We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  “We’ll have a refresher at the Christkindlmarkt, then,” Marti proposed. “Some Glühwein should help.”

  “Okay,” Claire said, then turned back. “Emma, I thought you were studying Mandarin.”

  “Oh, I am now. We took German in grade school.”

  “We learned Latin in grade school,” Marti said. “Ememberay?”

  “Yes, we were impressive inguistslay. Too bad there was never much call for pig Latin translators.”

  Emma selected a red snowflake-patterned scarf for Baron to wear and handed a matching one to Claire.

  “Thanks, and I’ll be back soon,” Claire promised. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “No one will come in tonight; everyone’s coming tomorrow,” Marti said, pulling her friend out the door. “Let’s go!”

  The trio walked towards the town square, just two blocks away. A few stray flakes of snow landed on Baron’s nose and he shnuffed them off.

  “I can smell the wursts already! I’m starving,” Marti said.

  “That reminds me,” Claire said, hitting her friend on the arm. “You’re lucky the girls thought you meant the literal translation of schwanz. How embarrassing!”

  “How was I supposed to know they spoke German and…oh, fudge! Look at the crowds.”

  “We better make a game plan. You get the glühwein and pretzels and I’ll get the brats and dessert. Deal?”

  “Sure,” Marti said. “Hand me half of the flyers, and I’ll hand them out in line.”

  Baron played up his star appeal and his obliging fans insisted they go to the front of the line. Claire ordered two brats with the works and one kid’s portion of chicken schnitzel, then went next door for slices of freshly-baked strudel and stollen.

  She pounced on an open table while she waited for Marti. A crowd gathered around her as she prepared Baron’s meal and water bowl. Claire took the opportunity to tell the people waiting to pet Baron about the next day’s event. Many took flyers and some who couldn’t attend donated money to be split between shelters. Everyone offered to buy Baron food, but Claire knew the de-breaded schnitzel was more than enough people-food for one night.

  Marti arrived a few minutes later, laden with two large ceramic mugs of mulled wine, a cheese-stuffed pretzel, a cone of hot spiced nuts, a bag of chocolate-dipped gingerbread stars and a small packet of plain gingerbread bites.

  “You really were hungry,” Claire remarked.

  “Frank, or Franz as he is going by here, hooked me up. I couldn’t say no, not that I tried.”

  “A new boyfriend?”

  “No! God, he’s like ninety,” Marti exclaimed. “Remember I helped the Rotary Club with that little dispute a few months ago? Well, they’re running the Glühwein and snacks stand this year. When Frank saw me, he loaded me up with all this.”

  “Well, we definitely won’t go hungry tonight,” Claire said, reaching towards the gingerbread bites. “I just hope I can still fit into my Santa pants tomorrow.”

  Marti slapped her hand. “These are for Baron, from Heidi at the Lebkuchen Lodge. She saw him walking in and instantly recognized his breed.”

  “We’ll have to stop by and say thank you,” Claire said, giving one to Baron.

  “Prost!” Marti said as they clinked mugs and drank the warm spiced liquid. They managed to eat their bratwursts amid the continuous stream of visitors greeting Baron.

  “Maybe we should save dessert for the shop,” Claire said. “Besides, I’ve got a lot to tell you about my adventures yesterday.”

  “Okay, but I want to buy one of those colorful bags from the Ecuadorian booth. We can use it to carry all this back.”

  Baron went with Claire to thank his benefactress for the cookies. On their way to meet up with Marti, Claire ran into a familiar face.

  “Hi, Aiden!”

  “Oh, hi Ms. Noble how are you?” the young man asked. He bent down to greet Baron. “Hey pal, give me five.”

  “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to staying over.”

  “What’s this?” Marti asked.

  “Marti, you remember Aiden.”

  “Hi Ms. Von Brant”

  “Wow, you’ve grown into a handsome young man,” Marti said.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “Aiden is home early from college and is going to cat-sit tonight through tomorrow night,” Claire explained. “I told him to stay overnight if he wanted.”

