Jingle Bell Bark (11 page)

While I heated up the milk, Davey dug around in the pantry. Faith and Eve elected to help him look. The fact that both Poodles emerged with biscuits didn't come as a big surprise.

I prepared two steaming mugs. Davey plopped marshmallows on top, three for him, one for me. The dogs settled under the kitchen table to chew on their biscuits.

“There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about,” I said. “You know how Henry hasn't been driving your bus all week?”

My son nodded. “We have Annie now. She's not as nice as Henry, but Joey and I like her okay. Is Henry coming back soon?”

“No.” I reached over and took his small hand in mine. “He isn't. I'm afraid he won't be coming back at all.”

“Did Henry die?” He seemed less shocked than interested. Children see so much on television, they've almost become inured to the small, everyday tragedies.

“Yes, he did.”

Davey considered that for a moment. “He was pretty old,” he said finally.

“Yes, he was.”

“I liked Henry.”

“I did too.”

Davey tipped back his head, looking out the window and up into the sky. “Did Henry go to heaven?”

“I'm sure he did.”

Davey smiled. “Henry used to give all the kids a lollipop on their birthday. Do you think he'll have one for Jesus on Christmas?”

“I bet he will,” I said, and smiled with him.

T
o Davey's dismay and my relief, the snowstorm fizzled out overnight.

Saturday morning the air was crisp and cold, the sky a shimmering, cloudless blue. And instead of being able to enjoy such a fine winter day, I had to go to the Hyatt and meet with Henry's daughters. That visit would probably be followed by a session with the Stamford police. Why was it that my days off never seemed to have any more downtime than my workdays did?

The phone rang as we were eating breakfast. Oatmeal with cinnamon for Davey and me, several handfuls of dry kibble for Faith and Eve. Faith was pushing her food around the floor, Eve was scarfing up everything in sight. Judging by our bowls, Davey and I were following a similar pattern.

“That's for me!” Davey cried, jumping up. My son was an eternal optimist. Not only was he always sure that the call was for him, he was positive it was someone he wanted to speak to.

“Hi, Dad,” he said gleefully into the receiver. The greeting was followed by a long laugh and a sidelong glance in my direction. “Okay,” he said after another pause. “Great. See you then.”

He hung up without even giving me the option of talking.

“Excuse me,” I said as my son slipped back into his chair and attacked his oatmeal with the renewed enthusiasm of someone who was in a hurry to move on to his next adventure.

“What?” So help me if this child did not have the most innocent brown eyes in the world.

“That was your father on the phone?”

Mouth full, Davey nodded.

“And he didn't want to talk to me?”

“Nope.”

“How do you know? You didn't even give him a chance.”

Davey shrugged. “He's coming to get me, you can talk to him then. Dad and I are going Christmas tree shopping. He wants me to help him get his house decorated for the holidays.”

I sat back in my chair. That sounded like fun—fun I was going to have to miss. Not only that, but we had yet to put up a single decoration ourselves. It was a sad day when I found myself falling behind Bob when it came to domestic duties.

Since I was already feeling sorry for myself, I asked, “What did your father say that made you laugh?”

“He asked if you were making me eat oatmeal for breakfast.” Davey stared downward intently. He scraped the last spoonful off the sides of his bowl.

“I thought you liked oatmeal.”

“I do.. But let's not tell Dad, okay?”

Bob arrived within the hour. When my ex-husband had first reappeared in our lives, he'd been living in Texas and driving a flashy cherry red Trans Am. A subsequent relocation to Connecticut, with its long, often snowy winters, had convinced him of the need for a more practical vehicle. Over the summer he'd traded his car in for a dark green Ford Explorer, perfect for carting home Christmas trees and any other large objects of desire he and my son happened to stumble upon.

Not content to blend in with all the suburban matrons driving similar SUVs, Bob had modified the Explorer's lights, bumper, and exhaust system. I heard the car's low, powerful rumble as he pulled in the driveway. I imagined the neighbors did as well.

The Poodles ran to the front of the house, recognized Bob, and declined to bark. They faded back as Davey opened the door and ran out to greet his father. Bob tries but he's just not a dog person. He doesn't understand the elemental connection I feel with Faith and Eve. To me, the two Poodles are members of our extended family. To Bob, they're just big, black animals that are often in the way.

