Jingle Bell Bark (3 page)

“
All
her puppies? How many litters does she have?”

“I didn't think to ask,” said Alice. “Does it matter?”

Of course it mattered. Because if Alice wanted to add a puppy to her family, she should want that puppy to come from the best possible source. A breeder who didn't have new litters for every holiday, one who had put time and effort into ensuring that her breeding stock was healthy both genetically and physically. She should want to know that the puppies had been socialized and brought up right, that they'd been wormed and had their shots.

It was one thing to feel sorry for a litter of puppies found in a box and to adopt one out of sympathy. It was quite another to consider paying good money to a lady who was selling puppies out of one.

“I assume she's charging money for these puppies?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Alice. “They're very cute. And they're purebred Golden Retrievers, just what Joe wants. They're seven hundred dollars apiece.”

“That's a lot of money.”

“Good puppies should cost a lot of money; that's what Ms. Morehouse said.”

She was right. The problem was, I hadn't heard anything so far to indicate that these actually were good puppies.

“Besides,” Alice continued, “these puppies cost a little more because they're a special litter, born just in time for Christmas. She said they were selling really fast. If I want to be sure of getting one, I have to put a deposit down today.” She reached down and patted her purse. “I've brought the money with me. A hundred dollars, with the rest due on Christmas Eve when I pick the puppy up. Ms. Morehouse said she'd throw in a bright red collar with a bow for free. Isn't that nice of her?”

For seven hundred dollars, I would be wanting my puppy to come with a lot more than a red collar and a bow, I thought. Like a health guarantee.

“What about genetic testing?” I said. “Did you ask about that?”

“Well . . . no,” Alice admitted. “I don't even know what it is.”

“All breeds of dogs have heritable diseases. I'm not really up on Golden Retrievers, but I know you need to look out for hip dysplasia and probably PRA, which is a progressive eye disease. I'd imagine there are other things that need to be tested for, too.”

“Oh, that stuff.” Alice looked relieved. “I don't have to worry about any of that. Ms. Morehouse said it's only the really inbred dogs, like the ones that go to the dog shows, that have those kinds of problems. Her dogs are just fine.”

“That is not true,” I said firmly. “In most cases, the breeders who show their dogs are the only ones who
are
testing for genetic problems and trying to eradicate them. Just because Ms. Morehouse hasn't done the testing to find out if she has problems, doesn't mean they're not there.”

“But she would know, wouldn't she? I mean, she said the puppies' parents were healthy.”

“Did she show them to you?”

“No, but it's not as if she had a chance to. I only saw the puppies briefly last week when I picked Joey up, and then I spoke with her last night on the phone. But I'm sure she has nothing to hide.”

That made one of us, I thought.

“Suppose a guy pulled up outside, opened his trunk, and said he was selling CD players,” I said. “Would you buy one?”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Because the fact that he was selling electronic equipment out of the back of his car would make me suspicious.” Alice paused, then added, “But this is entirely different.”

“How?”

“For one thing, everyone knows who Ms. Morehouse is. She's been producing the Christmas play for years. And for another, you could go to any mall and buy a CD player, so why would you take a chance on doing it here? At least I know enough to know that you're not supposed to buy a puppy from a pet store. You're supposed to find a good breeder and I did.”

I was tempted to refute that last statement, but the look on Alice's face stopped me.

“Please don't ruin this for me,” she said softly. “Or for Joey and Carly. These puppies are really cute and everything will turn out just fine. You'll see.”

Ah heck, I thought. It was Christmas, the time of year when miracles were supposed to happen. Maybe she was right.

“Y
ou did
what
?” Aunt Peg asked. Her tone was deceptively mild. I knew that tone well. It meant that the wrath of the infuriated dog person was about to descend upon me.

It was Monday evening, after dinner. Aunt Peg had shown up with a list of plans pertaining to the upcoming holidays that she wanted to discuss. She'd also brought a box of oatmeal raisin cookies that looked good enough to be homemade. Since I knew perfectly well that Peg only cooked for her Poodles, I was betting she'd discovered a new bakery on the route between her house in Greenwich and ours in Stamford.

I helped myself to a cookie before answering. I also decided to try approaching the topic we'd just been discussing in a more roundabout manner. “You know Alice Brickman,” I said.

“Of course I know Alice. She's Joey's mother. Lovely woman.” Aunt Peg's brow dipped. “I dare say she doesn't know very much about dogs.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Last summer when you brought her to the Danbury dog show, the way she walked around the grooming tent, going right up to all sorts of strange dogs and cooing in their faces. I was rather afraid she was going to get her nose bitten.”

