Jingle Bell Bark (10 page)

“Male or female?” asked Bertie.

“Male,” said Alice. “We're bringing him home for Christmas.”

Bertie swirled a french fry through her mound of ketchup and popped it in her mouth. “That's a terrible idea. I can't believe any good breeder would sell you a Christmas puppy.”

Alice sighed. “Not you, too.”

“The puppy isn't coming from a reputable breeder,” I said.

“Does Peg know that?”

I grinned at Bertie's horrified tone. “Luckily for Alice, she's my aunt and not hers.”

“The puppies are very cute,” Alice said firmly. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Bertie agreed. “So why'd you pick a male?”

“Actually, I didn't,” Alice admitted. “Ms. Morehouse told me that was what I wanted.”

“It was probably what she had left,” I said.

“Of course, I didn't realize it made any difference, so I just said fine. I figured that would be easier because I wouldn't have to get him spayed.”

“Even a male should be neutered,” Bertie said. “Aside from the whole accidental reproduction issue, they stay healthier that way. Is this the same Ms. Morehouse that's doing the play? She's a dog breeder, too? Busy lady.”

Mouth full, I simply nodded.

“So which is better?” Alice asked curiously. “Male or female?”

“It depends,” I answered.

“Males tend to be bigger,” said Bertie. “And they usually have a more profuse coat. Think more hair in the house.”

“Females are often smarter,” I interjected. “At least in Poodles. And bear in mind that we're generalizing now. Though males can be sweeter and more affectionate.”

“Boys can be harder to housebreak sometimes,” Bertie offered.

“Now that I think about it,” said Alice, “I've heard that boy dogs are more likely to roam, aren't they?”

Bertie and I shared a look. “Only if you let them run loose. Which I assume you won't.”

“But dogs need to run loose to get exercise . . .” Alice's voice trailed away. Bertie and I were both shaking our heads.

“You don't want your puppy to get hit by a car,” I said. “Or get lost.”

“Or stolen,” added Bertie. “Or run around the neighborhood barking and making a nuisance of itself. Owning a dog is a big responsibility.”

“I'm beginning to get that idea.” All at once, Alice looked glum. “It wasn't this hard when I was little. We had a dog that lived its whole life outside.”

“Times change,” I said.

“Yes, but this puppy is just going to be a pet. Your dogs are show dogs—”

“It makes no difference,” Bertie said firmly. Case closed.

Alice went back to eating. A few minutes later she finished her salad and set her fork aside. “Speaking of running around the neighborhood, did you get a flyer in your mailbox recently asking if you want to hire someone to clean your house?”

“Yes,” I said with a smirk. “From Merry Maids. What an idiotic name. As if we're supposed to think that a bunch of women are going to get all excited about the prospect of cleaning for us. It sounds like a group that Robin Hood might have put together. I threw the flyer out.”

“I didn't,” said Alice. “I was thinking of giving them a call. Maybe having someone jolly around sweeping things up might not be a bad idea. Especially if the new puppy is going to be making a lot of messes. Apparently, the business is based right in the neighborhood.”

“It is?” Our area is strictly residential, but people had been known to bend the rules when it came to small operations like tax preparation or pet grooming. I wondered which house the band of merry maids had been hiding out in, and the thought made me smile.

“Finally,” said Alice. “Something you approve of.”

“Hey, I never said being my friend was easy.”

Bertie leaned over and whispered. “You think that's bad, try being a relative.”

W
hen Davey and I finally arrived home, Faith and Eve were thrilled to see us. They spun in circles and danced with their paws in the air until we were both laughing at their antics. People who've never owned a dog have no idea what they're missing.

Even in this era of ubiquitous cell phones, people continue to leave messages on my answering machine. Of course, the fact that I rarely turn my cell phone on could be responsible for that. As usual, the light on the phone in the kitchen was blinking. There were three messages: one from Aunt Peg, one from Betty Bowen, and one from Stamford Police Detective Ron Marley, all requesting a call back. Why am I never this popular when I'm sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring?

Davey went out back with Faith and Eve, and I dialed Aunt Peg's number first.

“You've been out!” she said without waiting for me to identify myself. Aunt Peg now has caller ID.

“It's Friday night. Isn't that allowed?”

“Of course it's allowed. It's just unexpected.”

A sad commentary on my social life, if ever there was one.

“I was with Bertie and Alice having dinner at the Bean Counter.”

“Oh.” Peg sounded disappointed. “I was hoping you were going to say you'd been at the hospital watching my newest niece or nephew arrive.”

“Not yet. Besides, you just saw Bertie a couple of hours ago. Did she look like she was about to deliver a baby?”

“Of course she did. Bertie's looked like that baby was ready to pop out every day for the last month. The poor girl is as big as a house. I don't know why Frank lets her go out running around like that all by herself. It can't possibly be safe.”

