Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery (3 page)

I had told her about the delays in the construction project weeks ago, but unlike most of the residents I visited, her memory was as sharp as mine—sharper, most days.  “They’ve got it under roof,” I told her, “but we’re a long way from opening.  The under-floor radiant heat was a little more expensive than I expected,” I confessed, “so money is running short.  It might be spring before they finish up.”

“You need to get yourself a rich fella,” she advised with a wink.  “You young people do everything the hard way these days.”

I laughed a little.  “I think you might be right about that, Miss Esther.”  The trouble was that I
had
a rich boyfriend—well, kind of—and my life was a great deal more complicated with him than without him.  “When are you leaving for California?” I asked.

"Sunday, they tell me.  I'm planning to be all settled in by Christmas.  What about you?  Are you and the pups planning a big Christmas?”

“It’s always a big Christmas around my house,” I told her, even though that wasn’t exactly true this year.  The Christmas party I usually gave for my dog-training students wouldn’t be happening this year, since I had no dog-training students.  Christmas dinner with Aunt Mart and Uncle Roe was bound to be awkward without Buck.  And this year there would be one less stocking hung on my fireplace, since Majesty had gone to live with Aunt Mart.  It’s always sad to see the family getting smaller, especially at Christmastime.  But then I thought about most of the residents of the nursing home, and I felt guilty for even almost feeling sorry for myself.

“And how about those cute little Australian shepherds of yours?” Esther said.  “What are they doing with themselves these days?”

“Mischief has learned a new trick.  She can hop up on the counter, open the cabinet, and take down her own food dish. “

“Gracious!  How in the world did you teach her that?”

“Are you kidding?  That’s the last thing I’d want to teach her!  She figured that out for herself.”

We laughed and talked about dogs for a while, which was my favorite subject, and fortunately, also one of Esther’s.  I knew that she, like most of the people here, missed the pets of her youth, which was one reason my visits with Cisco were so valuable.  But what made visiting with Esther so enjoyable for me was that she not only held up her side of the conversation, she usually had far more interesting things to say than I did.

That’s why I was a little disappointed when, after chatting for only three or four minutes, she declared decisively, “Well, you’ve got things to do and I won’t keep you.”  She fumbled for her cane and I put it within reach.  She pulled herself to her feet.  “Come on back to my room, sweetheart, I’ve got a little something for you.”

I thought she had probably gotten someone to bring in a Christmas present for Cisco, or perhaps she had knitted me a scarf, and I was touched.  “Now, Miss Esther, I hope you didn’t go to any trouble on our account.”

She moved fairly well on her cane, but I had to bring Cisco into a close heel and slow our pace by half in order to stay well behind her.  We edged past medicine carts and wheelchairs, I.V. stands, and half empty lunch trays, and as much confidence as I had in Cisco’s training, I never took my eyes off him—particularly around the lunch trays.

We maneuvered safely through the obstacle course and reached Esther’s room without incident.  As soon as we were inside, she turned to me with her finger laid across her lips in a shushing gesture, poked her head outside the door, looked up and down the corridor, then quickly pulled the door closed behind us
.

“A secret?” I teased her, smiling.  “Well, I guess it’s that time of year, isn’t it?”

But Esther was not smiling when she turned away from the door.  She gripped my arm with more force than I would have thought possible from such a small woman, and, leaning in close, said seriously, “Didn’t I hear you were married to the sheriff?”

Terrific.
 
It’s not that I don’t love explaining to people how I could have divorced a wonderful man like Buck, but this was twice in the space of an hour that the subject had come up.  My Christmas spirit was starting to sink.

“Actually,” I said, “I used to be, but I’m not any more.  That is, he’s not really the sheriff, he’s just serving out my uncle’s unexpired term, who
used
to be sheriff.  But we’re not married now.”  Even I was confused by that, and when I saw her eyes start to cloud over I clarified, “Acting Sheriff Lawson is my ex-husband.”

