The Bark Before Christmas

by Laurien Berenson

Tuesday morning, the Standard Poodles sat in the kitchen and watched the dress-the-toddler show with interest and amusement. I didn’t have school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Kevin and I were due in downtown Stamford for a Gymboree class at ten. Unfortunately we were running late.

  Kev loves Gymboree. He participates eagerly in the singing, the dancing, and the games. Plus he gets to hang out with kids his own age. From his point of view it’s a win/win. So I’ve never understood why it’s so difficult to get him out the door on time.

  “Tar come with us,” Kevin announced as I set him down beside the door that led to the garage and grabbed my own coat out of the hall closet.

  Tar pricked his ears. That silly dog doesn’t know much, but he recognized an invitation when he heard one.

  So did the other Poodles. They figured that if Tar was getting to go for a ride in the car, they should, too. So now they all came scrambling over to join us. Within seconds, I had six Standard Poodles jostling for position next to the door.

  Somewhere in the midst of that rambunctious group was the little instigator. I knew Kevin was fine. I could see his red knit cap bobbing up and down among the dark bodies in what looked like my very own canine/toddler mosh pit.

  “Sorry, guys, you’re not going,” I said firmly.

  “Not going?” Kev wriggled his way to the edge of the group. Quickly he started to unzip his jacket so he could yank it off.

  “Not you. I was talking to the Poodles.” Reaching out a hand, I grabbed him while I had the chance. “You’re coming with me to Gymboree. But the rest of you”—I swept my gaze around the Poodle-packed hallway—“. . . are staying here.”

  Six pomponned tails drooped. Six pairs of dark eyes regarded me with desolation. As if the communal canine disappointment was simply too much to bear.

  “Really?” I sighed.

  “Really,” Kevin agreed happily. He likes to echo what people say, even when he doesn’t have a clue what it means. I am hoping he outgrows that trait before he’s old enough for it to get him into trouble.

  I bent down and swept the toddler up into my arms. Then I ran to the pantry and handed out six peanut butter biscuits. My car keys were in my pocket; my purse was over my shoulder. While the Poodles were busy munching, Kev and I slipped out the door and made a run for it.

  By the time class was finished an hour later, Kevin was pleasantly drowsy and I was feeling energized. Thanks to MapQuest, I had directions to the address Mr. Hanover had given me the day before on the seat beside me. It seemed like a perfect time to pay Hal Romero a visit and find out what he might have known about our last-minute Santa switch.

  Glenville is a small, historic, neighborhood that was originally a mill town on the western edge of Greenwich. Even as everything has grown around it, the area still manages to maintain much of its quaint village charm. I followed the directions to a quiet street not far from the fire station.

  Hal Romero lived in a narrow, two-storey, house that looked as though it dated from the middle of the previous century. The dwelling had originally been a single-family home, but now it was subdivided into several, smaller apartments. A gaudy plastic Christmas wreath adorned the house’s front door. Strings of multicolored lights had been over several low bushes in the small yard.

  I parked the Volvo on the street beside a sturdy-looking oak tree whose naked branches snaked upward toward a gray, midmorning, sky. Kevin and I walked up the short driveway, across an even shorter walkway, and climbed two steps onto the front porch. When we reached the door, I had my choice of three doorbells. The one in the middle had Hal’s name listed above it.

  “Want to ring bell,” Kevin said imperiously.

  I already knew that. Doorbells are one of my son’s favorite things. And I’d learned a long time ago that the push-the-button game is much more enjoyable when Kev plays it on those occasions when it’s actually necessary, rather than when we’re at home and it’s not.

  I lifted him up and showed him which of the buzzers to press. Kev applied his index finger to the small button and pushed firmly. We both heard chimes sound inside the house.

  Thirty seconds passed. Nothing happened.

  “Again!” said Kevin.

  We gave it another try. Still nothing.

  The toddler looked up at me. “Nobody home,” he said with a shrug.

  “Maybe Hal Romero is coming,” I said. “Maybe he’s just slow.”

