Authors: Laurien Berenson

The Bark Before Christmas (12 page)

BOOK: The Bark Before Christmas

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I hadn't meant to give such an impassioned speech but the words had just come pouring out. The dog show world was stimulating, perplexing, and ever-fascinating. I hoped my explanation had helped the two men begin to understand that.

No such luck.

Mr. Hanover, who'd been content to listen silently for the last several minutes, now glanced over at the detective with a dubious look on his face and said, “I guess it's like owning a boat.”

“Yup.” Young nodded. “If you have to try and explain the thrill, it's just not there.”

Well, that put me in my place. Too bad Aunt Peg wasn't in the room. She would have made sure they felt the thrill. Or else.

“So with all that going on,” said the detective, “how much is a dog like Kiltie worth?”

I thought for a moment, then went for the easy answer. “To Sondra McEvoy, I'd imagine he's priceless.”

“How about to someone else? Jerry Platt, for example. What would he do with a dog like that?”

That was a tough question. It was also one I'd been pondering myself.

When Aunt Peg's stud dog was stolen, the thief's intent had been to substitute Beau for a lesser Standard Poodle and use him to revitalize his entire bloodline. In the intervening years, however, much had changed in the world of dog breeding and genetic research. Now the American Kennel Club did DNA testing, which would make such a switch impossible. So how
would
someone benefit from Kiltie's abduction?

“Maybe they'll hold him for ransom,” I said. I was only half joking.

“A dog,” Young said. His tone was flat.

I wondered if he'd been listening to anything I'd said.

“A show dog,” I corrected.

“Maybe someone wanted to remove Kiltie from competition,” Mr. Hanover said thoughtfully. Obviously
he'd
been paying attention. “A disgruntled competitor perhaps? Someone who might have been tired of losing to himâ?”

Detective Young cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said. “I think we're losing sight of the main objective here.”

Not me. I thought we were right on point.

“The important question is why did Jerry Platt die this afternoon in Union Cemetery?” Young said firmly. “Your missing dog is, at best, an insignificant side issue.”

I didn't agree. If Jerry Platt had left the Christmas bazaar with Kiltie in his possession, how could their two fates not be inextricably intertwined?

One look at the implacable expression on the detective's face was enough to stop me from mentioning that, however. I've learned from past experience that disagreeing with the police gets you nowhere. Cooperation is always a better tactic.

“Speaking of the cemetery,” I said. “Who was the person that called nine-one-one? Did you talk to him?”

“The first officers to respond interviewed him and ran his ID. It all checked out. The guy was bringing a poinsettia to place on his grandmother's grave. He had no connection to the scene. All he did was happen upon it.”

“Did the officers ask him if he'd seen anything unusual in the vicinity?”

I was wondering if the caller might have noticed a small, white dog running around. But obviously Detective Young's mind didn't work the same way mine did. He was done thinking about Kiltie.

“Aside from a dead Santa Claus, you mean?” he asked dryly.

“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “Aside from that.”

“I'm sure they did, Ms. Travis.” The detective gave me a long look. Long enough that I began to wonder what else Detective O'Malley might have told him about me. “Let me assure you that we know how to do our jobs.”

“Of course,” I agreed.

“Thank you for coming by, Detective,” Mr. Hanover said briskly. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“No, I have everything I need. At least for now. If you think of anything else I should know, you'll contact me, right?”

The headmaster and I both nodded.

Detective Young exited the office. He left the door ajar behind him. I rose from my chair and started to leave as well.

“A moment, Ms. Travis?”

Damn. I'd almost made a clean getaway. Now, unfortunately, I had no choice but to return and listen to what Mr. Hanover had to say.

I could think of several possibilities and none of them was good. Hopefully he wouldn't blame me for bringing trouble to his doorstep once again. Or lecture me on my inability to avoid being on hand whenever problems arose.

Then I gulped as another unwelcome thought struck me. Surely Mr. Hanover could see that none of this was my fault. I loved my job at Howard Academy. And I really hoped the headmaster wasn't about to fire me.

“Yes?” I said softly. Slowly I turned in place.

