We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  “Despite what my trainer says, our dogs always train us far better than we can hope to do with them,” Claire assured from experience. “You know, I’d be happy to pack the flavors you want and have them ready when you arrive.”

  “After a day filled with executing orders that impact so many lives, it’s somehow relaxing spending time in front of the freezer, deciding between liver lickems, carob chip, peanut butter bliss, and whatever other amazing flavors you have.”

  “If you don’t mind waiting a few moments, I can add eggnog to the choices. I just made them for this weekend.”

  “Sold! I’ll take four of those along with the rest. In fact, I’m going to pick up a few of the spawghetti and meatballs too. I feel like we’ve been spending too much time away from the kids lately and these should help make amends.” Eduardo picked up a few new toys, then sniffed the air. “And throw in some of whatever smells so heavenly. I might have one myself on the way home. All I’ve had today are seven espressos and a protein bar.”

  Claire went to the back and packed up some just-decorated smoremen and eggnog ice cream cups. She packed up some of the cookies she picked up from the bakery for Eduardo to eat on the way home. She hated for the hounds to be deprived of any treats.

  With no more cars in the parking lot, Claire locked up for the night. Zac coyly mentioned Zoe’s name at least six times in conversation.

  “Zoe is really excited about the raw cakes for traveling. She takes her two mini-dachshunds, I mean dachshunden, when she goes home to San Francisco for the holiday. I slipped up and said hella again, and she said it made her homesick. Her parents live in Nob Hill. She calls it Snob Hill and says she prefers Chicago. She’s going to the AIC, you see. It’s her first year, so she’s only a year older than I am. That’s cool. Anyway, she said she’s going to come here exclusively from now on for her dogs.”

  “You’re an excellent salesman,” Claire commented, wisely avoiding commenting on the girlfriend possibilities, knowing Jesi was going to be crushed. “Maybe I should start a commission program.”

  “Nah, then Emma would be jealous since I’m hella better.”

  “Well, help me decorate these last few snowmen and you can hella leave.”

  The two deftly outlined the shape in carob, then filled in the circles with melted vanilla yogurt discs.

  “Did you find any clues next door?” Zack asked.

  “So far, the logbook I found seems in order, but I suspect there’s another one.”

  “You mean he left out his illegal activity?” Zac asked.

  “Yes, well, I mean I need to look through it a bit more. Luckily, I have plenty of bake cycles to spend reading.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I’m not looking forward to hearing Emma’s drama when I get home.”

  “I hope everything turned out okay.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it did; the football team is untouchable during this championship season.”

  “Someone should at least talk with her boyfriend about counseling or anger management. I think I’ll mention it to Ed.”

  “I know this is none of my business, but I wish you would stay away from Coach Bishop. You’re not so old that you need to settle.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I just don’t think he measures up with um, that is to say, there are other possibilities.”

  “Nick would be grateful for his loyal supporters.”

  Baron barked, saving the teen from his distress.

  “Well, like I said, it’s none of my business,” Zac said, grabbing his backpack and zipping up his coat.

  The ringing of the front door startled both of them and Zac ran out to the floor, shouting, “We’re closed.”

  “Oh, hi. It’s Jack, isn’t it?”

  To the late visitor, the teen snapped, “Zac.” To Claire, he called out as he left, “This is why you have to be sure to lock the doors when we’re closed. It’s not safe - you never know who might come in.”

  “I think he likes me,” Coach said as he walked behind the counter.

  “It’s been a very long day for both of us,” Claire said. “He came in to cover for his sister. I understand there was some trouble with one of your players.”

  “News travels faster than Chris Johnson in this town.” Ed noticed the puzzlement on Claire’s face. “He’s a very fast NFL player.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she responded, pretending she had a clue. “Anyway, Zac’s sister is best friends with the player’s girlfriend and, well, anyway you know how it goes. I was concerned to hear about his temper, though. Is there anything you can say to him?”

  “It was all blown out of proportion. I’ve been ducking calls from the media all day, as if it was some kind of school shooting.” Ed explained all the measures he took to protect the kids, including mandated physical and emotional tests conducted by the school nurse throughout the year, even in the off-season, concluding, “It’s just frustrating.”

  “Well, why don’t you sit down and I’ll fix you a drink. I have to roll out about a dozen doughs, and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Hey, I came here to comfort you. I ordered a pizza to be delivered here, in case you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I did, but I’m starving anyway,” Claire confessed.

  “Good, because I picked up a pint of ice cream for dessert. Let’s forget all about all the troubles of the day. I’ll put in one of your DVD’s, then I’ll help you.”

  “I think you might be too good to be true,” Claire said.

  “You haven’t seen me rolling out cookies yet.”

  “This is easy. I already rolled out the dough, so you just have to push down the cutter.”

  “Easy enough.” He picked up the cutter and watched the demonstration.

  “Keep them as close together as possible to cut down on re-rolling. That’s a baker’s time-saving secret.”

  By the time the first trays went into the oven, the doorbell signaled the pizza delivery. After a stunted dinner break, Claire returned to producing doughs and showed her assistant how to shape them into holiday treats.

