Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery (5 page)

I blinked.  “Baby Jesus?”

“Sure.”  He caught Meg’s eye and lifted his hand.  “The Baptist church had to replace two of them last week, and the Christmas Shop is keeping them behind the counter.  It’s a thing with kids, like stealing garden gnomes.”

Looking harried, Meg arrived with an order pad in her hand and a pair of Santa earrings dangling from her ears. “Sorry, Buck.  Have you ever seen the like?  Everybody wants to eat early for the parade, I guess.  I’ve got a table cleaned off for you.  Come on back.  Hi, Raine. You two together?”

While she waited for an answer, I felt awkward and Buck looked embarrassed.  Then Buck, who was never uncomfortable about anything for long, said, “Come on, Raine, no sense in both of us waiting for a table.”  And he started to follow Meg.

Well, terrific.  I was starving, but a person had to draw the line somewhere. And I thought having dinner with my ex-husband—who, by the way, was practically living with another woman—at the most popular restaurant in town just like old times might be just a tad over that line.  I said quickly, “Actually I already ate.  I just came over to get a cup of coffee for Aunt Mart. I have to get back.  I’m helping set up for the parade, you know.”  I hoped he couldn’t hear my stomach growl.

I couldn’t tell whether he was relieved, disappointed, or completely indifferent.  All he said was, “Okay, see you later.” And Meg called over her shoulder, “Nancy!  Coffee to go!” as she led him away.

I edged my way to the counter to pick up my coffee, scanning the selection of pies and cakes and wondering whether I could get a slice to go.  I saw Nancy hold up my coffee in a to-go cup, and I tried to get her attention to call out an order for pie, but there were three people in line ahead of me and she simply set the coffee beside the cashier’s stand and rushed off.  I was behind a big guy in camouflage who kept shuffling his feet back and forth, so it was possible she didn’t see me.  Disappointed, I dug a dollar bill out of my pocket to pay for the coffee and waited my turn.

I saw Ruth Holloway and her husband, Jack, a couple of tables over and waved to them. 
“Ready for your big night?” I called.

“Mary and Joseph at your service,” she called back, toasting me with a French fry, and Jack, not to be outdone, added, “Hope they’ve got room for us at the inn.”

Ruth elbowed him in the ribs for the bad joke, and I was about to make an equally bad one back when I was distracted by a slight disturbance in the line in front of me.  The guy in camouflage had reached the cashier and I was aware that this was the second time she had given him his total.  He patted his pockets, looking for his wallet, and finally dug a bill out, frowning at it for a moment, before he turned it over to her.  That was when I noticed he was wearing a buck knife in a leather sheath strapped to his belt, not something you see every day, even around here.  He smelled of wild dead things and a couple of days without a shower, and I figured he must have been returning from an overnight hunting trip.
 

“Ten twenty- five,” Lucy, the cashier, repeated.  A note of impatience was just starting to creep into her voice.

He muttered something to her I didn’t hear.

“A quarter,” she repeated.  “I need a quarter.”

He dug into his pants pocket again and took out a couple of lint-covered antacids, a pocketknife, some washers, a crumpled receipt, and a gold wedding ring.  He spread them out on the counter.  He said, almost in disbelief, “That's it.”

Lucy looked over her shoulder for her supervisor, and I could feel the line behind me growing restless.  I reached into my pocket one more time, scraped out a quarter, and reached around to hand it to Lucy.  “Merry Christmas,” I said to the hunter.

He had greasy black hair and a full dark beard, and he looked at me with a stunned, uncomprehending expression. Abruptly, he muttered something I did not hear, swept the items on the counter back into his pocket, and shouldered past me and out the door.

I made a face of exaggerated question to Lucy, and she shrugged.  “Weirdo,” she said, ringing up my order.  “Did you see the blood on his jacket?  Jeez, I wish these guys would clean up a little before they come in here.  That’ll be a dollar three for the coffee.”

I managed to scrape another nickel out of my pocket.  “Keep the change.  Who was that guy anyway?”
 

