The Dog Who Came for Christmas

by Sue Pethick

  Wendell snorted.

  “When I was a kid, you ate what you were served at someone else’s house.”

  “Yes, but that was back when dirt was young,” she said. “Besides, the last thing I want to do is alienate my sister-in-law the second she walks through the door. I’m hoping this visit will be a chance to start over.”

  Renee gave him a significant look, the unspoken message being that she did not want a repeat of the outburst that had caused their families’ thirteen-month estrangement, but her father was refusing to look at her. She decided not to push it. Whether or not he’d admit it, Wendell knew he’d been in the wrong. She finished the cereal and set her bowl in the sink.

  “Well, I’m off,” Renee said. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  She put on her coat, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door.

  Wendell watched the door close behind her, wondering what was going on. Renee had been tickled pink when Diehl asked her to that banquet, and now she was acting as if it had been nothing special. It was all he could do not to call up the SOB and demand to know what he’d done. He would have, too, if she hadn’t reminded him of that argument with Jack. As hard as it was for him to admit, his son hadn’t been entirely in the wrong that time, and Wendell had been sufficiently chastened to wait until he knew more about Diehl before going off like that again.

  Which was why he was going to have a talk with Maggie McRay.

  He heard a door open and footsteps coming down the hall. A sleepy-eyed Kieran walked in and sat down at the table.

  “Morning, Grandpa.”

  “Hey, bud. You ready for some breakfast?”

  “Uh-huh,” the boy said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  Wendell set the crossword aside and served up the scrambled eggs and sausage his daughter had ignored.

  “Your mother’s out shopping,” he said, setting the plate down, “and I’m going to have to leave here in a minute. Will you be okay with just your sister watching you?”

  Kieran made a face.

  “Where’s Dyl?”

  “Gone to the gym. He thinks he’s Charlie Atlas.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Just eat your breakfast.”

  Kieran had gotten himself dressed by the time Wendell was ready to go. The kid had put his dishes in the dishwasher, too, and if the smell of peppermint was any indication, he’d taken a stab at brushing his teeth.

  “Can I go for a walk while you’re gone?”

  “It’s cold outside.”

  “Not that cold,” Kieran said. “And Mrs. Dalton says kids need more exercise.”

  “Fine,” Wendell said. “Tell your sister where you’re going, and don’t forget your gloves. I won’t be gone long.”

  Kieran hugged him.

  “Thank you, Grandpa.”

  “Save it,” Wendell said, peeling the kid off his leg. “I already said yes, didn’t I?”

  * * *

  Clint’s was closed on Sundays, which meant that Wendell had to drive over to Maggie’s house to talk to her. He would have preferred to do it at the store. The thought of being there alone, just the two of them, made him feel awkward. Since his wife’s death, Wendell had felt uneasy being around women his own age. It sometimes seemed as if they were all on the make: batting their eyes or asking him over for tea—once, he’d been flat-out propositioned! That’s why he’d never taken the ribbing from the boys seriously. If Maggie McRay had had any interest in him, he thought, he’d have known it.

  Besides, when you came right down to it, why did any woman need a man? Financial security? Maggie owned her own business. Clever conversation? She talked to customers all day long. Prowess in the boudoir? At his age, things could be hit or miss. No, Wendell thought, it was just easier all around to think of Maggie as one of the guys.

  Her house was all decked out for Christmas: a crèche in the front yard, a string of lights—unlit at the moment—along the eaves, and a pinecone wreath with a tartan bow on the front door. Wendell sat in his car, staring at the holiday display, and thought about what, exactly, he would say when he went inside.

  How would she react when he asked her about Travis Diehl? Would she understand that Wendell meant well, that he was only trying to find out what sort of man the guy was so that he could protect his baby girl? Or would she accuse him of being a busybody and toss him out? Bolingbroke was a small town, and he was running out of informants. He knew that if he messed this up and said the wrong thing, he might not get another chance. The thought was making his palms sweat.

  Maggie must have been working on the house when he rang the bell. She was wearing a man’s coverall with the legs and arms rolled up to fit her smaller frame and a bandanna over her hair. There was a smudge of grease on her cheek.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, her green eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

  Wendell swallowed and cursed his bad luck. Of all the days for her to be in a bad mood.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” he said.

  “What about?”

  “I have a question I need to ask you.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Ask me tomorrow. Store’s open at seven.”

  As the door began to close, Wendell panicked.

  “I can’t! It’s, it’s . . . personal.”

  Maggie looked startled.

  “It is?” she said, touching her hair.

  He nodded.

  “May I come in . . . please?”

  “Oh! Of course,” she said, stepping back from the door.

  Wendell followed her into the living room, surprised at what a homey place it was. Not too girly, but fancier than he would have expected. There was a sofa on the left under the front window and a recliner on the right with a rocking chair beside it. Wendell chose the sofa. He figured he was shaky enough without sitting on something that might move underneath him.

  “I wish you’d called me before you came over,” Maggie said, still tugging at her bandanna. “I’m not really dressed for company.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “This won’t take long.”

