The Bark Before Christmas

by Laurien Berenson

  “One last question,” I said to Jo.

  The loudspeaker was blaring out a jazz rendition of “Little Drummer Boy”and once again I had to stand close to make myself heard. All that nonstop Christmas cheer was making me itch to get my fingers on the music’s volume button.

  Jo shrugged. I decided to take that as acquiescence.

  “You go to a lot of shows,” I said. “You know most of the terrier people. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Sondra?”

  “That’s a pretty broad question,” she replied. “You know how Sondra is . . . she can be difficult. When she’s unhappy, she wants everyone else to be unhappy, too.”

  I thought of the scene that Sondra had caused at the bazaar when she’d discovered that Kiltie was missing. She’d lashed out in all directions at once. Even at her own daughter.

  “I only know Sondra from what I see at the shows,” Jo continued. “But she’s miserable to be around when things aren’t going the way she wants them to. And nobody ever wants to get on her bad side. Because Sondra’s the wrong person to pick a fight with. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her back down, or even reconsider her opinion. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded, encouraging her to keep talking.

  “Rumor has it that Sondra got her panties in a wad over something that happened at her local Westie Club. I heard she got a couple of novice breeders thrown out of the club for doing something that she took exception to.”

  “Do you know what they did?”

  “I do not.” Jo shook her head. “But you know how affiliate clubs can be. There’s often enough infighting and jostling for position among the members already without someone purposely stirring things up.”

  Each breed of dog is overseen by a national club that’s responsible for that breed’s welfare and promotion. The club’s hardworking members write the breed standard, marshal support for research into genetic problems, provide breeder referral and rescue services, and hold a national specialty show.

  The affiliate clubs are regional offshoots of the parent club. They do many of the same things, but on a local scale. And since their members tend to live clustered in a single area, they also hold frequent meetings that often double as social gatherings. In a club with a varied and active group of breeders, it wasn’t unusual for things to become contentious.

  “Do you know which club it was?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it was the Tri-State West Highland White Club. I know they’re down in Sondra’s area. I heard that by the time she was finished throwing her weight around, she’d managed to tick off more than a few club members.”

  We all gaited once more around the ring and practiced a second individual examination. By that time, the two puppies were beginning to grow tired. Pleased with how well they’d handled things, Jo decided to quit while everyone was still having fun.

  We walked out to the parking lot together. I waited as she loaded Bella and Edward into their crate for the ride home.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I said. “I appreciate your input.”

  “I hope it helps,” Jo replied. “At least for Kiltie’s sake, anyway. He seems like a nice dog. I’d hate for something bad to happen to him.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed.

  “It’s not his fault that he got stuck with such a crappy owner.”

  I couldn’t top that sentiment. I didn’t even try.

  I wanted to talk to Aunt Peg. Unfortunately it had to wait.

  Wednesday I had school again. Especially now—with the holiday season upon us—it was a real inconvenience when my job interfered with all the other things I would rather have been doing. And judging by the number of absentees among the students, apparently I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

  When my ten o’clock tutoring session was canceled because the eighth grader whom I was supposed help study for postbreak finals, turned out to have already left on a ski trip with his parents, I used the unexpected free period to go looking for Tony Dahl.

  I found him in his office on the ground floor. The small room was sandwiched between the gym, the locker rooms, and the cavernous space that housed the indoor swimming pool. As none of my regular duties ever brought me to this part of the building, I was unprepared for the smell that wafted through these lower corridors. It appeared to consist of equal parts chlorine, adolescent sweat, and wet feet.

  The front wall of Tony’s office had a wide bank of waist-to-ceiling windows. As I approached, I could see that he was on the phone. By the time I’d reached his closed door, however, Tony was already hanging up and signaling me to enter.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said.

  “Not at all. I was just doing a little Christmas shopping. Come in and have a seat, and tell me what brings you all the way down here to the bowels of the building. Nothing too serious, I hope.”

  Against the long wall of the office, a faded couch sat perpendicular to Tony’s desk. It was bracketed on either side by shelves filled with many decades’ worth of trophies and team photos, some dating back half a century or more. Resisting the urge to stop and have a look, I walked over and sat down instead.

  “I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”

  “Shoot,” Tony invited. “Until girls’ basketball in fourth period, I’m all yours.”

  “I’m looking for a lost dog,” I began.

  “Not your big Poodle.” He immediately sounded concerned.

  “No,” I said quickly. “Faith is fine. She’s upstairs. The dog I’m looking for is a little white terrier named Kiltie.”

  “The dog from the bazaar.” Tony nodded in recognition. “I didn’t realize he was still missing.”

  In the four days that had passed since the bazaar, the buzz about Kiltie’s disappearance had been superseded by fresher, more alarming news. The previous day, the tidbit that the man found dead in Union Cemetery was the Santa Claus from the HA Christmas Bazaar, had spread through the school like wildfire. A missing dog was nothing compared to that.

  “Yes, he’s still gone,” I told him. “Kiltie belongs to a Howard Academy alum who’s very upset about his loss.”

