The Bark Before Christmas (22 page)

I breathed in a sigh and let it out. Faith looked at me questioningly. I reached over and gave her a pat.

“Just once,” I said.

“Melanie, what are you talking about now?”

“Just once, I would like you to stick up for me rather than the other person.”

“I don't have any idea what you mean. I always stick up for you . . . on those occasions that you're right.”

And therein lay the problem.

“Have you located Kiltie yet?” Aunt Peg asked, even though I was quite certain that already she knew the answer.

“No. And Sondra's reaction is bugging me.”

“
Again?
” Peg's tone was arch.

I ignored that and said, “Why isn't she more worried about Kiltie?”

“I haven't a clue why you would expect me to know that.”

“Sondra told me she believes that everything works out for the best.”

“What's wrong with that?” asked Aunt Peg. “I hope she's right. Besides, you just said you thought that Sondra was strange. Under the circumstances, I have no idea why you'd be giving her philosophical beliefs any credence at all.”

“Because she's Kiltie's owner,” I said, calling on reserves of patience I didn't even know I had. “She's the whole reason I started looking for the dog in the first place.”

“Nonsense. You're looking for Kiltie because he needs to be brought home. And because you want to help the child.”

“Poppy,” I said softly. Of course Aunt Peg was right. Again.

“Enough about you,” Peg said briskly. “You'll be pleased to know that my diet is coming along quite well.”

“It is?”

“I took your advice and loosened my restrictions. Even so, I've already managed to lose two pounds. It turns out that dieting isn't nearly as difficult as I thought it would be.”

Said the only woman in the world, ever.

On the other hand, considering the current state of my own affairs, I supposed it was nice to know that things were going well for somebody.

“H
ow do you feel about divorce?” I asked Claire.

She looked up from the thick pad of paper she was using to take notes and stared at me in surprise. “What a singularly odd thing to ask me two weeks before my wedding.”

It was Friday evening, after dinner, and she and I were sitting at my dining room table. Claire had called and asked if she could stop by sometime to go over the arrangements for her upcoming nuptials. Delighted by the opportunity to turn my thoughts to something productive that didn't involve either Christmas or a lost Westie, I'd encouraged her to come straight over.

Sam had been as happy to see Claire as I was. But as soon as he'd heard the phrase “wedding plans,” he had grabbed the two boys and all three of them had skedaddled from the room. Even the Standard Poodles were making themselves scarce.

Claire and I both laughed at that. She's the farthest thing in the world from a Bridezilla but I didn't see any reason to point that out to anyone. A bit of peace and quiet is a rare luxury in my life. And the possibility of conducting our conversation without constant interruptions from dogs and children suited both of us just fine.

Claire and Bob's wedding was designed to be a low-key affair. A small, interdenominational church on Round Hill Road in Greenwich would provide a delightful, understated setting. Guests were limited to family and close friends of the couple. Davey had been thrilled to be asked to serve as his father's best man.

Kevin, hearing that, had worked himself up into a pretty good pout until Claire came up with the idea of assigning him the role of ring bearer. The toddler had been practicing his duties for the last several weeks. Several times a day, he clutched a small pillow to his chest and marched around the house to music that only he could hear.

Considering that Claire had been responsible for planning much larger events during the course of her corporate career, I was quite certain that she had everything well under control. But if impending-wedding jitters made her want to run through the list of arrangements one more time, I was happy to serve as her sounding board.

“Sorry,” I apologized now. “I didn't mean that the way it came out.”

“I should hope not.” Claire brushed back a strand of dark, silky, hair that had fallen across her face and frowned at me across the table. “If that's your way of telling me that you think Bob and I aren't right for each other, first of all you're wrong. And secondly, you might have thought about mentioning something sooner so we could have dealt with this issue and gotten it out of the way.”

“Crap,” I muttered, backpedaling hastily. “That wasn't what I was trying to say at all. You and Bob are wonderful together. You're the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Claire's frown didn't ease. Nor did she look entirely convinced. Since she was talking to Bob's ex-wife, I supposed there might have been a reason for that.

“You mean . . . excluding
you,
right?” she asked.

