Canine Christmas (26 page)

“This I've got to see,” said Sister Mary Pat. She stepped out the door, and Jackie followed, leading Jake. A gust of wind blew stinging snow into Jackie's face and made her clutch her coat around her, shivering. This storm had arrived unexpectedly on the heels of a welcome mid-December mild spell, and white Christmases aside, she wished it had stayed up in Canada a day or two longer. She wrapped her warm scarf twice around her neck and buttoned up the coat as she followed Sister Mary Pat to the crèche on the church lawn.

St. Wenceslas's crèche was the most elaborate and beautiful in the city. It had been donated by a wealthy parishioner, a hand-carved and hand-painted life-size wooden holy family complete with wooden shepherds, wooden wise men, and assorted wooden livestock. It had been shipped over from Father Schumann's native Germany years ago and set up on the front lawn of the church every December for nearly as long as Jackie could remember.

A striped canvas pavilion kept the worst of the weather off the painted figures, and a row of floodlights lent the scene an aspect closer to Hollywood than Bethlehem. Near a bearded shepherd and a richly robed wise man, Jackie saw Joseph standing calmly behind Mary, who was kneeling with her arms outspread, gazing in adoration at … a dog.

A small, wirehaired white dog of uncertain and no doubt complicated lineage was curled up into a ball at the feet of the baby Jesus. When he saw Jackie and Sister Mary Pat, he raised his head and whined but made no effort to vacate the spot. Jake barked once, halfheartedly, but the big shepherd didn't seem overly excited about the small intruder.

“What should we do?” Sister Mary Pat whispered as though they must avoid being overheard by the little dog.

“It doesn't look like it's going to hurt anything,” Jackie whispered back.

“No, but if Father Schumann sees it …”

“If I see what?” asked Father Schumann, appearing as suddenly as before, and when Jackie saw the look on his face she understood why Sister Mary Pat had been whispering. “Oh!” he said when he saw the dog. His mouth opened in alarm. “Oh, my!”

Father Morelli came out of the church doors. “What's happening?” he asked.

“There's a dog!” said Father Schumann. “It's in the manger with the Christ Child! Sister, remove it immediately!” he commanded.

“Aw, he's just a little dog,” said Father Morelli. “What harm can he do?”

“Dogs chew,” said Father Schumann, wagging a finger at Father Morelli. “They scratch and chew and do far worse things. We can't allow it to harm our beautiful crèche!”

“Well, I'll see if I can get the little guy to move,” said Father Morelli. “I don't know where he's going, though, in this weather.” He walked slowly toward the manger, holding out his hand. “Come here, little guy,” he coaxed. The dog didn't move but looked up at Father Morelli, as though interested in what the hand might be offering him.

“Shoo!” shouted Father Schumann at the top of his lungs as he waved his arms in the air. “Get out of here!”

At the sound of the shouting, the little dog bolted from his spot by the baby Jesus, nearly upsetting the manger as he jumped down and raced away into the snow-covered alleyway between the church and the old hotel next door. “You scared him off!” said Father Morelli.

“That's exactly what I meant to do,” said Father Schumann. “He should not be here. He should go home.”

“But what if he doesn't have a home?” asked Sister Mary Pat. “Where will he go then?”

Father Schumann gave her a look that clearly said it had never occurred to him before, and he didn't want to be held accountable now that it had.

“Oh, worse!” exclaimed Father Morelli, bending over the manger.

“What's worse?” Jackie asked him, coming closer with Jake at heel.

Father Schumann put his hands over his face. “I knew it! He has already chewed our precious Christ Child!”

“No, that's not it. Look!” said Father Morelli to Jackie. He pointed to the recently vacated manger, now occupied only by a chubby wooden Christ Child and a thick layer of straw. Jackie came closer and saw what Father Morelli was pointing at: the straw was spotted in several places with blood.

“He's hurt!” said Father Morelli, turning around to give Father Schumann an accusing look.

“How could I know that?” Father Schumann asked. “I was only trying to protect our Christ Child!”

“Don't worry, Father,” Jackie told him. “Jake and I will find the little guy.”

