The Bark Before Christmas (23 page)

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Baton Rouge. He's got family there. Went down for a holiday visit. He told me he'd had no idea that anything had gone wrong at the Christmas bazaar until the police contacted him in the middle of the week.”

“Did you ask him why he had taken the job, and then canceled on us at the last minute?”

“I sure did. After the way things turned out, I wanted to know the answer to that myself. Hal said a guy got in touch with him right before the bazaar. Name of Chris Tindall. Does that mean anything to you?”

“That's the name Jerry Platt was using when Mr. Hanover hired him as Hal's replacement,” I said.

Tony nodded. “I asked Hal what this guy had done to make him bail on us like that, and he said Tindall told him some long sob story about having a kid who went to Howard Academy that he never gets to see. Tindall and the mom aren't together anymore and he doesn't have visitation. So now it's Christmas and he's all broken up about it and all Tindall wants to do is surprise his daughter and spend a little time with her.”

“I'm pretty sure none of that was true,” I said.

“Probably not,” Tony agreed. “But it doesn't matter because Hal fell for it. He thought he was doing a good thing for somebody and he let Tindall sub in.”

“I assume Hal was reimbursed for his lost job?”

“You better believe it. He got two thousand dollars to make the switch.”

“Wow.” I whistled softly under my breath. “No wonder he was happy to help Tindall out. That's a lot more than we were going to pay him.”

“That's what I figured,” Tony said. “I asked Hal if that didn't seem a little suspicious to him but he said he didn't really think about it. All he knew was that someone was offering to pay him enough to take a week off and go fishing, so he jumped at the bait.”

“Fish?” Kevin sat up in my arms. He hadn't been following the conversation but now, having heard his new favorite word, he wanted back in. “Who has fish?”

“Nobody, sweetie.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Let me talk to Tony for another minute. If you're a good boy, Santa Claus will bring you fish for Christmas.”

“Fish for Christmas,” Kevin agreed happily. “Santa bring.”

“Cute kid,” said Tony.

“Thanks.” I smiled. What mother doesn't love to hear that? “And thank you for tracking down Hal for me. Do you have time for one more question?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Jim McEvoy. Poppy McEvoy's father. You saw him at the Christmas bazaar, didn't you?”

“Sure I saw him. He volunteered to come in early and help out. He was on my crew.”

Right, I thought. I'd forgotten about that.

“How did he seem to you?”

“I don't know.” Tony shrugged. “Like a nice enough guy, I guess. That morning was the first time I'd ever met him. Jim seemed happy enough to be assigned to the unloading crew and he worked as hard as any of the other parent volunteers. Why do you ask?”

“I'm just trying to think things through,” I said. “And maybe I'm taking a stab in the dark. You know that the Westie that was stolen later in the day belonged to his wife, right?”

“No, I didn't realize that.” Tony sounded surprised. “I never made the connection. But by the time that dog went missing, Jim was long gone. He told me there was somewhere else he had to be that day. That's why he was on the morning crew.”

Or maybe he'd arranged not to be at the bazaar later in the day in order to have an alibi elsewhere, I thought.

“Wait a minute,” said Tony. “Did you say his wife?”

“That's right. Sondra McEvoy. She's Kiltie's owner.”

“Geez.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don't know if I should mention this or not.”

“Of course you should,” I encouraged him. “What?”

“It's just that that morning . . . well, there were a few times when he detoured away from what we were doing and went to hang out with another one of the parent volunteers. It's not like I could complain or anything considering that I work for Howard Academy and they pay for their kids to go to school there. But at the same time we had a job to do and my crew was pretty busy. And I was looking to keep everyone in line, you know?”

Standing there in the cold, I gave an involuntary shiver. The hair on the back of my neck had begun to tingle. Jim was involved with a mother from the school. That was what Madeline Dangerfield had told me.

“Who was the other parent volunteer?” I asked.

