Jingle Bell Bark (26 page)

I nodded in agreement and waited until she was ready to continue.

“Not only that, but it came as such a shock. Of course, I wasn't there but his neighbor—Betty, right?—told me what had happened. Henry wasn't young, but he'd always seemed to be in good health. I just couldn't imagine what had gone wrong. Then to find out after the fact that he'd been murdered. . . .” She shook her head. “It was simply too upsetting.”

“How long had you and Henry been seeing one another?” I asked.

“Just three or four months.” She stopped and smiled, her expression softening as she thought back. “But it was a nice several months. Henry wasn't at all what I expected him to be. The first time I saw him he was behind the wheel of that big yellow bus. I'm sorry to say that my first impression of him wasn't very positive. But Henry could be quite persistent when he saw something he wanted.”

“I'd heard that about him. I also heard that he was the kind of man who liked to be involved in everything around him.”

“Pushy, you mean? Controlling? I suppose that's how he behaved with his daughters, at least to hear them tell it. He tried with me, but I wasn't having any of it.”

No, I thought, looking at Rebecca. I didn't imagine she would have.

“Do you suppose that attitude might have gotten him into trouble?” I asked.

“In what way?”

“What if Henry saw something he wasn't supposed to see . . . or knew about something he shouldn't have been involved in ... ?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” I said truthfully. I was just throwing out ideas, hoping something might come of it. “Did Henry ever talk to you about things that went on in the neighborhood?”

“Sometimes, but not often. He was very well read, not to mention that he loved to travel. We had plenty of other things to talk about besides Stamford.”

“So there wasn't anyone he complained about? Someone who annoyed him? Someone he thought was causing trouble?”

“The neighbor's son annoyed him,” Rebecca said. “Though I can't imagine it meant anything. It sounded to me like the usual generational conflict between an older man and a teenage boy. I gather the boy played his music too loud, had visitors coming and going at all hours of the day and night. You know the kinds of things that kids do. Henry seemed to think that his behavior didn't reflect well on the neighborhood.”

“Did you tell that to the police?”

“You must be joking,” said Rebecca. “I've worked with children my whole life. If every time a teenager annoyed the neighbors someone filed a police report, no one would ever get anything done.”

“Yes,” I persisted, “but this time the neighbor ended up dead.”

“Over a bit of loud music?” She looked at me as though I was daft. “I don't think so.”

G
uilt is a powerful motivator. Ask any parent; they'll tell you.

Rebecca was barely out the door before I was dragging the Christmas tree into the house. Davey and Faith heard the commotion and came running down the stairs to help. Of course, the reason there was a commotion to hear was because I had the damn tree stuck in the doorway.

Eve, who had followed me outside when I went to retrieve the tree, was still out there, standing in the front yard, barking. Maybe she was trying to help. Possibly she was thinking that the force of her sound waves could propel the bushy tree through the too narrow opening.

Either that or she was calling me an idiot, doggie-style.

“Ooh,” said Davey. Eyes wide, he skidded to a stop at the foot of the steps. “That's not good.”

“Tell me about it.” I glanced at him back over my shoulder. “Who picked this tree anyway? I'm pretty sure it was you. ‘Get the big one,' you said. ‘We never get to have a really big tree.' ”

And then there'd been that guilt thing again. I had felt bad that we were tree shopping late. And by the time we got to the nursery all the nice medium-size trees were gone. The ones that remained looked spindly and anemic. Pine needles, dry and already falling; carpeted the ground beneath them. So I'd agreed, reluctantly, just to
look
at the bigger trees. And somehow found myself heading home with a seven-foot Douglas fir tied to the roof of my car.

“Sure I said that,” Davey replied. “I'm a kid. You didn't tell me it wouldn't fit in the house.”

He had a point. If anyone was to blame for this fiasco, it was me. The adult. The parent. The person who hadn't thought about the fact that a tree whose branches spread six feet across wouldn't fit through a four-foot doorway.

“Besides,” Davey pointed out, “you're doing it backwards.”

“What backwards?” I let the tree drop, straightened my aching back and turned to face him. “I'm holding it by the trunk. That's the strongest part. You can't drag it by the top.”

“Yeah, but the branches go in the other direction. The way you're pulling it, they can't fold down so they have to get stuck.”

Damn. He was right.

Now that I was standing up, I could see Eve through the doorway. Muzzle pointed toward the sky, front feet bouncing up off the ground to punctuate each loud yip, she was regaling the neighborhood with the story of our adventure.

“Oh, knock it off,” I called crossly. “You're not so smart yourself or you wouldn't be stuck out there.”

Eve stopped barking and gave me a wounded look.

