We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  By nine o’clock, the shelters had left and the crowds thinned. Before Emma, Jesi, and Zac left, they showed off their trending images of the Mastiff’s mayhem. Peggy and Claire mixed doughs en masse while Marti encouraged the lingering visitors to make their selections and check out.

  After the store was put together, Peggy and Marti left. Claire programmed her holiday pop playlist to keep her awake for a late night of baking while Baron slept off the evening’s festivities.

  Chapter 10

  Sunday, December 10th

  Shivering in her tie-dyed peppermint swirl shirt, Carrie ran out to deliver an extra-large cup of her new holiday magic blend coffee to the tired baker. “I thought you might need this. Simone said you were still here after she left.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said, taking a long sip. “The gala was such a huge success, that Baron and I were baking into the wee hours to restock.” Baron slumped to the floor to accentuate the statement.

  “You should go home and rest today; that’s what employees are for,” Carrie said. “I’m only here until noon, then I’m leaving it to my manager. Between the snowstorm and the football game tonight, it probably won’t be very busy past three o’clock.”

  “I wish I could, but it’s Santa Paws Sunday, plus I have to decorate what I baked last night.”

  While Baron caught up on sleep, Claire mixed a batch of cranberry crunchy canes and set them aside to rise while she set up her decorating materials. A bowl of green sprinkles nearly went airborne when Baron shot up and barked at the front door. The baker recovered from her start and clipped on the furry greeter’s leash before unlocking the door.

  A young woman, dwarfed by a full-length puffer coat, matching knit unicorn hat and scarf, bulging messenger bag and camera bag across her torso, introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Kris,” she said, picking up her tripod case. “Addison slipped on the ice last night and asked me to cover for him. I came early so I could get a feel for the setup.”

  Claire helped her carry her equipment upstairs and explained the process. “Customers make a donation in this tin, then take a number. If they want, they can choose any of the props in the box, then our elf will help arrange the dogs by Santa.”

  Baron demonstrated by reaching into the box and digging down until he found a striped scarf with matching leg-warmers. Kris pulled out her camera and started snapping the photogenic model, who decided to stay upstairs while Claire returned to the kitchen. She formed candy-cane-shapes out of the pink dough and placed them in the oven before moving on to decorating the gingerbread doghouse panels. Baron’s jingle collar sounded, indicating he was prancing down the stairs. He led Kris to the kitchen, where she inhaled the spicy-sweet aroma.

  “My family makes a gingerbread house every year,” the photography student said. “I love decorating them.”

  Claire took advantage of the extra pair of hands, showing her how to pipe on details such as paw prints and bone-shaped garland. This allowed the baker time to make a large batch of mincemeat pies, followed by a tray of holiday cinnayum rolls. The volunteer Santa arrived in plenty of time to change into the mended red suit and practice his ho-ho-ho’s.

  Just before opening, the Golden Retriever Rescue coordinator arrived with three energetic dogs, an armful of signs, brochures, papers, and a donation box. Peggy marched in behind her, complaining about the retrograde’s effect on her car’s battery. Claire locked the door so Baron could run around with the goldens, which cheered up Peggy. She helped the rep set up an information table and kennel for the trio, who looked angelic after burning off their extra energy. Each wore a coordinating hand-knit scarf with pompoms that the youngest chewed a few times before the coordinator swapped it for a bandanna.

  Prescott customers streamed in, asking when the antique store would open. After the tenth disappointed visitor left, Claire printed up two large signs advising that the antique store was closed until Monday. In bold font beneath, she added, “While you’re here, why not come in and ‘snow some love’ by visiting the shelter?” Jesi posted one poster on the far-left window, so the antique customers could clearly see it, then snuck over and taped the second poster on the antique shop door. The campaign proved effective as several visitors holding family heirlooms visited and swooned over the goldens.

  The Peterson family was the first of Claire’s actual customers to arrive. They proudly walked the Afghan mix adopted from a Posh Pup event the prior month. Baron jumped up on the counter to greet the customers and remained transfixed at the sight of his amor du jour, Goldie Lochs.

