The Bark Before Christmas (18 page)

On my way back up the stairs from the lower level, I ran into Madeline Dangerfield. She was headed in the other direction, carrying a small bundle of clothing in her arms. With our recent interaction fresh in my mind, I had no intention of stopping. With luck, Madeline might not even remember me.

But as we passed on the steps, she paused, and said, “You're Melanie, right? We met at the bazaar? I'm glad I ran into you.”

What now?
I wondered.

“Yes, I'm Melanie,” I admitted. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure, I'm just delivering my son's gym clothes to his locker. After he left in the car pool this morning, I found them on the kitchen counter. That child has a selective memory when it comes to things he doesn't want to do. Like anything resembling physical activity.”

“I just saw Tony,” I said. “I'm sure he can point you toward the right locker.”

“Oh, trust me, I've been here before,” Madeline replied with a small smile. “I know just where to go. Listen, I want to apologize for my behavior last Saturday. There's no excuse. I was having a bad day and I'm sorry I took it out on you. Especially since you went out of your way to be helpful.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “The bazaar can be pretty stressful. Everybody's trying to get a lot of stuff done in a short amount of time and that kind of pressure adds up. I hope your booth worked out well for you.”

Madeline nodded. “It turned out that being over by the windows was great. “I had shoppers coming by all day. I sold all the stock I had with me and took a bunch more orders for stuff to send out by Christmas.”

“That's terrific. I'm glad your day was a success.”

I went to move on, but Madeline wasn't finished.

“Say,” she said, “did you ever find that dog that ran away?”

The question stopped me in my tracks. “No, not yet. Why do you ask?”

“I saw all the commotion at the time. Plus, you know—it was Sondra. Everybody always notices what's going on with her.”

“They do?”

Madeline reached up and patted my shoulder. “Honey, you must be new around here if you don't already know that. But when I found out what had happened, I did feel bad for her. Sondra really seems to be going through a rough patch right now. First she lost Jim. And now her little dog is gone, too.”

“She lost Jim?” I repeated. That seemed like an odd way to refer to a marriage that was breaking down.

“You know,” Madeline said in a confiding tone, “he was stepping out on her with someone else.”

Oh. “I didn't know that, actually. I just knew that Sondra and her husband were separated.”

“It's Jim's wandering eye that got them there. Sondra tried to overlook what was going on for a while. But then she finally decided she'd had enough and kicked Jim out of the house.”

“I don't blame her,” I said.

“Me either. Especially since rumor has it that the woman has kids in this school.”

“
Here?
” That caught me by surprise. “At Howard Academy? Who is it?”

“I don't know,” Madeline replied. “I don't even think Sondra knows. Somebody around here must be pretty good at keeping secrets.”

“Not me,” I said. This conversation was turning out to be quite illuminating. I hoped that Madeline would keep talking. “I like hearing all the gossip.”

Madeline just shook her head. “It's a shame that she has to deal with all this crap now, right before the holidays. But you know Sondra. She's a survivor. She'll get everything sorted out to her satisfaction if it's the last thing she does.”

Speaking as one of the people currently being sorted, I never doubted that for a minute.

“I hope you have a great Christmas,” said Madeline. She was ready to move on. “If I'd known I was going to run into you, I'd have brought you one of my jams. How about if I have Christof leave a jar of marmalade on your desk tomorrow?”

“That would be wonderful,” I said. As apologies went, I'd take it. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“If you see Sondra, tell her I hope she gets her dog back. She's probably missing him more than she's missing Jim.”

A sad commentary, and probably very true.

“I will do that,” I said.

T
hat afternoon when school let out, I finally got my chance to visit Aunt Peg. A small detour on the way home from Howard Academy brought me to her old, restored, farmhouse in back country Greenwich. The kennel building behind the house had once been filled with generations of Cedar Crest Standard Poodles, often more than a dozen at a time.

Now, however, Aunt Peg's full judging schedule keeps her busy many weekends of the year. As a result, her current Poodle population numbers only five dogs. All are black, all are adults, and they're all retired show champions. The kennel building is empty now; the Standard Poodles live in the house with Aunt Peg. They also serve as an attentive early warning system whenever a visitor arrives.

Faith had been to Aunt Peg's house before. She knew the drill. As I pulled the Volvo to the side of the driveway and parked, she was already dancing impatiently on the seat. When Aunt Peg opened the front door to her house and the pack of Standard Poodles came spilling down the steps to greet us, Faith was eager to hop out and join the fray.

I reached over and opened the door on her side. Head up, tail whipping back and forth, Faith went charging out of the car. As she mingled happily with her peers, I followed at a more sedate pace.

Aunt Peg had decorated her house for Christmas the previous week. Icicle lights dripped from the home's eaves. Evergreen roping spiraled around the porch railing. A holly-covered wreath adorned the front door. I paused and drew in a deep breath, reveling in the heady, enticing scent of pine that always signals the holidays' approach.