Knowing Bertie, I doubted whether my brother was allowed to have an opinion on that subject. “They're together now,” I said to appease my aunt. “Davey and I just left them at the coffee house.”

“And did you and Bertie together manage to talk some sense into Alice Brickman?”

Aunt Peg was ever predictable. Tell her you'd been out socializing with friends, and she would assume you'd spent the evening discussing dogs. Of course, in this instance, she was at least partly right.

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “Alice is still planning to get a puppy from Rebecca Morehouse. She's already put down a deposit and I'm sure she doesn't want to lose her money.”

“Rebecca is probably counting on just that very fact,” Peg said huffily. “That's how those operations work, making sure they get some money up front so that people can't back out later if they change their minds.”

“I'll tell you something else about how Rebecca's operation works. She couldn't care less about the fact that Remington is now homeless. She told me we should go ahead and send him to the pound.”

Aunt Peg sighed. “I'm disappointed, but not entirely surprised. Anyone who's breeding to make money can't afford to keep an eye on the welfare of their older dogs. It simply isn't a cost-effective way to do business. Don't worry, when the time comes I'll find a good place for him. And by the way, thank you for contacting Cindy Marshall. She and I had an absolutely delightful conversation this afternoon. As soon as I get the go-ahead from Henry's relatives, we're going to make arrangements to meet.”

“Thank Sam,” I said. “That was his doing.”

The back door flew open hard enough to bounce off the wall. Child and Poodles came bounding through the doorway. “It's snowing!” Davey announced gleefully.

In the glow of the porch lights outside, I could see the first flakes beginning to fall. With the temperature slightly above freezing, I doubted they'd last once they hit the ground.

“Close the door,” I said to Davey. Cold air was wafting into the kitchen at an alarming rate.

“Nah, we're going back out. Come on, guys!” All three spun around and disappeared. I crossed the room and pushed the door shut myself.

“Was that my nephew?” asked Peg.

“And various assorted Poodle relatives. All now back outside trying to play in the snow.”

“What snow?”

“Therein lies the problem,” I said with a grin.

“They're not playing too hard? You're not letting Faith destroy Eve's hair?”

As if. I'd been pampering that hair for nearly a year and a half now. By Eve's first birthday in July she'd accumulated seven of the fifteen points necessary to complete her championship.

Once the Poodle was an adult, however, her trim had needed to be changed; much more hair was required to balance the new look. Accordingly, Eve had spent the last five months out of the show ring. Her adult debut was to take place the following weekend.

No way were there going to be any hair calamities now. Of necessity, both Davey and Faith were well versed in the proper procedure for playing with a Poodle in show coat. Nevertheless, I sidled over and had a look out the back window. So far, so good.

“Here's the reason for my call,” said Peg. “I had a visit this afternoon from a Stamford police detective.”

“Ron Marley?”

“He talked to you, too?”

“Not yet, but he left me a message. I was going to call him back when we were done.”

“He must have gotten our names from Betty Bowen, or maybe that boy, Johnny. He asked me what our connection to Henry Pruitt was and what we were doing inside his house.”

“I assume you told him about Remington and Pepper?”

“Of course I did. Though I must say he seemed rather skeptical.”

I pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Conversations with Aunt Peg tend to take a while. “About what?”

“I gather he didn't believe you and I would have taken over the care of two dogs belonging to a man that neither of us knew well.”

“Someone had to,” I said. Maybe that approach was simply too logical for someone who wasn't a dog person. “Did you take him out to the kennel and show him the dogs?”

“I offered to, but he said he didn't have time. Instead he asked me if they were valuable.”

Only to Henry, I thought sadly.

“But listen to this. Then Marley asked if I knew any reason why someone would want to harm either one of them.”

“That's an odd question. Did you find out why he wanted to know?”

“It took a bit of perseverance on my part, but eventually yes. Apparently, the reason Detective Marley was asking about Pepper and Remington is because Henry died after ingesting a rarely used poison, ethylene-glycol.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. “What is that?”

“The chief component of antifreeze.”

Aha, I thought. Now Marley's questions made sense. Most dog owners, even novice ones, knew that two things were toxic to their pets: chocolate and antifreeze.

“Does he think someone was trying to harm the dogs and poisoned Henry instead?” The notion sounded awfully far-fetched to me.

“I don't believe he knows what to think just yet. He's just asking around and seeing what turns up.”

“I'll call him back after I see what Betty Bowen wants,” I said. “Though I won't have any more to tell him other than what you already have. Still, if Henry was murdered, I'd love to see his killer brought to justice.”

“Tell him that,” said Peg.

 

 

The next number I dialed was Betty Bowen's. That call went more quickly. As soon as I identified myself, Betty got right down to business.

“Now listen,” she said. “How are those two dogs doing?”

“Pepper and Remington are fine. They're at my aunt's house in Greenwich. We're making arrangements to get them placed in good homes.”