“I hear I missed you last night,” he said as he followed Davey back inside. Seeing the two of them together, it was hard not to be struck by the resemblance between them. They shared the same coloring—sandy brown hair and dark, umber eyes—as well as the same lithe, lanky frames. Even their mannerisms were similar. Bob and I waited in the hall as our son went to find his shoes and warm jacket.

“I stopped by the Bean Counter after you'd left,” he said. “Bertie was still there. She said you'd had dinner together.”

Bob is Frank's partner in the coffee house. My brother's in charge of day-to-day management; my ex-husband handles the accounts, the taxes, and most of the ordering. Recently, they'd decided that their joint enterprise had been successful enough to tempt them into thinking about expanding.

“We stopped by after Davey's play practice yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, the Christmas pageant. I've heard all about it.
I bring a gift of incense for the Baby Jesus.”

I grinned. “I guess Davey's had you running lines with him, too?”

“Both of them,” Bob confirmed. “I think he has them down pat now.”

Good luck with that, I thought. By my count, Davey was rehearsing his two lines at least a dozen times a day. No doubt Bob would discover that fact for himself as the afternoon went on.

“Davey says you're going Christmas tree shopping?”

“Right. Want to come?” Bob craned his head around and looked into the living room. “We could pick up a tree for you, too.”

“I'd love to, but I can't. Unfortunately, there are some people I need to see this morning in Greenwich.”

“Listen,” Bob whispered. He nudged Faith out of the way with his knee and leaned closer so he wouldn't be overheard. “What's the deal with Santa Claus?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to make sure I don't say the wrong thing. Does Davey still believe or doesn't he?”

“No,” I said with some regret. These small rites of passage only served to remind me how quickly time was going by, and how fleeting my son's childhood would be. “Remember all those questions Davey asked last year? How did Santa travel all over the world in one night? How did he know who'd been good or bad? And what about houses that didn't have chimneys? Even then, he had his suspicions, and this year the jig is up. The kids talked about it at school. One of the parents confirmed that there was no Santa and next thing you know, they all knew.”

“How'd he take the news?”

“For a while he was really bummed. Apparently, he was afraid that if he stopped believing, that would be the end of Christmas. Once I explained that for adults the holiday was about the spirit of giving rather than receiving, he decided he could really get into it.”

Davey had taken my little speech to heart and we'd already tucked away presents he'd chosen for both his father and for Sam. Later in the weekend, we were planning to go shopping for Bertie, Frank, and Aunt Peg.

“Good,” said Bob. “I'll follow your lead, then. And speaking of leads . . .”

He paused as Davey came charging down the stairs. His boots were on and correctly laced; he was dragging his jacket behind him. Trotting down the stairs after him, Eve was carrying his gloves in her mouth. I wondered when he'd trained the Poodle to do that.

“... I got this flyer in my mailbox.”

“Merry Maids?”

“No. Franny's Dog-Walking Service.” He pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his pocket. “I thought this might be something you could try if you ever have to leave the Poodles alone for a long period of time.” He smoothed out the sheet of paper and handed it over. “What's Merry Maids?”

“A neighborhood house-cleaning service. Alice was talking about them last night. They've put pamphlets in everyone's mailboxes too.”

“I wouldn't mind having someone come in and clean my house once a week. Are they any good?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that they're advertising in the area.”

“You should ask Annie,” said Davey.

“Who?” Bob asked.

“My bus driver,” said Davey. “She knows all about everybody:”

“What makes you think that?” I asked curiously.

“Because Henry said so.”

“Now you've lost me,” said Bob.

“Henry was Davey's bus driver,” I told him. “He was an older man and unfortunately he died last week. Annie is Davey's new bus driver.” I turned to my son. “What did Henry say about Annie?”

“He didn't say anything about Annie.” Davey rolled his eyes. It didn't take a genius to interpret that expression.
Mothers could be so dense.
“He was talking about himself.”

“And?” Bob prompted.

“Henry used to tell us that we had to behave ourselves because if we didn't, he would know about it. It was his job to drive around the neighborhood, so he saw everything that was going on.”

How did he die?
Bob mouthed to me above Davey's head.

