The Bark Before Christmas (14 page)

Though I had a good look around the dining room, I didn't see Poppy McEvoy anywhere. Later, her absence from school that day resulted in the cancelation of my last period tutoring session. That enabled me to grab Faith and skip out early.

The Standard Poodle seemed to sense that we were playing hooky as she and I ducked out the back door that led to the parking lot. Often I take her for a walk around Howard Academy's spacious grounds when the school day is over. That afternoon, I handed Faith straight into the car.

We coasted quickly down the driveway and out through the stone gateposts. As we made our getaway, I let out a delighted whoop. Faith hopped up and barked in reply.

Even though I'm all grown up, the thrill of skipping school never gets old.

T
he McEvoys lived in Deer Park, a scenic mid-Greenwich neighborhood just ten minutes from school. I called Sondra from the road and asked if I could stop by.

“It took you long enough to get around to me,” she said petulantly.

Sondra and Aunt Peg were two of a kind. Both were strong-willed women, accustomed to having people jump to do their bidding. And neither was above riding roughshod over anyone who didn't.

“But I'm on my way now,” I replied.

“I'll be waiting.”

Her tone conjured up a vision of fingers drumming on a tabletop. As if she'd spent the last day and a half waiting for me to appear. Seriously, how did other mothers do it? I wondered. Was I the only one whose life seemed to be consumed by the holiday season?

The McEvoys lived in a large, neoclassic-style home on a spacious, wooded, corner lot. Gravel crunched beneath the Volvo's tires as we approached the house. Before I'd even turned off the car, Faith was already on her feet and ready to go. She's always happy to participate in an adventure, and it's rare that I leave her to wait for me in the car. But Sondra obviously had dogs of her own and she'd already sounded prickly during our short conversation on the phone. I didn't want to risk upsetting things further by showing up with an uninvited canine visitor.

I told Faith she had to stay put and assured her that I'd be back soon. Then I locked the car and turned to gaze up the wide stone steps that led to the home's portico. To my surprise, I saw that the front door was already open. Hands propped on her hips, her stance radiating impatience, Sondra was waiting for me in the doorway.

I wondered if she'd been waiting there since she'd hung up the phone.

Sondra looked past me into the car. “Is that one of Peg's Standard Poodles?”

“Aunt Peg bred her,” I said. “She's been mine since she was a puppy.”

“Well, don't leave her sitting out there in the cold. Bring her inside.”

I certainly wasn't about to turn down that invitation. Nor was Faith. As soon as I opened the car door, she jumped out and scampered past me. Trotting up the home's wide steps, the Standard Poodle easily beat me to the top.

“Hello, pretty girl.” Sondra bent down to greet Faith before acknowledging me. Among dog people, that's pretty much the norm.

“Her name is Faith,” I said.

As the three of us entered the house, I unbuttoned my coat. It was whisked from my hands almost before I had it off. The maid's approach had been so silent I hadn't even heard her coming. Coat in hand, she disappeared just as quietly.

“Faith,” Sondra repeated. “I like that. Did you show her?”

“Yes, she was my first. She's a champion, although it took us a while to get there.”

“Owner handled?”

“Of course,” I said with a laugh. “Aunt Peg wouldn't have allowed me to do it any other way.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Sondra agreed. “Come this way. We'll talk in the library.”

Faith and I followed her across the hall. The room we entered was bright and sunny and lined with shelves. Though Sondra had called it a library, there were very few books in evidence. Instead the shelves held a vast collection of framed win pictures from dog shows. Many had Group and Best in Show rosettes displayed beside them.

Most of the photographs in the front of the room appeared to be of Kiltie. Farther back, other pictures highlighted earlier generations of Westglen West Highland Whites. In every photograph, Sondra posed proudly beside her small white terrier and smiled for the judge and the photographer.

All those pictures of Sondra with her dogs, I thought, and I had yet to see a single Westie in the house. It seemed decidedly odd. At least that explained why Sondra had allowed Faith to come inside. Apparently there weren't any other dogs in residence who might object to her presence.