She shrugged and dropped my two cents change into the Need a Penny,Take a Penny jar.  “We get all kinds on Parade night.”

“Well, have a good Christmas.  I hope you get a chance to see the parade.”

I turned to go and stepped on something hard.  “Oh-oh.”  I picked it up and held it out between thumb and forefinger to Lucy. “That guy dropped his wedding ring.”  I held it up to the light and saw there was writing inside. 
Forever, Amy
.  “His wife is going to kill him.”

“I’ll keep it in the cash register.”  Lucy took the ring and waved the next customer forward.  “I hope he remembers where he lost it.”

But apparently he didn’t, or maybe he didn't think it was worth coming back for.  Lucy tucked the ring under the cash tray and forgot about it, and neither one of us ever saw Camo Man again.

______________

FIVE

D
olly Amstead, parade master extraordinaire, made certain that the first drum sounded and the first baton twirled at precisely 6:00.  Sonny arrived with Mystery at 6:10 and the sheep were marching down the ramp like little soldiers at 6:15.  It really was something to see.

Maude and I had gone to battle with Dolly to leave fifteen feet between the last float, Reardon Real Estate’s “Home is Where the Heart Is” (which would probably win the Most Artistic award for its charming re-creation of an old- fashioned parlor with grandma snoozing in the rocker and Santa’s legs dangling from the fireplace), and the first animal walkers.  She had compromised by putting the riding club between the real estate float with “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” blaring from its speakers and the humane society dogs.  The riding club did look sharp in their white Stetsons, white vests, and white boots—all artistically decorated in red twinkling lights—astride their only slightly nervous steeds all decked out in white saddle blankets and saddles trimmed in matching red lights, with red lights twinkling on their hooves.  By this time I was starting to wish I’d had the battery-operated twinkle lights concession for this parade, because they were certainly the most popular item of the evening.

Maude, who would never undermine the dignity of her dogs with costuming, was next, walking with River and Rune, who held a banner between them that read “Adopt a Pet”.  They got roars from the crowd as they marched by, each dog holding a corner of the sign in his mouth.  Following them, Aunt Mart walked proudly with Majesty, who wore a saddlebag sign that read “Spay or Neuter” on either side.  I have to admit, the twinkling lights that were draped through Majesty’s flowing white collar did give her a certain flare. Behind them, barking and lunging and pulling their handlers from side to side, came the humane society dogs.  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that I hadn’t volunteered to be in charge of
that
part of the parade.  If all of those dogs made it back to the transport van without escaping their handlers or knocking down someone’s toddler, it would be a miracle.

I was happy to let Mary and Joseph with the donkey go next, followed by the three wise men with their llamas.  The sheep huddled together close to the trailer baaing and shuffling nervously, and Mystery was in her border-collie crouch, her eyes fixed on her herd, waiting for one of them to step out of line. Dolly stood on the back of one of the empty trailers with her director’s clipboard and her stop watch, half-glasses perched on her nose, her hand raised in readiness as she counted down the number of steps the llamas took. She began to fold down her fingers:
Five four, three…

“Okay, Mystery,” I said, swallowing hard and trying not to be nervous.  “I’m counting on you, girl. Show ‘em your stuff.”

This might be a good time to mention that Mystery had never had a herding lesson.  Neither had I.  It had sounded like such a good idea when we came up with it, since there was absolutely nothing that could give me more joy than showing off a beautiful working dog, and of course Sonny had all the confidence in the world in her pet.  Dolly was an easy sell, because she believed with absolute certainty that there wasn’t a sheep in the world—or a dog—who would dare to spoil her perfectly choreographed parade by stepping out of line.  I certainly hoped she was right, because  it was beginning to occur to me for the first time that herding sheep in her own back yard and marching sheep down Main Street in the midst of a noisy parade with cheering crowds on either side were two very different things, even for a dog as gifted as Mystery.

Two, one
… 

“Mystery,” I said, “you’re on!”

