“Sorry,” I apologized now. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“I should hope not.” Claire brushed back a strand of dark, silky, hair that had fallen across her face and frowned at me across the table. “If that’s your way of telling me that you think Bob and I aren’t right for each other, first of all you’re wrong. And secondly, you might have thought about mentioning something sooner so we could have dealt with this issue and gotten it out of the way.”
“Crap,” I muttered, backpedaling hastily. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say at all. You and Bob are wonderful together. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Claire’s frown didn’t ease. Nor did she look entirely convinced. Since she was talking to Bob’s ex-wife, I supposed there might have been a reason for that.
“You mean . . . excluding you, right?” she asked.
“No way,” I said. “Not even close. Especially considering the whole divorce and all. Bob and I were not a good fit.”
“Okay.” Claire still didn’t sound reassured.
“But maybe excluding Davey,” I added. “Because he’s pretty great.”
That made Claire smile. “I’m happy to be in second place behind Davey. That suits me just fine. But now that we’ve got that cleared up, why exactly are we talking about divorce?”
Good question, I thought with a sigh. So much for taking a break from thinking about a lost dog.
“Actually,” I admitted, “it’s because of Sondra and Jim McEvoy.”
“Who? I don’t think I know that name . . . are they friends of Bob’s?” For a moment, Claire looked puzzled. Then her fingers began to scramble frantically through the thick sheaf of notes in front of her. “Oh my God, are they coming to the wedding? When are they getting divorced? Do we have to change the seating arrangements? I can do that if I have to—”
“Wait!” I cried, holding up a hand. “Stop. Right now.”
Claire looked up.
“Sondra and Jim aren’t coming to your wedding.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She paused, then added, “I think?”
“It is,” I agreed. “You wouldn’t want them there.”
“Who are they? Do I know them? Why are they getting divorced?”
And people told me that I asked too many questions. I had nothing on Claire.
“Do you remember the dog that disappeared from the Christmas bazaar?”
“Sure,” she replied. “It was a little shaggy thing. Kilt-something.”
“Kiltie. He’s a West Highland White.”
“Whatever.”
Aunt Peg was going to have a new neophyte to train, I thought happily. And I would be delighted to hand over my protégée status to her. Welcome to the family, Claire.
“His owner is Sondra McEvoy,” I said.
“Oh.” Recognition dawned. “I remember her now. The woman who wanted to sue.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, thank goodness she’s not coming to my wedding.”
“I’ve been looking for Kiltie,” I said.
Claire nodded. “I think Bertie mentioned something about that. Have you found him?”
The eternal question. Although this time I supposed I’d asked for it.
“Not yet,” I said. “But recently it’s occurred to me that maybe I’ve been going about things all wrong. I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve been looking too far afield.”
Claire set her papers aside and settled in to listen. She was very good at that. “What do you mean?”
“Kiltie didn’t just run away from the bazaar,” I said. “He was taken away on purpose.”
“By our Santa Claus, right? That’s what Bertie told me. The same man who later died.”
“Correct. Then Sondra leaned on Aunt Peg and got me started looking for Kiltie. But now I think Sondra might have sent me in the wrong direction.”
“That’s utterly diabolical,” Claire said with a sneer.
The reaction seemed a little strong. I looked at her questioningly.
“We don’t like Sondra . . . right?”
“Not much,” I admitted.
“Good,” she said. “That’s what I thought. I’m just trying to figure out which side I’m on.”
“Mine,” I told her. “You’re on my side.”
“Of course,” Claire promised. “You don’t have to worry about that. But if you don’t mind my saying so, your story telling is a little convoluted. So let me cut to the chase for you. Where did Sondra send you?”
“The first time I spoke with her, all she wanted to talk about was the other dog show exhibitors who were mad at her, or the ones who had dogs that were always being beaten by Kiltie. Dog people with a grudge.”
“Hmmm,” said Claire. “That sounds promising.”
“But that’s just it,” I told her. “It hasn’t worked out that way at all. I’ve talked to a number of different exhibitors and none of it feels right to me. Mostly they tell me that they have no idea why someone would want to steal Kiltie, and it turns out that mostly I believe them.”
“Good for you!” Claire declared roundly.
It was like having my own personal cheerleader, right there in the room with me. It was a shame I had to disagree with her.
“No,” I said. “It’s bad for me. Because none of the looking I’ve done so far has gotten me any closer to finding the dog.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Suppose one of those exhibitors had taken Kiltie,” I said, thinking aloud. “How would it benefit them?”
“I hope that’s not a serious question,” said Claire. “Because I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t even know what a West Lowland Whip is.”
Oh Aunt Peg was going to have fun with her.
“Take Rick Stanley, for example. He had every reason to be mad at Sondra McEvoy. But when you stop and think about it, he had even more reason to be mad at Todd Greenleaf.”
“Todd Greenleaf,” Claire repeated dreamily. “What a great name. He sounds like a movie star.”
“Close,” I told her. “And then there’s Rachel Bright. She has enough problems and too many dogs already. I can’t see her trying to engineer the theft of another.”
