Jingle Bell Bark (2 page)

“Wise Man.”

“Behold a star in the east,” Henry intoned.

My brow lifted.

“First line, right?”

It was.

“Things don't change much from year to year. You watch out for Rebecca, now. She runs a tight ship. Time she gets through with you, you may wish you'd signed up for white gloves and waltzing.” Henry's eyes twinkled as he delivered the warning.

I didn't think twice about teasing him right back. “So she's Rebecca to you? The rest of us call her Ms. Morehouse.”

“Yeah, well.” Henry shifted into gear and reached for the lever to pull the door shut. “You know what they say, age has its privileges.”

The door slid shut; the brakes released. The bus groaned and rolled away. Davey had a window seat. I waved as he went by. Engrossed in talking to his friends, he didn't respond.

As I turned back to the house, I saw two black noses pressed against the front window. Four paws beat against the cold glass eagerly as the Poodles danced on their hind legs waiting for me to come and get them.

I went inside to start the week.

O
nce I reached Howard Academy, the day flew by. For one thing, half my tutoring sessions were canceled. Think about it: the day after Thanksgiving break, in a private school in Greenwich? Between the kids who were still schussing down the slopes and the ones who were still sunning in the Caribbean, the place was nearly empty. Even some of the teachers hadn't bothered to show up. That's life in the fast lane for you.

I worked with a few students, took Faith and Eve for several walks around the academy's spacious grounds, ate my sandwich of turkey leftovers for lunch, planned the next day's lessons in case anyone showed up, and decided to call it a day. Leaving early, I had plenty of time to drop Faith and Eve off at home before heading over to the arts center. Most afternoons I'd simply pick Davey up after play practice ended. That day, I decided to stop in early, sit in the back of the auditorium, and watch how things went.

The Long Ridge Arts Center was located in backcountry Stamford on a narrow, twisting road barely more than a single lane wide. Despite its out-of-the-way location, the families in the area flocked to the center, drawn by the diversity of its offerings. There were classes in ballet and jazz, yoga and theater, photography and cartooning. And if enough requests came in for a program that wasn't offered, chances were the center would hire a teacher and find a way to put a class together.

Privately funded and largely supported by grateful parents, the arts center was a huge asset to the community. In earlier years, Davey had attended after-school classes in speech and drawing. This was the first time he'd elected to take part in the Christmas play.

By the time I arrived, a fleet of yellow school buses was already lined up outside the building, disgorging hordes of eager students. Inside, the lobby was bustling. On other occasions, I'd stopped to admire the students' artwork adorning the walls, but now I went directly through into the auditorium.

Nearly forty children were milling around in the front of the room. It took me a minute to spot Davey. He was up on the stage, standing off to one side with Joey Brickman and several other friends. Satisfied that they'd arrived safely, I pulled off my wool coat and scarf and slipped into a seat in the back row.

Only a minute passed before Rebecca Morehouse strode out from the wings. She clapped her hands loudly. “People! People! Let's get organized now.”

Amazingly, the chatter stopped. Three dozen children stopped running, dancing, and playing, and turned to see what she wanted. I stared, awestruck. Bringing even half that many kids under control quickly was no easy task. This was like watching magic in action. Either that or witchcraft.

Silence accomplished, Ms. Morehouse strode across the stage with the regal bearing of someone who was accustomed to performing. She was an older woman, probably not a whole lot younger than Aunt Peg. But whereas Peg's hair had gone gray years before, Ms. Morehouse's hair was tinted a becoming shade of blond. Her crisp wool suit looked as though it bore a designer label and it accentuated a figure that was not only battling the effects of time, but clearly winning. Cool gray eyes peered out from a flawlessly made-up face.

For my part, at least I could say that my hair had been brushed that morning and the corduroy pants I was wearing were mostly clean.

“What did I miss?” Alice Brickman came hurrying into the auditorium and slid into the empty seat next to me.

Alice has been one of my best friends for years, ever since we met in a play group when Davey and Joey were only a few months old. There's something about the shared bafflement of first-time motherhood that bonds women in a hurry. Alice and her family lived right down the street from us, and in the intervening years, Joey had gained a younger sister named Carly, who had recently started first grade.

