The Bark Before Christmas (15 page)

Sondra stood. She began to pace around the room. “This may look like a lot to you,” she said, “but for a dog of Kiltie's caliber, it's only the beginning. There's so much more he can accomplish. He deserves to have backers with clout of their own. And a top professional handler. Someone like Todd.”

Todd
. The name seemed to hang in the air between us. I imagine it glittering with all the gaudy sparkle of a neon sign.

Todd Greenleaf was the rock star of the dog show world. A man so well known in the canine community, so well respected as a fierce and tireless competitor, that he went by just one name, like Madonna or Britney.

Todd's prices were sky-high, but his results more than justified the expense. He was offered many more dogs than he could possibly add to his illustrious string. I'd heard that there was a six-month waiting list to engage his services. Exhibitors vied just to get their dogs in line.

“You're giving Kiltie to
Todd?
” I said in a hushed tone.

“That's right. He's going out with him just after the first of the year. It's a done deal. We've already set up a huge advertising blitz to announce our new association. Once Todd and Kiltie start winning, I'll be able to reel in any partners I want. The only thing I had left to do was to break the news to Poppy. I'm going to tell her over Christmas break.”

Abruptly I felt my stomach lurch.
Poppy
. I'd forgotten all about her. And it sounded as though Sondra had, too. Or at least that she'd neglected to factor her daughter's feelings into her grand plans. Poppy and I had discussed Kiltie on numerous occasions. She didn't see the little terrier as a top show competitor, but rather as a beloved pet and a treasured part of her family.

How could Sondra have overlooked such an important part of the equation? I wondered. She had to know that sending Kiltie out for a career with Todd would mean putting the dog on the road for the next twelve months. Or possibly even longer.

“Oh no,” I said on a softly exhaled breath. “Poppy will be devastated.”

Sondra looked over sharply. “She'll deal with it.”

Her dismissive tone stung. “Yes, but—”

“It won't be forever. Just until Kiltie's had a chance to leave his mark on the record books. Poppy's a big girl. She'll understand how things have to be. She's known all along that Kiltie was special.”

Yes, she had, I thought sadly. Except that Poppy's definition of special had been very different from her mother's.

“Speaking of Poppy, is she all right?” I asked. “She wasn't at school today.”

“She's fine. As you can imagine, she had an upsetting weekend. I told her it was okay if she wanted to take the day off.”

Brooding about Kiltie's disappearance wasn't going to help, I thought. Poppy would have been better off at school, surrounded by her friends, and keeping herself busy.

“Don't worry. I'll make sure she's back at school tomorrow.” Sondra gazed at me from across the room. “And in return, you will find my missing dog for me.”

I might have argued the inequality of that quid pro quo but, really, what was the point? Considering the conversations I'd had with Aunt Peg and Mr. Hanover, and now with Sondra, I was pretty sure that my searching for Kiltie's whereabouts was already a foregone conclusion.

“I'll take a look around and ask some questions,” I said.

“Of course you will,” Sondra replied. She strode toward the door.

Having served my purpose, I was clearly being dismissed. Faith and I hopped up together and followed.

The maid was waiting in the front hall with my coat. I wondered how she'd known we were coming. Surely she hadn't been standing there for the entire half hour that Sondra and I had been closeted in the library? Maybe the whole world was bugged and I was the only one who didn't know about it.

“I need Kiltie back no later than the end of December,” Sondra told me firmly. Perhaps she felt she hadn't yet given me enough instructions. “Talk to the other exhibitors. Find out which one of those lowlifes snatched my dog and who I have to pay to get him back.”

Faith scooted through the door as soon as the maid opened it. I followed her without stopping to look back. My Poodle and I were both happy to make an escape.

D
ressing a child to go outside in midwinter, especially a child who doesn't like wearing clothes in the first place, is a chore. First you have to locate the jacket, the mittens, and the boots. Then you have to wrestle them onto wiggling arms and legs. Finally you have to hope that in the time it takes you to put on your own coat and pick up your purse, phone, and car keys, the boots haven't been kicked off and the mittens aren't already on the floor.

Tuesday morning, the Standard Poodles sat in the kitchen and watched the dress-the-toddler show with interest and amusement. I didn't have school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Kevin and I were due in downtown Stamford for a Gymboree class at ten. Unfortunately we were running late.

Kev loves Gymboree. He participates eagerly in the singing, the dancing, and the games. Plus he gets to hang out with kids his own age. From his point of view it's a win/win. So I've never understood why it's so difficult to get him out the door on time.

“Tar come with us,” Kevin announced as I set him down beside the door that led to the garage and grabbed my own coat out of the hall closet.

Tar pricked his ears. That silly dog doesn't know much, but he recognized an invitation when he heard one.

So did the other Poodles. They figured that if Tar was getting to go for a ride in the car, they should, too. So now they all came scrambling over to join us. Within seconds, I had six Standard Poodles jostling for position next to the door.

Somewhere in the midst of that rambunctious group was the little instigator. I knew Kevin was fine. I could see his red knit cap bobbing up and down among the dark bodies in what looked like my very own canine/toddler mosh pit.

