Jingle Bell Bark (4 page)

By midweek, most of the kids had managed to find their way home from Thanksgiving break. But with only two and a half weeks until Christmas vacation, spirits were still running high. In my job as special needs tutor, I don't teach actual classes; instead I work in private sessions with those students whose schoolwork is deemed to be falling below par.

Howard Academy houses a primary and a middle school, teaching children from kindergarten through eighth grade. The school has an impeccable record of placing its graduates at the finest secondary institutions in the country. From there it is anticipated that the students will go on to Ivy League colleges and prestigious jobs, while remembering the academy that had given them their start with frequent and generous donations.

I might have been more skeptical about that process except for the fact that it seemed to work so well. Bitsy Hanover, the headmaster's wife, orchestrated numerous fund-raisers throughout the school year to which alumni responded with alacrity and enthusiasm. As I'd been reminded by Mr. Hanover on more than one occasion, maintaining the school's reputation for academic excellence was an important component in this success. Thus every student was expected to perform at the highest possible standard.

That was where I came in. And if occasionally, due to those circumstances, my work day was a little more pressured than I might have wished, that downside was more than offset by the fact that I loved the kids I got to work with. My job also offered a wonderful perk in that nobody minded if I took the Poodles to school with me, which was why Faith and Eve spent most days snoozing on their big cedar beds in the corner of my classroom.

At lunchtime, before heading to the large refectory where students and teachers dined together, I pulled out my cell phone and placed a call to the bus company that serviced all of North Stamford.

“Hi,” I said when a woman picked up. “My name is Melanie Travis. My son, Davey, rides one of your buses to Hunting Ridge Elementary School. The driver is a man named Henry.”

“Yes, Henry Pruitt.” Her voice sounded unexpectedly wary.

“I noticed that he's been out for a day or two and I was wondering if you could tell me where he was.”

“Are you a relative of his?”

“No, just an acquaintance.”

“I'm sorry. It's against company policy for us to give out any information about our employees.”

Geez, I thought. They were a local bus company, not the Pentagon. “Could you tell me when you expect him back?”

“I'm afraid I can't answer that question either.” Her tone was clipped. “Please be assured that all your bussing needs will continue to be met in a timely and professional manner.”

Right, I thought. Like that was going to make me feel better. I wondered if she was reading to me from the company brochure.

“One last thing,” I said, beginning to feel somewhat wary myself. “Is Henry still employed by your company?”

“As I told you a moment ago, I'm not at liberty—”

Frowning, I hit the button and cut off the connection. Earlier I'd been mildly concerned about Annie Gault's driving skills. Now I was genuinely worried about Henry.

Alice's phone number was on speed dial. As I hurried down the hall to the lunchroom, I left a message at her house telling her to find out Henry's address and meet me after school.

None of this felt good to me.

W
hen the Poodles and I arrived home that afternoon, Alice was sitting on our front step. I pulled the station wagon into the short driveway, stopped in front of the garage, and hopped out. “Aren't you freezing?” I asked. “I hope you haven't been here long.”

“Only five minutes or so.” She stood up and brushed off the seat of her pants. “Here in the sun it's actually quite pleasant.”

“Why didn't you just get my spare key out of the garage? You know where I keep it.”

Door now open, we were both waiting while Faith and Eve sniffed every available spot in the front yard before deciding where they wanted to pee. They'd already been walked several times during the day so it wasn't as though they were desperate. No, this was a territorial thing. Heaven forbid that their own yard should carry the scent of another dog.

“Too much bother,” said Alice. “Besides, you have no idea how rare something like this is for me. To simply sit quietly, with no children needing me right this second, no husband calling from work to tell me he's bringing a client home for dinner, no housework that has to be done....”

Nodding, I led the way into the perpetually disheveled interior of my small house. “Better the pristine outdoors than the messy indoors.”

“Something like that.” Alice smiled and I did too. We'd known each other far too long to take offense at hearing the truth.

Faith and Eve came flying up the steps together; I shut the door behind them. Alice and I pulled off coats, scarves, and gloves, and piled them on the coatrack.

“How long does it take to get dogs trained like that?” she asked.

At the moment, the Poodles were heading toward the kitchen where they were hoping I would give them a biscuit from the pantry. I assumed that wasn't what she meant. “You mean housebroken?”

“Exactly. We had a dog when I was little, but I don't remember anything about the training process. I guess my parents must have been in charge of that. All I know is that every so often Rufus would make a mistake in the house and my mother would scream and scrub and act like the sanitary police were going to be descending upon us at any moment.”

