The Bark Before Christmas (20 page)

“Quick answer,” I said. “Is Rachel Bright the kind of person who could have done something like that?”

“I probably don't know her well enough to say,” Meredith admitted. “But I do know one thing. Rachel Bright was angry about what Sondra did to her. Really, really, angry.”

 

Was it too much to hope that I finally had a real lead to follow? I wondered as Kevin and I made the short trip from Rye Brook to White Plains. After all the running around I'd been doing on Sondra's behalf, it would be about damn time. In the last five days, I'd turned up a lot of interesting information. But unfortunately none of it seemed to have brought me any closer to figuring out where Kiltie was.

The real estate agency Rachel Bright worked for was located on a busy midcity street. I was lucky to find a parking space not too far away. Sometimes Kevin possesses boundless energy. Other times—usually when there's something important I need to do—his little legs get tired before we've walked half a block.

As I opened the door to the agency, a buzzer announced our arrival. The outer office consisted of a single large room that was sparsely furnished. There were four work stations, one allotted to each corner. A spindly looking artificial Christmas tree was plunked in the center of the floor between them. Kev loves everything about Christmas and even he wasn't impressed. He barely gave the silver plastic tree a glance.

Only two of the desks in the room were currently occupied, both of them by women. The two agents looked up as I closed the door behind me.

“I'm looking for Rachel Bright,” I said.

The woman at the near desk hopped up out of her chair and came quickly around to greet us. She looked enthusiastic, perky, and very eager to please. No doubt she was a good saleswoman. We hadn't even met yet and I got the impression that she was already calculating my client potential.

Too bad I was about to burst her bubble.

“I'm Rachel Bright,” she said, hand extended. “How may I help you? Let me guess”—her gaze swept downward over Kevin, then back up—“I'm betting that you're looking for a home in a good school district.”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “My name is Melanie Travis. I was hoping to talk to you about your dogs.”

“My dogs?”

Rachel's face fell. Then she swiftly recovered. I could almost see the wheels spinning as she remembered that houses weren't the only thing she currently had for sale. Instantly she appeared to be recalculating her chances of closing a deal.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “You must be looking for a puppy?”

Instead of waiting for my reply, Rachel hunkered down in front of Kevin. “Isn't that right, little boy? I bet
you
want a puppy.”

“Have a puppy,” Kevin announced. “Want fish.”

Rachel opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again.

Go, Kev,
I thought. It was nice to see
something
slow down the relentless barrage of sales patter.

“Maybe we could sit down for a minute?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Rachel. “Over here.”

She led the way to a pair of wooden chairs that were positioned beside a narrow table. Fronds from an oversized potted fern hung down over my shoulder as I sat down and pulled Kevin up into my lap. Giggling happily, he batted at the long, slender leaves.

Rachel waited until we were settled then said, “Why don't you tell me what you're looking for?”

Put like that, there was only one answer I could give.

“A missing West Highland White Terrier,” I said.

“Missing . . . ?” Rachel sounded surprised. Then abruptly the other shoe dropped. Her expression shuttered. “You mean Kiltie.”

“That's right.”

“Did Sondra send you here?”

“No, she did not.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Nevertheless, it's true,” I told her. “But considering the recent animosity between you and Sondra, I was wondering if you might know anything about his disappearance.”

“If I did,” Rachel said with a disgusted snort, “do you think I would tell you?”

I shrugged. “You might.”

“Only if I was stupid.”

“That sounds like a confession.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Rachel snapped. “It's nothing of the sort. I didn't take Sondra's dumb dog. But I'll tell you what—I'm glad someone did. Having Kiltie disappear from right under her nose? It serves her right.”

“Sondra isn't the most popular person,” I said affably.

Rachel refused to be placated. “And yet here you sit on her behalf.”

“I'm here because of Kiltie,” I told her. “And because even though you might have been mad enough at Sondra to want to lash out at her, I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted an innocent pet to be punished as a result.”

“An innocent pet.” Rachel blew out an annoyed breath. “I can't believe you just said that.”

“You don't agree?”