  Okay, so I was grasping at straws. But I really didn’t want to have made the trip to Glenville for nothing. Sure, I could have called Mr. Romero first. But in my experience people who don’t have any reason to want to talk to me, are much more likely to do so when I’m standing right in front of them, than they are when I give them advance warning of my intent.

  “We’ll give it one more try,” I said, hoisting the toddler up again. “Last chance.”

  This time, the door opened fractionally almost before the chimes had even stopped ringing. A woman who looked to be in her fifties, with slippers on her feet and a scowl on her face, peered out at us through a gap that was less than six inches wide.

  “Help you?” she said, sounding none too pleased by the prospect.

  “I’m looking for Hal Romero,” I told her. “Did we ring the wrong bell by mistake?”

  “No, you got the right bell,” she said with a windy sigh. “You just rang it so many times I figured if I didn’t come out here and open the door you’d never shut up.”

  “Oh,” I said. Oops.

  “Ring bell!” Kevin cried gaily. “One more time.”

  To my surprise, the woman looked down and smiled. “I thought you were just being rude,” she said with a chuckle. “But now I see what happened.”

  Delighted by her amusement, Kevin began to laugh with her. As his small body pumped up and down with giggles, the woman pulled the door open, stepped aside, and waved us through the gap.

  “My son, Danny, used to love to ring the doorbell, too,” she said. “Drove me crazy, that kid. Step inside for a minute. It’s too cold to stand out there on the porch.”

  I was happy to comply. Bracing a hand between Kev’s shoulders, I scooted him forward, then quickly followed. We entered a cramped hallway that held only two doors and a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor. The door on the right was closed. The one on the left stood ajar.

  “How old is Danny?” I asked. I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t like to talk about her children.

  “Thirty on his last birthday,” she said fondly. “And long gone from here now. He’s married with a family of his own.”

  “We have Poodles,” Kevin announced. He hates to be ignored.

  Looking down, I saw that he already had his jacket off. His mittens, clipped to his cuffs, dangled from the ends of the empty sleeves.

  “I like dogs,” the woman told him. She obviously liked children, too. Then she lifted her gaze to me. “So you’re looking for Hal. Are you a friend of his?”

  “No, actually we’ve never met. My name is Melanie Travis. I work at Howard Academy.”

  The woman nodded. Not surprisingly, she’d heard of the school. “Beverly,” she said. “I’m Hal’s landlady.” She nodded toward the staircase. “He has the apartment upstairs.”

  “Mr. Romero was hired to appear as Santa Claus at our Christmas bazaar this past weekend—” I began.

  Kev tilted his head upward. “Santa Claus?” he said with interest.

  Too late, I realized my mistake. And it was a doozy. Quickly I hunkered down to Kevin’s height so we could talk eye-to-eye.

  “Not the real Santa Claus,” I said. “We’re talking about one of his helpers.”

  “And he lives here?” Kev’s eyes grew wide.

  “Sometimes. But only when he’s not at the North Pole.”

  “Wow.” He gazed around the small hallway with fresh appreciation.

  As I rose to my feet, Beverly gave me a sympathetic wink. Then she said to Kevin, “I’ve got the TV on in my apartment. Have you ever wat
ched The Price is Right?”

  Kev shook his head. He still looked slightly dazed—as if he was half expecting Santa Claus to pop out of the woodwork at any moment.

  I am such an idiot.

  “Do you like flashing lights and screaming ladies?” Beverly asked.

  Kevin considered for a moment, then shrugged.

  “Why don’t you go have a look? Your mom and I will be right here, having a little chat.”

  “Okay.”

  He left without even checking with me for permission. Another time, that might have bothered me. Now I was just grateful to Beverly for rescuing me.

  “I should have seen that coming,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. We’ve all done it. Good save with the Santa’s helpers line. They always fall for that one.”

  “I hope so,” I replied, appreciating her attempt to make me feel better.

  “Now back to Hal,” Beverly prompted. “What did you want with him?”