I sat down in a leather chair and was immediately swallowed into its soft, pliant depths. Beside me, Faith turned a small circle and lay down on the carpet. She looked happier about her choice than I was about mine. I was half tempted to join her on the floor.

“Sorry,” Sondra said, watching me struggle to regain my balance. “That was my husband's favorite chair. I've been meaning to get it replaced.”

“It's very comfortable,” I said politely.

“It should be.” Her voice sharpened. “That's Jim all over. He likes everything around him to be comfortable.”

I was probably supposed to be reading between the lines, I thought. And possibly even offering a sympathetic ear. But that wasn't why I'd come. Sondra could grouse about her marital difficulties on her own time. I was there to talk about Kiltie.

“Your show pictures are wonderful,” I said. “But where are your dogs?”

“Outside in the kennel.” Sondra lifted a hand and waved toward a wide picture window in the back of the room. “You can see it from there.”

Any excuse to get out of that chair. I levered myself up and went to have a look.

The McEvoys' backyard was expansive and beautifully landscaped. A flagstone patio bordered by a low stone wall, led from the back of the house to a kidney-shaped swimming pool, now closed and covered for the winter. Beyond the pool was a medium-sized building whose architectural style matched that of the house.

“Jim didn't like having the dogs underfoot,” Sondra said with a sigh. She came over to stand beside me. “After a while we both got tired of fighting about it and it just seemed easier just to move them out there.”

And yet, I thought, Sondra had told me that she and Jim were separated. So why were the Westies still living in the kennel?

“Jim loved that pool,” she mused, gazing out over the yard. “It was probably the main reason why we bought this house.”

“Are you a swimmer, too?” I asked.

“Hardly.” Sondra laughed. “I hate to swim. Which is why it gave me such pleasure to take over the pool house and convert it into a kennel.”

Ouch. I sneaked a peek at Sondra out of the corner of my eye. Clearly Kiltie's owner was not a happy woman.

“I put in every luxury and amenity I could think of,” she said. “I'm sure the dogs are happier out there than they ever were in here.”

Interesting notion. My Poodles don't care about luxury. They just like to be wherever I am.

“How many Westies do you have?” I asked.

“Five, including Kiltie.” Sondra nailed me with a hard stare. “When he's here.”

So much for chitchat. Apparently it was time to get down to business. I was more than ready for that.

I turned away from the window, walked back into the room, and chose a different seat. Faith lifted her head and stared at me reproachfully. After a few seconds, she got up and walked over to where I was now sitting, repositioning herself back at my side before lying down again.

I reached down and gave Faith a pat. Then I turned back to Sondra. “It's been almost forty-eight hours since Kiltie disappeared. What's happened since the last time we spoke?”

“As you might imagine, I've been busy,” she told me. “I alerted the animal hospitals and shelters. I called the grooming shops and pet supply stores. I posted flyers everywhere I could think they might do some good. There's even a doggie daycare facility in Stamford. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” I said. “I've been there. What about online?”

“I have Kiltie's picture and information prominently displayed on several pet finder sites. Also Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.”

Sondra had covered a lot of bases very quickly. There was one thing, however, that she hadn't mentioned.

“And you also spoke to the police, right?”

“Twice, actually.” Sondra gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher.

“You went to the police station on Saturday,” I said slowly. “Right?”

“I did indeed. It probably won't surprise you to hear that the desk sergeant wasn't terribly interested in my ‘missing pet.' Peg told me that she once had a similar experience with the authorities herself. I had every intention of having my lawyer raise holy hell until—much to my surprise—a detective showed up here yesterday afternoon with some rather startling information.”

“Detective Young?” I asked.

“That's the one. Of all things, he wanted to ask me what I knew about your Santa Claus. The one you hired to appear at the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar.”

Damn it, I thought. The denial was swift and automatic. Platt hadn't been
my
Santa Claus.

“I'd read in the paper that there'd been a death in Union Cemetery,” Sondra continued. “But it never crossed my mind to connect that story with Kiltie's disappearance. Not until Detective Young told me that Platt had spent the early part of the day at the bazaar
and
that he had a picture of a dog that looked like Kiltie in his car when he was killed.”

