Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery (7 page)

I added, “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“We just got in in time for the parade.”  He slid into the seat opposite me and stretched out his hand for the girl, beckoning her over.  She plopped down beside him without looking up.

I raised an eyebrow.  “And who’s this?”

Miles reached over and plucked off her hat, tugging one of the ear buds out of her ear.  “Mel,” he said to the little girl, “say hello to Miss Stockton.  Raine, this is Melanie.  My daughter.”

____________

SIX

I
’ll admit it, I was surprised.  I’m not sure why, but I’d never thought of Miles as having children.  There was no reason he shouldn’t have children.  I knew he was divorced, and he was in his forties, after all.  But I was surprised.

I had never dated a man with children before.

I tried to hide my reaction with a quick smile to the girl.  “Nice to meet you, Melanie,” I said. 

She muttered something without looking up.

She was probably nine or ten, a little on the plump side, with a riot of brown curly hair that was currently suffering from an unfortunate chin-length cut that caused it to stick out in all directions.  She wore black- framed cat-woman glasses that were so unattractive I knew her mother had let her pick them out for herself.  This, I knew, was the acclaimed “awkward phase” all girls went through just before puberty.  I remembered it all too well.

I glanced at Miles, still smiling.
 
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Before he could answer she said, still without looking up, “Bet you didn’t know he had three ex-wives, either.”

My smile was starting to feel a little frozen.  “No.  I didn’t.”

Meg arrived with a cup of coffee for Miles and a mug of hot chocolate for Melanie.  She set the last slice of lemon pie before Miles.

My smile faded.  “I was going to order that.”

Miles said to Meg,
 
“Bring another fork, will you, Meg?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Young.”

Okay, I've said it before; I’m not that wild about kids.  It’s not that I don’t like them, exactly; it’s just that I don’t see the point in them.  They’re messy and noisy and not that interesting.  They’re always asking questions.  They make every conversation a chore and I’d rather have dinner with a three-year-old golden retriever than a three-year-old child any day.  In fact, I’m always a little suspicious of hotels that allow children but ban pets, and I avoid them when I can.

But because part of having a therapy dog often involves working with children, I have learned how to be polite to them.
 
So I turned to Melanie and inquired pleasantly, “How old are you, Melanie?”

She did not look up.  “How old are you?”

I stared at her.  I made a few sputtering noises that were punctuated by a nervous laugh. I looked at Miles, expecting him to correct his daughter, but he was busy smiling his thanks at Meg as he accepted the second fork.
 
My mother would have marched me right out of the restaurant and made me wait in the car if I had ever even thought of being so rude to an adult, but all Miles said to his little girl was, “Are you sure you don’t want some of this pie, honey?”

“I told you, I hate lemon.  Can I get back to my movie now?” And, not waiting for an answer, she stuffed the other ear bud back into her ear and tuned us out.

Frankly, I was glad.

Miles pushed the pie to the center of the table and I accepted the fork he offered, stabbing off a big meringue-covered piece from the end.  “So,” I said, “What are you doing here?  I thought you were spending the holidays in Aruba or someplace.”

He gave a small shrug. “I thought about it, but when the chance came up to spend Christmas with Mel, naturally I jumped on it.”

“My mom dumped me on him,” Melanie said, her eyes fixed on the screen of her tablet.  “She’s in Brazil on her honeymoon with some tennis dude.”

I lifted an eyebrow.  “Great hearing,” I commented.

Miles kept his expression perfectly flat as he said, “Mel’s mother can be a little impulsive.” And the note of cheer he injected into his voice sounded forced as he added, “But it all worked out great for me.  I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with my girl.”

I dug into the pie again.  “How long are you staying?”

“A few days.  We’re on our way to see my mother in Myrtle Beach.  I thought we’d check out the bunny slope at Far Heights, and I need to meet with some contractors while I’m here.”

I said, “Wow.  Skiing and the beach for Christmas.  Lucky kid.”

He cut into his first bite of pie.  “Actually,” he said, “it was supposed to be Aspen and St. Bart’s, but I had already rented out my condo in Aspen for the holidays, and Mel’s mother forgot to leave her passport with me.  So it’s going to be a low-key Christmas.”

“You’ve got a condo in Aspen?”

He smiled. “And a beach house in the Virgin Islands.”

And three ex-wives and a daughter.  How many other things did I not know about him?

Not that it mattered.  He wasn’t
really
my boyfriend.  We weren’t really even officially dating.  We were barely casual friends.  Acquaintances at best.

My cell phone rang and I was glad.  I fumbled to unzip my vest pocket and take it out.

“Where are you?” Buck asked without preamble.

I frowned at his abruptness, but knew it only meant he was under stress. I could hear the crackle of police radios in the background.
 
“Still in town, why?”

“Listen, can you meet me at…” I could picture him consulting his notebook, “the entrance of the Heavenly Homes trailer park?  I need you to go with me on a compassionate call.”

I blew out a breath.  Since the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department had lost its only female deputy–due to the fact that she preferred sleeping with my husband over working with him—those informal duties that were deemed to require a woman’s touch had fallen to whomever Buck could snare.  These usually involved female prisoners or minor children who, in Buck’s opinion, would be put at ease by the presence of a woman.  And to be fair, he did usually try to find someone who was at least on the county payroll—someone from DFACS or the Health Department, or occasionally even my Aunt Mart, who, as the wife of the retired sheriff, at least had plenty of experience. 

On the other hand, part of my therapy dog work was as a volunteer crisis counselor, which usually meant showing up with my dog and staying quiet while traumatized children or victims of violent crime clung to Cisco and tried to believe in a world that would one day be normal again.  Accompanying an officer to inform the family of a loved one’s death was not exactly within the scope of my duties, but it wasn’t entirely outside them either.

