The Bark Before Christmas (13 page)

“A quite substantial payout in that case,” said Aunt Peg. “Sondra has set Kiltie's value at one hundred thousand dollars.”

It was a good thing my mouth was empty. Otherwise I might have choked again.

“Seriously?” I gasped. Sam looked similarly shocked.

“In the right circles, Kiltie is quite famous,” Aunt Peg pointed out.

“Even so,” I said. “There's no way that dog can be worth that much money.”

“Mrs. McEvoy can ask for whatever she wants,” Davey piped up. “It doesn't mean that the judge will give it to her.”

I looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I watch
Judge Judy.”

“You
do?
” That was news. “When?”

“Sometimes in the afternoons after school. When I'm bored.”

I smothered a frown. The things a mother doesn't know.

“You'll go talk to Sondra,” Aunt Peg said firmly.

It wasn't a question. And I'd been around this block enough times in the past to know that Aunt Peg's request had the ring of inevitability.

“I suppose I can do that,” I said.

“Today?”

Though he tried to hide his chagrin, Davey's face fell. Beside him, Kevin jutted out his lower lip. Both knew that we'd made other plans.

I reached over and ruffled Kevin's hair. There was no way that I was disappointing those two. “No, not today,” I told Aunt Peg. “We'll be busy.”

Unaccustomed to having her schemes thwarted, Peg's tone was frosty. “Doing what, might I ask?”

“We're going Christmas tree shopping,” Davey informed her.

“Christmas tree!” Kev echoed.

“Pish,” said Aunt Peg. “How long can that take?”

“You try shopping with a two-and-a-half-year-old,” I told her. “See how long it takes you.”

“Then we have to set up the tree and trim it,” said Sam. He and I had hardly seen each other over the last week. The boys weren't the only ones who were looking forward to a family outing. “I'm pretty sure that will be an all-day project.”

“Maybe even longer than that,” Davey added cheerfully. Twelve years old, he was already wise to his aunt's manipulative ways. “Maybe Mom can find some time for you next week.”

Aunt Peg straightened her shoulders and glared around the table. By her estimation, this was mutiny in the ranks.

The four of us gazed complacently back. I even managed a small smile. It felt good to be on the winning side for a change.

“You people,” she announced, “are ganging up on me.”

You people.
Did you catch that? She'd demoted us from family. Too bad it wouldn't last.

“No,” I said easily. “We're just acquainting you with our schedule.”

“Then I shall get out of your way and let you get on with your busy day.” Aunt Peg pushed back her chair and stood.

“Bye-bye!” Kevin trilled. He lifted his hand in a cheery wave. That child needs some work on his social cues.

Aunt Peg stalked from the room. Her departure was so sudden that even the Poodles were caught by surprise.

I got up and hurried after her. Just as she had known I would.

Fortunately I reached the closet first. That saved me the ignominy of having Aunt Peg find her coat on the floor. I picked it and shook it out before handing it over.

Peg retrieved her scarf from inside the sleeve and wound it around her neck. “I told lots of exhibitors about your bazaar last week in Springfield,” she said. “Did any of them show up?”

“Quite a few. You did a great job. The bazaar was a big success.”

“Were any of them terrier people?”

I thought back, remembering that Sondra had singled out several exhibitors. “Jo Drummer was there. Sondra said that she has Border Terriers. And maybe a guy named Chip Michaels?”

“Skyes,” Aunt Peg said thoughtfully.

There's no point in asking how she does it. Aunt Peg knows everybody.

“And Sondra pointed them out to you?”

I nodded. “It was after we discovered that Kiltie was gone. She said that those two would laugh about her misfortune if they knew.”

Aunt Peg pulled on her coat. “Sondra might be right about that. You should talk to Jo and Chip. Maybe they know something.”

“You don't have a very high opinion of your fellow exhibitors,” I said.

“Oh please,” she replied. “It has nothing to do with my
opinion
. I'm a realist.”

