Wagging Through the Snow

by Laurien Berenson

  “Your husband compared you to Odysseus’s faithful, long-suffering wife?” I teased a plug free of the tangle and began to gently work backwards.

  “I know. What a joke, right?” Penny smiled grimly. “I didn’t have anywhere near twenty years of patience for my errant husband’s antics. Half that was more than enough for me.”

  Since she knew who I was, I assumed that Penny must know the rest of the message I’d come to Stonebridge to deliver. She must have read my mind, because Penny didn’t look up from the skein of lights in her hands when she said, “Yes, I heard that Pete died recently. And that he froze to death, which is ironic considering how much he loved cold weather. So you don’t have to stand there worrying about breaking it to me. That news was all over town in ten minutes yesterday.”

  I separated out a single strand of lights, straightened them carefully, then set them down on the dry front steps. “You don’t sound terribly broken up about what happened.”

  “I’m upset for Peter and Christopher’s sake. They’re my kids, and now they’ll never have a chance to get to know their father again. But maybe that never would have worked out anyway.”

  Now Penny did look up. The expression on her face was fierce. “You want to know how I really feel about my ex-husband’s death? I’m glad it happened. That rat bastard had it coming.”

  Chapter Ten

  For a few minutes, I applied myself to the task at hand. Thanks to the number of knotted shoelaces I’ve had to deal with over the years, I’m quite adept at untangling things. Even a mess of lights that looked as though they’d been tossed willy-nilly into a box at the end of the previous holiday season.

  “I guess you think that sounds harsh,” Penny said eventually.

  “I didn’t know your ex-husband,” I replied. “So it’s not up to me to judge.”

  “Pete was a drunk. That pretty much sums up all you need to know.”

  I pulled another strand of lights free and set them aside. “He must have had some redeeming qualities. After all, you married him.”

  “He did,” Penny admitted. “Back in the days when he thought alcohol was for social drinking. Before it became a crutch he used to deal with things he didn’t want to think about. Before it took over his life and turned him into a man I could barely recognize.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That must have been terrible for you.”

  “It was.” Penny’s fingers clenched around the wires in her hands. I hoped the tension in her distracted grasp didn’t snap off any lights. “But I’m not the only one whose life was negatively impacted by Pete’s behavior. He screwed over his business partners. He shafted his best friend. He even cheated on his mistress.”

  When I bit back a startled laugh, Penny looked up. “Yes, I knew about her. In case you’re wondering, people who drink too much aren’t any good at keeping secrets.”

  “No, I guess not,” I said.

  Penny wasn’t making any headway with her lights at all. I laid my last unknotted strand on the steps with the others and took the remaining lights out of her hands. She seemed relieved to hand them over.

  “I didn’t deserve to be treated the way Pete treated me,” Penny said grimly. “None of us did. Pete had a choice and he chose the booze. Repeatedly. Over his family. Over his career. The drinking was more important to him than anything. He could have stopped, but he didn’t.”

  I thought back to what John Smith had said. I wondered if Pete had been planning to return to his hometown and his family once he was certain he had things under control.

  Penny picked up a strand of tangle-free lights. She began to drape it around the bush nearest the front door. There was more vigor than artistry to her application.

  “Pete did stop drinking,” I said.

  She glanced at me over her shoulder. “No. He didn’t.”

  “A friend of his named John Smith told me Pete hadn’t had a drink in several months.”

  Penny just shrugged. “I don’t know anyone named John Smith. But Pete called here a couple of weeks ago. He told me some cockamamy story about wanting to make things right. As if I would believe that.”

  “Maybe he meant it,” I said.

  “Meaning it isn’t the problem,” Penny growled. “Pete always meant it when he said he was going to stop. In that moment, he was sure he was telling the truth. Then he always relapsed anyway. After a while I realized it was safer not to believe anything he told me.”