“I tried Peggy but she’s on her way to the hospital to fill out the paperwork on that abandoned baby and everybody else is either still at the parade or out Christmas shopping,” Buck went on.  Peggy Miller was Hanover County’s only licensed social worker, and she ran the Department of Family and Children’s Services with a staff of four overworked and underpaid clerks.  I could see where this was headed.  “I’ve got to go tell a minor child that her daddy is dead and remove her from the home.  It sure would be a lot easier on her if it wasn’t a couple of policemen with guns she saw when she opened the door.”

I groaned out loud, rubbing my forehead.  Miles speared another piece of pie.
 
I said, “Who is it?”

“The victim’s Earl Lewis.  The daughter’s name is Ashleigh.  Thirteen or fourteen, I think.  Far as I can tell, no other relatives in the state.  The mother died four or five years ago.”

“I don’t know them.”

“No reason you should.  He wasn’t exactly what you’d call an outstanding citizen.  That poor kid couldn’t have had much of a home life, but I guess it was better than no home life at all.”

Now you know why everyone likes Buck.  He genuinely cares about other people.  He knows how to put himself in their place.  And when he says things like that, he puts me in my place too.

I sighed. “Okay.  I’ll stop by and pick up Cisco.  It’s out Highway 16, isn’t it?  Past the old cannery?”

“Yeah, just pull up beside the entrance sign, I’ll lead you in.”

I watched Miles eat the last bite of pie.  “So what happened?  Traffic accident?” 

Buck hesitated just a moment.  “Murder,” he said.  “He was stabbed in the throat.”

I didn’t spend a lot of time saying goodbye to Miles or to his ever-so-charming daughter.  That was probably rude of me.  And I’m really not certain what it says about me when I was relieved to trade the warm diner and coffee with an attractive man to rush to the aid of my ex-husband at a crime scene.
 

My house was on the way to the Heavenly Homes trailer park, and all three dogs came scrabbling to the front door when I pulled up—despite the fact that two of them were supposed to be securely crated behind a closed door.  As I have told my students repeatedly, it’s pointless to correct a dog for undesirable behavior after the fact, so I pretended not to notice that Mischief and Magic had once again let themselves out of their crates without permission.  I turned all three dogs out into the yard briefly for a toilet break, settled the Aussies down with a chew bone, and grabbed Cisco’s therapy dog vest from the front closet.
 
Cisco looked from Mischief’s chew bone to me with a hurt expression on his face until I opened the door and invited, “Okay, boy.  Load up!”  Then he dashed out into the dark, tail spinning like a propeller blade, and he was sitting beside the tail gate of the SUV with an excited grin on his face when I got there.

Cisco fogged up the back window with his breath while I made my way down the dark and almost deserted highway, looking for the sign that heralded the entrance to the trailer park.  I would have missed it had I not seen the patrol car parked just inside the entrance, and I pulled in beside it, next to the wooden sign with the faded lettering that read, “Heavenly Homes.”  Buck put his car in gear and led the way down the gravel road.

The trailer park was one of those that had probably been a pretty good deal fifteen or twenty years ago.  Most of the homes were double-wides, and the little squares of yard were not too close together.  Behind front windows I could see the twinkle of Christmas tree lights, and some had even gone to the expense of decorating their roof lines and setting fluorescent snowmen in their front yards.  Only a few of the drives were occupied by rusted-out cars on blocks, and one fellow with an obvious sense of humor had even strung a row of multi-colored Christmas lights around the open hood of his.

Buck pulled into the short dirt drive that led to a darkened double-wide at the end of the block.
 
He got out and stood in that watchful manner that is second nature to every policeman, his hands resting on his utility belt, looking around. I opened the back of the SUV and gave Cisco a firm command to stay while I snapped on his vest and leash.  I knew he obeyed only because he hadn’t seen Buck yet.

I released Cisco and walked him up the drive toward the patrol car.  The minute he saw Buck, he forgot everything he had ever known about heeling, and I knew I’d never get him back under control until the two of them had greeted each other.  So when we were three feet away I gave up the struggle to keep him by my side and said, “Okay, release,” as he dashed toward his hero.  At least I got to pretend it was my idea.

I glanced around in the glow of the neighbor’s Christmas lights while Buck bent down to rub Cisco’s wriggling body, telling him what a fine fellow he was.  The only cars in the drive were ours, and there wasn’t a light on inside.  It was barely eight o’clock, and I didn’t think a teenager would be in bed already.  I could hear the neighbor’s television through the thin glass windows of the trailer but not a sound from the one in front of us.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” I said, unnecessarily.

“Yeah, looks like it.”  Buck straightened up and handed Cisco’s leash to me.

“Maybe she got scared when her daddy didn’t come home and went to a friend’s house.”

“Probably.”  He moved toward the front door and I followed, keeping Cisco close.  “Might as well make sure.”

He pushed the buzzer, which made no sound, then knocked on the sagging storm door.  After a moment, he opened the storm door and knocked again, loudly, on the main door.

I kept my voice low, just in case someone was home.  “Where did you find him?”

“Somebody spotted his truck down a gully off the old Switchback Road.  His body was in the camper.  I figure he’d been there less than a day, but in this weather it’s hard to tell by guessing.”

“Any idea who?”

“He wasn’t the most popular guy when he was drinking.  We’re doing some interviews.”  Most of the violent crimes around here were either family disputes or drug and alcohol related, and they were fairly simple to resolve. Most of the time the perpetrator would be at home waiting for the deputies when they came to arrest him.  On the other hand, crimes that weren’t solved within the first twenty-four hours became exponentially harder to solve.  I knew that Buck was counting on his deputies making an arrest tonight.