Aunt Peg always manages to have the last word.

A
fter breakfast, we all piled into Sam's SUV and went looking for the perfect Christmas tree. Davey wanted to bring Augie with us. I decided that meant Faith could come, too. The result of that decision was that Davey and I spent more time talking to other shoppers about our “giant” Poodles and Augie's funny trim than we did looking at Christmas trees.

Fortunately the other two members of the family had the process well in hand. Sam's approach to tree selection meant engaging in a serious debate with the tree salesman over the merits of Scotch Pine versus Blue Spruce. Kevin simply raced around the large lot, pointing at every tree that was taller than he was and yelling, “That one!”

Apparently, my younger son is not a connoisseur.

“Look, Mommy, that dog is wearing Christmas ornaments in its hair!” I turned and saw a little girl pointing at Augie across the lot.

“Those aren't ornaments,” her mother replied firmly. “They're earrings.”

I smiled and led Faith their way. “What you're seeing is colored wrapping paper,” I told them. “It's banded around Augie's ear hair to protect it and keep it out of his way.”

The woman frowned. “Wouldn't it just be easier to cut it off?”

“Sure. But then he couldn't be a show dog.”

The little girl looked at Faith and reached out a tentative hand. “Can I touch?”

“Faith would like that,” I said, “She's very friendly.”

Faith stood like a statue as the small fingers touched the smooth, plush hair on the side of her neck. The girl giggled softly. Faith's tail began to wag.

“She likes you,” I said.

Bolder now, the child moved in closer. “I like her, too,” she said happily. “Maybe Santa Claus will bring me a puppy for Christmas.”

“I don't think so,” her mother said quickly. “I think Santa Claus knows that we live in an apartment.”

Luckily Sam chose that moment to call me over to check out a tree. I grabbed Faith and we made our escape.

The tree in question was medium sized and densely packed with branches. Sam spun the Blue Spruce around on its trunk so I could see what it looked like from all sides. With three votes already in favor, I figured my opinion was superfluous but I gave the tree an enthusiastic thumbs-up anyway. While I settled the bill, Sam and the boys fastened the evergreen to the top of the SUV.

Faith took that maneuver in stride. This was her sixth holiday season. She'd seen it all before.

Augie, however, was obviously perplexed. The previous Christmas, he'd been living in a kennel where he'd been exposed to a great deal less mayhem than was considered normal in the three-ring circus that was my family. Now he stood beside the SUV, staring upward and barking ferociously.

“It's the same tree that was right down here a minute ago,” Davey said patiently. “You didn't mind it then. So what's the problem now?”

“Wait until we bring the tree into the house,” I said. “He probably won't like that either.”

Luckily Augie, like all Poodles, was a quick learner. Or maybe Faith had a quiet talk with him while we were riding home in the car. But by the time we'd gotten the Christmas tree situated in a corner of the living room, the big Poodle had decided to stop protesting. Instead he threw himself into the remaining festivities with all the joyous abandon that was typical of his breed.

Sam strung the lights. Davey placed the star on top. Kevin hung all the ornaments he could get his hands on at his own eye level. When we were finished decorating, our tree looked a little bottom heavy. And somehow all six Poodles had ended up with tinsel in their hair. But when I plugged in the lights, and we all stepped back to have a look, the effect was magical.

“Santa come tonight?” Kevin asked hopefully.

“No,” I told him. “Not for two more weeks.”

Davey took his brother's hands in his own to illustrate. “More days than all of your fingers,” he said.

Kev looked down at his digits and sighed. “Long time.”

From his point of view, I knew the wait seemed endless. From mine, I could only hope that I'd have enough time to get everything that was on my to-do lists done before the holiday arrived.

 

Monday morning, I got to school early. Stashing Faith in my room with an extra large peanut butter biscuit, I hurried over to the main building to see Mr. Hanover. Even though there was still half an hour before the first bell would ring, Harriet was already seated at her desk outside the headmaster's office.