With good reason, I thought. “I'm afraid Alice thinks anything smaller than she is should be addressed in baby talk.”

Aunt Peg rolled her eyes. Faith and Eve have much the same reaction when Alice speaks to them, but being polite, well-brought-up Poodles, they don't show their disdain quite so visibly.

“So now she wants to buy her children a puppy,” Aunt Peg said. “Good for her. Every child should have a dog.”

Words to live by around here. I nodded.

Aunt Peg was waiting expectantly. Waiting for me to explain how such an apparently good idea had morphed into quite the opposite. “She came to you for advice,” she prompted. “And of course you would have had plenty to offer.”

“I would have,” I said in my own defense, “except that by the time I found out about Alice's plans, she'd already found the puppy she wanted. By the way, we have to keep our voices down.” I glanced toward the doorway. Davey was doing his homework upstairs. “This whole thing is supposed to be a secret. The puppy is going to be a surprise for Christmas.”

Aunt Peg's mood was not improved by the addition of this unhappy news. “Please tell me you explained to her that bringing home a new puppy on Christmas day is the worst sort of idea. All that noise and confusion, relatives coming and going, and nobody having the time to devote the proper attention to acclimating the poor thing to its new home;
that
is simply out of the question.”

“I did try—”

“And I can't imagine why you didn't let her know that I'd be happy to put her in touch with some reputable breeders.”

“I tried that, too—”

“And yet somehow,” Peg said frostily, bringing us back to where the conversation had started, “you ended up telling her that it was perfectly all right for her to obtain a pet that will be a beloved member of her family for the next dozen years from the backyard equivalent of a puppy mill?”

“Something like that,” I admitted.

“I give up,” said Peg.

But of course she didn't. Things were never that easy when Aunt Peg was around. In all likelihood she was just taking a deep breath and preparing her next argument. Either that or she was contemplating getting up and marching down to the Brickmans' house to tell Alice that the way she had chosen to conduct her life was simply
not done.

Little did Alice know that the fact that the temperature was in the low thirties and snow was falling lightly outside was probably going to save her from a stern talking-to. I got up, walked over to the back door, and turned on the outside lights, just in case Aunt Peg had forgotten about the weather conditions. In the yellow glow of the bulb, snow eddied up and down with the wind. Peg frowned at the sight and stayed put.

“You'll have to do something,” she said finally.

I'd known that all along.

“I figured I'd start by trying to find out more about Rebecca Morehouse. Do you know her?”

“The name doesn't sound familiar. Should I?”

“You know everybody in dogs.”

“My dear girl, someone who peddles puppies from a box in the back of their car is not ‘in dogs' by any stretch of the imagination. What kind of puppy is this that we're talking about?”

“Golden Retriever.”

“Good choice for the inexperienced dog owner,” Peg said. At least she approved of something. “Purebred?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I haven't seen them. Alice said they were very cute.”

“Of course they're cute.
All
puppies are cute. Pet shops thrive on just that very thing. The problem is that not all puppies are healthy or well raised. What else do we know about this woman?”

“She works in the theater department at the Long Ridge Arts Center. She's the director of the Christmas pageant. She's been in charge of it for years.”

“Ah yes.” Aunt Peg smiled happily. “I understand my nephew is to have a key role as a Wise Man. He had me running his lines with him over the phone yesterday.”

“That couldn't have taken very long,” I said. “He only has two.”

“Don't complain, it could be worse. I'm told this year's flock of sheep may well spill off the stage.”

“Not if Ms. Morehouse has anything to say about it.” Faith, who had been snoozing beside the couch, got up and put her head in my lap. I ran my hands around the sides of her head and scratched beneath her ears. A Poodle “in hair” can only be patted in very specific places. Even though Faith had been out of show coat for more than a year, I still couldn't bring myself to rub the top of her head. “She keeps those kids under pretty tight control. You should have heard her reading them the rules earlier.”

“Funny,” Peg mused.

“What is?”

“That her standards should be so high when it comes to her work and so low when applied to producing puppies. I think this Rebecca Morehouse may be a bit of a conundrum.”

And Lord knew, we needed more of those.

“When is Davey's next play practice?”

“Wednesday after school. I thought I'd introduce myself to Ms. Morehouse afterward. Maybe ask her a bit about her puppies. If Alice is determined to buy one, the least I can do is try and get some more information for her.”

“You don't suppose the poor things will be sitting outside in a box again?” Aunt Peg sounded justifiably outraged.

“I doubt it. Alice said she had to turn in her deposit today because most of the litter was already spoken for.”

“People should know better . . .” Aunt Peg muttered darkly.

Isn't that the truth?

“I need a new note for play practice,” Davey said the next day after school.