For an unbearably long moment, Mr. Hanover just stood and stared at me. I was holding my breath when he finally spoke.

“You will be careful, won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Good.” His hand lifted and waved me on my way. “That's all.”

Chapter 12

L
ate afternoon had turned into evening by the time I left Howard Academy and the rest of the night passed in a hazy blur. Kev and I were both tired enough after the long day to head to bed not long after dinner.

As I undressed and slipped into my pajamas, I filled Sam in on much of what had happened since we'd parted company earlier that afternoon. I could see that there were questions he wanted to ask but instead he tucked me into bed and turned off the light. Already half-asleep, I promised him a full explanation in the morning.

If I hadn't been so exhausted, I probably would have realized that Sam wouldn't be the only person who was eager for answers. No surprise that egregious omission was remedied by Aunt Peg herself. By the time I got up on Sunday morning, she was already there. In fact, she was letting herself in the front door when I came meandering down the stairs in search of coffee.

An icy blast of cold air accompanied Aunt Peg into the house. Standing at the foot of the steps in my pajamas and bare feet, I wished I'd taken a minute to put on a robe. And maybe a pair of warm, fuzzy, slippers.

Then again, bearing in mind that it was just past seven
A.M.
I hadn't been expecting company. I'd intended to quickly run downstairs for a cup of coffee, then rejoin Kevin who was waiting for me in Sam's and my bed. He had one of his favorite books with him and we were going to read it together.

Now it looked as though that plan had been scrapped.

Aunt Peg pulled off her coat and scarf, stuffed her gloves inside her pockets, then handed the whole ball of winter clothing to me. Hands free, she knelt down to say hello to the pack of Poodles who'd come running to the door to welcome her. She spread her arms wide and gathered the mass of warm, wriggling bodies into them.

Note that I had yet to receive a similar greeting myself.

I opened the closet door and tossed her coat inside. With luck, it might have landed on a hook. I slammed the door shut and said, “That didn't take long.”

Waiting for a reply, I crossed my arms over my chest for warmth. A Standard Poodle would have done the job admirably, but they were all clustered around our visitor. Even Faith, that traitor.

“
She gave you away,
” I muttered in Faith's direction. “Think about that. That's how I got you in the first place.”

Finally Aunt Peg spared me a glance. “What are you mumbling about?”

“Nothing,” I replied as she placed a hand on her raised knee and levered herself back up. “I didn't expect to see you here so early.”

“It's not as if I had a choice.” Peg paused and peered at my sleep-bleary face. “Goodness, you didn't think I was here on your account, did you? Certainly not. Sondra McEvoy called me.”

Of course. I should have known.

“It's a sad day when I can't count on my own relatives to give me the breaking news firsthand.”

“So it is,” I agreed. Aunt Peg operates with the same relentless persistence of the Borg. I learned a long time ago that resistance is futile.

“But you can make up for that now,” she said briskly. Peg gazed around the empty downstairs. From our vantage point in the hallway, she could see most of the rooms. “Where is everybody?”

“You do realize it's only seven-fifteen?” I said. “On a Sunday morning?”

“Certainly.” Peg sniffed. “Otherwise I'd have been here sooner.”

Twenty minutes earlier Sam would have been the one dealing with her, I thought wistfully. He'd come down to put the Poodles outside and start the coffeemaker. Then he'd dashed out front to bring in the Sunday
Times,
let the Poodles back in, and gone up to take a shower.

In fact, now that I thought about it, this was all Sam's fault. He was the one who'd left the front door unlocked. Otherwise Aunt Peg would have had to ring the doorbell and I could have pretended that I wasn't home. At least until the Poodles gave me away. That group of conniving canines was just one opposable thumb away from being able to open the front door themselves.

“Aren't you cold?” asked Aunt Peg.

“Yes,” I replied. I wondered what had clued her in. Maybe it was the fact that my toes were turning blue.

“Then why aren't you dressed?”

“It's barely light outâ” I began tersely.

“Aunt Peg's here!” Kevin shrieked from the landing at the top of the staircase.