  “Like I said, he was supposed to work at our Christmas bazaar last weekend. But then he canceled at the last minute and left us in the lurch.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Hal at all. He’s usually very reliable. Dressing up and entertaining kids is how he makes his living. He’s been doing it for years and he gets a lot of gigs. This time of year, it’s all Santa Claus. But Hal also does a clown and a vampire. He has a magician act, too. He’s the kind of guy who likes to keep busy.”

  “I was hoping I could talk to him about why he didn’t keep his commitment to us,” I said. “But I’m assuming he isn’t here.”

  “No, he’s not. He hasn’t been around since last week.”

  “Thursday?” I guessed.

  “Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?”

  “Some time that night he left a message at the school, canceling his appearance. The headmaster found out about it on Friday morning and had to scramble around to replace him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Beverly said thoughtfully. “Hal would never want to disappoint kids like that.”

  “Do you have any idea where he went?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see him before he left. I just noticed he was gone and figured he must have gone off somewhere for the holidays. You know, visiting family or something?”

  “Is that what he usually does this time of year?”

  “I wouldn’t really know. It’s not my place to keep tabs. Hal’s a good tenant. He’s neat, he’s quiet, he pays his bills on time. I’ve never had a single cause for complaint. He’s a nice guy, but it’s not like we get in each other’s business.”

  “So I guess you wouldn’t happen to know where his family lives?”

  “Nope,” said Beverly. “Not a clue.”

  Briefly I debated mentioning that the Santa Claus who’d taken Hal Romero’s place had ended up dead. Then I quickly decided against it. I was pretty sure that the police would want to talk to Beverly as well. It was probably better if I let them break the news. And maybe I’d get lucky and Hal’s landlady wouldn’t mention that we’d already spoken.

  “Thank you for talking to me,” I said instead. “I appreciate it.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more help. You want to give me a card or something? When Hal comes back, I can have him call you?”

  “That would be great.” I fished a piece of paper out of my purse, wrote down my name and phone number, and handed it over. Then I leaned around and stuck my head through the open doorway to Beverly’s apartment. “Kev, honey, it’s time to go.”

  I expected to see him sitting in front of the television but Kevin had bypassed the screaming ladies and flashing lights and found something better. He was standing beside a large aquarium, tucked into an alcove at the end of the room. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, Kev was staring in fascination at dozens of brightly colored fish swimming back and forth behind the glass.

  No wonder I hadn’t heard a peep out of him.

  “Mommy, come see,” Kevin cried. “Pretty fish!”

  I’d already retrieved his jacket from the floor in the hallway. Now I carried it with me across the room. “The fish are beautiful. Please say thank you to the nice lady for letting you look at them.”

  “Thank you,” Kevin mumbled.

  Still utterly entranced, he didn’t even turn around to acknowledge us. I reached down, slipped his arms into his sleeves of his jacket, and zipped him up. Then I gave his hand a little tug.

  “Honey, we have to go now.”

  Kev planted his feet. “Like to see fish.”

  “I know they’re nice. But they’re Beverly’s fish. And we have to leave.”

  “Not going,” Kevin insisted. “Want fish.”

  A sudden inspiration struck. “Christmas is coming,” I said. “Maybe Santa Claus will bring you a goldfish.”

  Kev gestured toward the aquarium. “And water, too,” he said seriously.

  “Water, too,” I agreed. “And probably a fish tank.”

  I saw Beverly biting her lip. She was trying hard not to laugh. I was guessing that her son, Danny, had liked fish, too.

  This time when I tugged on Kevin’s small hand, he allowed himself to be moved. Beverly walked us to the door.

  “I just thought of something,” she said, when we’d reached the hallway. “You said you worked at Howard Academy, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know a guy there named Tony? Big, friendly guy, African-American? Has a nice smile?”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s Tony Dahl. He’s the head of the athletic department. Do you know him?”

  “I met him here last summer. He’s a friend of Hal’s.”

  What an interesting coincidence. I paused next to the outer door, waiting to see if Beverly had more to add. Happily she did.