He was sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework while I stood nearby, working my way through Eve's long mane coat with a pin brush and a Greyhound comb. Usually I do most of the major grooming in the basement, but it was December, the basement was cold, and Eve and I had both decided we would be more comfortable in the kitchen. Fortunately, her grooming table is portable.

“Why?” I looked up. Notes had been known to go astray, but Davey couldn't have lost that one. I had handed it to Henry myself.

“There's a substitute bus driver and she doesn't know where anyone is supposed to go.”

My hands kept working as I considered that. “Maybe Henry will be back tomorrow.”

“I don't think so. She said we all needed to bring new permission slips from our parents so she could get everyone's routes sorted out.”

Which is why, at eight-fifteen Wednesday morning, I was once again standing outside on the icy sidewalk, waiting for Davey's bus to appear. If nothing else, motherhood teaches you the virtue of patience—whether you want to learn it or not.

The bus was a couple of minutes late. Davey used the extra time to make snowballs from the dusting that had covered the grass overnight and throw them at the front door. His aim was pretty good but, predictably, by the time the bus arrived he'd gotten as much snow on himself as he had on the house.

Probably hoping I wouldn't notice that he was clutching one last snowball, Davey dashed past me and scooted up the steps. Even though it was clear I'd been waiting, the door immediately began to whoosh shut behind him. I made it to the curb just in time to rap on the side of the bus as it began to move away. Groaning reluctantly, the vehicle slowed, then stopped.

“What?”

The new bus driver opened the door a crack and glared in my direction. She looked barely old enough to possess a driver's license, much less to have graduated from high school.

“I'm Davey Travis's mother.”

Gum popped between her teeth. “Yeah, I guessed that.”

“I have a permission slip for this afternoon and Friday.”

The girl shrugged and extended a hand. “The kid could have given it to me.”

Maybe, if his mittens hadn't been soaking wet. I pulled myself up straight and used my best teacher's voice. “What is your name?”

“Annie Gault. What's it to you?”

At that point, it was beginning to look as though I might need that information for my letter of complaint. I'd heard other mothers grumble about drivers who were rude or unsafe, but fortunately I'd never experienced the problem myself. Having Henry in charge of the route the entire time Davey had been riding the bus had spoiled me.

“Do you know when Henry will be back?” I asked.

“I don't even know who Henry is. All I know is I got a call yesterday telling me that this was my new route from now until I heard differently.”

She yanked the door shut. The bus moved slowly away from the curb, then gathered speed as it traveled down the block. By the time it turned the corner at the end, it looked like it was going too fast for the icy conditions.

Frowning, I watched until the bus was out of sight and wondered what had happened to Henry. Maybe I ought to call the bus company and find out. No way was I going to leave Davey's well-being in Annie Gault's care any longer than I had to.

When I walked back into the house, the phone was ringing. It was Alice; her voice was quivering with indignation. “Did you meet
that girl?
Ms. Pierced Eyebrow?”

Now that she mentioned it, there
had
been a silver hoop sticking out of the side of Annie's face. I'd always wondered how people managed to avoid getting those caught on stuff. “Annie Gault,” I said.

“At least you got a name. I didn't even get that much. She just snatched the note out of my hand and took off.”

“Consider yourself lucky.” My eyes strayed to the clock on the counter. If I didn't leave in the next five minutes, I would be late. And Russell Hanover II, the school's headmaster, took a very dim view of tardiness. “She slammed the door in my face. I had to bang on the bus to get her to open it again.”

“Kids these days.” Alice sighed. “Why do you think nobody teaches them manners anymore?”

“Probably because it's too much trouble. What do you suppose happened to Henry?”

“That's what I was calling to ask you. I hope he didn't get reassigned. Maybe we could mount a campaign in the neighborhood to get him back.”

“I was thinking of calling the bus company,” I said. “Maybe during my lunch break today.”

“Oh, that's right, you've got to go,” said Alice. “I don't want to make you late. Let me know what you find out. If he's sick or something, maybe we can go visit him.”

I'd been packing up my papers and looking for Faith and Eve's leashes, but that brought me up short. “Visit him?”

“Sure. He lives right around here somewhere. Maybe a mile away. We talked about it once when the city of Stamford was considering changing some zoning over on Old Long Ridge Road. I've never been to his house, but I bet it wouldn't be hard to find. He's probably right in the phone book.”

Paying Henry a visit hadn't occurred to me, but now that Alice brought it up, it wasn't a bad idea. Henry wasn't a young man; I wondered if he had anyone looking out for him. Besides, I needed to talk to Alice about her prospective puppy anyway. This might be a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “I'll get back to you later.”