She frowned a little, then said decisively, “Well, that’s almost the same thing.  Just as long as you have somebody to go to if things get rough. Come away from the door.  I have to tell you something and I don’t want anyone else to overhear.  This is just between you and me.”

The room was small and starkly furnished with hospital bed, a clothes locker, one guest chair and a chest of drawers.  Leaning on the cane, she went over to the locker.  Cisco and I followed slowly, pausing in the center of the room.

  “I don’t know how they found me here, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t let me leave the state without making one more try for it.”  Her voice had a grim note that wasn’t at all like her.

“Who?”  I was starting to get a very bad feeling this had nothing to do with a gift-wrapped dog toy or a hand-knit scarf.
“Who's making one more try for what?” 

She swung open the door of the clothes locker and then paused, resting a moment with both hands on the handle of the cane.  “Honey, will you come over here and give me hand?”

“Cisco, down.”  In a room that small, a dog Cisco’s size seemed twice as big, so it was safer for everyone to leave him stretched out in a corner.  He watched alertly as I went over to Esther.  After all, he had received dog biscuits everywhere he had gone today; he had every right to expect that more were forthcoming.

There were only a few items of clothing hanging in the locker: a quilted satin robe, a couple of flannel nightgowns, and two or three velour track suits like the one she wore today.  On the floor there were several pairs of shoes lined up, and overhead there was a collection of shoe boxes.  “You’re going to have to reach way to the back,” she said.
 
“It’s the one on the bottom…That’s it,” she said as I stood on my tiptoes to push aside the front boxes, dragging one forward with my fingertips.  “Bring that one down here.”

The shoebox was so old the cardboard was soft around the corners, and part of the name of manufacturer had been worn away.  But it was heavy: heavier than a scarf, and heavier than dog biscuits.  I have to admit, my curiosity was aroused as I handed it over to her.

Esther tucked the box under one arm, carefully steadying herself as she released the cane, and I automatically put out my hand to hold her elbow.  She removed the lid of the box and smiled as she surveyed the contents.  Inside was a pair of worn and dusty leopard-print pumps.

“I danced with Jack Kennedy in these,” she said, touching them fondly.

“No kidding?”  I could see why she would want to hold on to them, and even go to the trouble to make certain they traveled with her to the nursing home.

“Of course,” she added, “that was back during my CIA days.”

I stared at her.

With one last reminiscent smile she replaced the lid on the box and, drawing in her breath significantly, she offered it to me.  “Now, I don’t mean to be giving you trouble,” she said. “This is yours to do with as you please.  You just don’t let those government fellows bully you, understand?  I’ve been keeping these safe for fifty years, and I reckon the time has come to turn the job over to somebody else.  Besides…”  She smiled contentedly.  “My grandson says we’re all going to be rich when we sell my story to the movies.” 

With every word she spoke my dismay deepened, and by the time she shoved the box into my hands I was just about as confused as I had ever been.
 
She had always been so sharp and so sensible, but as fascinating as Esther’s life in Hollywood had been, I seriously doubted that the CIA had been after a pair of her leopard-print pumps for half a century.  And I really, really hoped she wasn’t seriously counting on selling her story to the movies in order to finance her trip to California.

  I said gently, “Miss Esther, are you sure you want to give these away?  You danced with a president in them.”

She looked at me blankly.  “President of what?”

“The United States?”  I prompted.  “Jack Kennedy?”

“Pshaw.”  She gave an impatient twist of her wrist.  “He wasn’t President. He was just cattin’ around with Marilyn.”

I ventured carefully, “Monroe?”

One of the CNAs, looking perky in a red-felt Santa hat, poked her head in the door.  “How’s everything going in here, Miss Esther?  Are you enjoying your visit with the sweet doggie?”

Esther rolled her eyes and gave me a knowing look, and for a moment she seemed more like her old self.  I relaxed cautiously.