Clearly he'd grown tired of waiting for me to return. Now his small face peered down at us through the spindles in the banister. Delighted by the prospect of an early-morning visitor, Kev came racing down to join us.

Aunt Peg scooped him up into her arms. “You're wearing pajamas, too,” she said, tickling his footie-clad toes. “What's the matter with this family? Is nobody dressed in real clothes?”

“That would be me,” Sam said, coming down the steps.

Freshly showered and shaved, he looked devastatingly handsome in a pair of dark jeans and a corduroy shirt. Not only that, but he was holding my robe and slippers in his hands. My hero, yet again. That was getting to be the theme of the season.

“Pancakes for breakfast,” I said. If I didn't get this show moving toward the kitchen, I was never going to get my coffee. “Who's in?”

“Meeeee!” cried Kevin. When he began to wiggle in her arms, Aunt Peg leaned over and set him down carefully on the floor. Just like she would have done with a puppy.

“The first one's yours,” I said to Kev. “But before that I need you to do something for me.”

The toddler tipped his head to one side. “What that?”

“Go upstairs and get Davey, okay? Tell him it's time for breakfast.”

“Time for pancakes,” Kevin crowed. “Tar come with me.”

The two of them scrambled up the steps. The rest of us headed for the kitchen. I poured two cups of coffee for Sam and me, and started the kettle for Aunt Peg's tea. While I got out a mixing bowl and the ingredients for the pancake batter, Sam heated up the griddle and set the table.

The first rays of the weak winter sun fell across the kitchen floor. Faith and Eve settled, side by side, in their path. Augie sat down next to Aunt Peg and rested his head in her lap. Automatically her fingers began to thread their way through the Poodle's long neck hair, checking for mats.

“Don't keep me in suspense,” she said. “One of you had better tell me what happened yesterday at the Christmas bazaar.”

“Not me,” said Sam. “I only know the bare bones of the story. I want to hear the rest, too.”

I took a deep breath and started at the beginning. “There was a photo booth at the bazaar where kids could bring their pets to get their pictures taken with Santa Claus.”

“I
know
that,” Aunt Peg said impatiently. “Skip ahead to something interesting.”

“Like what?” I added the last of the ingredients to the bowl and began to stir. “Coco Lily getting loose? Kiltie disappearing? Our Santa Claus making a run for it? Chris Tindall turning into Jerry Platt and ending up dead in Union Cemetery? Where would you like me to begin? What did Sondra already tell you?”

“Not a single blessed thing about anybody dying,” Aunt Peg replied in a shocked tone. “Who are Chris Tindall and Jerry Platt? And what do they have to do with Kiltie's disappearance?”

“Chris and Jerry are apparently one and the same person,” I said. “And he has everything to do with what happened.”

Sam crossed the room and gently removed the bowl and the whisk from my hands. Abruptly I realized that I'd been whipping the batter into a lather. It was a good thing I'd promised Kevin the first batch of pancakes. He wouldn't know the difference if they turned out flat and rubbery.

Come to think of it, neither would the Poodles.

“I'll do that,” said Sam. “You talk.”

So I did.

It seemed like a good idea to get most of the story out of the way before the kids returned. I took my coffee mug and joined Aunt Peg at the table. She and Sam listened in silence as I quickly related the previous day's events.

By the time I was finished, the kettle was whistling, Sam was sliding the first batch of pancakes onto a plate, and Davey and Kevin had arrived to take their places at the kitchen table. I hopped up to fix Peg's tea and pour a couple of glasses of milk for the boys.

Usually when I'm trying to talk, Aunt Peg interrupts constantly. Her questions are good ones though, always incisive and to the point. And they usually help me to clarify my own thinking. So now, having rushed through the part about the dead Santa Claus in the cemeteryâsomething I wouldn't have wanted to mention in front of the boysâI was ready to hear what she had to say.

“Well?” I prompted as I set the mug of Earl Grey tea down in front of her.

“Coco Lily.” Aunt Peg sniffed. “What a ridiculous name for a dog.”

Of course she would start with the canines. I'd have been disappointed by anything else.