“Not even close. So don't try to tug at my heartstrings to get what you want. Kiltie is nobody's pet. He's a competitor, a professional show dog who's shooting up the ladder of success. And Sondra McEvoy doesn't care who she has to shove out of his way to get there.”

“Like you, you mean?”

“Hardly,” said Rachel. “In the grand scheme of things, I'm a nobody. Sondra probably came down hard on me just for practice. You know, to keep her claws sharpened.”

Sadly I couldn't disagree.

“Is there someone else Sondra has pushed out of the way recently?” I asked.

“You didn't hear this from me,” Rachel said, leaning closer.

“Of course not,” I agreed.

“Do you know who Todd Greenleaf is?”

I nodded.

“A friend of mine works in his kennel. She told me that Todd dumped a dog belonging to one of his longtime clients in order to make room for Sondra to wedge her dog into his lineup. The other client thought that Todd was going to be specialing his terrier this year, but it turns out he'll have Kiltie instead.”

Rachel sat back and looked at me with a satisfied smirk on her face. “Except now Kiltie's gone. So maybe not. You know?”

T
hat was interesting.

I wondered if it was true. Obviously it was in Rachel's best interests to steer me in another direction. On the other hand, at this point I couldn't afford to discount any input that came my way.

“Why would Todd do that to someone he's had a long relationship with?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? For the money.” Rachel shook her head at my naiveté. “It's always about the money.”

There was that.

“Who's the other client?”

“A guy named Rick Stanley. He shows Cairns. Or at least he does when Sondra isn't throwing her weight around and screwing things up for him.”

I knew that name, I realized with a start. Bertie had given it to me on Tuesday when I'd asked her about other exhibitors who'd been at the Christmas bazaar. I had called Mr. Stanley and left a message but he hadn't called me back.

It sounded as though it was time for me to do something about that.

“Not like that lady,” Kevin said when we were back in the car and heading home.

“I know,” I replied, glancing back at him. “I'm sorry you had to meet her. She doesn't seem like a very happy person.”

“Not happy,” Kev said with a firm nod. “No fish.”

 

Kevin and I spent the afternoon at the Stamford Town Center doing some Christmas shopping. Fortunately, at his young age, Kev is easily distractible. Not only that, but the mall offers a cornucopia of interesting things for a toddler to see and do. I was able to select several presents for Sam and Davey, pay for them, and slip them quickly out of sight into shopping bags while Kev's attention was focused on other things. Every mother I know is adept at that particular sleight of hand. I'm pretty sure it's one of the basic job requirements.

Out in the parking garage, I'd just finished loading the car and buckling Kevin into his car seat when my cell phone rang. The caller's number looked vaguely familiar, but Caller ID didn't supply a name. I slipped into the front seat of the Volvo and fitted the phone to my ear.

“This is Jane Brew,” a woman's voice said briskly. “I understand you want to talk to me?”

“Yes,” I said. “It's about Kiltie.”

“Who?”

Maybe we had a bad connection, I thought. Every other exhibitor I'd spoken to had known immediately who the Westie was.

“Kiltie,” I said again. “GCH Westglen Braveheart?”

“Never heard of him,” Jane Brew replied. “Are you sure you called the right person? Where did you get my number?”

I took a deep breath and started over. “You attended the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar last Saturday.”

“That's right. A friend and I drove down from Westport to get our dogs' pictures taken with Santa Claus. Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not,” I said quickly. “A lot of other people did the same thing.”

“Are you calling all of us?”

“No, I—”

“Then why me?”

“Because you show dogs.”

“So what?”

Watching me from the backseat, Kevin tipped his head to one side and gave me a toothy grin. Even he seemed to know that I was fast losing control of the conversation.

“One of the dogs who was there that day—a West Highland White named Kiltie—was stolen from his crate at the bazaar that afternoon.”

There was a brief pause, then Jane Brew said, “What does that have to do with me?”

“I thought maybe you might have seen something—”

“I didn't even see a Westie. I was busy with my own dogs. And minding my own business.”

“That's too bad,” I said.

“Are we done?” asked Jane.

“Umm . . . I guess.”

Click.

I sighed and tucked my phone away. That, in a nutshell, was why I preferred speaking to people in person. I'm not nearly as easy to blow off when I'm standing right in front of them.