“No way,” I said. “Not even close. Especially considering the whole divorce and all. Bob and I were not a good fit.”

“Okay.” Claire still didn't sound reassured.

“But maybe excluding Davey,” I added. “Because he's pretty great.”

That made Claire smile. “I'm happy to be in second place behind Davey. That suits me just fine. But now that we've got that cleared up, why exactly are we talking about divorce?”

Good question, I thought with a sigh. So much for taking a break from thinking about a lost dog.

“Actually,” I admitted, “it's because of Sondra and Jim McEvoy.”

“Who? I don't think I know that name . . . are they friends of Bob's?” For a moment, Claire looked puzzled. Then her fingers began to scramble frantically through the thick sheaf of notes in front of her. “Oh my God, are they coming to the wedding? When are they getting divorced? Do we have to change the seating arrangements? I can do that if I have to—”

“Wait!” I cried, holding up a hand. “Stop. Right now.”

Claire looked up.

“Sondra and Jim aren't coming to your wedding.”

“Well, that's a relief.” She paused, then added, “I think?”

“It is,” I agreed. “You wouldn't want them there.”

“Who are they? Do I know them? Why are they getting divorced?”

And people told me that
I
asked too many questions. I had nothing on Claire.

“Do you remember the dog that disappeared from the Christmas bazaar?”

“Sure,” she replied. “It was a little shaggy thing. Kilt-something.”

“Kiltie. He's a West Highland White.”

“Whatever.”

Aunt Peg was going to have a new neophyte to train, I thought happily. And I would be delighted to hand over my protégée status to her.
Welcome to the family, Claire.

“His owner is Sondra McEvoy,” I said.

“Oh.” Recognition dawned. “I remember her now. The woman who wanted to sue.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, thank goodness
she's
not coming to my wedding.”

“I've been looking for Kiltie,” I said.

Claire nodded. “I think Bertie mentioned something about that. Have you found him?”

The eternal question. Although this time I supposed I'd asked for it.

“Not yet,” I said. “But recently it's occurred to me that maybe I've been going about things all wrong. I'm beginning to wonder whether I've been looking too far afield.”

Claire set her papers aside and settled in to listen. She was very good at that. “What do you mean?”

“Kiltie didn't just run away from the bazaar,” I said. “He was taken away on purpose.”

“By our Santa Claus, right? That's what Bertie told me. The same man who later died.”

“Correct. Then Sondra leaned on Aunt Peg and got me started looking for Kiltie. But now I think Sondra might have sent me in the wrong direction.”

“That's utterly diabolical,” Claire said with a sneer.

The reaction seemed a little strong. I looked at her questioningly.

“We don't like Sondra . . . right?”

“Not much,” I admitted.

“Good,” she said. “That's what I thought. I'm just trying to figure out which side I'm on.”

“Mine,” I told her. “You're on my side.”

“Of course,” Claire promised. “You don't have to worry about that. But if you don't mind my saying so, your story telling is a little convoluted. So let me cut to the chase for you. Where did Sondra send you?”

“The first time I spoke with her, all she wanted to talk about was the other dog show exhibitors who were mad at her, or the ones who had dogs that were always being beaten by Kiltie. Dog people with a grudge.”

“Hmmm,” said Claire. “That sounds promising.”

“But that's just it,” I told her. “It hasn't worked out that way at all. I've talked to a number of different exhibitors and none of it feels right to me. Mostly they tell me that they have no idea why someone would want to steal Kiltie, and it turns out that mostly I believe them.”

“Good for you!” Claire declared roundly.

It was like having my own personal cheerleader, right there in the room with me. It was a shame I had to disagree with her.

“No,” I said. “It's bad for me. Because none of the looking I've done so far has gotten me any closer to finding the dog.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Suppose one of those exhibitors
had
taken Kiltie,” I said, thinking aloud. “How would it benefit them?”

“I hope that's not a serious question,” said Claire. “Because I'm sure I don't know. I don't even know what a West Lowland Whip is.”

Oh Aunt Peg was going to have fun with her.