  “Sorry we missed the gala last night,” Mr. Peterson said. “We had tickets to ‘A Christmas Carol’.”

  “It’s an annual tradition,” his wife explained.

  “Daddy always cries when Scrooge gets un-Scrooged,” his daughter said.

  “Oh, bah humbug,” he protested. “It smells delicious in here. We’ll take whatever just came out of the oven.”

  “And a gingerbread dog house too, right?” the little girl asked. While Claire boxed up the selection of treats, the family picked out new holiday accessories and restocked their kibble supply. They went upstairs for photos, some of which were photobombed by Baron, who had convinced Jesi to take him to the North Pole.

  A new customer stepped up to the counter to order a holiday cake for her visiting grand-dogs. While she debated on flavor, her attention was suddenly riveted to the front. Ed strode through the door, carrying a brown paper bag and a tool kit.

  “Did someone order a handyman?” he asked in a deep, burly voice.

  Claire’s customer shot up her hand.

  “Sorry, mam,” Ed drawled. “I’ve already been engaged to fix this gate. Okay if I get started back here?”

  Claire nodded, trying to cover her surprise. Both women’s eyes followed him as he removed his coat, revealing a plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned to a breathtaking level, and very well-fitting jeans.

  Her customer fanned herself. “You’ve got to give me his number. I have quite a few projects for such a ripped, I mean skilled handyman.”

  “He’s actually the athletic director at the high school. He’s just helping me out,” Claire said.

  “Good with kids and kind-hearted,” she sighed. “He’s a keeper!”

  “So, anyway, did you decide on the carob or the ginger,” Claire said, trying to regain her focus. “Or, we can do half and half, if you prefer.”

  After an exceptionally long decision process, involving Ed for his opinion, the customer completed her order. Several of the orders seemed to take much longer than usual as Ed prepared the frame. Jesi walked back with Baron and rolled her eyes at the women, who were clearly too old for such flirtatious behavior. Baron shared her opinion. To move the line along, the resourceful teen announced updates on the approaching snowstorm.

  During a lull, Claire offered a bottle of water to Ed. “My customers really like you.”

  “I got that impression,” he said. “Some of them stripped me down to my briefs with their eyes.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Well, some of the single mothers can be pretty aggressive. It’s all very flattering, I admit.”

  “So, how’s it going? Can I help you strip?” Claire asked, then turned bright red. “I mean strip the door--sand the door.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks, but I’m just about done and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He measured the gap again and stroked his chin. “This is a fraction too wide.”

  Claire left to get her tool kit and handed a planer to him. “This should shave just a smidge off the door.”

  “I’m impressed, but I think it will fit as-is,” he said, looking at the angled tool. “Then, I just need to screw on the new hinge and make sure it’s properly hung.”

  “Good thing you didn’t say that when my cake customer was here. I think she would have fainted!”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, pulling the hinge out from the crinkled paper bag. “So, where are w
e going to dinner?”

  “Dinner?” Claire stalled, worried she may have committed to something after drinking the last leaded cider the prior night.

  “To thank me,” Ed said with a practiced smile. “Actually, I wanted to treat you to a relaxing night out. You close early on Sundays, right?”

  “I would love to, and I really do owe you for two days of volunteer service. Can I take a raincheck? I’m off tomorrow.”

  “No problem, now I can watch the game live. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Luigi’s?”

  Baron walked up with his leash in his mouth and sat on Claire’s foot.

  “I better go,” Claire said as Baron nudged her in the direction of the back door. “Tomorrow sounds great. Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”

  Once they were a block away, Claire asked her dog about his behavior. She explained that it wasn’t a date, meeting doubting eyes. “I know you miss Nick, but he isn’t here and I don’t know when, or if, he’s coming back.”