“I guess,” Kev said from the backseat.

Even though I knew he was merely echoing the last thing he'd heard me say, I still turned around and asked, “You guess what?”

“Christmas coming!” Kev cried. He pumped a fist in the air for emphasis.

This time of year, that child has a one-track mind.

 

When we arrived home, the house smelled wonderful. While Kev rolled around on the floor with the Poodles who'd met us at the door, I followed my nose to the kitchen. There I discovered that Sam and Davey were baking Christmas cookies.

I wrapped my arms around my husband, hugged him hard, and said, “I think I'm in love.”

“I should hope so,” Sam replied. He had oven mitts on both hands and a smear of flour down the front of his shirt.

“Hey,” said Davey, talking around the warm sugar cookie he'd just popped into his mouth. “I'm helping, too.”

That earned him a hug as well. Since he'd pretty much asked for it, Davey had the grace not to squirm out of my grasp too quickly. Even though he's opposed to parental displays of affection on principle, my son might have even hugged me back a little. It appeared as though the cookies were having a salutary effect on all of us.

I stepped back and gazed around the kitchen. Several dozen cinnamon cookies were cooling on racks. Two baking sheets were currently in the oven. Davey had been working on filling a third from a bowl of cookie batter on the counter.

“This all looks great,” I said, helping myself to a warm cookie. “What's the occasion?”

Busy spooning batter into neat balls on the baking tray, Davey mumbled something under his breath. I turned to Sam for a translation.

“Christmas party at Davey's school,” Sam told me as he checked the timer on the oven. “Davey volunteered to bring six dozen cookies.”

“That was nice of you,” I said. “When's the party?”

Sam and Davey shared a look.

“Tomorrow,” my son informed me.

“They only gave you
one day's
notice to come up with six dozen cookies?” I asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” said Sam.

Oh. Maybe that was why Davey had allowed me an extra-long hug.

“How long have you known about it?” I asked.

“Couple weeks. I kind of forgot.”

“I guess you did,” I muttered.

“No big deal,” said Sam. “Davey and I ran out to the market and picked up plenty of supplies. We've got everything under control.”

“You're a lifesaver,” I said.

“You know it.” Sam grinned.

Kevin came charging into the kitchen with six Standard Poodles in hot pursuit. “Cookies!” he cried, his eyes widening as he looked around the room. “Want some.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. “Let's make lots of extras for us. You can help decorate.”

I pulled off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and went to work.

 

Friday morning, back to school. Walking down the semi-empty hallway with Faith upon our arrival, I wondered why we'd even bothered to show up. On this, the last school day before the start of Christmas vacation, it appeared as though half the student body had already gone AWOL.

In the teachers' lounge, the atmosphere was festive. The prospect of three whole weeks of vacation had put everyone in a good mood. Even Ed Weinstein looked cheerful. That had to be a first.

There was fresh coffee in the silver urn and a chocolate Yule log on the table. I hadn't planned to sit down but that cake was calling my name. I cut a sliver off the end and slipped into a chair beside Rita Kinney.

“Who baked?” I asked her. “You?”

“Are you kidding?” Rita laughed. “Who has time to bake? My mother sent it, and according to the box it came in, she didn't bake it either.”

“Nice of you to share.” I sectioned off a large bite and slid it into my mouth. “This is really good.”

“Too good,” Rita agreed. “If I hadn't brought it to school, I'd have eaten the whole thing myself.”

“Your loss is our gain,” said Louisa Delgado. She glanced down at her hips. “Literally and figuratively.”

“Hey, Melanie,” Ed said from across the table. “Did you find that lost dog yet? You know, the one that went missing from your bazaar?”

“Not yet,” I replied, swallowing another bite of cake. “But I'm working on it.”

“What's the hold-up?”

“Well . . .” I leveled Ed a look. “He's
lost
.”

“I heard there's going to be a lawsuit over that dog.” Ed paused for effect, then added, “A huge one.”

With that pronouncement, every head in the room swiveled around to look at us. Probably just as Ed had intended. Too bad for him that I was tired of listening to his self-serving bluster. And that I was coasting along on a wave of cake-induced euphoria.