Nice image. I'd never had a pet when I was little, so everything that had happened first with Faith, and then again with Eve, was entirely new to me. “These guys were really quick to housebreak. But Poodles are different. At least that's what Aunt Peg tells me.”

Alice walked over to the refrigerator and helped herself to a diet soda. “Do you think your aunt might be willing to sit down with me and give me a few pointers on how to deal with a new puppy?”

“I'm sure she'd be delighted to.”

“Even though I'm not getting one from her?”

“I can't see why that would make any difference.” Since both Poodles were sitting expectantly outside the pantry door, I got out the peanut butter biscuits and passed a couple around. “Aunt Peg is all in favor of responsible dog ownership. And while she adores Poodles herself, she can certainly understand that not everyone feels they have to have one. That's why there are approximately one hundred and forty-nine other breeds to choose from. Not to mention your basic, garden-variety mutts. Aunt Peg just wants to be sure that people who have dogs do right by them.”

Alice pondered that. “She's going to be upset about where this puppy came from, isn't she?”

“Yup.” No point in denying it. Since Alice had grabbed a chair and settled in, I poured myself a drink too.

“Look at it this way,” she said. “You don't approve of Ms. Morehouse's methods. But if people buy her puppies, they'll be leaving her place and going to better homes. That's got to be a good thing, right?”

“Not necessarily. Because the fact the people are willing to pay Ms. Morehouse a decent sum of money for puppies she hasn't put all that much thought and effort into producing only encourages her to keep on breeding. Not only that, but she doesn't seem to care whether or not her puppies are going to good homes. Did she interview you when you talked to her about buying one?”

“Umm,” Alice thought back. “Not exactly.”

“Did she ask any questions at all?”

“She took down my name, address, and phone number.”

“Which has nothing to do with whether or not you would be a good dog owner. Did she ask if you had a fenced yard?”

“No.”

“If you'd ever owned a dog before?”

“No.”

“If you had any children and what their ages were?”

“Well, she knew about Joey, obviously. He's in the play.” Alice was beginning to sound defensive.

“But not about Carly. For all Ms. Morehouse knew, you might have had half a dozen children under the age of six.”

“No, I couldn't have,” Alice said firmly. “Trust me, my marriage wouldn't have survived it.”

“You can see what I'm getting at, though.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I was leaning back against the counter. Faith ambled over, carrying a thick chew toy made of braided rope in her mouth. She pushed one end into my hand, checking if I wanted to play tug-of-war. I snatched the toy from between her teeth and waved it in front of her nose. Delighted, the Poodle jumped up and grabbed the toy back.

“Ms. Morehouse told me that housebreaking was going to be a snap,” Alice said, watching the game. “Is she wrong about that too?”

“Maybe not,” I allowed. “As long as you're dedicated. And consistent. And you don't mind taking your new puppy outside for a walk every couple hours.”

“Every couple hours?” She stood up, rinsed her soda can in the sink, and tossed it in the recycling bin. “I thought dogs only had to go out three or four times a day.”

“Adult dogs, maybe. But puppies? No way. They can't hold it that long.”

“I guess this is going to be more involved than I thought. I have a lot to learn, don't I?”

“Don't worry,” I said. “Aunt Peg makes a great teacher.”

Alice had met my aunt a number of times. She knew what she was letting herself in for. “I'll just bet,” she muttered.

 

 

As Alice had predicted, Henry Pruitt lived in the same North Stamford neighborhood where he'd been driving a school bus for the past half dozen years. His house was on a block very similar to the one Alice and I lived on: a post—World War II development of small homes on quarter-acre lots meant to welcome returning veterans with affordably priced housing. Half a century later, Henry's street looked to be a mix of young, yuppie families and older residents who'd been in place for years.

Numbers above the mail slots on most front doors made Henry's house easy to find. It was a light gray cape with white trim. The porch was neatly swept and the roof looked new. Even in winter, the yard was well tended.

I pulled the Volvo in beside the curb and coasted to a stop. Together, Alice and I peered out at the house. All at once, neither one of us was in a hurry to get out of the car.

“Well, now I feel sort of stupid,” she said. “I mean, everything looks fine. What are we going to say when we knock on the door and Henry answers and asks what we want?”

“That we were worried about him and wanted to make sure he was okay?”

“He's going to wonder why we thought he might not be. The poor man's probably taking his first vacation in a decade. He'll think we're a couple of stalkers, coming to his house just because he's missed two days of work.”

“Maybe he'll think we're a pair of kind, caring individuals.” I tried to sound hopeful; Alice did have a point.

“Stalkers,” she said again as a curtain shifted in one of the front windows.

