The Bark Before Christmas

by Laurien Berenson

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s about Kiltie.”

  “Who?”

  Maybe we had a bad connection, I thought. Every other exhibitor I’d spoken to had known immediately who the Westie was.

  “Kiltie,” I said again. “GCH Westglen Braveheart?”

  “Never heard of him,” Jane Brew replied. “Are you sure you called the right person? Where did you get my number?”

  I took a deep breath and started over. “You attended the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar last Saturday.”

  “That’s right. A friend and I drove down from Westport to get our dogs’ pictures taken with Santa Claus. Is that a problem?”

  “No, of course not,” I said quickly. “A lot of other people did the same thing.”

  “Are you calling all of us?”

  “No, I—”

  “Then why me?”

  “Because you show dogs.”

  “So what?”

  Watching me from the backseat, Kevin tipped his head to one side and gave me a toothy grin. Even he seemed to know that I was fast losing control of the conversation.

  “One of the dogs who was there that day—a West Highland White named Kiltie—was stolen from his crate at the bazaar that afternoon.”

  There was a brief pause, then Jane Brew said, “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I thought maybe you might have seen something—”

  “I didn’t even see a Westie. I was busy with my own dogs. And minding my own business.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  “Are we done?” asked Jane.

  “Umm . . . I guess.”

  Click.

  I sighed and tucked my phone away. That, in a nutshell, was why I preferred speaking to people in person. I’m not nearly as easy to blow off when I’m standing right in front of them.

  “I guess,” Kev said from the backseat.

  Even though I knew he was merely echoing the last thing he’d heard me say, I still turned around and asked, “You guess what?”

  “Christmas coming!” Kev cried. He pumped a fist in the air for emphasis.

  This time of year, that child has a one-track mind.

  When we arrived home, the house smelled wonderful. While Kev rolled around on the floor with the Poodles who’d met us at the door, I followed my nose to the kitchen. There I discovered that Sam and Davey were baking Christmas cookies.

  I wrapped my arms around my husband, hugged him hard, and said, “I think I’m in love.”

  “I should hope so,” Sam replied. He had oven mitts on both hands and a smear of flour down the front of his shirt.

  “Hey,” said Davey, talking around the warm sugar cookie he’d just popped into his mouth. “I’m helping, too.”

  That earned him a hug as well. Since he’d pretty much asked for it, Davey had the grace not to squirm out of my grasp too quickly. Even though he’s opposed to parental displays of affection on principle, my son might have even hugged me back a little. It appeared as though the cookies were having a salutary effect on all of us.

  I stepped back and gazed around the kitchen. Several dozen cinnamon cookies were cooling on racks. Two baking sheets were currently in the oven. Davey had been working on filling a third from a bowl of cookie batter on the counter.

  “This all looks great,” I said, helping myself to a warm cookie. “What’s the occasion?”

  Busy spooning batter into neat balls on the baking tray, Davey mumbled something under his breath. I turned to Sam for a translation.

  “Christmas party at Davey’s school,” Sam told me as he checked the timer on the oven. “Davey volunteered to bring six dozen cookies.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said. “When’s the party?”

  Sam and Davey shared a look.

  “Tomorrow,” my son informed me.

  “They only gave you one day’s notice to come up with six dozen cookies?” I asked incredulously.

  “Not exactly,” said Sam.

  Oh. Maybe that was why Davey had allowed me an extra-long hug.

  “How long have you known about it?” I asked.

  “Couple weeks. I kind of forgot.”

  “I guess you did,” I muttered.

  “No big deal,” said Sam. “Davey and I ran out to the market and picked up plenty of supplies. We’ve got everything under control.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said.

  “You know it.” Sam grinned.

  Kevin came charging into the kitchen with six Standard Poodles in hot pursuit. “Cookies!” he cried, his eyes widening as he looked around the room. “Want some.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed. “Let’s make lots of extras for us. You can help decorate.”