“I'm not sure I should say. I mean, I probably shouldn't be gossiping about this stuff.”

I wondered if I should point out to Tony that he was already gossiping about this stuff. And that it was much too late for him to have a sudden attack of scruples.

“Would it help if I told you that Poppy's parents are separated and heading for divorce?” I asked.

“I guess that makes things a bit better. At least it makes me feel better anyway.”

“So,” I prompted once again. “Who was Jim talking to?”

“Bradley Baker's mom. She was helping at the bazaar for most of the day. I think her name is Helen. Do you know her?”

Holy Christmas, I thought. I did indeed know Helen Baker. And I'd seen her at the bazaar, too. Helen had been a big help that day.

She'd been in charge of the raffle booth. The concession from which Kiltie had disappeared.

“I
have to go out again,” I said to Sam.

After our busy morning in Greenwich, he and I had made the boys lunch, then put Kevin down for a much-needed nap. Now Sam and Davey were sitting side by side on the living room couch, engaged in a bout of virtual combat whose outcome appeared to be dependent upon some strategy, many explosions, and a great deal of body English, the latter being liberally supplied by both players.

“Okay,” Sam replied. His gaze remained glued to the frantic activity taking place on the television screen. “See you later.”

At least the Poodles were unhappy about my departure. Or at least they bothered to notice that I was leaving. I figured that had to count for something.

Helen Baker and her son, Bradley, lived in west Stamford, not too far from the hospital. When I'd called to ask if I might drop by to see her, Helen had sounded somewhat surprised to hear from me, but not entirely unwilling to talk. She'd told me that Bradley had swim team practice, and that she would be at the Stamford YMCA for much of the afternoon. We'd arranged to meet at a coffee shop around the corner from the Y.

I arrived first. I bought a cup of coffee at the counter and carried it over to a small booth near the front window. Five minutes later, Helen came hurrying in. She pulled off her gloves and scarf and tossed them down on the seat opposite me, then went to get her own hot beverage.

Unlike many of the Howard Academy mothers, Helen didn't look like she'd just stepped out of the pages of
Town & Country
. Dressed down for the weekend, she had on jeans and a chunky sweater. Her face was make-up and Botox free, and her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. When she joined me in the booth a minute later, Helen greeted me with a friendly smile.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said. “Bradley's coach had some handouts for the team parents to read through.” She wrinkled her nose delicately. “To tell the truth, I'm delighted to have an excuse not to hang out at the Y all afternoon. I always leave that place smelling like chlorine. This will be much better.”

“I'm glad,” I said.

The questions I'd lined up to ask Helen would be tough. So it seemed like a good idea to start the conversation by making an effort to put her at ease.

“Is Bradley a good swimmer?”

“For his age group, he's great,” Helen replied. “He's ten, and he swims in the twelve and unders. He's fast enough to beat some of the older kids, too.”

“Good for him.”

“It is for now,” she said with a small laugh. “But I'm not kidding myself. I can't do much more than flail around in the water, so I doubt that my son is going to be Olympic material. Or even college scholarship material, unfortunately. But he's an only child so I like to keep him involved in as many activities as I can.”

“Been there,” I agreed.

“Really? Didn't you just get married a couple of years ago?”

Once again I was reminded just how close-knit a community Howard Academy truly was. The fact that everyone seemed to know everyone else's business made it all the more remarkable that—if my hunch was correct—Helen and Jim had been able to carry on a relationship right under everybody's noses.

“Second marriage,” I told her. “I have a twelve-year-old son, Davey, with my first husband.”

“I've met quite a few kids at the school,” Helen said thoughtfully. “But I don't think I know Davey.”

“You wouldn't have met him,” I said. “He doesn't go to Howard Academy.”

She peered at me over the rim of her cup. “How come?”

“When I first started teaching at HA, I was a single mother. I couldn't have dreamed of affording the tuition. Davey started out in the public school system and he's been thriving there. Plus that's where all his friends are now. So I haven't felt the need to make any changes.”