“Is he in?” I asked in a hushed one. Joshua Howard's imposing front hall always has that effect on me.

“Since seven-thirty. He's on his third cup of coffee.” Harriet didn't look pleased. “That's a new record.”

Not the most promising start to the day.

“Did you find the little dog yet?” asked Harriet.

“Not that I've heard. I'm planning to talk to his owner this afternoon and see what else we can do.”

“Ahem.”

I looked up. The headmaster was standing in his doorway. I guessed the whispering hadn't helped.

Mr. Hanover lifted a brow. “Are you here for me?”

I nodded.

“Come.”

It was a command, not a request. I scurried into the office. Mr. Hanover shut the door softly behind us.

“I hope you've brought good news,” he said.

“Not exactly.”

The headmaster took his seat behind his desk. “Be more precise, Ms. Travis.”

“Unfortunately I don't have any news at all,” I told him. “But I do have a couple of questions.”

“Questions with regard to the weekend's lamentable occurrences, I assume?”

Was it just me or did the man sound like a thesaurus when he spoke?

I replied in words of one syllable. “Yes, that's right.”

“Before we begin, I feel compelled to point something out.”

“Yes?”

If he was about to tell me that Detective Young had already solved Jerry Platt's murder, I was going to jump up and down with glee. Right there in the headmaster's office. Decorum be damned.

“As you might imagine,” Mr. Hanover began, “I devoted quite a bit of time yesterday to pondering Saturday's unfortunate events. You probably did the same.”

A nod seemed required. I was happy to supply one. There was no way I was going to admit that I'd devoted a large chunk of the previous day to something as frivolous as selecting and trimming a Christmas tree.

“And I came to the realization that only twice in Howard Academy's long and illustrious history has even a whiff of scandal been permitted to cross our doorstep.”

I winced slightly. It wasn't hard to see where this was going.

“Would you like to know what the common link was on both of those occasions?”

“Not really,” I said softly.

“I shall tell you anyway. It was you, Ms. Travis.”

I started to reply. Mr. Hanover held up a hand. My mouth snapped shut. It wasn't as if I'd had a good excuse.

“Before you speak,” he said, “let me just say that I am mindful of the reality that we live in. In my position, one cannot afford to be an isolationist. Nor to stick one's head in the sand. No matter how attractive that alternative might seem on occasion.”

“Yes,” I said. I knew the feeling.

“A long time ago, I came to terms with the fact that one cannot live one's life in fear of the possibilities. As a thoughtful man, I must also accept that the world around us is ever evolving, perhaps more quickly now than at any previous time in history. It is our job as educators to adapt to those changes. And to deal with them as best we can.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

Mr. Hanover's third cup of caffeine seemed to have rendered him quite philosophical. I wondered if we were still talking about me. Not that I was about to ask.

“Bearing all those things in mind,” he said. “I have decided to be grateful.”

I looked up. “Grateful?”

“As bad as these current events appear to us now, they could have been much worse. Nobody brought a gun into our school and started shooting.”

“Certainly not,” I agreed vehemently.

“We don't have drugs on campus, nor an epidemic of student suicides. There are no naked pictures on the Internet, nor instances of alcohol-fueled wild behavior. Our children remain safe, do they not?”

“Yes, they do,” I replied. Compared to those potential problems, the thought of a missing dog suddenly seemed less terrible than it had.

“Quite so.” Mr. Hanover nodded. “And that is what I will choose to focus on as we go forward. The only lamentable lapse in judgment was my own. Obviously a man of Jerry Platt's caliber should never have been allowed to come to this school, and I deeply regret that error on my part.”

“That's very commendable,” I said quietly.

“We will deal with this situation and then put it swiftly behind us,” Mr. Hanover stated. “And now we begin to do just that. I believe you had some questions for me?”

I expelled a long breath. “Yes, I do.”

The headmaster steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “Go on.”