  I pulled off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and went to work.

  Friday morning, back to school. Walking down the semi-empty hallway with Faith upon our arrival, I wondered why we’d even bothered to show up. On this, the last school day before the start of Christmas vacation, it appeared as though half the student body had already gone AWOL.

  In the teachers’ lounge, the atmosphere was festive. The prospect of three whole weeks of vacation had put everyone in a good mood. Even Ed Weinstein looked cheerful. That had to be a first.

  There was fresh coffee in the silver urn and a chocolate Yule log on the table. I hadn’t planned to sit down but that cake was calling my name. I cut a sliver off the end and slipped into a chair beside Rita Kinney.

  “Who baked?” I asked her. “You?”

  “Are you kidding?” Rita laughed. “Who has time to bake? My mother sent it, and according to the box it came in, she didn’t bake it either.”

  “Nice of you to share.” I sectioned off a large bite and slid it into my mouth. “This is really good.”

  “Too good,” Rita agreed. “If I hadn’t brought it to school, I’d have eaten the whole thing myself.”

  “Your loss is our gain,” said Louisa Delgado. She glanced down at her hips. “Literally and figuratively.”

  “Hey, Melanie,” Ed said from across the table. “Did you find that lost dog yet? You know, the one that went missing from your bazaar?”

  “Not yet,” I replied, swallowing another bite of cake. “But I’m working on it.”

  “What’s the hold-up?”

  “Well . . .” I leveled Ed a look. “He’s lost.”

  “I heard there’s going to be a lawsuit over that dog.” Ed paused for effect, then added, “A huge one.”

  With that pronouncement, every head in the room swiveled around to look at us. Probably just as Ed had intended. Too bad for him that I was tired of listening to his self-serving bluster. And that I was coasting along on a wave of cake-induced euphoria.

  “I’m not surprised you’re interested,” I said brightly. “Since you were right there at the bazaar when Kiltie disappeared. What do you know about what happened?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Abruptly Ed reared back in his seat. I found it interesting how quickly he’d gone on the defensive. “You’re the one who blew it. Why should I know anything?”

  “Maybe because you brought up the subject,” Rita pointed out. “You’re the one who wants to talk about it.”

  “Not like this,” Ed grumbled. “Melanie has no cause to be snooping around me.”

  “Of course not, Ed,” said Louisa. “Because, as usual, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” She reached over and nabbed his plate. “That’s enough cake for you. I think the sugar’s going to your brain.”

  Louisa stood up, walked over to the sideboard, and dumped Ed’s remaining half piece in the garbage. A smattering of laughter came from around the room. Louisa smiled, extended her arm gracefully, and took a small bow.

  Ed’s face grew red. As the first bell rang, he stood up and left the room in a hurry.

  “Way to kill the good mood,” Ryan Duncan called after him. Everybody laughed again.

  “That’s my cue,” I said, rising as well. As I exited
the lounge and started down the hall, I realized that Louisa had followed me. I slowed my pace and she caught up.

  “Do you have a minute?” she asked.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “You know I have Poppy McEvoy for sixth grade math, right?”

  I nodded. Louisa was a great teacher, but even she couldn’t manage to spark Poppy’s interest in math. The child loved words and hated numbers, which was why we had a weekly session together.

  “Ed talking about that lost dog made me think that maybe I should say something.”

  I pulled over to the side of the hallway and stopped. “Go on.”

  “Have you noticed anything different about Poppy recently?”

  “Define recently.”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Louisa said with a shrug. “Maybe a couple of months? It seems like something’s going on with her. She’s been distracted, even more so than the usual sixth grader. And maybe a little glum. I’m wondering if she’s okay.”

  I leaned in closer, lowered my voice, and said, “Her parents separated not too long ago. Did you know that?”

  “I had no idea.” Louisa looked surprised. “Are you sure? Usually news like that is all over the grapevine. And I know I saw Poppy with both her parents at the Christmas bazaar.”