  “Poppy’s Mom,” said Tony.

  “That’s right.”

  “I heard some of the commotion she made on Saturday.” He shook his head. “Is she still threatening to sue the school?”

  “It’s a possibility. That’s one of the reasons I’m looking for him.”

  “I wish I could help you,” said Tony. “But if I had any idea where that dog was, I would have done something about it on Saturday. It seems to me, the way dogs run, that little guy could be just about anywhere by now.”

  “But that’s just it,” I said. “Kiltie didn’t run away. He was stolen.”

  “Stolen?” That got Tony’s attention in a hurry. “By whom?”

  “Our Santa Claus.”

  “For real?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “The guy who ended up dead?”

  I nodded. “It appears that way.”

  “That’s just nuts,” said Tony. “Who would bother to steal a dog when there are plenty you can have for free?”

  “Kiltie isn’t just any dog,” I said. “He’s a valuable show dog.”

  Tony shook his head again as if he was finding the entire conversation baffling. “People sure are crazy.”

  I was in no position to argue with that.

  “What does that have to do with me?” he asked after a minute.

  “You have a friend named Hal Romero, right?”

  “Sure. Good guy.”

  “Do you happen to know where he is?”

  “Home, I guess.” Tony reached for his cell phone. “Do you want his number?”

  “No, thanks, I already have it. Were you aware that he was the person originally hired to appear as Santa Claus at the Christmas bazaar?”

  “I should be,” said Tony. “I’m the one who told him to apply for the job. After he got i
t, he called and said thanks for the tip.”

  Well, that explained away the first coincidence.

  “So Hal was happy to have the job,” I said. “And yet he canceled his appearance at the last minute. And apparently he’s since disappeared.”

  “I was too busy on Saturday to stop and think about the fact that he wasn’t there,” Tony said. “And what do you mean he’s disappeared?”

  “I stopped by his apartment yesterday. His landlady hasn’t seen him since last Thursday.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Tony told me. “Hal works for himself. He’s the kind of guy who likes to come and go on his own schedule. Maybe he took a few days off to go fishing.”

  “In December?” I said skeptically.

  “Oh yeah, I didn’t think about that.” Tony still didn’t sound perturbed. “So maybe not fishing. But he could still be just about anywhere.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I said. “When Hal canceled, that opened the door for Jerry Platt to be hired as his substitute. And that gave Platt his chance to steal Kiltie.”

  “Wait a minute.” Tony sat up straight in his chair. “Are you telling me that if Hal had shown up and done his job like he was supposed to, he might have ended up dead like the other Santa Claus did?”

  “Not at all,” I corrected quickly. “Not unless Hal was involved in the dognapping scheme, too.”

  “No way. Hal wouldn’t have had anything to do with something like that. But from what you’re saying, it sounds to me like he might have been someone’s unwitting dupe.” Tony stopped and sighed. “So I guess things aren’t looking too good for me either, are they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All I was trying to do was help a friend. And because of that, everything ended up in a big mess. I suppose I should be glad that you’re the one talking to me instead of Mr. Hanover. How much trouble am I in?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” I told him. “Nobody blames you for what happened. I just wanted to talk to Hal and find out why he bailed on us. Somebody must have put him up to it.”

  “It sounds like that guy Jerry Platt was the one who did that.”

  “Possibly,” I conceded. “But maybe Hal has another name for us. And if he does, I’d like to hear it.”

  “I’ll try and find him for you,” Tony offered. “Call around and see if anyone knows where he is.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  “Believe me, I’m happy to do what I can. This whole thing hits a little too close to home, you know?”

  I did indeed.

  On my way back up the stairs from the lower level, I ran into Madeline Dangerfield. She was headed in the other direction, carrying a small bundle of clothing in her arms. With our recent interaction fresh in my mind, I had no intention of stopping. With luck, Madeline might not even remember me.

  But as we passed on the steps, she paused, and said, “You’re Melanie, right? We met at the bazaar? I’m glad I ran into you.”

  What now? I wondered.

  “Yes, I’m Melanie,” I admitted. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sure, I’m just delivering my son’s gym clothes to his locker. After he left in the car pool this morning, I found them on the kitchen counter. That child has a selective memory when it comes to things he doesn’t want to do. Like anything resembling physical activity.”

  “I just saw Tony,” I said. “I’m sure he can point you toward the right locker.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’ve been here before,” Madeline replied with a small smile. “I know just where to go. Listen, I want to apologize for my behavior last Saturday. There’s no excuse. I was having a bad day and I’m sorry I took it out on you. Especially since you went out of your way to be helpful.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “The bazaar can be pretty stressful. Everybody’s trying to get a lot of stuff done in a short amount of time and that kind of pressure adds up. I hope your booth worked out well for you.”

  Madeline nodded. “It turned out that being over by the windows was great. “I had shoppers coming by all day. I sold all the stock I had with me and took a bunch more orders for stuff to send out by Christmas.”