I turned away so Davey wouldn't hear and muttered under my breath, “He was poisoned.”

Bob looked taken aback. As Davey darted after Eve, who still had his gloves and was heading for the kitchen, he said, “Do the police know about that?”

“Of course. A detective on the case called me last night. That's one of the stops I have to make today.”

Bob shook his head. “I'd rather be Christmas shopping, myself.”

Me too, I thought.

 

 

The Hyatt Regency Hotel is an imposing edifice on Route One in Old Greenwich, situated on property that belonged, years ago, to Condé Nast Publications. Large stone signposts still trumpet the names of the company's signature magazines.

Driving in, I bypassed the valet parking at the main door. There would be plenty of parking in the big lot in the back and I didn't mind the extra walk. It would give me time to consider what I was going to say to Henry's daughters. I'd called before leaving home, so Robin and Laurel were expecting me. Neither had sounded particularly happy at the prospect of meeting an acquaintance of their father's. Even one who was currently in possession of their missing property.

Declining to give me their room number, the women had opted instead to wait for me in the plant-filled atrium in the hotel's center. Compared to the cold, crisp air outside, the lobby felt warm and humid. I already had my coat and scarf off before I'd even reached the end of the wide hallway that led to the front of the building.

Midmorning on a Saturday, the area was mostly empty save for hotel employees. Two women sat side by side on a low couch flanked by leafy ferns. I turned and headed their way. As I approached, they exchanged a glance and rose.

“Are you Melanie Travis?” asked the taller of the two.

Judging by the warm, honeyed tone of her skin, I decided she must be the daughter who lived in California. Tans were hard to come by in Connecticut in December. Her hair was styled in a sleek chignon; her clothing was crisp and creased. By comparison, her sister looked as though she'd just tumbled out of bed. Dark hair, shot through with gray, was barely contained by a rubber band at the nape of her neck. The bulky sweater she wore with her jeans was at least a size too big. Her smile looked genuine, however, as she stuck out a hand.

“That's right,” I said.

The woman's palm was calloused. She pumped my arm vigorously. “I'm Robin,” she said, then nodded toward her more elegant sister. “And this is Laurel. Where are Dad's dogs? We thought you'd bring them with you.”

“This hotel doesn't allow dogs. If I'd brought them, I would have had to leave them outside in my car. Then you would have had to figure out some place to put them. I thought it was easier to leave them where they were for the time being.”

“Maybe that was for us to decide,” Laurel said frostily.

I sighed inwardly. This wasn't going to be easy. “Mind if I sit?”

Laurel looked as though she might. Two upholstered chairs opposite faced the couch. I ignored her, chose one, and sat anyway.

“I'm very sorry about your father,” I said. “He was a kind and decent man.”

“Thank you,” said Robin.

Laurel waved a hand dismissively. “We're not here for condolences. We're here to retrieve our property, which was taken without permission from our father's house. You should know we're contemplating taking legal action.”

“You must be joking,” I blurted. “Over what? The fact that someone tried to be helpful and take care of two abandoned animals in your absence? Do you honestly think those two dogs should have been left to fend for themselves in your father's house until you chose to arrive?”

“I understand a neighbor had been feeding them.”

“Yes, grudgingly. But she wasn't walking them. Surely you can imagine how big a mess they were making.”

Robin's nose wrinkled. She got the picture, even if her sister didn't. “We would have come sooner, but both Laurel and I have obligations. It wasn't easy to drop everything on a moment's notice. And, of course, our father died very unexpectedly. Before we even knew what had happened, it was already too late. At that point, there didn't seem to be any need to hurry.”

“That was before we realized that strangers had complete access to our father's things,” Laurel interjected. “Had we understood the true situation, I assure you we would have been here sooner.”

“Then you didn't know that your father had two Golden Retrievers that needed to be attended to?”

“Of course we knew about Pepper and Remington,” said Robin. “We saw pictures every Christmas. Dad put them on the card, for Pete's sake. He loved those dogs.”

“So that's why you're so anxious to get them back.” I was being facetious. Robin didn't seem to notice.

“No, not really,” she replied. “Dad may have been attached to the dogs, but we barely know them. I can't take them home with me; I already have two cats. And as for Laurel—”