The nurse looked at me. “Raine, if you get time will you stop by Mrs. Gunfelder’s room?  She’s been looking forward to your visit all week but she didn’t feel up to coming down to the cafeteria this afternoon.”

I murmured, “Of course.” 

But as soon as the door closed behind the nurse, Esther turned and clamped a hand on my arm again.  “Now you remember what I said.  You don’t let them bully you, understand?  The law is on your side.  You get on out of here,” she said, urging me to the door.  “Go on, hurry, and don’t let that box out of your hands until you get home, you hear me?”

I tried to extricate myself gently but she was a woman on a mission and her grip was like iron.  Finally I said helplessly, “Um, my dog?”

She blinked a little and released my arm.  I called Cisco to heel.

I picked up Cisco’s leash and, just before we left, I turned and gave Esther a one-armed hug.  “You take care of yourself, okay?
 
Have a wonderful trip to California.  I’m going to miss you.”

She patted my back affectionately, then pulled away from the hug.  Her eyes were dead serious as she looked into mine.  “You’re a good girl, Raine Stockton, and you and Cisco have meant the world to me these last few months.  You go on out and have a good life, and you let me know if you ever need anything, you hear?  I’ve got friends with connections.”

Esther Kelp might be slipping into the pleasant mental fog of old age, complete with its delusions and oddities, but there was no denying the sincerity of her intentions.
 
“Thank you, Miss Esther,” I told her, smiling. I held up the box.  “And thank you for these.  I know what they must have meant to you.  I’ll treasure them.”

But with all that happened later, it was several days before I remembered to bring it in from the car, and then I stuck it in the room with the Christmas decorations and all but forgot about it. 

I suppose what happened later served me right.
 

______________

FOUR

I
live in the same white-columned farmhouse that my ancestors built in 1869, which is nestled at the base of Hawk Mountain on the edge of a national forest.  Deer graze on my apple tree and use my driveway as a shortcut to their beds. Foxes and raccoons give the dogs plenty to stay excited about, and every now and then a bear will wander down from the hills and make himself known on my front porch. Bobcats and coyote leave pawprints in the snow on my lawn. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Dog Daze Boarding and Training is located behind the house, where the original barn had been. After a small fire had caused enough smoke and water damage to justify a major remodel, I had decided to expand and upgrade with an indoor training room large enough to set up a small agility course, in-floor heating,  and twenty individual indoor-outdoor kennel runs.  As with most construction projects, it had quickly gotten out of hand.  I had been promised a fully-functional, bright and gleaming kennel facility complete with happy, barking dogs before Christmas.  What I had was an empty shell of a building with no heat, no electricity, no plumbing, and, needless to say, no dogs.  Just looking at the deserted structure every time I drove up depressed me.

It was not even five o’clock when I got home, but the sun had already set behind my mountain and the twilight was deep.  My headlights flashed first on the red metal roof of Dog Daze as I came over the slight rise of  the long  gravel drive that led from the  road, and then on the dark windows of my house.  I had just enough time to feed the dogs, change into my shepherdess costume, and hopefully grab a bite to eat in town before I had to take my place in the Christmas parade lineup with Mystery and the sheep.  I parked in front of the house, opened the back of the SUV for Cisco, and the two of us hurried up the steps.

The first thing I noticed when I flipped on the lights was a silver Christmas ornament in the middle of the floor.  I bent to pick it up and noticed another, a few feet away, and another beyond that.
 
I was starting to get a bad feeling, and I muttered under my breath, “Mischief.”  I had taken a box of Christmas ornaments down from the attic yesterday, but had made certain to put it on top of the highboy in the dining room before I left this afternoon.  Mischief and Magic were of course crated whenever I was away, but a locked door to Mischief was more of a suggestion than an impediment, so I always double-checked to make certain all valuables, breakables, and dangerous items were well out of reach before I left her alone.  But sometimes even double- and triple-checking was not enough.