For one truly endless moment, nothing happened.  The sheep baaed; Mystery crouched. Then, in an act of desperation rather than inspiration, I poked the lead sheep in the butt with my crook.  He gave an indignant bleat and lurched forward, and we were off.

It may be true that fortune favors the foolish, or maybe we had a guardian angel or two, because among six wild dogs, ten horses, two llamas, a donkey, three sheep and a border collie, there was not a single incident.  No one bit or was bitten, no one was thrown or stampeded or  trampled.  And, looking back, perhaps the most amazing thing of all was that Mystery, who had never had a single herding lesson, managed to keep her three sheep in a straight line for six blocks, despite cheering crowds, barking dogs, flashing lights, and children throwing popcorn.  At the time, of course, I wasn’t thinking about fortunes or angels.  I was concentrating on watching every step the sheep took, counting each block, and promising myself I’d never volunteer for anything ever again.

 
Most people think of sheep as docile creatures, but I had seen them kick like mules and leap over the heads of full grown men.  Logically I knew that Sonny’s sheep were more like pets than barn animals, that they were completely submissive to Mystery, and that if Sonny had not had complete faith in the plan she never would have signed up for it.  But in my experience with events like this anything that could go wrong, would go wrong.  That was why, when we reached the parade route end at town square where the Nativity was set up and the giant tree was ready to be lit, I simply couldn’t believe it; everything had gone off without a hitch.

The plan was for Sonny to meet me at the town square and take over the role as shepherdess for the rest of the evening, and she was waiting as we had agreed.  I gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up, still hardly believing we had pulled it off.  There was a pen for the sheep toward the back of the crèche, and Sonny opened the gate as we approached, calling to Mystery.  I heard a round of applause go up as Mystery herded the sheep into the pen and Sonny closed the gate.  My grin broadened. 

While Joseph helped Mary off the donkey and tethered the beast to a stake in the ground provided for that purpose, I quickly stepped out of the burlap caftan and helped Sonny into it. The transformation was complete before the wise men even got their llamas in place.

“Unbelievable,” I said, as the children’s choir began to sing “Silent Night”.  “Who would have thought we could pull this off?”

“Why, my dear,” returned Sonny, “I never doubted Dolly for a moment.” And she added dryly, “No one was allowed to.”

I tried not to giggle.  “Mystery is a rock star.  She doesn’t need to take herding lessons.  She needs to give them.”

“She knows.” Sonny smiled indulgently at her dog, who was lying at attention outside the sheep pen.  “The problem is going to be trying to get her back in the car.”

“Not a single hitch,” I reiterated wonderingly.
 
“Who would have believed it?”

We stood in a kind of awed self-congratulations as the choir finished “Silent Night” and then, right on cue, the great tree sprang to life with a thousand brilliant, multicolored lights.  A cheer of delight went up from the crowd, and the choir broke into “Oh, Christmas Tree”.  The air was cold and crisp, the sheep were bleating the background, children were singing in the foreground, and somewhere a dog barked.  I stood bathed in the glow of the sparkling Christmas lights and thought that there had never been a more perfect Christmas moment.

And then Dolly arrived.

She was a stylish woman in black leggings and a short wool coat with a faux-fur collar.  Her ankle boots had a stacked heel and she wore festive red-framed half-glasses and dangling Christmas-wreath earrings.  She carried her clipboard and counted heads with her pen.  “Okay, Wise Men, front and center.  You’re supposed to be kneeling around the manger.  Where’s your frankincense and myrrh?”

“I told you, Dolly, I have a bad knee,” Rob Adams complained.  “Can’t I worship standing up?”

“Somebody should stay with the llamas,” added Burt Tompkins, who owned them.  “They’re sensitive animals.”

Dolly opened her mouth to reply, and Sonny distracted her with, “Everything went beautifully, Dolly.  Congratulations.”

“Well, of course it did,” replied Dolly, and she frowned a little.  “Can’t you quiet down those sheep?”

The sheep were getting vocal, and one in particular was giving off a persistent bleat that could be heard above the singing.  I glanced at the pen but couldn’t see anything that was disturbing them.