The Bark Before Christmas (24 page)

Helen gathered up her coat and purse and slid out of the booth. I could see that I'd only have time for one more question. I needed to make it count.

“I know that Jim McEvoy must have asked you to open that crate,” I said. “That's the only thing that makes sense. But here's what I don't understand. What did he hope to gain?”

Helen's motions were tight and jerky as she wound her scarf around her neck and yanked on her coat. “I'll be lodging a complaint with Mr. Hanover about your behavior here today,” she said. “It was entirely out of line.”

The warning was meant to intimidate me, to make me back off. Instead it had the opposite effect. Helen's threat made me mad.

“What happened last Saturday wasn't just about a dog or an unhappy marriage,” I said. “A man lost his life. Surely that must mean something to you.”

Helen had taken the first, hurried, step toward the door. But now she surprised me by pausing and turning back. For the first time, she looked uncertain. She glanced around the mostly empty café as if she was afraid of being overheard, then leaned down close to where I was still sitting.

“Ask your friend, Sondra, about the prenup,” she hissed in my ear. “See what she has to say about that.”

 

On the way to my car, I called the nonemergency number for the Greenwich Police Department and asked to speak with Detective Young. The desk sergeant informed me that he wasn't in and offered to connect me to the detective's voice mail. Instead I asked the sergeant if he knew when Detective Young would be back in, then waited while he checked the roster.

“He's off this weekend, but he'll be here bright and early Monday morning. If you want, you can leave a message with me and I'll make sure that he gets it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That would be great. Could you tell him that Melanie Travis has some new information about the theft of Kiltie, the dog that Jerry Platt stole from the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar?”

“Dog?” the sergeant repeated. “This is about a missing dog?”

“No,” I replied. “It's about Detective Young's investigation into Jerry Platt's death. You know, last weekend?”

“Sure. I know about that. What's the information?”

Belatedly it occurred to me that both the new details I'd learned, and their significance to what had later befallen Jerry Platt, were probably too convoluted to explain in a short message. I didn't want the account's import to be lost in translation.

“It would probably be better if I talk to Detective Young in person,” I said. “Maybe you could ask him to call me?”

“Sure. I can do that.”

I spelled my name twice and left both my home and cell phone numbers with the desk sergeant before hanging up. On this hectic last weekend before Christmas, I could only hope that he wouldn't file the message in a lost dog folder and leave it at that.

“W
hat have
you
done
now
?” Aunt Peg demanded.

I stared at the telephone I held nestled in my palm. My index finger hovered over the off button. I was tempted. Actually I was more than tempted; I was itching to sever the connection.

Unfortunately I doubted that that would deter Aunt Peg. She'd simply keep calling back until I answered the question and told her what I'd done. Which could be just about anything. I had no idea what transgression I was being blamed for at the moment.

It was barely eight o'clock on Sunday morning. Second week in a row, in case you're keeping track. At least this time, Aunt Peg had had the decency to call rather than simply showing up at my house unannounced.

I sighed and fitted the phone back to my ear. I supposed I might as well find out what the problem was this time.

“What are you talking about, Aunt Peg?”

“Sondra just called. She told me you've ruined
everything
.”

Well, all righty then. I allowed myself a small smile. Apparently all my poking around had finally managed to hit a nerve. It was about time.

“What precisely have I ruined?” I asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn't be calling. But whatever it is you've done, Sondra is mad enough to spit nails. She was so upset that I could hardly understand what she was saying. I think it has something to do with Jim.”

“Indeed,” I muttered.

“What's that?” Aunt Peg doesn't miss a thing.

“When I talked to Sondra on Friday, I asked her how I could get in touch with Jim. I told her I wanted to speak to him. Instead of helping, Sondra warned me off. She told me she didn't want me talking to her husband and that I was absolutely not to contact him.”

“Apparently you didn't listen.” Aunt Peg sounded pleased. There was nothing that made her happier than nurturing her relatives' subversive tendencies.

“Actually I haven't spoken to Jim yet. I didn't have time to get around to it.”

“You didn't have time?” she repeated indignantly. “What about all day yesterday? Surely you couldn't have been busy the entire day.”

I hoped that Santa Claus left a lump of coal in Aunt Peg's stocking. It would truly serve her right.

“As it happens I was tied up,” I told her. I waited a beat, then added, “I was busy talking to Jim's mistress instead.”

Luckily Aunt Peg couldn't see the satisfied smirk on my face.

“Oh?” she said with interest. “
That's
news.”

“And there's more,” I said. “Helen—that's the mistress—was also working at the raffle booth during the bazaar. She admitted that she was one who opened Coco Lily's crate and let her loose in the auditorium. She did it to create a diversion.”

Anyone who knowingly puts a dog at risk is definitely not in Aunt Peg's good graces. I knew she would be annoyed by that and she was. “And under whose orders did she do such a thing?”

“That's the sixty-four dollar question,” I told her. “But I can only come up with one name that makes sense. Especially since my questions upset Helen enough to make her threaten to file a complaint against me with Russell Hanover.”

“Harrumph.” Aunt Peg snorted into the phone. When it comes to Howard Academy, she's not without connections herself. “I'd just like to see her try.”