“Nothing yet,” I said, as Alice shrugged out of her faux sheepskin coat. “They're just getting started.”

Up on the stage, Ms. Morehouse was taking attendance. Holding out a clipboard, she read off each name from her list, searched among the faces until she'd located the child, and then marked them all present.

“Excellent,” she said when she was done. “As you all know, play practice will take place every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from now until Christmas. You will be expected to attend every practice and every performance. Unexcused absences will not be tolerated. Nor will tardiness. This production will be run in a professional manner and it is assumed that you will behave accordingly.”

“Good Lord,” Alice muttered under her breath. “Who hired the marines? This is a Christmas play, not basic training.”

I had to agree. “Do you think she realizes she's dealing with elementary school children?”

Pausing in what she was doing, the director turned to send a frosty glare out into the mostly empty audience. There was no way she could have heard us from that distance. Nevertheless, Alice and I both shut our mouths and sank down in our seats.

“Busted,” Alice whispered behind the hand she'd lifted to cover her lips. I would have laughed if I'd dared. This was like being back in second grade.

“Come on,” I said instead, gathering up my things. “Let's go outside.”

Out in the lobby, there was an alcove where refreshments had been set out on a table. It was quiet enough there that we could talk. Alice and I poured ourselves a couple of cups of coffee from the urn, and added a dollar each to the donation jar.

“I'm not sure we should leave them alone in there,” she said. “Any minute now, that woman is bound to discover she's got a stage full of kids and not professional actors. What if she blows a gasket?”

I set my coffee down on the counter, waiting for it to cool. “Judging by appearances, I don't think Ms. Morehouse has a gasket. Or anything else that might be likely to blow.”

“Sure, be cavalier. Just because your child isn't the trouble-magnet Joey is.”

Every child was a magnet for trouble, I thought. Though Alice's son did seem to have more than his share of bad luck. “He is when he's with Joey,” I said truthfully.

“Thanks.” Alice snorted. “That's a big help. Come on, let me show you something. It's a miracle the way this scheduling worked out.”

She led the way down one of the long hallways that branched off from the lobby. A dance studio was at the end, and several mothers were clustered around a one-way viewing window that looked like a mirror to the class full of young ballerinas inside.

“Carly?” I guessed, finding an empty space and having a look.

Alice nodded. “Joe and I took the kids to see
The Nutcracker
last Christmas in New York. Joey was bored stiff, but Carly fell in love. I thought it was probably just a phase, but a year later here she is, still going strong. Miss Diane says she shows a lot of promise, not that I care so much about that. I just want her to have fun.”

Carly certainly seemed to be doing that. In a sea of little girls in black leotards, Alice's daughter was the one with the big smile on her face. Like her mother, Carly had strawberry blond curls and pale, freckled skin. Her eyes were alight with enjoyment as her fingers gripped the barre, standing with her back straight and her toes pointed slightly outward.

“I see what you mean about miraculous scheduling,” I said. “I don't know how you manage two kids. I have enough trouble keeping everything straight with one.”

“For starters, I don't have a job,” Alice pointed out.

“Or Aunt Peg.” Somedays Peg was more trouble than a whole houseful of children. “Then again,” I added to be fair, “I don't have a husband.”

“You've got Sam. It's practically the same thing.” Her gaze drifted downward to the diamond engagement ring on my left hand. As of yet, there wasn't a wedding band to accompany it. “In fact, it would be the same thing if you'd ever get your act together.”

There was that.

I changed the subject. “And I have the Poodles. Dogs are a big responsibility too.”

“I'm glad you brought that up.” Alice stepped away from the window. “Let's go back to the lobby and sit down for a few minutes. There's something I've been meaning to ask you about.”

Thanks to my association with Aunt Peg and the fact that I'm involved in the dog show world, I've become the resident “dog lady” of the neighborhood. People have questions, and they seem to think that I'll have the answers. A call might come at ten o'clock at night. “Spike's running a temperature of 101. Does he have to go to the vet right now or can it wait until tomorrow?” One like that was easy to answer, since the normal temperature range for a dog was different from that of a human and Spike wasn't actually running a fever. The Brickmans didn't have a dog, however, so I was curious to hear what Alice wanted. We topped off our coffee cups and settled in a pair of chairs in the sun by the front window.