  An emergency text called the pair back early, as seven pugs ran riotously around the shop. Claire and Baron helped corral three of the delinquents, while Santa, Jesi, and Kris grabbed the other four.

  Olivia’s bulldog watched stoically as he gummed a candy cane. His friend, Liberty, pranced next to his owner and was rewarded for his non-involvement with a treat.

  “I’m glad it wasn’t Bertie this time. Was it the same pug who pilfered the cookie from Viktor’s showpiece last night?”

  “What happens at the Posh Pup stays at the Posh Pup,” Claire said, pulling an imaginary zipper across her lips.

  “I hope that doesn’t apply to you,” Liv said. “I hear that dreamy coach was here acting out some kind of handyman fantasy.”

  Jean and John stood a few feet away, holding a birdcage shrouded in a peppermint-striped knit cover. They craned their necks to hear Claire’s response.

  “Don’t incite the gossip flames any more, please,” Claire whispered. “Ed helped me fix the gate that was broken by an unnamed naughty dog.”

  “Who is this Ed and what about that brave firehouse hottie?” Jean asked. “Did you kick him to the curb?”

  “Nice fellow. Is he on the curb?” John said.

  “Curb”, parroted the parrotlet in the cage.

  “You’re needed downstairs,” Marti said, arriving just in time to save a red-faced Claire. “Now, let’s get this line moving. Who’s next?”

  Fleeing down the staircase, Claire and Baron ran into Deloris and her Mrs. Clause Corgi. “My friend has something to tell you,” she said, turning to Betty. “Go on, tell her.”

  Betty looked at her shoes, avoiding her friend’s commanding stare. Having just been rescued herself, Claire paid the favor forward and invited the anxious woman to the office for a cup of tea. Deloris complained about her agonizing arthritis, allowing her to advance in the queue upstairs.

  The tea and Baron worked their magic. Betty relaxed enough to tell Claire, “I should have told you this yesterday, but it was such a fun time, I didn’t want to spoil the mood.” Baron put his paw on her knee, encouraging her to continue. “I read that the police are blaming LL’s death on Christmas elf slippers.”

  “Yes, such a tragic accident,” Claire said. Although Bob decided not to run the photo of the slippers, the Chicago papers had. The jolly jester bells on the pointed tips of the knit footwear were especially jarring.

  “Well, I don’t think she was wearing them. If anything, she would have had her gym shoes on. Remember, I told you she always used the treadmill while she watched TV?”

  “Maybe she was tired. I break my exercise resolution all the time,” Claire admitted.

  “Even so, I know she would never wear those slippers; she hated them.”

  Claire looked surprised. Ruth Fischer was a woman who seemed to share very few personal particulars.

  “I know that sounds strange, but I was with her when she bought them.” Betty paused, and focused on the bottom of her cup, stirring nonexistent sugar. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but if it helps…”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t hurt her feelings, especially if it leads to justice.”

  “I suppose you’re right, and if it comes to nothing, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “If it isn’t relevant, I won’t tell another soul,” Claire promised.

  “We went to the craft fair a few weeks ago. She bought them for her nephew’s wife, whom she hated. Ruth said the only reason the woman was nice to her was because she expected to inherit from her someday. Since Ruth called her a heel, it was her private joke to buy her the ugliest footwear she could find. Since they’re the same shoe size, Ruth tried them on to be sure they would fit. God forgive me for telling you this, but Ruth said she hoped her niece-in-law would slip and break her neck.”

  “Wow, she really didn’t like her,” Claire said, shaking her head. “I’m sure Ruth didn’t really mean it though.”

  “She did have several glasses at the wine tasting before we started shopping, so maybe it was just the alcohol talking.”

  Ruth’s death suddenly seemed much more suspect to Claire. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense that she would wear them, knowing they were an accident waiting to happen. Is it possible that she might have stored them in her closet and grabbed them by mistake?”