“You were the one who hired Jerry Platt to appear at the bazaar,” I said. “I'd like to know more about how that came about.”

“I'm sure you recall the circumstance. We were in a bind and Jerry Platt—then known to me as Chris Tindall—volunteered to fill in.”

“He called you?” I asked.

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Did you happen to ask him
why
he had called you? Thinking back now, I'm wondering how he knew that Howard Academy was looking for a Santa Claus.”

Behind his glasses, Mr. Hanover's eyes widened. “Frankly the thought never crossed my mind. We needed a Santa Claus and suddenly one appeared. I was in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ms. Travis.”

“I realize that,” I said. “But in light of everything that's happened since, doesn't it seem like a huge coincidence that our previous Santa Claus backed out of his commitment at precisely the same time that Jerry Platt—who clearly had an ulterior motive for his presence at the bazaar—called and offered his services?”

“Put that way, it does indeed,” Mr. Hanover conceded. “It sounds as though you believe that Mr. Platt had something to do with our original Santa's abrupt defection.”

“That would be my guess.”

“Do you think he knew what Jerry Platt was up to?”

I shrugged. I had no idea.

“I'd like the opportunity to ask him,” I said. “Sondra McEvoy has approached my aunt.”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Hanover permitted himself a small smile. As Aunt Peg was one of the school's benefactors, she and the headmaster were well acquainted. “The inimitable Margaret Turnbull.”

“Aunt Peg wants me to see what I can do to get Kiltie back.”

“Mrs. McEvoy is quite distressed by the loss of her dog,” Mr. Hanover said solemnly. “And by extension, so are we. The McEvoy family does not deal lightly with adversity. We have heard from their lawyer.”

“Already?” I gulped.

The headmaster waved away my concern. “So far, it's only a preliminary overture. But as you might imagine we, too, are anxious for Kiltie to be located and returned to the warm and caring bosom of his family.”

“Have you heard anything more from Detective Young?” I asked.

“No, and I cannot say that I'm distressed by that. I'm sure the police are continuing their investigation into Mr. Platt's demise. However I would hope that after questioning us on Saturday, Detective Young concluded Howard Academy's part in their inquiry.”

“I agree,” I said. “But it occurs to me that they might be as interested as I am in talking to our original Santa Claus. Maybe he knows something that would help the police in their investigation.”

Mr. Hanover nodded. “I'll make sure that your thoughts on that subject are passed along.” He reached out and touched the intercom button on his phone. “Harriet, would you bring me the information for the first Santa Claus that was hired to appear at the Christmas bazaar? Yes, the one who canceled his engagement rather precipitously.”

I would have expected it to take a few minutes for Harriet to locate and copy down the necessary details. In half that time, the secretary was letting herself into Mr. Hanover's office. She carried a small sheet of paper in her hands. Either Harriet is amazingly organized or—as I've long suspected—she has the headmaster's office bugged.

Mr. Hanover took the paper from her, glanced at the paper briefly, then handed it to me.

“Hal Romero,” I read, scanning the address and phone number I'd been given. “He lives in Glenville.” I folded the note and put it in my pocket. “I'll stop by and talk to him tomorrow.”

“I'll be interested to hear what you learn.”

“So will I,” I said.

 

My morning classes flew by. At lunch, it seemed as though all everybody wanted to talk about was the Christmas bazaar and what a huge success it had been. Mostly I sat in silence and let the conversation eddy around me.

The other staff members knew only that the event had drawn huge crowds and received enthusiastic reviews from shoppers and school parents alike. They weren't yet aware of how badly things had gone awry late in the day.

Jerry Platt's death had been reported in the Sunday edition of the local newspaper. The article had called the circumstances surrounding the petty thief's demise suspicious, but had not revealed that he'd died while dressed in a Santa suit. Apparently none of the other teachers had made the connection between the body found in Union Cemetery and the flight of our runaway St. Nick. Grateful not to have to deal with a barrage of questions, I had no intention of spreading the unfortunate news.