  “That’s terrific. I’m glad your day was a success.”

  I went to move on, but Madeline wasn’t finished.

  “Say,” she said, “did you ever find that dog that ran away?”

  The question stopped me in my tracks. “No, not yet. Why do you ask?”

  “I saw all the commotion at the time. Plus, you know—it was Sondra. Everybody always notices what’s going on with her.”

  “They do?”

  Madeline reached up and patted my shoulder. “Honey, you must be new around here if you don’t already know that. But when I found out what had happened, I did feel bad for her. Sondra really seems to be going through a rough patch right now. First she lost Jim. And now her little dog is gone, too.”

  “She lost Jim?” I repeated. That seemed like an odd way to refer to a marriage that was breaking down.

  “You know,” Madeline said in a confiding tone, “he was stepping out on her with someone else.”

  Oh. “I didn’t know that, actually. I just knew that Sondra and her husband were separated.”

  “It’s Jim’s wandering eye that got them there. Sondra tried to overlook what was going on for a while. But then she finally decided she’d had enough and kicked Jim out of the house.”

  “I don’t blame her,” I said.

  “Me either. Especially since rumor has it that the woman has kids in this school.”

  “Here?” That caught me by surprise. “At Howard Academy? Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Madeline replied. “I don’t even think Sondra knows. Somebody around here must be pretty good at keeping secrets.”

  “Not me,” I said. This conversation was turning out to be quite illuminating. I hoped that Madeline would keep talking. “I like hearing all the gossip.”

  Madeline just shook her head. “It’s a shame that she has to deal with all this crap now, right before the holidays. But you know Sondra. She’s a survivor. She’ll get everything sorted out to her satisfaction if it’s the last thing she does.”

  Speaking as one of the people currently being sorted, I never doubted that for a minute.

  “I hope you have a great Christmas,” said Madeline. She was ready to move on. “If I’d known I was going to run into you, I’d have brought you one of my jams. How about if I have Christof leave a jar of marmalade on your desk tomorrow?”

  “That would be wonderful,” I said. As apologies went, I’d take it. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  “If you see Sondra, tell her I hope she gets her dog back. She’s probably missing him more than she’s missing Jim.”

  A sad commentary, and probably very true.

  “I will do that,” I said.

  Chapter 18

  That afternoon when school let out, I finally got my chance to visit Aunt Peg. A small detour on the way home from Howard Academy brought me to her old, restored, farmhouse in back country Greenwich. The kennel building behind the house had once been filled with generations of Cedar Crest Standard Poodles, often more than a dozen at a time.

  Now, however, Aunt Peg’s full judging schedule keeps her busy many weekends of the year. As a result, her current Poodle population numbers only five dogs. All are black, all are adults, and they’re all retired show champions. The kennel building is empty now; the Standard Poodles live in the house with Aunt Peg. They also serve as an attentive early warning system whenever a visitor arrives.

  Faith had been to Aunt Peg’s house before. She knew the drill. As I pulled the Volvo to the side of the driveway and parked, she was already dancing impatiently on the seat. When Aunt Peg opened the front door to her house and the pack of Standard Poodles came spilling down the steps to greet us, Faith was eager to hop out and join the fray.

  I reached over and opened the door on her side. Head up,
tail whipping back and forth, Faith went charging out of the car. As she mingled happily with her peers, I followed at a more sedate pace.

  Aunt Peg had decorated her house for Christmas the previous week. Icicle lights dripped from the home’s eaves. Evergreen roping spiraled around the porch railing. A holly-covered wreath adorned the front door. I paused and drew in a deep breath, reveling in the heady, enticing scent of pine that always signals the holidays’ approach.

  By the time I’d reached the foot of the steps, the Poodles had already dashed once around the front yard, then raced inside the house. Blessed with years of practice, Aunt Peg had deftly avoided being bowled over by the canine onslaught. Now she was waiting for me in the doorway.

  “I need cake,” I said.

  Aunt Peg’s sweet tooth is legendary. Over all the years our friendship have encompassed, only two things have remained constant and unalterable. There would always be Standard Poodles at Aunt Peg’s house and there would always be cake.

  Now as I climbed the steps and crossed the porch, my mouth was already watering. I hoped it would be mocha layer cake from St. Moritz, my favorite.

  “Sorry,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “You’re out of luck.”

  The shock of her reply stopped me cold. “You’re joking, right?”

  Dodging the question, Peg waved me forward impatiently. “Come inside so I can close the door. You’re letting all the cold air in.”

  I did as I was told. That’s always a safe strategy where Aunt Peg is concerned. I’d barely cleared the doorway when she slammed the door shut behind me. The force she applied to the motion rattled the windows.

  I wasn’t the only one who was surprised by that. En masse, the Poodles came scrambling back out to the hallway to see what was up. Aunt Peg pointedly avoided all of our gazes.

  I looked at the Poodles and shrugged. Their demeanor conveyed similar puzzlement. That made me feel better. Whatever was going on, at least we were all in it together.