“Take Rick Stanley, for example. He had every reason to be mad at Sondra McEvoy. But when you stop and think about it, he had even more reason to be mad at Todd Greenleaf.”

“Todd Greenleaf,” Claire repeated dreamily. “What a great name. He sounds like a movie star.”

“Close,” I told her. “And then there's Rachel Bright. She has enough problems and too many dogs already. I can't see her trying to engineer the theft of another.”

“If you say so.”

“Chip Michaels needs better manners. Jo Drummer needs a flashier breed. And don't even get me started on Jane Brew.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Claire. “It sounds as though you've been quite diligent.”

“I have,” I grumbled. “For all the good it's done me. Because basically I have diddly to show for all my efforts. Except there is one thing. . . .”

“What's that?”

“Sondra and Jim are getting divorced,” I said.

“I know that,” Claire agreed. “That's why they're not coming to my wedding.”

“And Jim was at the Christmas bazaar.”

“What a rat!” Claire cried. She awaited my approval. When it wasn't forthcoming, she said meekly, “Wrong response?”

“Yup, sorry. Good try though.”

Claire shrugged. That girl was game.

“And now it turns out that Sondra doesn't want me to talk to Jim.”

“I get it,” said Claire. She sounded relieved. “You want my blessing.”

“Your what?”

“You want to talk to Jim even though Sondra told you not to. And you want me to tell you that it's the right thing to do. Okay, done. It's the right thing to do.”

“Even if I have to go behind Sondra's back?” I asked.

“Even then,” Claire confirmed. “Because apparently we don't like Sondra much anyway. So who cares what she thinks?”

“I think I love you,” I said to Claire.

“Of course you do. I'm very lovable. Ask your ex-husband. He'll tell you. Now, can we
please
get back to what's really important here?”

“The wedding,” I said guiltily.

“Of course, the wedding,” said Claire. “The very least you can do is give my problems equal time.”

“You're absolutely right,” I said. “Go for it.”

While I contemplated the best way to approach Jim McEvoy, Christmas drew ever closer. On the plus side: the house was decorated, the Christmas tree was up, and most of the baking had already been done. The minus: though I'd made extensive lists of presents I
intended
to buy, I'd allowed myself to fall alarmingly behind in the execution of the actual shopping.

In the hopes of remedying that, Saturday morning Sam and I took the boys and went Christmas shopping on Greenwich Avenue. Clearly we weren't the only ones who'd had that idea. Even though we arrived early, we still had to park a couple of blocks away on Mason Street.

The avenue itself, the town's main thoroughfare and a popular shopping mecca for residents of both Fairfield and Westchester counties, was thronged with festive holiday crowds. By lunchtime, I'd already run into several children from school and a good friend from my old neighborhood in Stamford.

When Sam and Davey peeled away and ducked into Restoration Hardware, I leaned down and lifted Kevin up into my arms. With the sheer number of people jostling for room on the sidewalk, I was half-afraid he might get trampled by some overzealous shopper. As we waited for Davey and Sam to return, light snow began to fall. Carrying Kev, I edged over to the side of the promenade, out of the main flow of traffic.

Fairy lights hung above our heads. Christmas carols, piped out of the stores around us, filled the air. Kev clapped his hands and sang along. I was pretty sure he was making up the words as he went.

Above the din, I heard someone call my name. Turning to look, I saw Tony Dahl, his arms weighted down with holiday loot, making his way toward us through the crush of pedestrians. I gave him a cheery wave. Kev did, too.

“I'm glad I ran into you,” Tony said as he drew near. “I've been meaning to call you. Hi, little guy.”

“This is Kevin.” I shifted my hip so that Kev and Tony were face-to-face. The two of them shook hands. “He's a little overexcited about the upcoming holidays.”

“I don't blame him,” Tony said with a laugh. “Who could help it in a crowd like this? Hey, remember you asked me about my friend Hal?”

“Sure. Did you find him?”

“I did as a matter of fact. After I talked to you, I left a couple of messages on his phone and I checked in with some mutual friends. For a couple of days, I didn't hear a thing. But then last night, he called back and asked what was up.”