“His information adds a whole new wrinkle to the story,” I admitted.

“Of course it does,” Sondra snapped. “I thought the fact that Kiltie got away was an accident. That
someone
hadn't been careful enough to fasten his crate properly.”

She didn't have to name names. We both knew whom Sondra was talking about.

“But now I have to wonder if something else entirely happened.”

“It seems to be a possibility,” I said. “But I don't get it.
If
Kiltie was taken from the bazaar deliberately . . . why would someone do that?”

Sondra stared at me across the room. “How many reasons would you like?”

“As many as you have,” I said mildly.

“You know who Kiltie is, right?”

“Sure. GCH Westglen Braveheart.” I motioned toward the wall of pictures and awards. “Top dog.”

“You're being flippant,” Sondra accused.

“No, I'm being honest.”

She wasn't appeased. “You're supposed to be a dog lover, too. I thought that you, of all people, would understand.”

“
Supposed
to be?” I echoed. Now I was growing annoyed.

“Sorry, I didn't mean that.” Sondra paused and sucked in a breath. Her lower lip began to tremble. “It's just that . . . you have no
idea
. . .”

“I think I do,” I replied quietly. “I know how attached you are to Kiltie. I feel the same way about Faith.”

Hearing her name, the Poodle lifted her head and cocked an ear in my direction. I slipped my hand down and scratched beneath her chin.

“If I didn't know where Faith was, or what was happening to her,” I said, “I would be frantic with worry.”

“I feel as if my whole world is crumbling.” Sondra sighed. “And I don't know how to stop it from happening.”

“You take it one step at a time. You've already made a great start. In a short amount of time, you've done a whole lot of things right.”

She shook her head unhappily. “If Kiltie is lost, maybe those things will help. But if he was taken deliberately, nothing I've done will make the slightest bit of difference.”

“You don't know that. Maybe whoever has him will turn him in to collect the reward.”

“Don't be naïve,” said Sondra. “The reward is a pittance compared to what he's actually worth.”

“Yes, but—”

“You still don't get it.”

“Get what?” I asked. The annoyance was back.

“You with your cute Standard Poodle that took a long time to finish.” Sondra flicked her fingers dismissively in Faith's direction. “You don't understand what it's like when a dog like Kiltie comes along. A dog that's truly important, one that has an actual
career
.”

Over the years, Aunt Peg had had a number of very good dogs. Tar, with Sam handling, had been a multi Best in Show winner. Maybe I'd never shown at Westminster myself, but I could well imagine the experience—and the dedication and talent it would take to get there. I didn't have Sondra's longevity in the dog show world, but I wasn't the uneducated newbie she assumed me to be either.

Sondra rested her head on the back of her chair. Suddenly she looked exhausted. “Having Kiltie gone right now? The timing couldn't be worse. This ruins everything.”

“Is it because of points?” I asked. “Or year-end standings?”

“No, those are already sewn up.”

“Then what?”

A minute passed before Sondra answered my question. Long enough for me to think that she wasn't planning to do so at all.

“I've been fielding a couple of offers,” she said finally.

That came as a surprise.

“You were thinking about selling Kiltie?” I asked.

“No, not selling. At least not entirely. I'm going to form a syndicate, and take on a couple of partners. Kiltie is young for a dog who's already had this much success. Next year he'll be fully mature and at the top of his game, and I want to pull out all the stops. Kiltie deserves a shot at the big time and I intend to give it to him.”

“I thought you already had,” I said.

“This?” Sondra's gaze slid around the library, taking in the visible reminders of her success. “Sure, this is great—for an owner-handler with a family and other obligations. It's an enviable local record, considering that I can't travel all over the country and make sure that Kiltie gets to all the biggest shows.”

Specialing a dog—competing with a finished champion in the Group and Best in Show rings—was a huge commitment, one that involved a significant outlay of both time and money on the part of the dog's owner. Single-minded focus on the final prize helped, too. In recent years, there had been very few owner-handlers who had managed to take a dog all the way to the top.