“
Coco Lily!
” Kevin chortled, his mouth full of pancakes.

“Swallow first, then talk,” I told him, then turned to Aunt Peg. “The name suits her. She's a Cockapoo.”

Aunt Peg rolled her eyes. When it came to designer dogsâespecially ones that were part Poodleâwe shared the same opinion.

Sam had split the first serving of pancakes between the boys. Now the second batch came to Peg and me. We both dug in with gusto.

“Who does the Cockapoo belong to?” Aunt Peg asked after a minute.

“A sixth grader named Charlotte Levine. She's Poppy McEvoy's best friend. That was how the two dogs came to be crated together behind the raffle booth.”

“While Sondra was busy selling raffle tickets,” said Aunt Peg.

“Yes, but she wasn't sitting at the booth all day. For much of the afternoon she was making sales by walking around the auditorium.”

“And leaving Kiltie unattended, apparently.”

Sam joined at the table with his own plate of pancakes. I nudged the butter dish and the syrup in his direction, then got up to start the next batch. Davey and Aunt Peg were both looking like they were almost ready for seconds.

“That's no different than what everyone does at the shows,” Sam pointed out. “We've done it ourselves. Nobody gives it a second thought.”

Aunt Peg nodded, conceding the point.

“I'm guessing that Coco Lily was let loose to serve as a distraction,” I said from beside the stove. “While Platt made his getaway with Kiltie.”

“Or maybe Platt opened the wrong crate first by mistake,” said Sam. “Once Coco Lily was out, it's not as though he was going to waste time chasing her down.”

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Davey. Seated next to Kevin and trying to pilfer his little brother's pancakes, he hadn't been following the adult conversation. Now he tuned back in.

“A dog was stolen yesterday afternoon from the Christmas bazaar,” I said.

Davey glanced at our dogs who were draped in various poses around the room. “A Poodle?”

“No, a West Highland White.”

“Was it Kiltie?”

“Good guess.” I looked at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”

Davey shrugged. “I saw him last week at the show when you were talking to Mrs. McEvoy. He's the only Westie I know.”

“If you're only going to know one,” said Aunt Peg, “that's the right one. That dog will be one of the favorites in the Terrier Group at Westminster.”

I groaned softly under my breath. I hadn't thought I could feel worse about Kiltie's disappearance, but now I did.

I stacked the last batch of pancakes on a platter, and rejoined everyone at the table. As I sat back down, Aunt Peg looked at me pointedly. “So in case you hadn't thought about it, that means you have a deadline.”

“Not me,” I said. “Sondra. She's the one whose dog is missing.”

“She's under the impression that that's your fault.”

I choked on a bite of pancake.

Davey handed me his glass of milk across the table. Gratefully I took a long swallow.

“How does Sondra figure that?” Sam asked while I was incapacitated.

“Kiltie disappeared from Melanie's school, during her Christmas bazaar, when he was there for the express purpose of having his picture taken at her photo booth.” Aunt Peg lifted a brow. “Need I go on?”

“What about personal responsibility?” asked Sam. “Sondra was the one who took Kiltie to the bazaar. She's also the one who arranged to have a crate there for him. I think she'd have a hard time arguing that the dog was ever in anyone else's custody other than her own.”

“That may all be true,” said Peg. “But Sondra doesn't want to think about things logically. All she knows is that her dog is missing and she's looking for someone to blame. She wants Kiltie back immediately, if not sooner.”

“I can sympathize,” I said. “In her place, I'd be worried sick.”

Kevin's brow furrowed. “You sick?” he asked.

“No, honey.” I reached over and patted his arm. “I'm fine.”

“She told me last night that she plans to talk to her lawyer,” Aunt Peg said ominously. “She intends to sue the school.”

“Well, crap,” I said.

“Indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. Howard Academy was her alma mater, too.

Sam shook his head. “That's nothing more than a nuisance suit. It won't get very far.”

“Even so it will cost Howard Academy a lot of money,” I said glumly. “There will be legal fees, and maybe a payout if the school settles.”

BOOK: The Bark Before Christmas

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