By the time I'd reached the foot of the steps, the Poodles had already dashed once around the front yard, then raced inside the house. Blessed with years of practice, Aunt Peg had deftly avoided being bowled over by the canine onslaught. Now she was waiting for me in the doorway.

“I need cake,” I said.

Aunt Peg's sweet tooth is legendary. Over all the years our friendship have encompassed, only two things have remained constant and unalterable. There would always be Standard Poodles at Aunt Peg's house and there would always be cake.

Now as I climbed the steps and crossed the porch, my mouth was already watering. I hoped it would be mocha layer cake from St. Moritz, my favorite.

“Sorry,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “You're out of luck.”

The shock of her reply stopped me cold. “You're joking, right?”

Dodging the question, Peg waved me forward impatiently. “Come inside so I can close the door. You're letting all the cold air in.”

I did as I was told. That's always a safe strategy where Aunt Peg is concerned. I'd barely cleared the doorway when she slammed the door shut behind me. The force she applied to the motion rattled the windows.

I wasn't the only one who was surprised by that. En masse, the Poodles came scrambling back out to the hallway to see what was up. Aunt Peg pointedly avoided all of our gazes.

I looked at the Poodles and shrugged. Their demeanor conveyed similar puzzlement. That made me feel better. Whatever was going on, at least we were all in it together.

“What's wrong?” I asked as I pulled off my coat and stashed it in the closet.

“Wrong?” Aunt Peg echoed innocently. “Why would you think anything is wrong?”

“When did you start slamming doors?”

“Last week. That door sticks.”

Aunt Peg is usually quite an accomplished liar. But this time, I wasn't buying it.

“Doors stick in the summer,” I pointed out. “Not the winter.”

“So?”

There wasn't much I could say to that.

Outerwear dealt with, I started to head toward the kitchen. Aunt Peg always entertains with food. If she didn't have cake, surely there would be cookies. Or maybe scones, I thought hopefully. With lots of butter.

“Where are you going?” asked Aunt Peg.

Turning back, I saw that she meant to go in the other direction. She was facing her living room.

Okay, let's be clear about this. Family matters aside, Aunt Peg and I have been friends and cohorts for a number of years. And I can count on one hand the number of times I've ever been in her living room.

Peg never spends time in there. It's just a beautifully decorated, mostly unused, room that sits on the other side of the house, waiting for visitors whom Aunt Peg doesn't like enough to feed cake. Which is pretty much nobody.

“
Now
what's the matter?” she asked acerbically.

“I feel lost,” I said.

“Well, snap out of it.”

“
Me?
”

Aunt Peg stopped. She propped her hands on her hips and stared pointedly down her nose. “What is wrong with you today?”

“I want cake,” I said softly. Even to my own ears, the plea sounded pathetic. I was a grown woman, for Pete's sake, not a child who needed to beg for a sweet.

But it wasn't only the lack of cake that was troubling. Now I wondered if that was just a symptom of a bigger problem. All at once I felt as though the foundation of our relationship was somehow crumbling beneath my feet. Everything seemed to be shifting and realigning around me and I had no idea why. Where was the Aunt Peg I knew and loved? And who was this stranger who was standing in her place?

“We have to talk,” I said.

“I should hope so,” said Peg. “Otherwise, why are you here?”

I grabbed her arm, turned her around, and steered her in the direction of the kitchen. The kitchen in Aunt Peg's house was what I knew. It was where I felt comfortable. It was where we
talked
.

“I'm having coffee,” I said, directing her to a chair at the butcher block table. Aunt Peg refuses to buy a coffeemaker, but she keeps a jar of instant in the cabinet. It was close enough. “Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

I stared at her through narrowed eyes. Aunt Peg always wanted tea. And she was never
fine
.

“Am I on
Candid Camera?
” I asked. “Should I smile and speak toward a microphone?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Aunt Peg snapped. “You sound like an idiot.”

“So do you,” I shot back.

“I do not.”

“You”—I leveled a pointed finger at her—“don't have cake.”

Aunt Peg looked incredulous. “Really, Melanie? That's what your odd behavior is about? The fact that I don't have
cake?
”

“Precisely.” I stood and crossed my arms over my chest. “Explain that to me. And it better be good.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “It's not good,” Peg said finally. “Not good at all. I am on a diet.”

Aunt Peg on a diet? The very idea was inconceivable. Peg was six feet tall and had the metabolism and energy of a Greyhound. In all the time we'd spent together, I'd never known her to worry about things like calories, or nutrition, or extra weight—unless her beloved Standard Poodles were involved, of course.

Aunt Peg ate anything and everything. And usually had seconds. And then dessert.

“Oh.” A sudden burst of relief made me feel giddy, then weak. I sank down into a chair beside her. “That's great. Excellent actually.”

Aunt Peg was not amused. “I can assure you,” she said firmly, “it is not in any way
excellent
.”

“Compared to the alternative,” I sputtered, still somewhat light-headed. “You were acting so strangely, I thought maybe you'd been diagnosed with a terrible illness.”

“Oh pish. There's no need for melodrama. I'm not dying. I'm just overweight. Fifteen pounds, to be exact.”

