfect! And none of this—this ‘other’—would have happened.”

  Mrs. Walley was shaking her head sadly. “It would have been worse. I’ve seen you and Arthur together numerous times, Jen. I can see things, sense things. To put it in contemporary terms, the vibe between the two of you was all wrong. All the empathy, all the real affection, was one-sided. No, that’s not quite true. You were both in love. You with Arthur, and Arthur with Arthur. He’s not the right one for you, Jen. Deep down, you’ve known that for years, but you still kept holding onto him. You were the bright candle, and he was the candle box, and he kept closing in on you. He would have snuffed you out, Jen. Your inner light was dying.”

  Looking on, a confused Stuart began to whine. It reminded Jen that she was not alone.

  “She said ‘inner’, Stuart. Not ‘dinner’.” Jen turned back to the older woman. “Suppose I throw logic and reason to the winds and accept everything you say at face value, especially your take on Arthur and I. What about Stuart? Are you responsible for his transformation, too?”

  Mrs. Walley’s tone turned stern. “No, dear. That was all you. Sometimes things do not go, um, as intended. I had no idea who you might prefer as a real alternative to Arthur. You wished for a guy like your dog. Then you went to swapping pictures, using not one of another person but of the same individual you had already wished for, causing even bigger problems. The locket is not sentient. It just responds.” Her gaze turned to Stuart, who looked sad and lost. “Boy, did it ever respond!”

  Holding out the locket so she could look down on it, Jen mumbled as much to herself as to Mrs. Walley. “Jewelry like this should come with a warning label. You know. ‘Be careful what you wish for’ or somethin’”

  “Don’t deviate, Jen. You miss the point. The purpose of the locket is to help its owner find their own spark, reach their own destiny. It’s all about you; not those around you.”

  Jen reminded herself why she was there, why she and Stuart had come to this place. She still wasn’t sure that finding out it was owned by someone she knew was a plus or a minus. Time, and perhaps another better considered wish, would tell.

  “Mrs. Walley, we came here today hoping someone would know what the deal is with this locket and switch Stuart back. That’s all. Everything else, about Arthur and I, has to take a back seat to that. For both my sake and for Stuart’s. Is it possible?”

  The older woman considered. “I don’t know. The locket is still the locket. I suppose it can do it, but….”

  Stuart cut in. “Jen, Harold says you already made a wish. So you can’t wish me back to my real self.”

  She looked sharply at Mrs. Walley. “Is that true?”

  The shop owner looked contrite. “This is true. I remember the woman who gave me the locket telling me that. One wish per person.”

  Jen refused to accept it. She could not accept it. Doing so would mean a lifetime of awkwardness both for her and for Stuart. She could not vouch for herself, but he certainly deserved better. He had coped with his transformation as well as one could expect, but had never made any secret of his unhappiness.

  “Oh, c’mon. There’s gotta be something. It’s not fair.” She pondered a moment. “What about the woman, the friend, who originally gave it to you? Wouldn’t she maybe know something?”

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Walley admitted. “Unfortunately, she passed on several years ago. And as far as I know she never used the locket on herself or anyone else. I don’t know that for a fact, of course. She might have used it to wish herself into a younger body. A horse, maybe. ”

  Stuart winced. As if he weren’t suffering enough as it was.

  “Of course,” the older woman continued, “there might be a solution. A way around the incontestable restriction. I’m bound not to tell you what that is. The friend who gave me the locket made me promise.” Holding up a hand she wiggled her fingers at Jen as if to suggest the answer was close at hand and not all that difficult to discern. Jen’s expression twisted.

  “You’re not gonna tell me, right? What is this? Sorceral charades?”

  Using one index finger, the other woman wagged it from side to side like a windshield wiper. She was smiling, though whether encouragingly or at Jen’s obtuseness her visitor could not say.

  Revelation struck a moment later. “I’ve got it!” Whirling, Jen jabbed a finger at Stuart. “You’re gonna make the wish!”