  “So,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

  Wendell took a deep breath and tried to shake the feeling that the walls were closing in as he stared into Maggie’s green eyes. He’d been rehearsing what to say all morning, but now that they were actually face-to-face, he wasn’t sure how to begin.

  He should leave, he told himself. Forget the whole thing. Maggie had already warned him about trying to play matchmaker for Renee, and she’d be stingy with information if she thought he was meddling. But darn it, Mack had said that if anyone in town could tell him about Travis Diehl, it was her. This might just be his last, best chance.

  He gave her what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

  “I’m not sure how to say this. I’m afraid you’ll think I’m being a foolish old man.”

  “Why, Wendell. I could never think of you as foolish. Or old,” she added quickly.

  Wendell frowned. Maggie’s face looked flushed. Was she ill?

  “You okay?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “No reason, I guess.”

  Perhaps it was a personal problem, he thought. The same thing that had made her cranky when she opened the door. Whatever it was, she obviously didn’t want to discuss it, which was fine with him. The sooner he got to the point, the sooner he could get out of there.

  “So,” she prompted. “You had something you wanted to ask . . . ?”

  “Right.”

  Ease into the subject, he thought. Try to be subtle.

  “I suppose you meet a lot of people around town. Men, especially.”

  “A fair number, yes,” she said.

  “Right. That’s right,” he said, warming to the subject. “So, if you were to meet a man—someone new, perhaps—you’d just naturally be curious about him, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you’d probably f
ind that you’d developed some sort of feeling about him.”

  Her cheeks dimpled. “I certainly would.”

  “And because of that, you might be able to sense whether or not he was a good guy. Someone you could trust.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Wendell willed himself to relax. He was almost there and so far Maggie hadn’t accused him of being a meddling so-and-so. This was going even better than he’d imagined.

  “So,” he said, “if someone were to ask you what you thought of that man, you could probably tell them, right?”

  “Tell who what?”

  “Whether or not the man was honorable. Someone they could trust.”

  Maggie seemed perplexed.

  “You lost me.”

  Wendell shook his head in frustration. He’d made it plain enough. Why did she have to be so thick? Well, fine, he thought. He didn’t have the whole goddamn day. Time to just lay it out there.

  “Renee’s in a tizzy over some character named Travis Diehl, and Mack said you could give me the lowdown on him.”

  The green eyes flashed.

  “Goddammit, you’re doing it again, aren’t you? Trying to set your poor daughter up with this man. Why don’t you just leave her alone?”

  “No, I’m not,” Wendell said, backpedaling desperately. “I haven’t even met the man. I just want to find out more about him before Renee goes off and gets her heart broken.”

  Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head.

  “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  That’s more like it.

  “Well, first off: Is he single?”

  She opened her eyes and sighed heavily.

  “His Aunt Winn told me after the funeral that he’d married a gal in Texas, but it didn’t work out. As far as I know, they’re divorced.”

  “What else?”

  She looked at him sharply.

  “What do you mean, ‘What else?’ I’m not the goddamn FBI.”

  “Come on, Maggie,” he wheedled. “Help me out. What else can you tell me about the man?”

  She folded her arms.

  “He played football down at the high school; seemed like a good kid: good grades, never got into any serious trouble that I knew of. Got a scholarship to Princeton or Yale—one of those. His folks belonged to the Methodist church, but I don’t know if he does. The father was killed by a drunk driver a little over a year ago, and his mother passed in June. He’s got a younger brother name of Hugh who’s a little off.”

  “What do you mean, ‘off’?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not sure. If you met him, you’d know. The family never discussed it and I didn’t ask.”

  Wendell nodded. This was all good information. Nevertheless, the fact that Diehl was divorced was bothersome. If he was such a great catch, why had his wife turned him loose?

  “So, you’ve met him, right?”

  “Many times.”

  “How does he seem to you?”

  Her mouth was pinched.

  “What do you mean, how does he seem?” she snapped.

  “I mean, if you were a woman, would he be someone you’d be interested in?”

  Maggie’s face reddened.

  “If I were a woman? If?”

  She got up and marched to the door.

  “Get out!” she said, throwing it open.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  He stood up.

  “Now, don’t get all huffy, dammit. All I wanted was—”

  “Exactly,” she said, pointing at him. “That’s all you wanted. Now that you’ve got what you wanted, git!”

  Wendell stepped outside and flinched as the door slammed behind him. What on earth had gotten into her?

  CHAPTER 22

  The cold air made Kieran’s eyes water as he hurried down the street. Grandpa said he wouldn’t be gone long, and the boy knew he’d come looking for him if he wasn’t home when he got back. He hunched his shoulders and glanced furtively back at the house. In spite of the hat, gloves, and heavy jacket, his teeth were beginning to chatter, but Kieran wasn’t worried about the cold. He’d be plenty warm once he got to the fort.

  It had turned out even better than the one on YouTube. The walls were almost as high as Kieran’s belt, and the secret entrance was so good that if you didn’t know where the fort was, you could barely see it. If Cody Daniels ever came looking for him, he’d probably walk right by without even noticing.