“I know what you mean about the tuition,” Helen replied. “There's no way I could afford that on what I make. But for all his faults, Bradley's father has at least managed to do one thing right. He's determined that his son should have the best education money can buy. And Howard Academy fits the bill.”

“I take it you're divorced,” I said.

Helen's expression was wry. “Does it show?”

“Little bit.”

“It's been three years. I'm supposed to be over it by now.”

“Says who?”

“Oh, you know.” Helen shrugged. “Best friends, self-help books, lifestyle gurus.”

“It sounds like you've gotten plenty of advice,” I said with a smile.

“I've listened to what they all have to say, anyway. But unfortunately, none of the practical wisdom I've been bombarded with seems to stick.”

“For what it's worth, I don't think you need to worry about anybody's time table but your own,” I said. “I hated my ex-husband for years.”

“And now?”

“Now we're finally friends again. Go figure. He's getting married on New Year's Eve. His fiancée's great. I'm helping her plan the wedding.”

Helen chuckled at the idea. “Doug and I will
never
reach that state of equanimity. I'm absolutely sure of that.”

“That's all right,” I replied. “It's different for everyone. Finding someone new helps.”

“I'm working on that part,” Helen admitted.

“I thought you might be.”

I watched Helen's brows lift in surprise. Her eyes narrowed fractionally. For a long moment, she didn't say a thing. Instead, her movements slow and measured, she paused for an extended drink.

On the other side of the booth, I sat in silence and waited her out.

“So that's why we're here,” she said finally. “I don't know whether I should be annoyed or relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“You know . . . that's it's not about Bradley. When you asked to meet with me, my first thought was that something might be wrong at school. That was why I agreed to see you.”

“I thought it was because you didn't want to go home with your hair smelling like chlorine,” I said.

Helen smiled reluctantly. “That, too, I suppose. So . . . how much do you know?”

“Enough to connect you to Jim McEvoy.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot.” She tipped her head to one side. “You're Sondra's buddy.”

“No,” I said deliberately. “I'm not.”

“Then why are we here?”

“It's about Sondra's dog, Kiltie—”

“Oh good grief.” Helen snorted. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“Sondra and her dogs. It's
always
about those damn dogs. If she spent less time worrying about those yappy little animals and more time worrying about taking care of her family, you and I wouldn't be sitting here right now.”

“I guess that's what Jim told you,” I said.

“
And
what I saw with my own eyes. Sondra's always been involved with her own interests. She neglected Jim. She didn't deserve him.”

Nothing original there, I thought. Those rationalizations sounded like the same ones used to excuse away just about every illicit relationship ever undertaken.

“Trust me,” I said. “You don't deserve that kind of trouble either.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“After the Christmas bazaar last Saturday, a man died in Union Cemetery.”

“I know,” Helen replied shortly. “I read about it in the paper. So what?”

“His name was Jerry Platt. And he'd spent that day playing Santa Claus at our school. When he died, he had a picture of a West Highland White Terrier with him in his car. A dog just like Kiltie. It looks as though Sondra's dog didn't just disappear from the bazaar, he was purposely taken away. By Jerry Platt.”

Helen sat back in her seat, pressing her slender shoulders into the cushion behind her. All at once she looked as though she wanted to put as much distance between us as possible.

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“Actually,” I said gently, “I think it does. Because when Kiltie wasn't with Poppy last Saturday, he was supposed to be locked inside his crate behind the raffle booth. You remember the raffle booth.”

Helen's lips thinned. She didn't speak.

“That was your concession, Helen. You were the person in charge.”

“You have that wrong,” she said firmly. “Sondra and I were both selling raffle tickets, but she was the one running the concession. Do you think that if it had been up to me, that booth would have been filled with dog crates? Absolutely not. I don't even like dogs.”

So she and Jim McEvoy apparently had at least one thing in common.