“Your Jake is a search and rescue dog?” Father Schu-mann's white eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I thought he was a police dog!”

“It's a hobby of his,” she said. “What do you say, Jake? Shall we go to work?”

Jake knew the words
go to work
as well as he knew
eat
or
walk
or
ride
, his all-time favorites. His ears perked up and he looked back and forth between Jackie and the others, waiting for further instruction. “Over here, Jake,” Jackie told him, and led the shepherd to the manger. She picked up a handful of the blood-spattered straw and held it out for him to smell.

Jake sniffed at the straw, then barked again, eagerly this time, and pulled on his lead. “Here we go!” said Jackie over her shoulder as her dog pulled her off in the direction they had seen the white dog disappear, between the church and another tall building. She followed as fast as she could in the deep snow.

The snow had slackened since they came outside, and it was still possible to see a few flecks of blood leading into the mouth of the alleyway, away from the comforting lights of Michigan Avenue. Jackie pulled Jake up a bit, uncertain how eager she was to go trudging through a dark alley for an animal who might or might not still be there. “Well, I've got you to protect me, don't I, Jake?” she asked her dog. He barked and pulled at the lead. “Okay, then,” she said. “Let's go.”

Father Morelli and Sister Mary Pat caught up with her. “Can we help?” asked Sister.

“You probably can't hurt,” Jackie told her, and the three of them followed along after Jake as he dashed from one side of the alley to the other, following the trail. Behind them, they could hear Father Schumann panting to catch up.

“We should be able to find him in here without too much trouble,” said Father Morelli. “This alley is a dead end.”

Tall brick walls loomed on both sides, blocking out what little moonlight there was. It was too dark in the alley to see the blood trail, and Jackie couldn't be sure whether or not she could see paw prints. Jake didn't need the visual cues necessary to humans, however, and he continued to sniff and take off in different directions, following a trail only he could sense.

Jackie glanced around uneasily at the dark shapes she could perceive against the walls of the buildings and on the ground. Some were immediately identifiable as trash containers and empty boxes, but others defied any com fortable definition. They seemed to want to take on more ominous shapes as she moved past them, trying not to let her imagination run wild.

Jake ignored them all in his focused search for the little dog until he ran up against the tall cyclone fence where the alley ended. Frantically, he ran back and forth, trying to pick up the strongest source of scent, for that would tell him the direction his quarry had gone. Finally he stopped in his tracks and whined in frustration.

“Did you lose him, Jake?” Jackie asked.

Jake whined again and sniffed the air.

“Maybe he got to the dead end and ran back out again,” said Father Morelli.

“But wouldn't we have seen him?” asked Sister Mary Pat.

“We should have, but maybe we didn't. Anyhow, it's worth a try,” Jackie said. “Come on, Jake, let's go the other way and see if you can pick up his scent again.” She led him back toward the mouth of the alley, but halfway there he stopped and started pawing something dark on the ground.

“What's that?” asked Sister Mary Pat.

“It's only a pile of rags, I think,” said Father Schumann.

Then the object moved, and a low moaning sound emerged from it. Jake stood back and barked at his mistress.

Father Morelli pulled his keys from his pocket and switched on a small flashlight that was attached to them, then shone it on the object of Jake's attention. In the dim light of the flashlight's beam, the pile of rags resolved itself into the crumpled form of a man, and the dark stain that spread from his head and down onto his face looked a lot to Jackie like blood.

“Where's my wife?” the man asked, weakly. “Where are my kids?” He pulled himself up to his hands and knees. His clothes were soaked through, and he trembled violently from the cold.

Father Morelli leaned down and helped the man gently to his feet. “Take it easy,” he told him. “It looks like somebody hit you over the head. Do you remember who hit you?”

“I'm okay, but you need to find my wife and kids,” said the man to Father Morelli.

“We must also find you an ambulance,” said Father Schumann. “It is only a few feet to St. Wenceslas. Right around the corner. From there someone can call one for you.”

“Find my family,” the man repeated, but his voice was weaker now. “Please.”