“Sorry, guys, you're not going,” I said firmly.

“Not going?” Kev wriggled his way to the edge of the group. Quickly he started to unzip his jacket so he could yank it off.

“Not you. I was talking to the Poodles.” Reaching out a hand, I grabbed him while I had the chance. “You're coming with me to Gymboree. But the rest of you”—I swept my gaze around the Poodle-packed hallway—“. . . are staying here.”

Six pomponned tails drooped. Six pairs of dark eyes regarded me with desolation. As if the communal canine disappointment was simply too much to bear.

“
Really?
” I sighed.

“Really,” Kevin agreed happily. He likes to echo what people say, even when he doesn't have a clue what it means. I am hoping he outgrows that trait before he's old enough for it to get him into trouble.

I bent down and swept the toddler up into my arms. Then I ran to the pantry and handed out six peanut butter biscuits. My car keys were in my pocket; my purse was over my shoulder. While the Poodles were busy munching, Kev and I slipped out the door and made a run for it.

 

By the time class was finished an hour later, Kevin was pleasantly drowsy and I was feeling energized. Thanks to MapQuest, I had directions to the address Mr. Hanover had given me the day before on the seat beside me. It seemed like a perfect time to pay Hal Romero a visit and find out what he might have known about our last-minute Santa switch.

Glenville is a small, historic, neighborhood that was originally a mill town on the western edge of Greenwich. Even as everything has grown around it, the area still manages to maintain much of its quaint village charm. I followed the directions to a quiet street not far from the fire station.

Hal Romero lived in a narrow, two-storey, house that looked as though it dated from the middle of the previous century. The dwelling had originally been a single-family home, but now it was subdivided into several, smaller apartments. A gaudy plastic Christmas wreath adorned the house's front door. Strings of multicolored lights had been over several low bushes in the small yard.

I parked the Volvo on the street beside a sturdy-looking oak tree whose naked branches snaked upward toward a gray, midmorning, sky. Kevin and I walked up the short driveway, across an even shorter walkway, and climbed two steps onto the front porch. When we reached the door, I had my choice of three doorbells. The one in the middle had Hal's name listed above it.

“Want to ring bell,” Kevin said imperiously.

I already knew that. Doorbells are one of my son's favorite things. And I'd learned a long time ago that the push-the-button game is much more enjoyable when Kev plays it on those occasions when it's actually necessary, rather than when we're at home and it's not.

I lifted him up and showed him which of the buzzers to press. Kev applied his index finger to the small button and pushed firmly. We both heard chimes sound inside the house.

Thirty seconds passed. Nothing happened.

“Again!” said Kevin.

We gave it another try. Still nothing.

The toddler looked up at me. “Nobody home,” he said with a shrug.

“Maybe Hal Romero is coming,” I said. “Maybe he's just slow.”

Okay, so I was grasping at straws. But I really didn't want to have made the trip to Glenville for nothing. Sure, I could have called Mr. Romero first. But in my experience people who don't have any reason to want to talk to me, are much more likely to do so when I'm standing right in front of them, than they are when I give them advance warning of my intent.

“We'll give it one more try,” I said, hoisting the toddler up again. “Last chance.”

This time, the door opened fractionally almost before the chimes had even stopped ringing. A woman who looked to be in her fifties, with slippers on her feet and a scowl on her face, peered out at us through a gap that was less than six inches wide.

“Help you?” she said, sounding none too pleased by the prospect.

“I'm looking for Hal Romero,” I told her. “Did we ring the wrong bell by mistake?”

“No, you got the right bell,” she said with a windy sigh. “You just rang it so many times I figured if I didn't come out here and open the door you'd never shut up.”

“Oh,” I said. Oops.

“Ring bell!” Kevin cried gaily. “One more time.”

To my surprise, the woman looked down and smiled. “I thought you were just being rude,” she said with a chuckle. “But now I see what happened.”

Delighted by her amusement, Kevin began to laugh with her. As his small body pumped up and down with giggles, the woman pulled the door open, stepped aside, and waved us through the gap.

“My son, Danny, used to love to ring the doorbell, too,” she said. “Drove me crazy, that kid. Step inside for a minute. It's too cold to stand out there on the porch.”

I was happy to comply. Bracing a hand between Kev's shoulders, I scooted him forward, then quickly followed. We entered a cramped hallway that held only two doors and a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor. The door on the right was closed. The one on the left stood ajar.

“How old is Danny?” I asked. I've never met a woman who doesn't like to talk about her children.

“Thirty on his last birthday,” she said fondly. “And long gone from here now. He's married with a family of his own.”

“We have Poodles,” Kevin announced. He hates to be ignored.

Looking down, I saw that he already had his jacket off. His mittens, clipped to his cuffs, dangled from the ends of the empty sleeves.

“I like dogs,” the woman told him. She obviously liked children, too. Then she lifted her gaze to me. “So you're looking for Hal. Are you a friend of his?”

“No, actually we've never met. My name is Melanie Travis. I work at Howard Academy.”