  “John said he was going to meetings. That he’d stayed sober—”

  “So what?” Penny rounded on me. “So some stranger thinks that Pete was sober? Big deal. I was Pete’s wife. I was living with the guy and I didn’t always know. At least not in the beginning, when Pete was still good at hiding what he didn’t want people to see. He was great at sounding sincere and making promises.”

  She gulped in a deep breath of air. Her face crumpled. For a moment I thought she might cry. Then she gathered herself together and said, “And you know what else he was good at? Breaking promises. But you don’t have to believe me about that. Talk to his ex-partners, Owen Strunk and Larry Potts at Streamline Search. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

  * * *

  Faith and I left Penny to finish putting up her lights and drove to Streamline Search in downtown Stonebridge. The company was housed in a two-story brick building with a parking lot out front. Streamline’s offices were on the ground floor. I attached a leash to Faith’s collar and walked her beside me into the lobby.

  A receptionist was sitting behind a low counter that was decorated with festive cardboard candy canes. Christmas music filled the air. The woman looked up and smiled. Then she saw Faith by my side. Her double take was almost comical.

  “Is that a service dog?” she asked.

  “No. But she’s a very obedient pet. I’m here to see either Larry Potts or Owen Strunk. Are they available?”

  “Let me check.” She reached for her phone. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m only in town briefly this afternoon. Penny Whitten recommended that I come and talk to them.”

  “Penny sent you. Okay.” That seemed to bolster my credibility. “Let me take you into the conference room and I’ll go get Larry.” Once again, she stared at Faith dubiously. “Is she an emotional support dog?”

  “No.” I gave her a wide smile. “Just a great companion. Would you like to see her do some tricks?”

  Faith tipped her head to one side and stared up at me balefully. Her message was clear: Tricks are beneath my dignity.

  I sent back a message of my own: Humor me, this is working. Unless you’d rather go outside and wait in the car?

  Faith just sighed.

  “No, I don’t need to see any tricks,” the woman said brightly. “If the two of you would please follow me?”

  She led us down the hallway to a glass-walled conference room. A long rectangular table in the middle of the room was surrounded by chairs. I took a seat at the end near the door. Faith lay down on the floor beside me. We didn’t have long to wait.

  Larry came striding into the room first. He’d barely finished introducing himself before Owen followed. He paused to close the door behind him.

  Both men were in their forties, but that was all they had in common. Larry was tall and slim, dressed in a suit and tie that fit him impeccably. With his carefully styled hair and dark-framed glasses, he projected an image of stability and authority.

  Owen, on the other hand, walked toward me bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was already smiling before he reached out to pump my hand heartily. If he’d worn a tie to work that morning, it was gone now. As was his jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, revealing a watch on his wrist that looked complicated enough to launch rockets.

  “Nice dog,” Owen said, sliding Faith a glance as he grabbed a seat at the table. “That’s some hairdo.”

  Long retired from the show ring, Faith was wearing the easy-to-care-for kennel trim, with a
short blanket of dense curls covering her entire body. Only her face, her feet, and the base of her tail were clipped and I’d left a large pompon on the end of her tail. If Owen was impressed by her looks, it was a good thing I hadn’t brought along Augie, who was in a show trim.

  “Owen . . . let’s concentrate, shall we?” Larry ignored Faith and turned to me. “You said that Penny sent you. What is this in reference to?”

  “Pete Dempsey.”

  Larry’s lips pursed distastefully. “We heard that he had died. I understand his body was found under a tree in some woods.”

  “I’m the one who found him,” I said.

  “Ouch.” Owen grimaced. “That can’t have been good.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Larry declined to offer sympathy. Instead he remained on point. “What do you want from us?”

  “I’m trying to understand what happened,” I said. “The police think Pete’s death was an accident. I’m not sure they’re right.”

  “I see,” Larry replied. “Do you suspect that someone from Pete’s sordid past might have wanted to harm him? Perhaps someone like his former business partners?”