  Mrs. Walley was delighted, though her tone was a touch sardonic. “What a great idea! Who would have thought of it so quickly!” She looked toward the counter. “Harold, these kids today are so smart.” Responding, the dog called Angel barked approvingly.

  A great rush of relief passed through Jen. Or maybe it was just gas. Either way, it appeared that a means had been struck to return the world, or at least this tiny portion of it, to something resembling normality.

  “Let’s just do it now and end this nightmare.”

  Standing straight and still nearby, Stuart waited for Jen to proceed. Lifting the chain holding the locket over her head, she paused a moment to marvel once more at its seeming ordinariness. Then she popped it open and removed the picture of the human Stuart. Fumbling in her wallet she chose a favorite photo of his canine self and used her fingers to carefully tear and crop it down to a size that would fit in the locket. Pressing it into the open compartment in the locket, she snapped it shut. As she slipped the chain over his head Stuart followed her every move. The locket came to rest against his upper chest.

  She stepped back, suddenly overwhelmed by an unexpected rush of emotion.

  “Stuart, I’m really gonna miss this version of you. Yes, you brought more than a little craziness into this world, but you also brought with you all your unconditional love. I will miss the human form of that. But I do miss my handsome, furry, four-legged Stuart Louis. I know you’ve been miserable and confused like this. That’s been the hardest part of it all: seeing you so unhappy. I think it’s time you were happy again. So—are you ready? Let’s make that wish.”

  Reaching up, he took hold of the locket in one hand, stared hard at it and—let it drop.

  “No.”

  She gaped at him. “No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “I mean not yet.” The look he gave her was little different from those he had favored her with when in his natural form. “I miss my dog life more than you know and want nothing more than for it to be as it was before. But there’s one wish that a few little dogs I know need to come true before I make this one, and I can’t make that happen if I change back.”

  As if preordained, Jen’s phone rang. Taking it out of her purse, she looked at it for a moment as if she had grabbed something alien. Then she recognized the number, and answered.

  “Mom?” Lowering her voice, she whispered to Stuart and Mrs. Walley. “It’s my mother.”

  “We guessed, dear.” Scooping up Angel, the older woman said nothing more. But her smile was eloquent.

  Looking at the phone, Jen watched as her mother panned the camera around the dog park. There were quick glimpses of blue sky and green grass. As her mother leveled the phone Jen was able to see construction workers, a couple of bulldozers, at least one large but still empty dump truck, two or possibly three mobile TV news teams and their support vans, and a highly vocal crowd of protesters apparently being led by Jim the guitarist.

  “You better get your butt over here to the dog park right now,” Sylvia was telling her daughter. “They’re about to start digging and knocking down trees. It’s all hands on deck.”

  “Okay, mom. Understood. We’re on our way.”

  Stuart was already heading for the door, the locket resting innocently against his upper chest. “Let’s go.”

  Jen started to follow, then turned back toward the shop owner. “Thanks, Mrs. Walley. I think we know what to do. See ya at the park?”

  The older woman smiled. “We’re already there.”

  Jen was not sure how many traffic laws she broke driving to the park. She knew it was likely in double figures but as long as she wasn’t stopped she did not care. Finding a space was more of a problem and she ended up double-parking behind a Smart car. Given the diminutive size of the tiny vehicle parked head-in in front of her, maybe no one would notice. At this point she didn’t care. Let them tow her. Far more was at stake now than a simple fine and retrieval fee.

  She saw Cindy almost immediately because she was on camera with Sanchez, the reporter from channel 2. Not wanting to interrupt the interview, she led Stuart on past. Focused on the reporter’s questions, Cindy didn’t see her friend, either. Both voices carried clearly in the afternoon air.

  “I’m Maria Sanchez and we are live! As you can see, the people of Newport’s oldest dog park are taking a stand. We are here with Cindy Shapiro, owner of a dog-infused café, The Barkery. Cindy, what’s going on?”