“It happens,” I said.

“Not to me!”

“Really?” I looked at her. “You've never gained weight before?”

“No. Why should I?”

Perhaps because you have the eating habits of a longshoreman and a voracious appetite for sugar,
I thought. The sentiment seemed better off left unvoiced.

“I just saw you three days ago,” I said. “You were fine then. What happened in the meantime?”

“I had my yearly physical on Monday. Apparently it's not unusual for someone my age to put on a few pounds. But fifteen pounds in one year was enough for my doctor to be a bit concerned. She would prefer that the trend not continue. I'm supposed to add more fresh vegetables to my diet. And do away with things like refined sugar, butter, and white flour.”

“In other words,” I said. “Cake.”

Aunt Peg nodded. “It's only been since Monday,” she said sadly. “I already want to strangle somebody.”

“I could tell.”

“Could you?” She peered at me across the table. “I thought I was coping rather well.”

“Trust me,” I said. “You're not.”

“That's hardly my fault. It's not pleasant being hungry all the time.”

Like that was news.

“Do what the doctor told you and eat your veggies,” I said. “You like vegetables. And they're very filling.”

“I like vegetables in their place,” Aunt Peg corrected me. “In a small mound on the unimportant side of the plate. Not as the main event.”

“I can't believe you went cold turkey,” I told her.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course I was polishing off a Christmas strudel when I made the decision. I figured I should remove the last bit of temptation from the house before beginning the new regimen.”

I got up from the table and went to put on the kettle. Under the circumstances, it sounded as though a strong dose of Earl Grey tea was definitely called for.

“Diets work better when they're not based on total deprivation,” I told her.

“They do?”

“Sure. It makes sense, doesn't it? You can still satisfy your cravings but with a few bites rather than a whole cake. Then you're less likely to give in and overindulge later.”

“Nobody told me that.” Aunt Peg's expression brightened. “A sliver of cake sounds like a fine idea.”

I thought it might. Except, of course, that we didn't have one.

“Also, it makes more sense to start a new diet after the holidays rather than before. You'll be less likely to cheat.”

“
After?
” Aunt Peg was beginning to look almost happy now.

“You know, like on New Year's Day. You could make a resolution.”

“I could at that,” Aunt Peg said cheerfully. “This is all sounding much better. Perhaps I should have consulted with you sooner. How do you know these things?”

“How do you
not
know them?” I asked. “Everyone knows this stuff.”

The kettle began to whistle. I got out two mugs and prepared tea for Aunt Peg and coffee with a splash of milk for myself. We both ignored the sugar bowl.

“I know dogs,” Aunt Peg told me. “For the vast majority of my life, that has seemed like quite enough.”

“As it happens,” I said, rejoining her at the table, “that's why I'm here.”

“Of course it is,” Peg replied.

No false modesty around here.

“I've been to see Sondra,” I said. “And I've talked to some other people, too. Did you know that Kiltie is going to Todd after the first of the year?”

“I didn't know that it was definite.” Aunt Peg blew on her tea and took a cautious sip. “But I might have had an inkling that a plan was in the works.”

“But here's the thing,” I told her. “According to Jo Drummer, Sondra isn't the only one who made a plan involving Todd. Jo said that Todd's new special is an Afghan Hound that's coming over from England.”

“Interesting.” Aunt Peg pondered that. “I wonder if Sondra knows.”

“I can't imagine that she does. She told me she's already lined up a whole bunch of advertising to announce Kiltie's new association with Todd. So how is that going to work if he has two top dogs?”

“If I know Todd, he'll make it work,” Peg said thoughtfully. “There are a number of good, even great, professional handlers. But Todd has risen to the top by being the very best at two things. He always brings judges exactly what they want to see in their rings. And he knows how to keep his clients happy.”

“Sondra seems like a tough person to please.”

“She is indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Life has handed Sondra a lot of advantages. So many, that in most of her dealings she automatically assumes—quite correctly—that she has the upper hand.”

I nodded. I could see that.

“But with Todd, the scales will be tipped in the opposite direction. He's offered more good dogs than he has time for. I'm sure Sondra approached him about adding Kiltie to his string and not the other way around. She's lucky to have Todd at the end of Kiltie's leash and Sondra will understand that. I'd imagine she'll behave accordingly.”

“I should hope so,” I said.

“And don't forget, Todd has two assistants both of whom are more than talented enough to be out on their own. So if he ever does end up with a conflict in the Best in Show ring, whichever dog he opts to hand off will also be in expert hands.”

“Sondra is hoping to syndicate Kiltie,” I mentioned.

Aunt Peg looked up, surprised. “I can't imagine why. She has more money than God.”

“She said she wants the dog to have backers with serious clout.”

“Oh pish,” said Aunt Peg.

“You don't think it will happen?”

“It sounds to me as though Sondra has her head in the clouds. Once the dog is out with Todd, if he catches fire and really starts winning anything may be possible. But right this very moment, we're a long way from worrying about
that
. Especially since Sondra doesn't even know where her dog is.”