  Owen grinned at that. I merely shrugged.

  “What I know so far is that Pete disappeared from Stonebridge approximately five years ago after developing a severe drinking problem,” I said. “I gather he’d left a trail of destruction in his wake. Pete ended up in Wilton, where he was homeless and living on handouts. At some point recently, he decided to stop drinking—”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” said Larry. “Pete’s problem with alcohol wasn’t just that he drank. It was that he loved everything about drinking. Getting, having, and consuming alcohol became the only thing he cared about. Certainly it was more important to him than the welfare of this company.”

  Owen bounded up out of his chair. He walked around the room as he spoke. “Pete had a support system of family and friends here in Stonebridge. I can’t count the number of times we stepped in—sometimes singly, sometimes together—and tried to get help for him. But Pete didn’t want to be helped. Pardon me for being skeptical, but if Pete could have controlled his addiction to alcohol, he’d have stopped drinking a long time ago.”

  “His behavior must have played havoc with your business,” I said.

  “The three of us started this company together and built it from the ground up,” Larry told me. “Pete’s drinking cost us clients and it cost us goodwill in the industry. Indeed, his reckless disregard for industry standards and practices nearly took us under.”

  “And then there was the money Pete helped himself to on the sly—” Owen muttered. A sharp look from his partner caused him to stop speaking.

  “I don’t think Melanie needs to hear about that,” Larry said smoothly. “Suffice it to say, it was a good thing that Pete parted company with us when he did.”

  “That happened before he left Stonebridge?”

  “Yes. Probably two months earlier. We dissolved our partnership and Owen and I bought out his share of the business. Much of the money we paid him went to Penny for the children.”

  “We hoped that losing his place in the company would serve as a wake-up call,” Owen said. “Instead, it only seemed to increase his booze budget for a few weeks. And then suddenly he was gone.”

  “And you didn’t know where he went or how he could be reached?” I asked.

  Owen and Larry looked at each other. Both men shook their heads.

  “It’s not as if anyone wanted to go after him,” Owen told me. “By that point, Pete had burned every bridge he had in this town.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him since?”

  The two men shared another look. Larry sat perfectly still in his chair. Owen was fidgety on his feet. I got the distinct impression that an unspoken message passed between them. Something they didn’t want me to know.

  “We haven’t heard from Pete,” Larry said firmly. “And I, for one, haven’t given him a second thought. Leaving Stonebridge behind was his choice. If that was what he wanted, I was happy to oblige him.”

  Owen paused beside my chair. He squatted down and ruffled his hands in Faith’s ears. Without looking up, he said, “You might want to talk to Olivia Brent.”

  Larry frowned. “Owen, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I asked.

  “It’s none of our business.”

  “What isn’t?” Now I was really curious.

  “At one point, Pete and Olivia were quite friendly with each other,” Owen said obliquely.

  It only took a moment for understanding to dawn. “Olivia was his mistress,” I said. “Penny told me there was someone else.”

  Larry looked shocked. “Penny told you that?”

  Men. They always overestimated themselves and underestimated us.

  “Did you think she didn’t know?” I asked.

  “I hoped she didn’t know.”

  “Well, you were wrong.” I gathered up my things and stood. “Where would I find Olivia Brent?”

  “Probably at the gym,” Owen told me. “Or running on the high school track after hours. That woman really knows how to take care of herself.”

  Larry still looked annoyed. “She won’t be happy to hear from you.”

  Like that was anything new.

  Faith hopped up and we headed for the door together.

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell her we sent you,” Larry called after me.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

  Out in the lobby, the same Christmas music was still playing. The receptionist didn’t seem to mind. She gave me a cheery wave.

  “I hope you got everything you needed,” she said.

  Not yet, I thought. Not by a long shot. But I would. I’d make sure of that.