  Despite the microphone shoved toward her face, Cindy kept her poise. Thanks to the time it had taken for the news team to set up their equipment she’d had a few moments not only to compose herself but to prepare responses to some potential questions. So the first one did not catch her off guard.

  “Thanks, Maria. The Barkery is a wonderful café and meeting place for dogs and their people. We’ve been here a number of years now and I can safely say that our reputation reaches far beyond Newport and its environs. We are open Monday through….”

  Having conducted innumerable similar interviews in her career, Sanchez knew when to cut off a self-aggrandizing speaker. Shapiro had already been allowed more than enough time to promote herself and her business.

  “I mean, what is happening here today at the dog park.” With a sweeping gesture she took in the crowd. “You and your own dog Cupcake have been coming here yourselves for many years, am I correct?”

  “Oh for sure,” Cindy replied with enthusiasm. “Like so many other local dog owners it is our home away from home. It’s especially important for those near here who live in condos and apartments and don’t have access to a yard. Not everyone who lives in Newport is a millionaire, you know. But even millionaires bring their dogs into The Barkery, which is just a few blocks from here. It’s open weekdays from….”

  Passing by the interview, Jen couldn’t help overhearing and rolled her eyes. Oh god, Cindy always finds the camera….

  A familiar face stood out in the crowd and she waved. Espying her at nearly the same time, Sylvia waved back.

  “Hi honey! Hi Stuart!”

  While the noise of the crowd eliminated any truly quiet spaces, mother and daughter did manage to find a spot a little less frenetic than most.

  “Jen, I called Arthur and told him you’re mad and need to talk with him right now. He’s on his way.” She smiled.

  Jen did not. She was privately aghast. “Why did you do that? Why would you do that?”

  Sylvia was taken aback. “I’m trying to help here. His parents?” With a sweep of her arm she took in the dog park. “They’re not involved in this transaction.”

  Jen’s brow furrowed. “But—they’re Daly Enterprises. I thought for sure that….”

  “Not this time. Not on this development. It’s solely his project.”

  “I knew it.” Jen clenched her teeth. “They’re testing him. To see if he can handle a project like this on his own, including the controversy. They knew what they were doing all along.” Spotting another familiar figure, one surrounded by chanting, sign-wielding protesters, she broke away from her mother. “There’s Jim—I gotta talk to him.”

  Hanging back, Stuart watched her race toward the leader of the protesters. Standing beside him, Sylvia flashed a flirtatious wink. “Well, professor Stuart, let’s hope this works.”

  He returned the wink with a blink, then hurried to catch up to Jen. It was plain as he headed in their direction that she and Jim had already seen one another.

  “Jim, what’s going,?” Jen’s anxiety level rose another notch as a bulldozer started up nearby, the driver conversing with an on-site mechanic as they ran through a pre-dig checkout.

  His expression was grim. “Looks like they’re going to level the ground today. Take out the trees, the play tunnels—everything. When they get done there won’t be anything left but a flat dirt field. The city can’t do a thing. Only the developer can.”

  “The city, hmm?” She flashed him a sideways look. “Well, I guess you would know. You work for them.”

  He was more than a little bemused. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  Stuart was about to join them when he found himself cut off by a pack of dogs. Not that Sweetie Peters, Gizmo, Cupcake and Marley constituted much of a pack. Working together they would have been hard-pressed to bring down Freddy the squirrel, much less a caribou. But they had plenty to say.

  “Stuart Louis,” Sweetie Peters began, “this is your time. Only you can speak for us. We could lie down in front of one of those machines and our humans would just put on leashes and pull us away. You’re not on a leash, physically or verbally. Talk human like you’ve never talked human before. Get up there now and be the hero I want to roll around in the grass with.” She batted her eyes at him. “Mi amor.”

  At this, Stuart let out a howl of happiness that echoed throughout the park.

  Leaning toward Gizmo, Marley gave the chihuahua a nudge. “How do you refuse that?”

  “She’s good,” Gizmo admitted. “He cannot resist. Mi amor? No one resists.”