  “This is actually fun,” Ed said.

  “I think it should be used as therapy. People get so stressed during the holidays. Rolling out dough works wonders for releasing stress. Maybe your players should volunteer to come in and bake some cookies for the shelters to relax.”

  “I told you it’s nothing,” he snapped. “Why is this such a big deal? Teens act up all the time. Just because he’s on a winning team, people want to tear him down.”

  Claire jumped back from the table. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought--”

  “I’m sorry. This whole episode has been more impactful than I realized. I guess I can be overly protective of my players.”

  “No one can blame you for caring about your players. I’m sure it will all blow over soon,” Claire said, still standing a few feet back. “In fact, why not redirect the media attention into something positive. If you run a canned food drive or pledges for every goal scored from now until Christmas, you would be helping people in need and ending all the gossip.”

  “You are amazing! How do you come up with these ideas?”

  “I guess I’ll never fully escape my former life in PR,” Claire said, softening. “We could work on the press release while the bagel wreaths are baking.”

  “You’ve done enough already. Our media department can take it from here. How about if we use this free time to do some sleuthing?” Ed asked. “Don’t look surprised, I know you wouldn’t give up an investigation that easily.”

  “Well, I could use some help doing a quick inventory next door. I found this log, but it seems incomplete. I thought if I could match up what’s on the list, I would see if anything else remains.”

  “I’m your man.”

  Before she knew it, Claire started singing modified lyrics to the song of the same name. “I’m so embarrassed,” she stammered, admitting her love of Wham!
Songs.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I always liked Wham! too,” he admitted as he picked up the black book. “Is this the log, then?”

  “Yes, I know it seems like a lot, but with two of us, it should go quickly. I’ll make checkmarks in pencil to see which items are listed and which are not.”

  Claire clipped the portable timer to her apron and led Ed from the back office into the antique store.

  “You take the book and call out the unsold items I. I have a pretty good idea of how Delilah organizes the displays, so I’ll search for them.”

  “Okay, but don’t laugh at my pronunciations. I didn’t grow up with fancy things like Lalique and coquillage.”

  “Coquillage? I think that means seashells. Don’t tell me that’s how the Island Christmas toilet paper cover is described. It’s one of the bathroom winners.”

  “My grandma used to say that using French terms when describing something was usually just putting lipstick on a pig.”

  Claire briefly wondered where his mother’s penchant for caviar and gold-leaf developed, but kept the thought to herself. The matching process went so quickly, they had checked off most of the contest entries by the time Claire’s timer chirped.

  “You go ahead and take care of your trays, I’ll keep going on the list,” he offered.

  “Are you sure? It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so.”

  “No problem. I’m getting good at this French stuff now.”

  Claire raced through the back door and into her kitchen. Like a sugar plum fairy, she pirouetted from oven to table and back again, placing the shiny wreaths into their second baking session. Then, she punched down the next bowls of rising yeast dough and began pinching off small sections which she rolled into long ropes and twisted into more wreaths. Covering all the trays with cling wrap and a damp towel, she added a second timer to her apron and returned to the antique store.

  “That was fast,” Ed said. “It’s taken me longer than I thought. I finally figured out that the asterisked items were in the window.”

  “Donald insisted they stay there even if they were sold. He planned to milk the publicity for all it was worth, though I can’t blame him for that,” Claire said. She grimaced at the collection, “There are some real eyesores there.”

  “I’m glad you think so; I thought I was being a philistine. Take a look at the prices on them.”

  “Wow, I see what you mean. That holiday goat-themed tea set sold for a thousand dollars.”

  “There’s a sucker born every minute,” Ed commented.

  “Never underestimate the power of a press article to inflate value. Almost every one of these has been sold already,” Claire said. “That reminds me – which piece did you want for your aunt? Was it one of these? I could set it aside and ask Delilah about it.”

  “There’s so much stuff here, I can’t remember which one it was now. Auntie was happier with the cat toys, anyway.”

  Claire glanced down at her flashing timers. “Do you think we can finish the rest of these in twenty-one minutes?”

  Just as they found the last entry, a red and green enameled ashtray shaped like Santa’s sleigh, the first timer beeped. Coach stayed behind to lock the antique store’s door, so that Claire could run to the oven. She invited him to stay for a scoop of ice cream with stollen, but he declined.

  “Thank you for a successful night of baking and sleuthing,” Claire said.

  He tied his Burberry scarf and tucked it under his coat. “Sorry to sleuth and run, but I want to get to school early tomorrow and talk to Dr. Blummer about your idea for a canned food drive.”

  “I hope it works,” Claire said. She watched from the doorway as he disappeared into the dark parking lot, trying to decide about Ed Bishop. After taking Baron out for a quick walk, she locked the door and told her tired dog the bad news, “I may as well stay and make a few more batches; I’m far too wired to sleep.”

  Baron groaned his disapproval, and Claire assured him, “Don’t worry, you can keep sleeping. We’ll stay over tonight. I’ll send a text to Aiden to pop in and feed the cats in the morning.”