“I'm not surprised you're interested,” I said brightly. “Since you were right there at the bazaar when Kiltie disappeared. What do you know about what happened?”

“What kind of question is that?” Abruptly Ed reared back in his seat. I found it interesting how quickly he'd gone on the defensive. “You're the one who blew it. Why should I know anything?”

“Maybe because you brought up the subject,” Rita pointed out. “You're the one who wants to talk about it.”

“Not like this,” Ed grumbled. “Melanie has no cause to be snooping around me.”

“Of course not, Ed,” said Louisa. “Because, as usual, you don't have any idea what you're talking about.” She reached over and nabbed his plate. “That's enough cake for you. I think the sugar's going to your brain.”

Louisa stood up, walked over to the sideboard, and dumped Ed's remaining half piece in the garbage. A smattering of laughter came from around the room. Louisa smiled, extended her arm gracefully, and took a small bow.

Ed's face grew red. As the first bell rang, he stood up and left the room in a hurry.

“Way to kill the good mood,” Ryan Duncan called after him. Everybody laughed again.

“That's my cue,” I said, rising as well. As I exited the lounge and started down the hall, I realized that Louisa had followed me. I slowed my pace and she caught up.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked.

“Sure. What's up?”

“You know I have Poppy McEvoy for sixth grade math, right?”

I nodded. Louisa was a great teacher, but even she couldn't manage to spark Poppy's interest in math. The child loved words and hated numbers, which was why we had a weekly session together.

“Ed talking about that lost dog made me think that maybe I should say something.”

I pulled over to the side of the hallway and stopped. “Go on.”

“Have you noticed anything different about Poppy recently?”

“Define
recently
.”

“I don't know exactly,” Louisa said with a shrug. “Maybe a couple of months? It seems like something's going on with her. She's been distracted, even more so than the usual sixth grader. And maybe a little glum. I'm wondering if she's okay.”

I leaned in closer, lowered my voice, and said, “Her parents separated not too long ago. Did you know that?”

“I had no idea.” Louisa looked surprised. “Are you sure? Usually news like that is all over the grapevine. And I know I saw Poppy with both her parents at the Christmas bazaar.”

“They were there,” I agreed. “But at different times of the day. Sondra told me about the separation herself. Poppy's father has moved out of the house.”

“Poor kid,” Louisa murmured. “No wonder she's been unhappy. Thanks for letting me know. I'll try to cut her some slack.”

“And I'll try to bring Kiltie back,” I said. “Maybe between the two of us, we can cheer her up a little.”

By the time I reached my room, my first pupil was already waiting for me. Gordon Beck was a cheerful second grader who was new to the school that year. His recent dyslexia diagnosis was not only turning his academic performance around, it was also transforming him from a reluctant student to one who was now curious about his studies and eager to learn. I loved helping kids like Gordon; it was just one of the things that made my work at Howard Academy incredibly gratifying.

At the end of our tutoring session, Gordon opened the door to leave, then turned and looked back into the room. “Hey,” he said. “There's a guy out here.”

I'd been gathering my papers. Now I stopped and glanced up. “Who?”

“I dunno.” Gordon shrugged. He shouldered his backpack and left.

The door pushed open farther and a man I'd never seen before came walking into my room uninvited. He was medium height and had a stocky build, along with bland features and grizzled gray-brown hair. He paused and shut the classroom door behind him, holding it in place until the latch clicked.

Security is pretty tight at Howard Academy. The school caters to a wealthy clientele and children's safety and well-being is paramount. Strangers don't go wandering around the campus unescorted. It isn't allowed and it doesn't happen. So even though there was nothing about this man that appeared even remotely dangerous, the situation was still unusual enough to put me on guard.

I lowered my hand to my side and snapped my fingers. Faith, who was snoozing on her cedar bed in the corner of the room, woke up and lifted her head. Sensing my abrupt change in attitude, she quickly got up and padded across the room to stand beside me.

Faith isn't a guard dog. She's never had protection training. But she's big and solid enough that her mere presence can act as a deterrent.
Better safe than sorry,
I thought.