The Bark Before Christmas (17 page)

Jo sat down on the mat, crossed her legs, and pulled Edward into her lap. “So,” she said. “What's up?”

I dropped to the mat beside her. “I know you've heard about what happened to Kiltie.”

The Westie's call name was used liberally in his advertising as a nod to his breed's Scottish roots. Which meant that everyone who was anyone in the dog community knew GCH Westglen Braveheart by his more informal moniker. And that included Jo. She didn't miss a beat.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “
Everybody's
heard. Who has their dog stolen by Santa Claus, for Pete's sake? Trust me, a story like that made the rounds at warp speed.”

No surprise there.

“You were at the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar, too,” I said.

“Sure I was. Along with several hundred other people. I took these guys”—Jo's hand spread across our laps to indicate the two Border puppies—“to get their pictures taken with Santa. They're like kids, you know? They grow up too fast. I wasn't about to miss an opportunity like that.”

“Sondra thinks that another exhibitor, maybe one who was present that day, took her dog.”

Jo's eyes narrowed. “She does, does she?”

Hands playing with the active puppy in my lap, I settled for a nod.

“Well, that's an interesting theory. If you don't mind my asking, what's it to you?”

“I work at Howard Academy,” I said. “I was in charge of the bazaar.”

“No shit?” To my surprise, Jo started to laugh.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“Because . . .” Jo stopped to catch her breath. “Because I thought you were going to tell me that Sondra had offered you some fabulous sum of money to track down her missing dog. And now I find out that all you really do is
work for a school?
”

“Howard Academy is a very good school,” I said. I may have sounded a little miffed.

“Sure. Whatever. No offense meant.”

“The fact is,” I told her, “Kiltie was lost on my watch. So I promised Sondra that I would do whatever I could to find him.”

“Okay. I get that. I guess.” Jo tipped her head to one side. “So because I was at your bazaar, you think that makes me a suspect?”

“I think that makes it worth my time to hear what you have to say about the situation.”

Jo lifted Edward out of her lap and set him down on the mat. She stacked the puppy, let him hold the pose for a few seconds, then released him. “I don't know that I have much to say at all.”

I followed suit with Bella, stacking the puppy briefly on the mat, then tried another tack with her owner. “You have a Specials dog that competes against Kiltie in the Groups. He must be a very good dog.”

“That's Gusto.” Jo nodded. “He's these puppies' sire. And he's a terrific Border Terrier. But even so . . .”

When I released the puppy from her stack, Bella skipped to the end of her leash and pounced on her brother. Gently I hauled her back to my side.

“Even so, what?” I prompted.

“Gusto shows against Kiltie in the group but it not like he's ever going to be a real threat to him, competition-wise. I'd have to be stupid to even think that he might be.”

“Does Gusto ever beat Kiltie?” I asked curiously.

“He did once.” Jo allowed herself a small smile. “Kiltie was off his game. Gusto was third in the group and Kiltie was fourth. Sondra was madder than a wet hornet.”

I could picture that. From what I knew of her, Sondra was not the kind of person to take being beaten lightly.

“But if Kiltie is gone,” I said, “Gusto moves up, right? That's got to be a good thing.”

“Sure. But it's not nearly enough. The Terrier group is one of the toughest there is. Some might even call it cutthroat.”

I nodded. I knew that.

“Borders, even really good ones, are a hard sell in that kind of competition. Judges like the flashy breeds, the ones that fly around the ring and really stand out. Compared to the Wires and the Kerries, we're just a little too plain for the big leagues.”

Now that she'd pointed that out, I knew she was right. Judges did tend to favor breeds that were showy and eye-catching. It was one of the reasons that Poodles did so well in the Groups and Best in Show.

“If my goal was to do well in the group,” said Jo, “it would be smarter for me to get another breed than to try and eliminate one of my competitors.”

Right again, unfortunately.

Growing bored with the inactivity, Bella nipped at my sleeve. I disentangled her small teeth and set the Border puppy back on the mat. Jo and I both stood up. The line was moving forward.

When we stopped again, she leaned in close and said, “The idea that someone like me would care that much about Kiltie, or his whereabouts, is laughable. But then Sondra has always had a highly inflated sense of her own worth. If someone really is out to get her, she only has herself to blame. Because if Sondra has a target on her back, she's the one who put it there.”

C
utthroat indeed, I thought. The Terrier group sounded like just the right place for Jo Drummer and her scrappy little Borders.

Despite the efforts she'd made to proclaim her innocence, Jo didn't appear to be at all sympathetic to Sondra's plight. I've never been able to resist poking against a sore spot. Now I decided to prod a bit more and see what kind of response I might be able to provoke.

“Kiltie is going out with Todd after the first of the year,” I said casually. “Had you heard about that?”

Jo's reaction was immediate and gratifying. She reared back in surprise. “No! I had no idea. Are you sure about that?”

“Sondra told me so herself.”

“I heard that Todd was going to be debuting an important new dog next year, too,” Jo replied. “But not Kiltie. It's an Afghan Hound. One that's coming from England.”