  “Hal and Tony were out in the backyard grilling some brats one day,” she told me. “It smelled pretty good so I went out to see if they had any leftovers. Hal introduced us and I remember Tony saying that he worked at your school. Could be he knows where Hal’s gone off to.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I’ll check into that.”

  All the way home, Kevin talked about fish. Waving his hands in the air, he sang about red fish and blue fish and counted their numbers on his fingers. When he reached the end of his impromptu song, he squealed with delight and started over again.

  There was definitely going to be an addition to that child’s Christmas list.

  While Kev occupied himself counting fish, I kept my eyes on the road and pondered the unlikely circumstance that the school’s coach and their missing Santa Claus had known one another. Then I thought of something else. When Coco Lily had been running around causing havoc at the bazaar, it was Tony who’d known about the disturbance and who had brought me the news.

  Another coincidence? Possibly.

  But now I found myself wondering what else Tony might happen to know about that afternoon’s events.

  Chapter 16

  “Who would want to kill Santa Claus?” asked Bertie. “That’s just perverse.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said unhappily.

  I’d brought Kevin back home, fed him lunch, and put him down for a nap. Sam had been out, meeting with a client, but he was due back shortly. While he held down the fort at home that afternoon, I planned to try and talk to a couple of the dog show exhibitors who’d been at the Christmas bazaar.

  Sondra had already given me several names. But I wanted to get Bertie’s take on the day’s events, too. She had seen and dealt with everyone who’d brought dogs to have their pictures taken with Santa Claus. So she not only knew which dog people had been on hand that afternoon, she might also be able to give me some insight as to whether or not any of them had been acting suspiciously.

  As soon as Kev was asleep, I carried my phone into the living room and sat down on the couch. Tar hopped up and draped himself across my lap. Augie turned a small circle and lay down on my feet. I dialed my sister
-in-law’s number and settled in for a long chat.

  “It’s really too bad how things turned out,” Bertie said now. “And kind of hard to reconcile what you’ve told me about that Santa Claus with the guy I met on Saturday. Because he seemed like a nice person. He was good with the kids and mostly patient with their pets.”

  “Mostly patient?” I asked.

  Bertie chuckled. “He really hated having that squirmy Gila monster in his lap.”

  I shuddered lightly. I would have felt the same way.

  “Did you see Poppy and Kiltie when she brought him over to have his picture taken?” I asked.

  “Sure, Claire and I both did. I recognized Kiltie right away. In that crowd, he stood out like a sore thumb.”

  I had to agree with her assessment: the Westie would have been hard to miss. Aside from his obvious quality, Kiltie’s precise, stylized, trim would have set him apart from the rest of the children’s pets.

  “Poppy looked familiar, too,” Bertie said. “I guess I’ve seen her around the shows with her mother. When she came to the booth she had a friend with her. The girl with the Cockapoo.”

  “That was Charlotte and Coco Lily. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary while they were there? Did anything unusual happen?”

  Bertie thought for a minute before answering. “Nothing struck me at the time,” she said finally. “As you know, we almost always had a long line of kids waiting. So we were moving pretty fast with each one. I remember Santa saying hello to Poppy and asking her what kind of dog she had while Claire was maneuvering Kiltie into position for the picture.”

  “Was it just normal chitchat?” I asked. “Something he asked all the kids?”

  “Pretty much. Santa used a little small talk to put the kids at ease. He didn’t treat Poppy any differently than anyone else. She gave him a big smile and told him that her dog’s name was Kiltie. Poppy and that Westie were adorable together. I’m sure their picture turned out wonderfully.”

  Not that anyone would ever care, I thought with a pang.

  “And Santa didn’t pay any special attention to Kiltie either?”

  “Not that I noticed,” said Bertie. “The only ones he spent extra time with were the tough ones, the dogs who might have needed some socializing. There were a few who didn’t like his beard, or his padded belly, or were just pretty damn sure that they weren’t going to be sitting in some fat stranger’s lap without putting up a fight.”