The woman nodded. Not surprisingly, she'd heard of the school. “Beverly,” she said. “I'm Hal's landlady.” She nodded toward the staircase. “He has the apartment upstairs.”

“Mr. Romero was hired to appear as Santa Claus at our Christmas bazaar this past weekend—” I began.

Kev tilted his head upward. “Santa Claus?” he said with interest.

Too late, I realized my mistake. And it was a doozy. Quickly I hunkered down to Kevin's height so we could talk eye-to-eye.

“Not the real Santa Claus,” I said. “We're talking about one of his helpers.”

“And he lives
here?
” Kev's eyes grew wide.

“Sometimes. But only when he's not at the North Pole.”

“Wow.” He gazed around the small hallway with fresh appreciation.

As I rose to my feet, Beverly gave me a sympathetic wink. Then she said to Kevin, “I've got the TV on in my apartment. Have you ever watched
The Price is Right?
”

Kev shook his head. He still looked slightly dazed—as if he was half expecting Santa Claus to pop out of the woodwork at any moment.

I am
such
an idiot.

“Do you like flashing lights and screaming ladies?” Beverly asked.

Kevin considered for a moment, then shrugged.

“Why don't you go have a look? Your mom and I will be right here, having a little chat.”

“Okay.”

He left without even checking with me for permission. Another time, that might have bothered me. Now I was just grateful to Beverly for rescuing me.

“I should have seen that coming,” I said, shaking my head.

“Don't beat yourself up. We've all done it. Good save with the Santa's helpers line. They always fall for that one.”

“I hope so,” I replied, appreciating her attempt to make me feel better.

“Now back to Hal,” Beverly prompted. “What did you want with him?”

“Like I said, he was supposed to work at our Christmas bazaar last weekend. But then he canceled at the last minute and left us in the lurch.”

“That doesn't sound like Hal at all. He's usually very reliable. Dressing up and entertaining kids is how he makes his living. He's been doing it for years and he gets a lot of gigs. This time of year, it's all Santa Claus. But Hal also does a clown and a vampire. He has a magician act, too. He's the kind of guy who likes to keep busy.”

“I was hoping I could talk to him about why he didn't keep his commitment to us,” I said. “But I'm assuming he isn't here.”

“No, he's not. He hasn't been around since last week.”

“Thursday?” I guessed.

“Yeah, that's right. How did you know?”

“Some time that night he left a message at the school, canceling his appearance. The headmaster found out about it on Friday morning and had to scramble around to replace him.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Beverly said thoughtfully. “Hal would never want to disappoint kids like that.”

“Do you have any idea where he went?”

She shook her head. “I didn't see him before he left. I just noticed he was gone and figured he must have gone off somewhere for the holidays. You know, visiting family or something?”

“Is that what he usually does this time of year?”

“I wouldn't really know. It's not my place to keep tabs. Hal's a good tenant. He's neat, he's quiet, he pays his bills on time. I've never had a single cause for complaint. He's a nice guy, but it's not like we get in each other's business.”

“So I guess you wouldn't happen to know where his family lives?”

“Nope,” said Beverly. “Not a clue.”

Briefly I debated mentioning that the Santa Claus who'd taken Hal Romero's place had ended up dead. Then I quickly decided against it. I was pretty sure that the police would want to talk to Beverly as well. It was probably better if I let them break the news. And maybe I'd get lucky and Hal's landlady wouldn't mention that we'd already spoken.

“Thank you for talking to me,” I said instead. “I appreciate it.”

“Sorry I couldn't be more help. You want to give me a card or something? When Hal comes back, I can have him call you?”

“That would be great.” I fished a piece of paper out of my purse, wrote down my name and phone number, and handed it over. Then I leaned around and stuck my head through the open doorway to Beverly's apartment. “Kev, honey, it's time to go.”

I expected to see him sitting in front of the television but Kevin had bypassed the screaming ladies and flashing lights and found something better. He was standing beside a large aquarium, tucked into an alcove at the end of the room. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, Kev was staring in fascination at dozens of brightly colored fish swimming back and forth behind the glass.

No wonder I hadn't heard a peep out of him.

“Mommy, come see,” Kevin cried. “
Pretty fish!
”

I'd already retrieved his jacket from the floor in the hallway. Now I carried it with me across the room. “The fish are beautiful. Please say thank you to the nice lady for letting you look at them.”

“Thank you,” Kevin mumbled.

Still utterly entranced, he didn't even turn around to acknowledge us. I reached down, slipped his arms into his sleeves of his jacket, and zipped him up. Then I gave his hand a little tug.

“Honey, we have to go now.”

Kev planted his feet. “Like to see fish.”

“I know they're nice. But they're Beverly's fish. And we have to leave.”

“Not going,” Kevin insisted. “Want fish.”

A sudden inspiration struck. “Christmas is coming,” I said. “Maybe Santa Claus will bring you a goldfish.”

Kev gestured toward the aquarium. “And water, too,” he said seriously.

“Water, too,” I agreed. “And probably a fish tank.”

I saw Beverly biting her lip. She was trying hard not to laugh. I was guessing that her son, Danny, had liked fish, too.