  “They were there,” I agreed. “But at different times of the day. Sondra told me about the separation herself. Poppy’s father has moved out of the house.”

  “Poor kid,” Louisa murmured. “No wonder she’s been unhappy. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to cut her some slack.”

  “And I’ll try to bring Kiltie back,” I said. “Maybe between the two of us, we can cheer her up a little.”

  By the time I reached my room, my first pupil was already waiting for me. Gordon Beck was a cheerful second grader who was new to the school that year. His recent dyslexia diagnosis was not only turning his academic performance around, it was also transforming him from a reluctant student to one who was now curious about his studies and eager to learn. I loved helping kids like Gordon; it was just one of the things that made my work at Howard Academy incredibly gratifying.

  At the end of our tutoring session, Gordon opened the door to leave, then turned and looked back into the room. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a guy out here.”

  I’d been gathering my papers. Now I stopped and glanced up. “Who?”

  “I dunno.” Gordon shrugged. He shouldered his backpack and left.

  The door pushed open farther and a man I’d never seen before came walking into my room uninvited. He was medium height and had a stocky build, along with bland features and grizzled gray-brown hair. He paused and shut the classroom door behind him, holding it in place until the latch clicked.

  Security is pretty tight at Howard Academy. The school caters to a wealthy clientele and children’s safety and well-being is paramount. Strangers don’t go wandering around the campus unescorted. It isn’t allowed and it doesn’t happen. So even though there was nothing about this man that appeared even remotely dangerous, the situation was still unusual enough to put me on guard.

  I lowered my hand to my side and snapped my fingers. Faith, who was snoozing on her cedar bed in the corner of the room, woke up and lifted her head. Sensing my abrupt change in attitude, she quickly got up and padded across the room to stand beside me.

  Faith isn’t a guard dog. She’s never had protection training. But she’s big and solid enough that her mere presence can act as a deterrent. Better safe than sorry, I thought.

  Then the man surprised me. He glanced down at Faith and said, “That’s a pretty Standard Poodle. She looks like a Cedar Crest dog.”

  My shoulders relaxed fractionally. Cedar Crest was Aunt Peg’s kennel name. “She is a Cedar Crest Poodle,” I told him. “Who are you?”

  “Rick Stanley. I heard that you’ve been trying to get in touch with me.”

  Rick Stanley. All right. Not a stranger then. At least not entirely.

  I motioned Faith back to her bed.

  “You might have just returned my call,” I said.

  “I didn’t feel the need.” He walked over, pulled out a chair at my teaching table, and sat down. “But then I heard from a couple of people that maybe I should talk to you. So here I am.”

  “Who did you hear that from?” I asked.

  “It’s not important.”

  Maybe not to him, I thought. On the other hand, Rick Stanley’s sudden appearance had generated so many other questions that I’d be silly to waste my time lingering over that one.

  “This is a private school,” I said. “How did you get in here? How did you know where to find me?”

  “That part was easy,” Rick replied.

  I stared at him across the low table. I wasn’t going to let him brush off this query so easily. If the school had holes in its security protocols, Mr. Hanover was going to want to hear about them.

  “I don’t think so,” I said firmly.

  “Look, it’s no big deal. I’m a Howard Academy alum, okay? Class of eighty-eight. My brothers and I went to school here, kindergarten through eighth grade. I know every nook and cranny of this place. In fact, I bet I know this campus better than you do.”

  “Then you probably know that visitors are supposed to check in at the front office,” I told him.

  Rick just shrugged. “I didn’t feel the need.”

  That was the second time he’d said that. I was beginning to get the impression that Rick Stanley was the kind of man who gave his own needs very high priority. I wondered where that left the rest of us.

  “Hey, I was in the neighborhood so I stopped in,” said Rick. “But I don’t have all day. Do you want to talk about Kiltie or not?”