  “I don’t think so,” Betty said, pausing to think. “Last time I was in her house, I saw them on her dining room table, waiting to be wrapped. I called the police department, but I don’t think they took it seriously. That’s why dear Deloris encouraged me to tell you. She said you were very helpful last time there was an unfortunate incident in North Haven.”

  Claire thanked her for the information and asked how the cats liked the new toys. Betty was starting to tell her about the calming spray when her friend barked it was time to go.

  “That girl did alright,” Deloris said, admiring the photo of her corgi with Santa. Claire made a mental note to share the unusually gushing, and rare, praise to the photographer. Deloris picked out the largest treat in the case to reward her Corgi, then left with Betty, listing the next stops they would have to make.

  “That woman is still a pickle,” Marti said, having waited upstairs until the pair left. “She demanded five retakes before she was satisfied, but insisted the rejects be sent to her via email. I don’t know how Kris put up with her.”

  “Thanks to her intimidation tactics, I learned some very interesting information from Betty…” A new customer interrupted the conversation, followed by another two families rushing upstairs to get their Santa Paws photos taken.

  While the photographer tried to arrange a balanced photo with two Irish Wolfhounds and one teacup Maltese, Marti texted her friend to get the scoop. Claire replied with an abbreviated story, keeping her promise to Betty by saying that the slippers were a gag gift and Ruth would never have worn them.

  After dropping Baron off, the pair drove to the Friar’s Fryer for a guilty dinner of crispy turkey tenders, only slightly mitigated by the cranberry-spinach salad base. If they hadn’t promised to have dessert with Bob later, they would have ordered the fried peppermint ice cream sundae. As they were the only people in the fast-casual restaurant, they felt free to talk.

  “So, when are you going to tell me about Ed’s visit?” Marti asked, having waited all afternoon to hear the news.

  “I told you he stopped by to fix the gate,” Claire said, avoiding her friend’s inquisitive glare by scraping the remaining cranberry-vinaigrette glaze from the bowl. “I said I would take him to dinner to thank him; it’s the least I can do after all he’s done to help me. There’s nothing more to it.”

  “So, he’s just doing all this to be a good person?”

  “I didn’t know he was on trial, Judge Von Brant.”

  “I don’t want to see you hurt again,” Marti admitted. “Emma said he just changed his hair and I find it quite a coincidence that it’s exactly like JP’s style.”

  “People copy celebrit
y’s looks all the time. Remember when you got ‘The Rachel’?”

  “Don’t remind me; it took forever to grow out all those layers.”

  Claire hugged her friend. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m really not looking for a relationship any time soon. Unless of course, the real JP comes to town, then who knows?”

  After dinner, they drove around the dark mall, ensuring everyone was gone. Convinced it was safe, the pair parked in the lot across the street and pulled off their holiday sweaters to reveal black turtlenecks tucked into their black trousers. They slipped on black ski masks and gloves and jogged to the back of the shared outer door behind the mall.

  The emergency light’s faint glow was enough to illuminate the lock of the antique store’s back door. Claire turned the key and held her breath as she opened the door. The coast clear, she motioned Marti in and shut the door behind them. They propped up a folding chair as an impromptu warning device. If Donald happened to come in, it would topple over with a loud clatter.

  Armed with penlight flashlights and their cell phones, the pair ventured into the dark labyrinth. Claire crept slowly past the antiques, knowing she would be killed if she broke anything. Every noise made her jump, realizing her career as a cat-burglar would be short-lived. Marti shadowed her path, flinching along with each sound. They crawled behind the cash register, in case anyone was looking through the front windows. Claire popped up to see if she could find the log she had observed Donald’s using during the event, but knocked over an inkwell.

  Marti shushed her but was eclipsed by the crash of the chair hitting the floor. They froze in position, hearts thumping precariously. Signaling to each other, they dropped to the floor and crawled over to a large armoire. Slinking inside, they waited several minutes before whispering a brief debate as to whether or not they should leave. Deciding on the old adage in for a penny, in for a pound, they decided to stay. After waiting ten more minutes in the dark, they snuck to the other end of the shop.