  Kieran slipped a hand into his pocket and patted the slice of meat loaf he’d brought with him, feeling the gravy squish a little in its plastic bag. He hoped that Rex would like it. With nothing to eat but a peanut butter sandwich, he thought, the dog must be starving.

  Unless Rex already has an owner.

  He pulled his coat tighter around himself and shook his head. Rex couldn’t have an owner, he thought, otherwise why would he be in the woods? And if he belonged to someone, wouldn’t he be wearing a collar? As Kieran wrestled with the unwelcome notion that the dog he loved was someone else’s, he felt a tic begin to tug at his cheek. Everything had been so good since he found Rex. He didn’t need so much time to get his room right, and if he started to count steps, just picturing Rex’s calm gaze helped him to stop. He didn’t worry so much about Cody Daniels anymore, either, now that he had a friend to protect him. If things went back to the way they were before, it would be unthinkable. Therefore, he wouldn’t think about it.

  At the end of the block, Kieran turned left and felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He was out of sight of the house now, and the edge of the woods was only half a block away. The thought that he might see the dog again gave him a warm feeling inside. Somehow, he was sure that this was the day that Rex would follow him home. They wouldn’t have to meet in the woods anymore, he thought, and the two of them could spend as much time together as they wanted. And Kieran would be really responsible, too. He’d feed Rex and clean up after him and brush him without anyone ever having to ask.

  Not that he’d be selfish about it; the rest of the family could do stuff with Rex, too. Mom could pet him, and Dylan could throw balls for him to fetch, and McKenna could feed him scraps from the table. At night, the dog would sleep in his room, but while Kieran was at school, he could keep Grandpa company and protect the house. If only Rex would trust him and come out of the woods, he thought as he left the pavement, life would be just about perfect.

  Kieran knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the woods. The brush on either side of the trail had been trampled, and a broken sapling lay on the ground, knifelike pieces of green wood protruding from its stump. The boy swallowed, remembering his grandfather’s warning about critters in the woods. A fox or coyote couldn’t do this kind of damage, he thought, but a bear could. As he peered into the dimly lit interior, he wondered if something large and dangerous was looking back.

  He took a deep breath and, remembering his scout training, began searching the area, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what had happened. It didn’t take long. A dozen yards ahead, a glimpse of red and yellow caught his eye. Kieran knew what it was before he’d even picked it up. He shook off the muddy footprints that had nearly buried it.

  A potato chip bag.

  The boy shivered as a different kind of chill gripped him. Someone had been there! Someone who didn’t know or care what the woods meant to Kieran and Rex had stomped around and treated their sanctuary like a garbage dump. His heart skipped. What if they’d found the fort? Though it hurt his pride to admit it, Kieran knew the hideout wasn’t invisible, and the thought that someone might have destroyed all the hard work that he and Rex had done made him ill.

  He’d just taken a step, determined to see what, if anything, had happened to the fort, when he heard a noise off to his right: a wild thrashing of brush followed by a heartrending whimper of agony—the sound of an animal caught in a snare. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the gloom. Whatever it wa
s, it was too far away for him to see.

  Kieran turned toward the sound and quickened his pace. Remembering how the dog had skirted the poison ivy that first day, he knew it couldn’t be Rex—Rex was too smart to let himself get caught in a snare. Still, he had to be sure. If it wasn’t Rex, it might still be some other dog—or even a cat—that had been caught. He couldn’t just turn his back and walk away if someone’s pet was in trouble.

  He heard the sound again—louder this time, but still too far away for him to see where it was coming from. Kieran told himself to stay calm and not to panic, but as he stepped off the trail, a sense of foreboding crept over him. Seconds later, he was crashing heedlessly through the undergrowth, the sound of his own mad scramble making it impossible to tell which way the sound was coming from. The boy paused, trying not to breathe, and listened. The woods were silent. The noise—whatever it was—had stopped.

  Then he heard a muffled growl—closer this time—followed by the sound of more desperate thrashing. Kieran felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. There was no mistaking what it was this time.

  “Rex!” he screamed, his young voice breaking. “Rex, where are you?”

  Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled toward the sound. Kieran saw a patch of dappled light and movement up ahead: some sort of hairy man doing a strange dance. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked again, trying to make sense of what he’d seen. Then the picture came into focus and Kieran gasped. It was Rex, dangling from a rope around his neck. His back paws, barely touching the ground, were the only thing keeping him alive. From the torn foliage and claw marks on the ground, Kieran could tell that the dog had been fighting the noose, struggling to break free, and from the animal’s staggering, exhausted movements, he knew it had been a long time.

  He tore off his gloves and threw them on the ground.

  “It’s okay, Rex,” he said, reaching for the folding knife in his pocket. “I’ll get you out of there, just hold on.”

  He stepped forward warily. Kieran didn’t think that Rex would hurt him on purpose, but an injured animal was dangerous. If the dog bit or clawed him, they’d both be in trouble. As he opened the knife, he swallowed hard, trying to make his voice sound as calm as possible.