“If you say so.”
“Chip Michaels needs better manners. Jo Drummer needs a flashier breed. And don’t even get me started on Jane Brew.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Claire. “It sounds as though you’ve been quite diligent.”
“I have,” I grumbled. “For all the good it’s done me. Because basically I have diddly to show for all my efforts. Except there is one thing. . . .”
“What’s that?”
“Sondra and Jim are getting divorced,” I said.
“I know that,” Claire agreed. “That’s why they’re not coming to my wedding.”
“And Jim was at the Christmas bazaar.”
“What a rat!” Claire cried. She awaited my approval. When it wasn’t forthcoming, she said meekly, “Wrong response?”
“Yup, sorry. Good try though.”
Claire shrugged. That girl was game.
“And now it turns out that Sondra doesn’t want me to talk to Jim.”
“I get it,” said Claire. She sounded relieved. “You want my blessing.”
“Your what?”
“You want to talk to Jim even though Sondra told you not to. And you want me to tell you that it’s the right thing to do. Okay, done. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Even if I have to go behind Sondra’s back?” I asked.
“Even then,” Claire confirmed. “Because apparently we don’t like Sondra much anyway. So who cares what she thinks?”
“I think I love you,” I said to Claire.
“Of course you do. I’m very lovable. Ask your ex-husband. He’ll tell you. Now, can we please get back to what’s really important here?”
“The wedding,” I said guiltily.
“Of course, the wedding,” said Claire. “
The very least you can do is give my problems equal time.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “Go for it.”
While I contemplated the best way to approach Jim McEvoy, Christmas drew ever closer. On the plus side: the house was decorated, the Christmas tree was up, and most of the baking had already been done. The minus: though I’d made extensive lists of presents I intended to buy, I’d allowed myself to fall alarmingly behind in the execution of the actual shopping.
In the hopes of remedying that, Saturday morning Sam and I took the boys and went Christmas shopping on Greenwich Avenue. Clearly we weren’t the only ones who’d had that idea. Even though we arrived early, we still had to park a couple of blocks away on Mason Street.
The avenue itself, the town’s main thoroughfare and a popular shopping mecca for residents of both Fairfield and Westchester counties, was thronged with festive holiday crowds. By lunchtime, I’d already run into several children from school and a good friend from my old neighborhood in Stamford.
When Sam and Davey peeled away and ducked into Restoration Hardware, I leaned down and lifted Kevin up into my arms. With the sheer number of people jostling for room on the sidewalk, I was half-afraid he might get trampled by some overzealous shopper. As we waited for Davey and Sam to return, light snow began to fall. Carrying Kev, I edged over to the side of the promenade, out of the main flow of traffic.
Fairy lights hung above our heads. Christmas carols, piped out of the stores around us, filled the air. Kev clapped his hands and sang along. I was pretty sure he was making up the words as he went.
Above the din, I heard someone call my name. Turning to look, I saw Tony Dahl, his arms weighted down with holiday loot, making his way toward us through the crush of pedestrians. I gave him a cheery wave. Kev did, too.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Tony said as he drew near. “I’ve been meaning to call you. Hi, little guy.”
“This is Kevin.” I shifted my hip so that Kev and Tony were face-to-face. The two of them shook hands. “He’s a little overexcited about the upcoming holidays.”
“I don’t blame him,” Tony said with a laugh. “Who could help it in a crowd like this? Hey, remember you asked me about my friend Hal?”
“Sure. Did you find him?”
“I did as a matter of fact. After I talked to you, I left a couple of messages on his phone and I checked in with some mutual friends. For a couple of days, I didn’t hear a thing. But then last night, he called back and asked what was up.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Baton Rouge. He’s got family there. Went down for a holiday visit. He told me he’d had no idea that anything had gone wrong at the Christmas bazaar until the police contacted him in the middle of the week.”
“Did you ask him why he had taken the job, and then canceled on us at the last minute?”
“I sure did. After the way things turned out, I wanted to know the answer to that myself. Hal said a guy got in touch with him right before the bazaar. Name of Chris Tindall. Does that mean anything to you?”
“That’s the name Jerry Platt was using when Mr. Hanover hired him as Hal’s replacement,” I said.
Tony nodded. “I asked Hal what this guy had done to make him bail on us like that, and he said Tindall told him some long sob story about having a kid who went to Howard Academy that he never gets to see. Tindall and the mom aren’t together anymore and he doesn’t have visitation. So now it’s Christmas and he’s all broken up about it and all Tindall wants to do is surprise his daughter and spend a little time with her.”
“I’m pretty sure none of that was true,” I said.
“Probably not,” Tony agreed. “But it doesn’t matter because Hal fell for it. He thought he was doing a good thing for somebody and he let Tindall sub in.”
“I assume Hal was reimbursed for his lost job?”
“You better believe it. He got two thousand dollars to make the switch.”
“Wow.” I whistled softly under my breath. “No wonder he was happy to help Tindall out. That’s a lot more than we were going to pay him.”