“You can't do that.” Betty's voice lifted. “You've got to bring them back.”

“Back?
” I repeated. Did she expect us to return the Goldens to an empty house? “Back where?”

“Henry's daughters are here. It's about time, if you ask me. Robin Pruitt and Laurel Johnson. They rolled into town this afternoon and the first thing they did was come right over here and get Henry's keys back.”

That seemed reasonable to me.

“They wanted to know how I happened to have the keys in the first place.” Betty sounded annoyed. “Like maybe they thought I was holding on to something I shouldn't have. So I explained about how Johnny and I had been the ones to call nine-one-one, that we were right here when Henry was taken away. I told them about the dogs being left behind to fend for themselves. Rather than being grateful that someone was here to care for their father in his time of need, these two got all upset when they found out that something that belonged to them had been removed from the house.”

From the sound of things, Betty had gotten equally upset.

“Did you tell them that the dogs were being well cared for—”

“As if they gave a fig about that. Or about all the work that I did for those two animals out of the goodness of my heart. The girls said something about prosecuting me for theft and trespassing and God knows what else if I didn't get those dogs back, and quick.”

I sighed. So much for our well-laid plans.

“Okay, we can do that. Are the sisters staying at Henry's house? Is that where they want Pepper and Remington delivered?”

“No, they're not at the house. They're at . . . just a minute, I wrote it down here somewhere.” Paper shuffled in the background, then Betty was back. “They've got a room at the Hyatt Regency in Greenwich.”

“And the sisters think I'm going to bring those two big dogs there?” I asked incredulously. “The doorman won't even let me in the door.”

“They didn't mention anything about that.” Betty finally seemed to be calming down. “All they said was that they wanted Henry's property returned. That I'd been the one to lose it so I was responsible for getting it back.”

“You didn't
lose
Pepper and Remington, you put them in a place where you knew they'd be safe. You did the right thing.” In actuality, Betty had been all too willing to abdicate responsibility to the first person who'd shown up on her doorstep and indicated an interest in the dogs. Not that I could see any benefit to pointing that out.

“How about this?” I tried. “Tomorrow morning, I'll go see the two sisters, tell them I have Henry's dogs, and ask what they want me to do with them. That should make them happy, don't you think?”

“I hope so.” Betty sniffed. “I'll say one thing. Stuff like this sure teaches you not to try and be neighborly. Next time I see something bad going on, I'll just stay inside my own house and mind my own business.”

My last call was to Detective Marley. Predictably, since it was nearly nine
P.M.
, he wasn't in his office. I left a message that I'd called and told him to try back at his convenience.

It occurred to me when I hung up for the third time that I hadn't heard from Davey or the Poodles in a while. While I'd been on the phone, the snow had begun to come down in earnest. There hadn't been enough time for much to accumulate but Davey was on his knees in the middle of the yard, pushing what little snow there was into a small mound.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a fort.”

Ahhh, the optimism of youth. He'd already used up most of the snow that was on the ground. Sadly, so far his accomplishment looked less like a fort than like a medium-sized snowball.

“At that rate, it's going to take you awhile.”

“I know.” Davey shrugged. He didn't look unhappy about that prospect. He had time.

At moments like that I realized with singular clarity why motherhood is such a gift. In a world where it often seems as though everything needs to be newer, faster, and more expensive, it's nice to be reminded that patience is a virtue worth cultivating, and that the simple joys of childhood are important, too.

“It's almost your bedtime,” I said. “If it snows overnight, you can finish building a fort tomorrow. Maybe your dad will come by and help you.”

Now that Bob lived in the neighborhood, he and I shared a custody arrangement that was constantly evolving. Most weeks while school was in session, Davey lived with me. Most weekends he spent at least one day, and sometimes both, with his father. Eight years after our somewhat tumultuous parting, my ex-husband and I had actually turned out to be friends. Would wonders never cease?

Out in the yard, Davey stood up reluctantly. The Poodles had already come up the steps while we were talking. Davey was bundled up from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers. The Poodles, especially Eve, whose hindquarter was clipped to the skin, didn't have nearly as much protection from the cold.

Faith's short black curls were covered with a light dusting of snowflakes. Eve must have laid down in the snow. Her long mane coat was thoroughly wet on one side. She was going to have to be brushed out and blown dry once I'd put Davey to bed or the hair would solidify into thick, impenetrable mats.

Both Poodles moved past me to the center of the room. Stopping side by side, they braced their feet on the tile floor and shook vigorously. Ice-cold beads of water sprayed up my back and down my legs. I should have seen
that
coming.

“How about some hot chocolate?” I said to Davey as he shut the door behind him. I was sliding around the kitchen floor in my socks, trying to soak up the water the Poodles had just brought in. Shortcut housekeeping, the only kind I generally practice.

“With marshmallows?”

“If we have some.”