“I'm calling Dad,” said Davey.

I spun around to face him again. “You are not.”

“You're doing it all wrong. You didn't even put the stand on yet. That's supposed to happen outside.”

“Says who?” I demanded. It's a sad thing when you find your conversational skills deteriorating to the level of an eight-year-old and he still manages to out-argue you.

“Everyone. Don't you know anything?”

Apparently not.

“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Here's the plan. I'm taking the tree back out to the driveway.” Before he could ask, I held up a hand. “I'll go out the back door, walk around the house, and pull it out from the other direction. That should unstick it. Then once the tree is outside, I'll put the stand on.”

“Then what?” asked Davey.

“Then we'll worry about the next step.”

The answer was a cop-out, parent-speak for
I haven't the slightest idea.
Still, the first part of the plan seemed eminently workable. And, in fact, it was. Once I was pulling the right way, the tree slid free without incurring too much damage.

It came through the doorway so easily, in fact, that the big yank I'd given to dislodge it sent me tumbling backward down the front steps. I landed on my butt in the grass with half the Christmas tree in my lap. Luckily, Davey seemed to have disappeared, so the Poodles were the only witnesses.

Faith looked as though she might be rolling her eyes, but I'm sure it was just a trick of the light.

Christmas tree stands are tricky things. Every year I think I'm going to come up with a better solution and every year I never do. By the time I'd negotiated my way around this one and was ready to resume battle with the doorway, I was sweating freely despite the December chill.

When a pair of headlights turned the corner and drove down the road, I stopped to watch the car go by, just as pleased to have a chance to straighten my back again and take a break. Except that the car didn't drive by. Drawing closer, it turned out to be a dark green Explorer that stopped at the end of my driveway and pulled in.

Bob hopped out, took in the situation in a glance, and grinned. “I think the tree is winning.”

“I think your son is a traitor,” I replied. Still—and I wouldn't have admitted this for money—I wasn't entirely displeased to see him.

“Step aside, woman.” Bob said in a deep voice. “This is man's work.”

“Oh yeah?” For a second or two I was tempted to ask him who he thought had been performing such chores in the years he'd been missing from Davey's life. Then, thankfully, the impulse passed.

I shut my mouth and stepped aside.

“Go to it,” I said, waving a hand magnanimously. “I'll send Davey out to help. And I'll see you boys inside.”

“You're welcome,” Bob replied, standing over the tree like a conquering hero and surveying the task at hand.

My grin was cheeky. “I know.”

 

 

Consensus was, it was the best Christmas tree ever. It was definitely the biggest. With the stand affixed to the trunk, the star Davey placed on the top branch just grazed the ceiling. But once we'd dragged all the boxes of ornaments and frills up from the basement, we found there were plenty of decorations to go around. Oh, and I managed to get the wreath rehung too.

We awoke Saturday morning, on the first official day of Christmas vacation, with a house that was finally looking ready for the holidays. Christmas was still seven days away and Davey was already in a state of high excitement. I could only hope he wouldn't be able to sustain that mood for the next week, or one of us might quietly go crazy. When Bob came to pick him up for their day together, it was one of the rare occasions when I wasn't entirely sorry to see him leave.

Two cups of coffee later, I was having a last look at my Christmas shopping list which, thankfully, was mostly complete when the doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone, but Sam often stops by on weekends. Or, I thought, heading to the front hall, it could be Aunt Peg, in the neighborhood and dying to let me know how her sleuthing was coming.

It was neither, as I saw when I looked through the small pane of glass next to the door. In fact, it was someone entirely unexpected. Annie Gault.

I shushed the Poodles and pushed them behind me before opening the door. Some people are intimidated by big dogs, even friendly looking Poodles. And Annie, her face screwed into a mask of anxiety and a knit cap pulled low over her forehead, already looked uncertain enough.

“Hi,” I said. I drew open the door and a blast of cold air immediately entered the house. Which was more than could be said for Annie. She remained standing on the step. “Can I help you?”

“Maybe.” She tipped her head to one side and frowned up at me. “Maybe we can help each other. Is it okay if I come in?”

“Sure.” I stepped aside. I hadn't been blocking the doorway, but maybe it had looked that way to her. “I just didn't want you to get run over by the dogs.”

“Don't worry about that.” Annie hopped up the step and extended a hand for Faith to sniff. “I love animals.” Then her gaze went to Eve, and she stopped in her tracks. “Whoa, what'd you do to that one?”

The continental, complete with wraps, tends to have that effect on people. “It's a show trim,” I said.

Annie still looked blank.

“I show her in dog shows, and for Poodles, it's required that they look that way to compete. Don't worry, she's very friendly.”