“That’s what I figured,” Tony said. “I asked Hal if that didn’t seem a little suspicious to him but he said he didn’t really think about it. All he knew was that someone was offering to pay him enough to take a week off and go fishing, so he jumped at the bait.”
“Fish?” Kevin sat up in my arms. He hadn’t been following the conversation but now, having heard his new favorite word, he wanted back in. “Who has fish?”
“Nobody, sweetie.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Let me talk to Tony for another minute. If you’re a good boy, Santa Claus will bring you fish for Christmas.”
“Fish for Christmas,” Kevin agreed happily. “Santa bring.”
“Cute kid,” said Tony.
“Thanks.” I smiled. What mother doesn’t love to hear that? “And thank you for tracking down Hal for me. Do you have time for one more question?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Jim McEvoy. Poppy McEvoy’s father. You saw him at the Christmas bazaar, didn’t you?”
“Sure I saw him. He volunteered to come in early and help out. He was on my crew.”
Right, I thought. I’d forgotten about that.
“How did he seem to you?”
“I don’t know.” Tony shrugged. “Like a nice enough guy, I guess. That morning was the first time I’d ever met him. Jim seemed happy enough to be assigned to the unloading crew and he worked as hard as any of the other parent volunteers. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just trying to think things through,” I said. “And maybe I’m taking a stab in the dark. You know that the Westie that was stolen later in the day belonged to his wife, right?”
“No, I didn’t realize that.” Tony sounded surprised. “I never made the connection. But by the time that dog went missing, Jim was long gone. He told me there was somewhere else he had to be that day. That’s why he was on the morning crew.”
Or maybe he’d arranged not to be at the bazaar later in the day in order to have an alibi elsewhere, I thought.
“Wait a minute,” said Tony. “Did you say his wife?”
“That’s right. Sondra McEvoy. She’s Kiltie’s owner.”
“Geez.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know if I should mention this or not.”
“Of course you should,” I encouraged him. “What?”
“It’s just that that morning . . . well, there were a few times when he detoured away from what we were doing and went to hang out with another one of the parent volunteers. It’s not like I could complain or anything considering that I work for Howard Academy and they pay for their kids to go to school there. But at the same time we had a job to do and my crew was pretty busy. And I was looking to keep everyone in line, you know?”
Standing there in the cold, I gave an involuntary shiver. The hair on the back of my neck had begun to tingle. Jim was involved with a mother from the school. That was what Madeline Dangerfield had told me.
“Who was the other parent volunteer?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I should say. I mean, I probably shouldn’t be gossiping about this stuff.”
I wondered if I should point out to Tony that he was already gossiping about this stuff. And that it was much too late for him to have a sudden attack of scruples.
“Would it help if I told you that Poppy’s parents are separated and heading for divorce?” I asked.
“I guess that makes things a bit better. At least it makes me feel better anyway.”
“So,” I prompted once again. “Who was Jim talking to?”
“Bradley Baker’s mom. She was helping at the bazaar for most of the day. I think her name is Helen. Do you know her?”
Holy Christmas, I thought. I did indeed know Helen Baker. And I’d seen her at the bazaar, too. Helen had been a big help that day.
She’d been in charge of the raffle booth. The concession from which Kiltie had disappear
ed.
Chapter 23
“I have to go out again,” I said to Sam.
After our busy morning in Greenwich, he and I had made the boys lunch, then put Kevin down for a much-needed nap. Now Sam and Davey were sitting side by side on the living room couch, engaged in a bout of virtual combat whose outcome appeared to be dependent upon some strategy, many explosions, and a great deal of body English, the latter being liberally supplied by both players.
“Okay,” Sam replied. His gaze remained glued to the frantic activity taking place on the television screen. “See you later.”
At least the Poodles were unhappy about my departure. Or at least they bothered to notice that I was leaving. I figured that had to count for something.
Helen Baker and her son, Bradley, lived in west Stamford, not too far from the hospital. When I’d called to ask if I might drop by to see her, Helen had sounded somewhat surprised to hear from me, but not entirely unwilling to talk. She’d told me that Bradley had swim team practice, and that she would be at the Stamford YMCA for much of the afternoon. We’d arranged to meet at a coffee shop around the corner from the Y.
I arrived first. I bought a cup of coffee at the counter and carried it over to a small booth near the front window. Five minutes later, Helen came hurrying in. She pulled off her gloves and scarf and tossed them down on the seat opposite me, then went to get her own hot beverage.
Unlike many of the Howard Academy mothers, Helen didn’t look like she’d just stepped out of the pages of Town & Country. Dressed down for the weekend, she had on jeans and a chunky sweater. Her face was make-up and Botox free, and her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. When she joined me in the booth a minute later, Helen greeted me with a friendly smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Bradley’s coach had some handouts for the team parents to read through.” She wrinkled her nose delicately. “To tell the truth, I’m delighted to have an excuse not to hang out at the Y all afternoon. I always leave that place smelling like chlorine. This will be much better.”
The Bark Before Christmas Page 22