  “Yeah, that’s awesome,” Aiden said. “The rents are already getting on my nerves and I’ve only been back a few days.”

  “The key is in its usual spot and I’ll have the cat food and toys all lined up on the counter. You can help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen.”

  “Cool.”

  When they were safely away, Marti teased Claire about Aiden’s familiarity with her house key. “I didn’t know you were a cougar.”

  “Oh please” Claire objected. “He’s a nice kid and the cats love him. They’ve been feeling very neglected lately, since I spend so much time at work.”

  “I’m not sure cats even notice. Mine seem to go into hibernation in the winter, only coming out for food. I should learn from them; it’s absolutely freezing out here. Let’s walk faster.”

  When they returned to the shop, Claire set up the German treats on the table. Amanda, Jesi, and Emma counted out three spiced almonds each, debating how many calories the coating added. They helped close up the shop then crowded in Harry’s vintage red Mustang.

  As soon as the two friends were alone, Claire told Marti about her visitor. “I’ve been dying to tell you all day, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear. You know how this town lives to find a boyfriend for me since Nick went M.I.A.”

  “Spill!”

  “Well, I actually saw him yesterday when I was at the high school. Oh my gosh, I have to tell you all about that too.”

  “Start with this man. He is a man, right? Not a student?”

  “Here, look at this,” Claire said, flipping to a photo on her phone. “Does he remind you of anyone?”

  “The trophy cases? Don’t tell me you’re dating one of those jocks.”

  “No, no. Look more closely, at the reflection.”

  Marti squinted at the image, turning the phone sideways and enlarging the view. “Did they move the distinguished alumni awards to that case?”

  “I knew it,” Claire said. “You see it too.”

  “You’re dating JP?” Marti squealed. “That basket idea actually worked! I’ll have to get Lana to help me track down John Cusack.”

  “No, I’m not dating anyone, least of all JP…except in my dreams,” Claire said, closing her eyes briefly to summon the image. Suddenly, she remembered where she knew the scent from, JP wore it when he came to accept his award.

  “Then, who is that?”

  “He’s Ed Bishop, the football coach. Apparently, he’s behind all the titles they’ve won recently, and the school loves him. He came in today, and he does seem nice.”

  “Okay, you need to back up about twenty steps here. How exactly did you meet him?”

  Claire relayed the story, from spotting him at the high school to his needing a present for his aunt and her cat. She described him, starting with his eyes and finishing with his anticipated career path, per the principal’s office.

  “It must have been Tyler,” Claire said suddenly. “He must have dropped a hint to Ed to stop by. This town is relentless!”

  “When will I get to meet this sainted coach?”

  “I don’t know when or if I’ll see him again, though I suppose I might have to make a delivery to the high school in the future.”

  “We’ll go together next time. I’m not sure how I feel about your writing off Nick just yet.”

  Claire wished she could do as the CD instructed and take charge of her own love life, but Marti was a force of nature. Instead, she shifted the conversation. “I do wish you had been there. I learned a lot in a shor
t time. I wrote a few notes to myself, but haven’t done much with them.”

  “Let’s get started on these lists, and you can tell me everything as we work.”

  Claire told her what she learned from each person, the most important angle that Ruth may have been a blackmailer. As interesting as that topic was, the mystery mavens had to agree they were a long way from making a case, especially since Ruth’s death had just been declared accidental.

  By eleven o’clock, most of the to-do list was completed. Claire only had to finish a few more batches, so she insisted Marti go home. She and Baron walked their guest to her car, then took a quick run around the block. Baron curled up in his bed, falling asleep as a holiday movie played on the TV. Claire awoke him a little past one o’clock, and they both went upstairs to their mini-apartment.

  While she was brushing her teeth, Claire looked outside the window. The onyx sky was alight with twinkling stars that eclipsed the strings of fairy lights strung across the patio. She gazed a bit longer, to appreciate the beauty of the season, until it was flooded by the headlights of a large SUV that pulled up behind the building. She watched as the driver got out of his car. Cloaked by a dark hood, Claire could only see the outline of a full beard. With his portly build and pronounced belly, the illuminated silhouette looked like the negative image of Kris Kringle.