  Looking up at Stuart, Cupcake took a step forward. “I got a dozen beef and bacon cookies for you, Stuart. Set them aside all by myself.”

  He turned sharply to her as Sweetie let out a joyful bark and Marley’s ears went up. Cupcake hastened to explain.

  “But not now. They’re for the after party. After you’ve saved the park.”

  He nodded somberly. “If I can help save the park. Our park. The one we let humans use.” Turning, he started toward the makeshift stage that had been put up by the protesters. “Wish me luck,” he called back to his friends.

  The quartet unleashed a series of encouraging howls. Above it all he heard Sweetie Peters bark out, “I believe in you, Stuart Louis!”

  Looking back toward her he smiled broadly. He would have blown her a kiss but was unsure of the exact process and he was too far away now for a snort of appreciation to be heard above the crowd noise. The smile would have to do.

  As he approached the stage area, Sanchez spotted him and pointed excitedly. “Look, there he is! Newport’s very own dog whisperer. I’m Maria Sanchez.”

  Standing nearby, it was a bit too much for Wanda, who muttered under her breath. “Girl we know you’re Maria Sanchez. Why she always gotta introduce herself? ” She started edging her way through the crowd toward the reporter.

  Sanchez continued breathlessly, the latter a respiratory technique frequently employed by reporters to add tension to a situation where none actually existed.

  “We’ve seen his work at The Barkery after a video of him talking to dogs went viral—which you can find on our webpage. Just enter “dog whisperer” to see previous reports, including follow-ups by me. But who is he, really? There doesn’t seem to be much known about him beyond his extraordinary ability to work with dogs. Is he an animal trainer? An ex-circus performer? A revelation from the canine hinterland? Stay with me, Maria Sanchez, channel 2, as we try to find out.”

  Taking that as her cue, Wanda pushed past one of the station techs to confront a slightly startled Sanchez.

  “You want to ‘find out’ about him? Well, I’ll tell you who he is.” Ignoring the reporter, she looked directly into the camera. “His name is Stuart. Stuart. Remember it. He’s every dog’s best friend. And yes, they talk. They tell him everything. That’s who he is. There’s an understanding there that passes understanding. I don’t pretend to understand it myself, but they talk alright.”

  Sanchez finally managed to squeeze in a couple of words. “And you are?”

  Wanda seemed surprised to have the interview directed toward her, but she responded with barely a moment’s hesitation.

  “Wanda James from Totally Clips. Newport’s braid queen, number one in the sun, straight outta Compton, who can….”

  Showing surprising strength, the reporter shoved her off camera. “That’s Wanda, number one in the sun.” A gesture at the cameraman directed him to turn back to the crowd, away from Sanchez—and Wanda.

  “They’re coming in from everywhere, ladies and gentlemen. Word travels fast these days and I’m told that pet lovers are gathering here from all across Orange County. I see at least one sign from the OC SPCA, another from WWF—I haven’t seen this many acronyms since the last Democratic convention. It’s getting wild out here, people.” The cameraman pivoted to focus on her once again. “And now Stuart the dog whisperer is taking the stage.”

  As he slowly climbed the makeshift stairs, several hundred phones magically appeared, drawn from purses, pockets, and belt-mounted phone holsters. All eyes on him now, the crowd was abuzz.

  “He talked to my Mitzi!” one woman declared loudly, as if her miniature schnauzer had received a benediction from a canine pope.

  “I heard he almost caught Freddy,” added the man next to her.

  The voice of a small, red-haired boy rose above the din. “He’s an ice cream thief!”

  Someone started chanting, and it took only a moment for the entire crowd to pick it up.

  “STUART!...STUART!...STUART…!”

  Standing before them all, he tapped the microphone; a trick he had learned from watching television. Sweetie Peters and his other four-legged friends lined up beside him. In the crowd, several people sighed and commented, assuming that his unique skillset had allowed him to arrange the lineup. None of them knew that his friends had assembled near him of their own volition.