“She doesn't look unfriendly.” Annie was still gawking. “She looks weird. Like, seriously weird.” She stooped down to Eve's level and crooned, “Poor thing, did someone dress you up to look like an idiot?”

Eve wagged her tail in reply. The “someone” in question wisely didn't say a thing.

“That's really out there.” Annie glanced up at me over her shoulder as Eve licked her fingers happily and Faith crowded in to get some attention. “Seeing you around school and all, I wouldn't have figured you for someone kinky.”

“Kinky?” The word seemed to stick in my throat. I wasn't sure I'd have figured myself for someone kinky, either.

“You know . . .” She indicated the Poodles. “A little on the bizarre side. Like this.”

At least, I consoled myself, she hadn't made it sound as though she thought that was a
bad
thing.

And still Annie hadn't given me a clue as to why she was there. Instead she seemed quite content to sit on the floor and play with my Poodles. I nudged Faith's hindquarter aside and closed the door. I supposed I'd find out in time.

“Would you like some cider?” I asked.

“Nah, I'm good.”

Annie braced a hand on the floor and pushed herself reluctantly to her feet. Faith and Eve seemed equally sorry to see her go.

The Poodles are excellent judges of character. They're friendly to strangers, but they're too discriminating to love everybody. And though they tend to hide it well, there are some people they take an immediate dislike to. Interestingly, I've yet to like someone that my dogs didn't. The fact that Annie had passed their inspection made her rise a notch in my estimation.

“I guess you're wondering why I'm here,” she said.

Bingo.

“I was hoping maybe we could talk.” She looked around: living room, dining room, up the stairs to the second floor, then back at me. “Like, in private.”

“This is as private as it gets,” I said. “If you're looking for Davey, he isn't here. Let's go sit down.”

Annie hesitated briefly. I pretended not to notice and led the way to the living room. She pulled off her parka and cap as she walked and tossed both over the back of the couch. “Nice tree.”

“Thanks.” She was stalling, but what the heck, I wasn't in any hurry. “We decorated it last night.”

“I've been asking around about you,” she said after a minute.

“Oh?” That was a surprise.

“Yeah. People say you like to solve mysteries. Like you're a detective or something.”

“Actually, the ‘or something' part is more accurate.”

I tried out a small smile. Annie didn't match it. She looked very serious.

“I'm thinking maybe I could hire you,” she said. “We could do a deal.”

“Whoa,” I said. “Wait a minute. You don't understand. I'm not a real detective—”

“I'll tell you what I need.” Annie pressed on as if I hadn't even spoken. “I'm looking for that thing that's called client privilege, or confidentiality, or something like that. You know, like priests have in the confession booth?”

“You want to tell me something and you want to make sure I won't tell anyone else.”

“That's right. Can you do that?”

“Maybe. But if I can't tell anyone what you're going to tell me, how does that help?”

Annie shrugged, looked annoyed. Like she didn't want me to be asking questions. As if I could help it. That's what I do.

“Look,” she said, “it's not as if I've thought this whole thing through. All I know is, I need some protection here. Some anonymity. Like, nobody ever has to know that this information came from me.”

Now that was easier. “You can't hire me. At least not unless you're looking for a teacher. But I can give you my word that nothing you say will get passed along in a way that will hurt you. Is that good enough?”

Annie considered. Her fingers had been gripping the arm of the couch but when Eve wandered over to say hello, her hands transferred themselves to the Poodle's topknot and began to rub. For a dog “in hair” that's a recipe for disaster. Under any other circumstances, I'd have stopped her immediately. Now I bit my lip and hoped Annie didn't do too much damage before she managed to blurt out what she'd come to tell me.

“You won't tell anyone who your source is, right? I need you to promise.”

“I promise,” I said. I really hoped I wasn't lying.

Annie nodded. Her hands returned to her lap. I tried not to sigh with relief. I did reach down and beckon Eve to my side. Faith's short coat was impervious to careless attention. If Annie wanted a dog to pat, hopefully she'd look to the older bitch.

“I guess you heard about what happened to Ms. Baker,” she said.

There'd been a report in the Thursday newspaper; one that thankfully hadn't mentioned my involvement. By the time a reporter had talked to the police at the hospital, I'd been long gone and the officers hadn't given out my name. A follow-up in Friday's paper had said that Carrie was recovering nicely, though she still had no memory of the details of her attack.

Maybe it was time to give Annie a jolt, I thought. Something to get her moving. “Not only did I hear about it,” I said, “I was there.”

“You were?”

“That's right. I was the one who found Carrie . . . Ms. Baker . . . after she'd been attacked. I chased her attacker through the school but he got away.”