  The stranger walked directly towards the back door below and Claire ran for the phone. She pressed the nine, then the one, and hovered her finger there while she waited. When she heard the door open below, she pressed the one again. An instant later, she disconnected the call, seeing Donald emerge from his shop. She watched as the two men embraced, too intimate for friends, she thought. She tried to get a better look at the man, but they remained cloaked by the dark. She focused on the truck, trying to see the license plate. She yelped when the phone rang and Baron ran to her side, on full alert. Claire pet him and assured him she was fine, though she didn’t relish answering the call, identified as being from the North Haven Police Department.

  “I’m so sorry, Brendan. I hit the emergency button by accident,” she lied. “I didn’t realize the call had connected yet. Thanks for checking on me, though.”

  “Are you sure Marti hasn’t been baking again?” the dispatcher asked, crackling with laughter.

  “Very funny. I trust you won’t share that with her when you come to the gala tomorrow.”

  Claire hung up and repositioned herself at the window, but the pair had vanished. Was this what Donald was hiding? Sugar daddy had not been one of her working theories, but it explained a great deal about his absences.

  Claire tried to fall asleep, but kept thinking about how this new development affected the puzzle. Had Ruth somehow found about the affair? Did she threaten to tell his wife? For money? Or maybe leverage to force him to return her property? But why on Earth would he want to keep that ugly statue? She revisited the information shared with Marti, falling asleep while she dug through her memory for some elusive clue. There was something there, something sinister that linked Ruth’s death and Donald, and the link might just be the reverse-polar Santa Claus.

  Chapter 9

  Saturday, December 9th

  Delilah jingled as she pranced over to greet Claire. Her ugly sweater was a prize-contender, with its bushy-bearded Santa driving a red-sequined sleigh behind eight blinking reindeer. The background was marbled to represent the Milky Way, abruptly ending at the bell-laden, fluorescent green ribbon that wrapped the scene. “This week has been absolutely wonderful,” Delilah chirped. “I had a good feeling when we accepted early-bird entries the day the article ran. We’ve had so many entries now that we decided to select winners each week. This week’s will be featured in Sunday’s paper, in color!”

  “Maybe you should be open tomorrow. The paper is bound to generate a lot of interest and new customers.”

  “I suggested that, but Donald says we’re doing fine as we are. He believes it’s his Christian duty to our customers to be closed for business on Sundays.”

  Claire choked on the thought of a devout Donald, but Lila didn’t notice. She was thanking Claire for the suggestion of handing out numbers to allow customers to shop while they wait for the evaluation. “Not only have we set our own sales records, but we’ve also raised over two thousand dollars for charity.”

  “Which one did you decide upon?”

  “I’m not sure. Donald said we would take care of that when everything settled down. He’s been over the moon! He’s been evaluating antiques nonstop and found some real treasures that have been commissioned with us to sell. There were quite a few clunkers too, and it was hard to determine the gaudiest ones. We settled on a few, drawing from different categories. Several news outlets picked up the story, and we have you to thank for it all.”

  “No, no, I only made a suggestion. You handled all the heavy work. I’m eager to see the finalists.”

  “I’ll give you a preview.” Lila guided Claire through the store, proud of her husband’s decision to scatter the winners throughout the space, to draw attention to all their merchandise.

  “These are what Mr. Prescott calls the top tat. As you see, we had to split them into several categories, from glass to wood and everything in between. We’re going to display them through December 20th. If anyone wants to buy one of them, they’ll have to wait until then to pick it up. That was Donald’s idea too.”

  Claire wondered if he would be as present with his help as with his ideas, but said, “See, you’ve got the hang of this. I’m so glad it’s all turned out so well for you.”