“Where were you when Kiltie went missing?” I asked.

“How would I know that?” Helen countered. “Sondra and I were in and out of that booth all day. Maybe she was keeping an eye on those crates, but I wasn't paying any attention to them at all. The first time I realized that something might be amiss was when you came by with Coco Silly.”

“Lily,” I corrected automatically. Then frowned. “If you weren't paying any attention to the dogs, how did you know the Cockapoo's name?”

Helen's cheeks flushed. “Someone must have mentioned it. You know, one of the girls.”

“Which girls?”

“Poppy and . . . the other one.”

“The one whose name you don't know. And yet somehow you seem to know the name of her dog.” I stared hard at Helen. “Even though you don't like dogs.”

“It's a memorable name—”

“Not really,” I said. “Not unless someone had made a point of telling it to you.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Helen sputtered.

Good try, I thought. The stammer was a nice touch. But I wasn't buying her denial for a minute. I was pretty sure that Helen knew exactly what I was talking about.

“I'm thinking that someone told you Coco Lily's name because you were going to be interacting with the dog yourself,” I said.

“What kind of a crazy notion—”

“You're the one who opened Coco Lily's crate and turned her loose, aren't you?”

Helen pulled in a sharp breath. I could see her considering her options. She squared her shoulders and her gaze sharpened to a steely glare. When she spoke again, it was obvious she'd realigned her defense.

“So what if I did?” she asked. “Big deal. A little dog got out of its crate and ran a few laps around the auditorium. No harm done.”

“Not to Coco Lily,” I agreed. “But what matters is not that she got loose—but rather why it happened.”

Helen lifted her coffee cup to her lips. The drink must have been nearly cold by now. She look a long swallow anyway.

“I have nothing to say about that,” she said primly.

“That's fine,” I told her. “I can't compel you to answer my questions if you don't want to. I imagine you'll be happier explaining what happened to the police.”

Helen's mug landed back down on the tabletop so hard that our silverware rattled. “Why would
I
want to talk to the police?”

“I don't think it matters whether you want to talk to them or not. After I take this information to Detective Young, I'm pretty sure he'll be the one who wants to talk to you.”

All right, maybe I was bluffing about that. Truthfully I had no idea whether or not the detective would be interested in hearing new details about Kiltie's theft. Or whether my information might be related to his own, much more important, investigation. But it was clear to me that Helen knew a great deal more about what had transpired that day than she was willing to share. And I was growing tired of our fencing match.

“Detective Young?” she repeated, frowning.

“He's the officer who's investigating Jerry Platt's murder.”

“That had nothing to do with me.”

“So you said.” I made no attempt to hide my irritation. “All you did was open a dog crate, right?”

Glumly Helen nodded.

“And look the other way,” I added.

“It was just supposed to be a small diversion.”

“And it succeeded,” I said. “Because while people were running around the auditorium chasing Coco Lily, Jerry Platt was able to slip Kiltie out of the bazaar.”

“Why do you keep talking about this Platt character? Even if he was at the bazaar as you say,
I
never met him. I don't know the first thing about him or what he was up to. And I certainly had nothing to do with Sondra's little dog.”

That last part I believed. Helen wasn't stupid. No doubt she'd made sure to give her lover's wife's dog a very wide berth.

“Who did?” I asked.

“Who did what?”

As if that evasion was going to work. It didn't even slow me down. I rephrased the question and tried again.

“Who arranged for Kiltie's theft?”

This time I hadn't even finished speaking before Helen began to shake her head. Her mouth was clamped firmly shut.

“All right, I'll make it easier for you,” I said. “Forget about Kiltie altogether. Who asked you to open Coco Lily's crate?”

Again, only silence.

“Who asked you to create a diversion?”

“Nobody,” Helen snapped. At least she'd gotten her voice back.

“Really?” I asked skeptically. “It was all your own idea?”

“You can't prove differently. No matter how many times you repeat the same thing.”