“This is a secret,” she began in a hushed tone. “You have to promise not to say a word.”

“Okay. Who is it a secret from?” I was really hoping she wouldn't say Joe, her husband. In my experience, secrets like that tend to mean big trouble.

“The kids,” Alice cast a furtive glance around. “All the kids. Davey too. I want it to be a surprise.”

Ahh, a good secret. I liked those. “You're getting Joey and Carly a puppy.”

Alice nodded happily. “For Christmas. You know how much Joey loves Faith and Eve. He's been bugging Joe and me about this forever and we decided it's time. He's old enough to handle a pet. We think the responsibility will be good for him.”

“Stop right there,” I said. “I think getting a puppy is a great idea. But whatever you do, don't make the mistake of thinking that Joey will actually be the one taking care of him. It's like having a baby. You know how husbands always say they'll pitch in and help out, when what they really mean is they'll do ten percent of the non-gross stuff at times when it's convenient for them?”

“Yes,” Alice agreed readily. We'd
all
been there.

“Well, getting a puppy is exactly the same thing. Everyone means well, especially in the beginning. But essentially the responsibility for taking care of the dog is going to end up with you. It always turns out that way.”

“I can handle that. We always had dogs when I was little. I've kind of missed not having one around.”

Right answer, I thought. “What kind of dog are you looking for?”

“Not a Poodle,” Alice said quickly, like she wanted to get that out of the way. I think she was afraid of hurting my feelings. “Your dogs are great, but all that hair would be just too much for me. Sometimes I wonder how you cope.”

Sometimes I did too. The thing about Poodles was that once you'd lived with one and you'd enjoyed their wonderful temperament, you couldn't imagine wanting any other breed. So doing all that grooming began to seem like a fair trade-off. But looking at it from the outside, I could see how people might think that Poodle owners were nuts.

Which was fine with most Poodle owners. From our point of view, not everyone had the ability to appreciate what a joy it was to own such a truly superb breed of dog. Their loss, really.

“What then,” I asked. “A Lab?” Blacks, yellows, chocolates; they were the quintessential Fairfield County dog. Sometimes it seemed like no family was complete without one.

“No, but you're close. Joe wants a Golden Retriever. That's what he had when he was little, a big old dog named Goldie. That's fine with me. I've heard they're supposed to be really good with kids. And that's what's important.”

“They are,” I agreed. “Though you're still going to be in trouble when it comes to hair. Goldens shed like crazy.”

Alice shrugged. “That's what vacuums are for.”

Not at my house, I thought.

“I'll talk to Aunt Peg,” I said. “She knows everybody. I'm sure she'll be able to put you in touch with a couple of good breeders.”

“Thanks for the offer, but you don't have to bother. That's the great part. I already have a puppy all picked out.”

“You do?” That was fast.

“Yeah, that's actually how this whole idea got started. Over the weekend Ms. Morehouse had a box of Christmas puppies in her car. You and Davey must have left right after the audition was over, but I was a few minutes late getting here. Ms. Morehouse took a bunch of the kids outside and showed them this cute batch of puppies she had.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Hold the phone. Go back.” Usually I'm pretty quick on the uptake, but I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around the facts of this story. “The puppies were
in her car
?”

“That's right.” Alice didn't seem nearly as bothered by this fact as I was. “She had them outside in the parking lot.”

“Weren't they cold?”

“I have no idea. I didn't think about that. I mean, they have hair, right?”

Now I was frowning. “Just how old were these puppies?”

“I don't know. Five weeks? Maybe six. Joey said she told them the litter was timed especially so that they would be ready for Christmas.”

That was
not
good news. A reputable dog breeder would never plan a litter around Christmas. The holiday season was stressful and hectic, and just about the worst possible time for introducing a new and very vulnerable member to the family.

“Christmas puppies,” I muttered, shaking my head. “In a box in her car. Did Ms. Morehouse tell Joey why they were there?”

“Well, yes.” Alice was beginning to look troubled by my response. “So the kids could see them and play with them, and then tell their parents about them. She said that's the way she sells all her puppies.”