  Although the extended visit delayed her own shop’s opening, no one was waiting. Customers would be sparse, as most planned to come for the evening’s event, which gave Claire time to finalize the silent auction table. Barbara arrived in her patchwork sweater, mashing squares of every conceivable holiday icon, stitched together with garishly bright yarn. Claire changed into her show-stopper, a fire-engine-red sweater adorned with a puffy felt Christmas tree across the front and sleeves. Each bough was decorated with a unique dog or cat, hand-knit by the Golden Oak Manor seniors in the strictest of confidence. The pièce de résistance was the digital chip that Claire recorded and stitched under the paw-shaped star on top of the tree. When pressed, the star played Claire’s voice singing about the twelve pets of Christmas, with accents of barking by Baron and meowing by Penny and Hercule. The cats had not been at all jolly during the recording experience, but were well compensated by the fresh crab-stuffed tilapia she prepared for the occasion. The challenge of creating the one-of-a-kind jumper paid in dividends, as Barbara, Queen of the Ugly Sweater, cried with laughter at Claire’s creation.

  Ann and Viktor were also rendered speechless at the cacophonous couture when they delivered their showpiece. The reaction was mirrored by Claire and Barbara as they stood mesmerized by the four-foot-wide edible rendition of the North Haven mall. Each sweet shop was personalized with delicate piping to make it immediately identifiable. Fluffy icing coated the rooftops and sidewalks in snow, decorated with candy windows, ornaments and trees. A team of assorted gingerbread men stood in a row in front of the tableau.

  “I have to pay you for this; it must have taken ages to make,” Claire said.

  Viktor and Ann shook their heads in unison. “It was a labor of love,” the baker said. “After my father died, my mother lost interest in living herself. If her friend hadn’t convinced her to volunteer for that pet shelter, I probably would have lost her too. Helping pets brought her such joy, that it’s my honor to help in this small way.”

  “That is no small feat,” Barbara said, drying her eyes. She knew the Evankos, but had never heard that story. “It will be the star of the auction,” she predicted.

  Claire agreed and took photos from all angles to document the momentous piece. “It’s a shame that it will be eaten.”

  “That’s what it’s made for,” Ann said. “But, I know what you mean. I’m sure people say that about your beautiful creation
s all the time.”

  Marti came up the stairs just in time to see the setup. “I don’t want to brag, but my baking nearly set the place on fire…literally.” Once she was done laughing at her own joke, she helped set up the other auction items. She placed packets of bid sheets around the tables with descriptions and hefty minimum bids.

  By four o’clock, the shelters began setting up their stations. Kyle Beecham wheeled in the gallons of freshly-pressed apple cider to the café area. He and Barbara filled the urns and added a sachet of Carrie’s secret mix to each batch before letting the liquid steep to spiced perfection.

  Barbara called to Marti, asking her to find Claire. After a head-to-toe scan of the customer at the register, Marti ran up the steps and pulled her friend aside.

  “If I’m not mistaken, Coach hottie is downstairs asking for you. He does look like a lot like JP,” Marti said.

  Claire looked at her reflection in a silver platter and smoothed her hair. Marti handed her a tube of winterberry lip gloss, then sent her down.

  “Coach Prescott, how nice of you to come. I love the sweater!”

  “Call me Ed,” he said. “I saw the flyer and thought I would offer my services, in suggested ugly Christmas attire.”

  “You’re an angel! It’s going to be very busy here tonight, and I could really use a greeter.”

  “I think I can manage that. Do I get an official apron?”

  “I’ll get you a half-apron, so we can still see Rudolph’s blinking nose.”

  Claire took him to the cider station, explaining that guests should be guided there first, to keep traffic moving. She then showed him where the goody bags were, for anyone with a VIP certificate. In the back room, Claire found an apron, bedecked with ribbons and bows for the festive event. He held it in place while Claire tied it in back. She noticed Marti was staring at the bow quite intently.

  “You’ll certainly turn up the heat for our female guests,” Marti said. “I’ll show you where the apple brandy is. A little spirit always helps increase spending limits and donations.”