  “I do.” I pulled out a chair opposite him. “What do you know about his abduction?”

  “Not a single blessed thing.”

  As if that was going to shut me up.

  “You were at the Christmas bazaar from which he was stolen,” I said.

  “Just an unlucky coincidence. Like I told you, I’m an HA alum. I live in Greenwich and I like to support the school when I can.”

  “Did you see Kiltie when you were at the bazaar?”

  “Sure, I saw him,” Rick said easily. “So what? I’m sure lots of people saw him. Sondra’s daughter was carrying him around. She had him at the photo booth at one point. I was there with Duffer.”

  “Where did he go after that?”

  “How would I know? I wasn’t keeping track. I was there to get my dog’s picture taken. The girl finished and took Kiltie away and then it was my turn. That’s all I know.”

  “Duffer’s a Cairn,” I said.

  “Possibly.” Rick chuckled. “Depending on your point of view. If you ask Duffer, he’d probably tell you that he’s damn near human.”

  Been there, I thought. That shared connection made me warm to Rick Stanley just a little.

  “I’ve heard he’s a very good dog,” I said.

  “He is.”

  “Good enough for Todd Greenleaf.”

  “So that’s where this is going.” Rick’s brief flash of good humor vanished. “That was supposed to be confidential. How did you find out?”

  “It’s not important,” I said, echoing his words from earlier. Two could play that game.

  “Fine, don’t tell me. I can guess. Todd must be trying to make himself feel important by dragging me through the mud.”

  “No,” I corrected quickly. “I’ve never spoken to Todd.”

  “Sondra then.”

  “Wrong again.”

  “I doubt it.” Rick shook his head. “That woman’s a bitch.”

  Among dog people, the word bitch doesn’t have the same connotation that it does in the real world. As a reference to a female dog, it’s used all the time with impunity. But Rick’s tone made it clear that he was aiming for the insult.

  “You sound like you’re very angry at her,” I said.

  “Of course I’m angry at Son
dra. In my place, anyone would be. I’ve been waiting patiently all year for Todd to retire Horace. When he went home, it was supposed to be Duffer’s turn.”

  “Horace?” I asked.

  “You really don’t know much, do you?”

  This time the insult was aimed at me. I didn’t even try to dodge it.

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?” I said.

  “Horace is an Irish Terrier, GCH Runnymede Hot Stuff. You’ve never heard of him?”

  I shook my head.

  “Really?”

  I decided that the question was rhetorical and remained mum. Rick just sat and stared at me. After thirty seconds of silence that felt endless, I gave in.

  “I have Standard Poodles,” I said.

  “That’s no excuse.”

  Indeed. Aunt Peg probably would have said the same thing.

  “Horace retired in November, after the National Dog Show,” Rick said. “I assume you’ve heard of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “As soon as he was done showing, Duffer was supposed to be next in line. Imagine my surprise, then, to find out that Todd was also planning to add Kiltie to his string.”

  “In your spot,” I said. We’re dog people. We anthropomorphize.

  “A spot I’d waited for all year,” Rick repeated in case I hadn’t yet gotten the point.

  “That was a rotten thing to do,” I agreed. “You must have been furious with both of them.”

  “I was,” Rick muttered. “And they deserved it.”

  Now he’d made me curious. “How did Sondra manage that?” I asked.

  “Manage what?”

  “To bump Duffer and get Kiltie put in his place. Why would Todd do that to a longstanding client? Is Kiltie a better dog?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then what happened?” Rachel had told me that the incentive was money. I was curious to hear what Rick would say.

  “I have no idea,” he replied sullenly. “Maybe she’s sleeping with him.”

  I snorted under my breath. I was pretty sure that Todd was gay.

  “Besides,” said Rick, “what does it matter? The important thing is that Sondra’s in and I’m out.”

  “And that Kiltie is gone,” I added. “Stolen from a Christmas bazaar that you attended.”