Normal people gossip about singers and movie stars. Exhibitors talk endlessly about the top dogs. Who has what dog. Who had beaten what dog. And where they were all going to show up next.

Still, this information came as a surprise. With two new “big dogs” arriving at Todd's kennel at the same time—and both obviously vying for top dog status—even a string as extensive as Todd's was going to feel a little crowded. Afghans were part of the Hound group, I thought. Westies were in the Terriers. That would help some.

“Two different groups,” I mused aloud.

“Yes,” said Jo. “But the whole point of playing at that level is to make it into the Best in Show ring. And then what? Todd may be a miracle worker, but even he can only handle one dog in the ring at a time.”

I couldn't argue with that logic.

She turned away from me as the line moved up again and she nudged Edward back into position. As Bella and I followed along behind, I considered what Jo had told me. It would be interesting to hear what Aunt Peg had to say about the situation. She often understood nuances about the dog show world that went right over my head.

But in the meantime, I couldn't help but wonder. Was Todd setting himself up for an inevitable conflict between two of his clients? Or was it Sondra who'd misunderstood the situation?

Then it was Jo's turn to pick up Edward and place him on the table to be examined. The class instructor, playing judge, ran his hands swiftly over the puppy's body. When he was finished, he gave the Border an encouraging pat. Jo gaited Edward out and back across the mats. They even managed a brief free bait at the end.

When they were finished, it was my turn with Bella. The puppy wiggled on the table. She leapt and bounded on the floor. It wasn't a polished performance by any means. But the entire time she was in the spotlight, Bella's enthusiasm never diminished. When we went to join Jo and Edward at the end of the line, I was pleased to see that she looked happy with both her puppies' performances.

“One last question,” I said to Jo.

The loudspeaker was blaring out a jazz rendition of “Little Drummer Boy”and once again I had to stand close to make myself heard. All that nonstop Christmas cheer was making me itch to get my fingers on the music's volume button.

Jo shrugged. I decided to take that as acquiescence.

“You go to a lot of shows,” I said. “You know most of the terrier people. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Sondra?”

“That's a pretty broad question,” she replied. “You know how Sondra is . . . she can be difficult. When she's unhappy, she wants everyone else to be unhappy, too.”

I thought of the scene that Sondra had caused at the bazaar when she'd discovered that Kiltie was missing. She'd lashed out in all directions at once. Even at her own daughter.

“I only know Sondra from what I see at the shows,” Jo continued. “But she's miserable to be around when things aren't going the way she wants them to. And nobody
ever
wants to get on her bad side. Because Sondra's the wrong person to pick a fight with. I don't think I've ever seen her back down, or even reconsider her opinion. You know what I mean?”

I nodded, encouraging her to keep talking.

“Rumor has it that Sondra got her panties in a wad over something that happened at her local Westie Club. I heard she got a couple of novice breeders thrown out of the club for doing something that she took exception to.”

“Do you know what they did?”

“I do not.” Jo shook her head. “But you know how affiliate clubs can be. There's often enough infighting and jostling for position among the members already without someone purposely stirring things up.”

Each breed of dog is overseen by a national club that's responsible for that breed's welfare and promotion. The club's hardworking members write the breed standard, marshal support for research into genetic problems, provide breeder referral and rescue services, and hold a national specialty show.

The affiliate clubs are regional offshoots of the parent club. They do many of the same things, but on a local scale. And since their members tend to live clustered in a single area, they also hold frequent meetings that often double as social gatherings. In a club with a varied and active group of breeders, it wasn't unusual for things to become contentious.

“Do you know which club it was?” I asked.

“I'm pretty sure it was the Tri-State West Highland White Club. I know they're down in Sondra's area. I heard that by the time she was finished throwing her weight around, she'd managed to tick off more than a few club members.”

We all gaited once more around the ring and practiced a second individual examination. By that time, the two puppies were beginning to grow tired. Pleased with how well they'd handled things, Jo decided to quit while everyone was still having fun.

We walked out to the parking lot together. I waited as she loaded Bella and Edward into their crate for the ride home.

“Thanks for talking to me,” I said. “I appreciate your input.”

“I hope it helps,” Jo replied. “At least for Kiltie's sake, anyway. He seems like a nice dog. I'd hate for something bad to happen to him.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“It's not his fault that he got stuck with such a crappy owner.”

I couldn't top that sentiment. I didn't even try.

 

I wanted to talk to Aunt Peg. Unfortunately it had to wait.

Wednesday I had school again. Especially now—with the holiday season upon us—it was a real inconvenience when my job interfered with all the other things I would rather have been doing. And judging by the number of absentees among the students, apparently I wasn't the only one who felt that way.

When my ten o'clock tutoring session was canceled because the eighth grader whom I was supposed help study for postbreak finals, turned out to have already left on a ski trip with his parents, I used the unexpected free period to go looking for Tony Dahl.

I found him in his office on the ground floor. The small room was sandwiched between the gym, the locker rooms, and the cavernous space that housed the indoor swimming pool. As none of my regular duties ever brought me to this part of the building, I was unprepared for the smell that wafted through these lower corridors. It appeared to consist of equal parts chlorine, adolescent sweat, and wet feet.