He sagged against Sister Mary Pat, who flung his arm expertly over her back and shrugged herself up to support his weight. “You're nearly frozen, poor dear man! I'll get him back to the church,” she said to the others. “You three go find his family.” She walked slowly out of the alley with the man leaning heavily against her. They watched her proceed to the corner of the church and out of sight.

“Where do you suppose …” Father Morelli began, but just then Jake leaped forward again and took up the trail. This time he dragged Jackie through a half-open door in the building across the alley from the church. Jackie stepped through the door and stopped, pulling Jake's lead to keep him from dragging her any farther. Inside the building it was completely dark, and Jake was nearly invisible at the end of his lead. Anything beyond Jake was the great unknown.

“Hello?” Jackie called, but the darkness swallowed up her voice. Just as well, she thought, since she didn't know if she was announcing herself to friends or foes. The man outside had been hit by someone, she reminded herself.

A pale beam mitigated the darkness slightly, and Jackie saw that Father Morelli had turned on his little flashlight again. He played it around the room they had entered, picking out an area of floor just ahead of them. “This won't help us see very far,” he told her, “but it should keep us from tripping over our feet.”

Jake tugged at the lead and walked forward. Jackie followed, with the two priests behind her. Father Morelli aimed the flashlight's beam over her shoulder and onto the floor.

“Are those blood spots?” he asked in a whisper, indicating some dark spatters on the floor.

“They might be,” Jackie said, “but they could just as easily be dirt. What is this place, anyhow? I thought there was a hotel here.”

“This is the old South Palmer Arms Hotel,” said Father Morelli.

“It has been condemned and will be torn down soon,” added Father Schumann. “They boarded up all the doors and windows months ago, or so I thought.”

That explained the extreme darkness inside, Jackie thought. She wished whoever had removed the boards from the alleyway door had opened up a couple of nearby windows, too. Any light at all would have been a help right then. At least it was warmer in here where the wind couldn't reach.

Jackie tried to keep up with her dog as he pulled her along, moving in the zigzag pattern she'd seen him use before when searching for an elusive scent, while Father Morelli tried to keep the flashlight just ahead of him. Then he stopped and pulled her in a completely new direction. From far away, she could hear the faint sound of someone crying.

“It's a child!” Jackie said to her companions. “Find‘em, Jake!” she told her dog, and he led her across one end of a large open area that might once have been the hotel's lobby, then up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway, moving toward the sound of the crying, which grew steadily louder and clearer as they approached. They stopped behind a door like a dozen other doors along the darkened corridor. This one was standing partly open. Jackie pushed on it, and Jake led the way inside.

The crying stopped abruptly. Father Morelli scanned the room with his light, which came to rest on the tearstreaked faces of two small children dressed in layers of clothing and overcoats. They stared at Jake, then at the three adults who towered over them. “Our mommy's with the bad man,” said the smallest one—a girl—in a voice barely above a whisper. “Can you help her?” asked the older one.

Jackie knelt down to the kids' level. “Does the bad man have a gun?” she asked them.

The boy shook his head. “He has a knife,” he said. “He wants our house money.”

“We're going to have our own house again,” said the little girl.

“How long has the bad man been here?” she asked them.

“A few minutes,” said the boy. “He took our mom to find the house money where she hid it, and Mom told us to run away, but we didn't want to go outside, so we came in here.”

“Do you know if there's anyone else in the building?” Jackie inquired.

“Just a little dog. He came in here just a minute ago, but he ran right back out. He had blood all over him.”

“I want the doggy to come back,” said the girl.

“Well, we're going to find your mother and the dog if we can,” Jackie told them. “And Father Schumann and Father Morelli are going to take you back to St. Wenceslas where your father is.” She turned her head to look at the two priests. “You can call the police from the church. Jake and I are going looking for the kids' mother.”

“You cannot stay here, Jackie,” said Father Schumann. “You might be putting yourself in danger.”

Jackie stood up again. Her knees were shaky and her heart was trying to thump its way out of her chest, but she knew what she had to do. “Someone else might already be in danger,” she told him. “And there might not be time to wait for the police.”

She turned back to the children. “Do you have anything here that belongs to your mother? Some clothes?”

Both children shook their heads. “Our clothes are in another room,” said the boy.