  Chapter Eleven

  I was blissfully asleep on Saturday morning when the bed gave a sudden lurch and something small and solid bounced onto my stomach. Bud. Kevin—the little dog’s partner-in-crime—wasn’t far behind.

  “We’re getting a Christmas tree today!” he crowed happily as he climbed up onto the bed. “Get up! Get up!”

  Sam rolled over groggily. Lucky man, no errant dogs or children had landed on him. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get up,” Kev informed him. “Time to go chop down a tree.”

  “What’s all the noise about?” Davey appeared in the bedroom doorway.

  Behind him in the hallway were Eve, Tar, and Augie: a Standard Poodle honor guard. Faith and Raven had been asleep on the floor in our room, but now they were up as well.

  Everyone looked at Sam and me expectantly. As if they thought we had all the answers. Good luck with that.

  “Last night someone told Kevin that we were going tree shopping today.” Sam answered Davey’s question.

  Oh. That might have been me.

  Maybe I’d been feeling a little guilty about how much I’d been away this past week. Maybe I’d thought that a fun family outing would be just the thing to restore myself to everyone’s good graces. Picking out the right tree, bringing it home and trimming it, had seemed like the perfect activity for us to enjoy together. Too bad I’d overlooked my younger son’s rampant enthusiasm for All Things Christmas.

  “Good one, Mom,” Davey muttered. He didn’t even need to be told who was responsible for the early morning wake-up call.

  “After we get the Christmas tree, Santa Claus comes,” Kev said happily.

  “Not right away.” I grabbed him, rolled him into my arms, and began to tickle below his ribs. “Once the tree is up, you still have three more weeks to wait.”

  “Don’t want to wait.” He tried to push out his lower lip in a pout, but he was laughing too hard to make it work. Instead he squealed and thrust himself away—only to be snatched up by Sam, who smothered him in a big, soft pillow. That led to more squealing.

  Bouncing up and down with the movement on the bed, Bud began to bark. After a few seconds Tar and Augie joined in. The two dogs slipped
past Davey and leaped up onto the mattress to join the fray.

  “You people are all nuts.” Davey was still standing in the doorway. He knew better than to come close enough for one of us to grab him.

  “You people,” Sam scoffed. “We’re your family. And now that you’re a teenager it’s our duty to embarrass you. It’s in the parents’ manual.”

  “Nuts,” Davey repeated. He shook his head and turned away. “I’m going to let the dogs out.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  Everyone in the vicinity understood the word out. Even Tar. There was a flurry of scrambling feet and jostling bodies, as an abrupt mass exodus emptied the room. Kevin scooted off the bed and went flying after them. With two boys and six dogs pounding down the stairs, it sounded like someone had turned a herd of buffalo loose in the house.

  Sam and I looked at each other. Alone at last.

  “You don’t suppose Davey will let Kev go outside too?” Sam said thoughtfully.

  “Of course not. Kev’s in his pajamas. There’s snow on the ground . . .” I stopped and considered. Then I jumped out of bed and went running after them. “Davey . . . wait!”

  * * *

  Mid-morning when we arrived at Haney’s Holiday Home, business was hopping. Two cars with trees fastened to their roofs were exiting the property as we approached. Once inside, we saw several more vehicles parked in the small lot.

  “Kudos to Frank,” Sam said as we headed up the steps to the office. “I was skeptical when I first saw the place, but it looks like he’s making a go of this.”

  I’d have expected my brother to be on hand on this busy Saturday morning—if only so that he could gloat about proving his doubters wrong. But when we entered the building, Frank was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Claire was standing behind the counter and Bob appeared to be taking an order from a customer.

  “Merry Christmas!” Claire sang out a cheery greeting.

  Tall and slender, she still managed to look svelte dressed in a bulky holiday sweater. An image of Rudolph the Reindeer, complete with 3-D antlers and a blinking red nose, covered her from collarbone to waist. That improbable article of clothing was matched with a green elf cap, perched atop Claire’s long, dark hair.