The front wall of Tony's office had a wide bank of waist-to-ceiling windows. As I approached, I could see that he was on the phone. By the time I'd reached his closed door, however, Tony was already hanging up and signaling me to enter.

“I hope I'm not interrupting,” I said.

“Not at all. I was just doing a little Christmas shopping. Come in and have a seat, and tell me what brings you all the way down here to the bowels of the building. Nothing too serious, I hope.”

Against the long wall of the office, a faded couch sat perpendicular to Tony's desk. It was bracketed on either side by shelves filled with many decades' worth of trophies and team photos, some dating back half a century or more. Resisting the urge to stop and have a look, I walked over and sat down instead.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that's all right.”

“Shoot,” Tony invited. “Until girls' basketball in fourth period, I'm all yours.”

“I'm looking for a lost dog,” I began.

“Not your big Poodle.” He immediately sounded concerned.

“No,” I said quickly. “Faith is fine. She's upstairs. The dog I'm looking for is a little white terrier named Kiltie.”

“The dog from the bazaar.” Tony nodded in recognition. “I didn't realize he was still missing.”

In the four days that had passed since the bazaar, the buzz about Kiltie's disappearance had been superseded by fresher, more alarming news. The previous day, the tidbit that the man found dead in Union Cemetery was the Santa Claus from the HA Christmas Bazaar, had spread through the school like wildfire. A missing dog was nothing compared to that.

“Yes, he's still gone,” I told him. “Kiltie belongs to a Howard Academy alum who's very upset about his loss.”

“Poppy's Mom,” said Tony.

“That's right.”

“I heard some of the commotion she made on Saturday.” He shook his head. “Is she still threatening to sue the school?”

“It's a possibility. That's one of the reasons I'm looking for him.”

“I wish I could help you,” said Tony. “But if I had any idea where that dog was, I would have done something about it on Saturday. It seems to me, the way dogs run, that little guy could be just about anywhere by now.”

“But that's just it,” I said. “Kiltie didn't run away. He was stolen.”

“
Stolen?
” That got Tony's attention in a hurry. “By whom?”

“Our Santa Claus.”

“For real?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“The guy who ended up dead?”

I nodded. “It appears that way.”

“That's just nuts,” said Tony. “Who would bother to steal a dog when there are plenty you can have for free?”

“Kiltie isn't just any dog,” I said. “He's a valuable show dog.”

Tony shook his head again as if he was finding the entire conversation baffling. “People sure are crazy.”

I was in no position to argue with that.

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked after a minute.

“You have a friend named Hal Romero, right?”

“Sure. Good guy.”

“Do you happen to know where he is?”

“Home, I guess.” Tony reached for his cell phone. “Do you want his number?”

“No, thanks, I already have it. Were you aware that he was the person originally hired to appear as Santa Claus at the Christmas bazaar?”

“I should be,” said Tony. “I'm the one who told him to apply for the job. After he got it, he called and said thanks for the tip.”

Well, that explained away the first coincidence.

“So Hal was happy to have the job,” I said. “And yet he canceled his appearance at the last minute. And apparently he's since disappeared.”

“I was too busy on Saturday to stop and think about the fact that he wasn't there,” Tony said. “And what do you mean he's disappeared?”

“I stopped by his apartment yesterday. His landlady hasn't seen him since last Thursday.”

“I wouldn't worry about that,” Tony told me. “Hal works for himself. He's the kind of guy who likes to come and go on his own schedule. Maybe he took a few days off to go fishing.”

“In December?” I said skeptically.

“Oh yeah, I didn't think about that.” Tony still didn't sound perturbed. “So maybe not fishing. But he could still be just about anywhere.”

“Here's the thing,” I said. “When Hal canceled, that opened the door for Jerry Platt to be hired as his substitute. And that gave Platt his chance to steal Kiltie.”

“Wait a minute.” Tony sat up straight in his chair. “Are you telling me that if Hal had shown up and done his job like he was supposed to, he might have ended up dead like the other Santa Claus did?”

“Not at all,” I corrected quickly. “Not unless Hal was involved in the dognapping scheme, too.”

“No way. Hal wouldn't have had anything to do with something like that. But from what you're saying, it sounds to me like he might have been someone's unwitting dupe.” Tony stopped and sighed. “So I guess things aren't looking too good for me either, are they?”

“What do you mean?”

“All I was trying to do was help a friend. And because of that, everything ended up in a big mess. I suppose I should be glad that you're the one talking to me instead of Mr. Hanover. How much trouble am I in?”

“None that I'm aware of,” I told him. “Nobody blames you for what happened. I just wanted to talk to Hal and find out why he bailed on us. Somebody must have put him up to it.”

“It sounds like that guy Jerry Platt was the one who did that.”

“Possibly,” I conceded. “But maybe Hal has another name for us. And if he does, I'd like to hear it.”

“I'll try and find him for you,” Tony offered. “Call around and see if anyone knows where he is.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

“Believe me, I'm happy to do what I can. This whole thing hits a little too close to home, you know?”

I did indeed.