  As she waited for the next batches to finish baking, Claire looked through the log again. There must be some clues there, she thought, but where? She recognized most of the names on the list. Many were old families shedding their unwanted accumulations; a garage sale of sorts for the elite class. Were some of them desperate for cash? What was she missing? She examined each entry yet again, determined to spot something, but her eyes were starting to droop. It was well past midnight, and all of the cookies were on drying trays. She loaded the bowls, spatulas, and spoons into the dishwasher.

  “Silverware,” she said, suddenly. She looked through the book and found an entry for a maple box containing Georgian Sterling Silverware by Towle Silversmiths, a complete set of service for twelve, purchased from Mrs. Persephone Parsons-Browne for three thousand dollars and sold for eighteen thousand dollars. Claire whistled at the markup, awaking Baron from his sleep. She took him for one last trip outside, then both fell asleep watching “The Grinch”.

  Chapter 15

  Friday, December 15th

  Awaking from a feast of roast beast, Claire reached for her alarm clock and was jolted awake by the time. “Baron, we overslept again,” she gasped. While Claire hopped around the room, changing and putting up her hair, Baron groaned and turned over. “I’ll run downstairs and open the shop. You come down when you’re ready.”

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Barbara said, startling Claire as she made her way downstairs. “I was going to knock on your door, but I heard Baron sleep-woofing and figured you both had a late night.”

  Barbara made a cup of coffee for the groggy owner, then sent her upstairs to shower. Fifteen minutes later, a refreshed Claire bounded down the stairs with Baron. They went for a quick walk outside, then caught up with her manager. Claude had already stopped in and picked up Lana’s order.

  “Is that a new brooch?” Claire asked, noticing the gold and green Claddagh wreath with a sparkling red heart in the center.

  “Yes, Claude gave it to me. Isn’t he sweet?” Barbara blushed. “And he was very impressed by the lovely treats you made. I told him you were up late finishing them, which is why you weren’t downstairs yet. Oh, that sounds too personal, now that I think of it.”

  “No, that’s perfect. Maybe Lana will give us more notice next time,” Claire said, realizing how improbable that was. “I’m glad you got a chance to be alone together. What are you going to get for him?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself. This is so special.” Barbara gazed at it for a long moment before returning to shop business. “Have you got the treat bags ready for Christkindlmarkt?”

  Claire stared in surprise. “Oh my gosh, I completely forgot about that.”

  “Don’t be angry at me for saying this, but you’re spreading yourself too think with these extra-curricular activities.”

  Claire wondered how Barbara could possibly have learned about Ed’s visit, when her manager continued, “I know you want to comfort Delilah, but I wish you would stay out of investigating. It’s dangerous, and you’re exhausted from the extra work.”

  “You’re right, I know,” Claire said. She had to work up the courage to now tell Barbara that she couldn’t go to the Christmas market, because she was going to Donald’s wake. “After tonight, I’m done.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I promised Delilah I would go.” Claire looked at the floor. “Peggy can cover for me at the park until I can get there. It will do her good to be out; there should be a lot of young people there.”

  Barbara looked at her, silently communicating strenuous doubts.

  “She’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Claire insisted, hoping for a bit of luck that it would be true. Peggy’s performance at public events wasn’t exactly stellar, but she was the only one over twenty-one, a rule stipulated by Mike Barbon, due to the neighboring beer garden. “I’ll put together th
e bags now. Good thing I made extras last night. It will be fine.”

  A steady influx of customers saved Claire from further lectures. When Peggy arrived, Claire presented the news as an exciting opportunity.

  “I hope I don’t freeze to death,” Peggy said.

  “No, no. The huts are heated and toasty warm.”

  “Did they check for fire-proof materials? I don’t want to be burned alive.”

  Barbara popped in with an I-told-you-so look, but Claire was undaunted. She drove Peggy and the packages to the park, leaving Baron behind in the interest of time. Most of the huts were already set up in the festive lot, and Claire was able to recruit two people from the neighboring booth to help put out their products. She purchased extra tickets for Peggy and the two volunteers to exchange for food and drink from the assorted German stands.

  “I’ll be here as soon as I can to relieve you. If you need anything, ask Peter. He said he can fill in if you need a break.”

  Claire raced back to the shop to pick up Baron, then home to change into her charcoal sweater dress. When Marti pulled up in the driveway, Claire just finished dishing out treats to the furry trio.

  “Our dinner reservation is at seven,” Marti said as soon as Claire got into the car. “Otherwise, you would insist upon staying until the end.” Before Claire could protest, she continued, “And, poor Delilah has her sister, among others, to support her to the end.”

  “You’re probably right,” Claire conceded.

  The funeral home, the oldest running business in North Haven, had outdone themselves. White lilies, green ivy, and deep red roses covered the junior reception room. Flanking the grieving widow, the undertaker and his wife held handkerchiefs, a bottle of water, and their trademark grim grins. The room felt claustrophobic with the abundance of overly-stuffed chairs and sofas, exploding sprays and preponderance of gold lamps that crackled with florescent bulbs under velvet shades. Several older women shared a box of tissues, wishing they had known the charming dealer better.