I heard the unmistakable sound of barking coming from within the house. Big dogs, unless I missed my guess. And more than one.

“Come on.” I reached for the door handle. “We've been announced. Now we have to go in.”

As we navigated the front walk, the barking grew louder and more frantic. Climbing the steps to the porch, I heard a distinct thump as one of the dogs threw itself against the inside of the door. I knew many people kept big dogs as watchdogs, but now that these had done their job and revealed our presence, I wondered why Henry hadn't called them off. The noise inside the small house must have been deafening.

Alice hung back near the steps, but I crossed the porch and reached for the doorbell. I pressed hard and heard it ring within.

Toenails clacked against a front window as one of the dogs pushed the curtain aside and pressed his nose to the glass. A broad golden head with soft brown eyes stared out at us. The dog began to whine under his breath.

“Look,” Alice said, staring. “It's a Golden Retriever.”

“Two.”

A second head joined the first. Judging by the way their bodies were wriggling, the dogs' tails had begun to wag. The watchdogs were happy to see us.

“Ring it again,” said Alice, and I did. We waited another minute but there was still no response. The dogs continued to watch us through the window, their warm, moist breath fogging the cool glass.

“I guess Henry isn't home,” I said finally. I wasn't quite sure whether to be concerned or relieved.

“Probably just as well,” Alice agreed quickly. She was already heading for the steps. “Let's go.”

I glanced over at the dogs again. Something seemed off somehow, though I wasn't sure exactly what. “Maybe we should leave a note. You know, saying we stopped by and asking Henry to call and tell us everything is okay.”

“I'm sure everything must be fine.” Alice reached back and grabbed my arm. “Henry's probably just out somewhere running errands. Maybe he was low on dog food.”

“Maybe . . .” I agreed reluctantly. As I followed her down the stairs, I could still hear the dogs. Now the two of them were whimpering unhappily.

“Yoo-hoo! Ladies, wait!”

I'd been so tuned in to the dogs' distress that it took me a moment to realize someone was calling us. Thankfully, Alice was quicker. Already halfway down the walk, she stopped and then turned, treading carefully across the frozen grass to the neighbor's yard.

The woman who'd hailed us was standing in her doorway. The door itself was mostly shut, presumably to block out the cold. The woman's head and one arm poked through the slender opening. I hurried to catch up.

“Are you the daughters?” she asked as we approached.

Alice and I looked at one another. “What daughters?”

“Henry's girls. Come to see about—” The woman stopped and stared hard, seeming annoyed all at once to find us standing in her yard even though she'd been the one to call us there. “Who are you?” she asked abruptly.

“Friends of Henry's,” I said quickly before Alice could answer. “Come to check on him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I haven't seen you around here before.”

“Henry drives our children on the school bus,” Alice said. “We've known him for years.”

The woman's features softened. She sighed and pushed her door open. “I guess you'd better come inside then.”

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

I didn't get an answer. Instead the woman waved a hand irritably in our direction. “Hurry up, you're letting all the warm air out.”

Alice and I did as we were told. Together we scurried through the opening and shut the door behind us. Compared to the brisk temperature outside, the air inside the house was stiflingly warm. I reached up and unwound my scarf, then unbuttoned my coat. Inside for only a moment, I was already hot.

“I'm Betty Bowen,” the woman said. “Henry and I have been neighbors here for more than twenty years. John and I moved into this house as newlyweds all that time ago. Don't think we ever expected to be here this long.

“Lots of people, they feel the need to trade up when they start a family, but we never did. Good thing too, since John didn't live past his forty-fifth birthday, and Johnny and I ended up with a house that was mostly paid off so's we didn't end up on the street.”

“Johnny?” I asked, even though I knew I probably shouldn't.

Betty Bowen reminded me of my next-door neighbor, Edna Silano. Edna was an older woman, living alone, who didn't have that many people to talk to. Get her started and she would tell you her entire life story, beginning with her trip to America from the old country.

“My boy. That's his picture there.” Betty gestured toward the mantelpiece. The wooden ledge was covered with framed photographs. At a glance, they seemed to chronicle the highlights of her son's life. The most recent picture was a high school graduation shot. Alice walked over for a closer look. If they'd have been dog pictures, I might have done the same. Since they weren't, I stayed where I was.

“So you must know Henry pretty well,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

“It's a terrible, terrible thing.” Betty sighed loudly.

“What is?” I asked. Alice looked up.

“What happened to poor dear Henry.”

For a single beat, my heart stood still. I knew I should ask, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Alice managed for me. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you,” Betty said. “But Henry's gone to his rest. That poor man died the night before last.”