“There's something else,” I said. “Before she went storming off, Helen told me that I should ask Sondra about her prenup.”

“Indeed?” Aunt Peg mused. “How very interesting. That might put a whole different complexion on things.”

“In what way?”

“The reason Sondra called this morning was to demand that I tell you to back off and leave her family alone. She said the questions you'd been asking weren't helping. They were only stirring up more trouble instead.”

I couldn't help that, I thought. It was what I did.

“Of course I was surprised to hear that.” Aunt Peg didn't sound surprised. Instead, once again she sounded pleased. “I asked Sondra what she meant by that, but she wouldn't tell me. All she said was that from here on out, she intended to handle the problem herself. Sondra was very firm about the fact that your services were no longer needed nor wanted.”

It took a moment for the import of her words to sink in. When it did, I suddenly felt giddy. “I've been
fired?
”

“Not so fast,” said Peg. “Think about it. You know what this must mean. I bet Sondra has discovered where Kiltie is. She knows who has him and what she has to do to get him back.”

Her reply had been intended to prick a pin in my budding good mood. Stubbornly I refused to let it go.

“But I've been fired. . . .” I said again.

Aunt Peg dealt with that insubordination in her usual fashion. She simply steamrolled right over my objections.

“I told Sondra that I'd stop by this morning so that we could talk. And now, with this additional information you've given me, I should think that we'll have plenty of things to discuss. Of course you'll want to come with me.”

It wasn't a question. It was a foregone conclusion. I bowed to the inevitable and agreed.

 

“Let me guess,” said Sam. He'd overheard bits and pieces of my conversation with Aunt Peg. “You're going somewhere again.”

“Yes,” I said. “But not for long. I'll be back in plenty of time to go to the Reindeer Festival with you and the boys this afternoon. I'm just going to run down to Greenwich and meet Aunt Peg at Sondra McEvoy's house. There are a couple of things we need to get straightened out.”

“Still?” Sam quirked a brow. “I thought you got fired.”

I guessed he'd heard more than I thought.

“So did I,” I said glumly. “But apparently it didn't stick.”

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

I nodded, but I wasn't about to make any promises on that score. It was beginning to look as though trouble was exactly what Sondra McEvoy deserved.

An hour later, I met Aunt Peg at her house. We drove to Deer Park together in her minivan. Aunt Peg likes to get where she's going in a hurry. She drives with scant regard for speed limits and has an unerring ability to avoid traffic patrols. I wish I shared her gift.

During the drive, it became clear that Peg was still simmering from our conversation on the phone. She navigated up the McEvoys' driveway, hopped out of her van, and was striding determinedly toward the front steps of the large house before I'd even managed to undo my seat belt. By the time I joined her on the narrow porch, she had already rung the doorbell. Twice.

“That's odd,” I said, when no appeared in response to our arrival. “Maybe Sunday is Kalinda's day off.”

“Sondra was expecting me.” Peg jabbed a finger at the buzzer again. “She knew I was on my way.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to see me,” I said. It occurred to me that this was the second time Sondra had engineered an end run around me by soliciting Aunt Peg's assistance.

“Don't be daft.” She slanted a glance my way. “You don't think I told Sondra that you were coming, do you?”

I should have known.

“I have no intention of standing here all day,” said Peg.

By my count, we'd now been waiting approximately a minute and a half. Ever impatient, she began to rummage around in her ample purse. It didn't take her long to find her phone.

I stepped away from the door, turned around, and gazed out over the large yard. I was just as happy to let Aunt Peg take control. Besides, I was pretty sure she'd treat suggestions of mine as extraneous anyway.

Another minute passed. As Aunt Peg was discovering that Sondra wasn't answering her phone, I suddenly heard the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. It appeared to be coming from around the side of the house. Judging by the rapid succession of steps, whoever it was, was moving fast.

“Someone's coming,” I said.

I hopped down the three stone stairs and followed the curve of the driveway in the direction of the garage. Rounding the corner of the house, I barely had time to register a brief flash of color and movement before something small and solid came crashing into me.

As I stumbled backward, I heard a sharp squeal of surprise. I was pretty sure it hadn't come from me. All the air seemed to have been knocked from my body with a sudden whoosh. Scrambling awkwardly, I lost my balance. My assailant and I went down together.

Reflex made me throw out my hands to break my fall. The gravel stung as we hit the ground. Luckily, even though I was on the bottom, my bulky parka protected me from the worst of it.

Then my head snapped down onto the hard surface. That hurt.

“Oww,” I groaned.

Eyes still closed, I took a moment. Then I rolled to one side and dumped whoever had come careening around the corner, down on the driveway beside me.

“Ms. Travis!” a small voice cried. “What are you doing here?”

“Poppy?” I slid one eye open.

The sixth grader quickly maneuvered herself up. Fortunately she appeared to have survived our collision in one piece. Eleven-year-olds bounce, I thought. As opposed to adults who go splat. And since I'd been on the bottom, I'd broken her fall.

I resisted the temptation to groan again.

“Melanie, do get up off the ground.” Aunt Peg came hurrying down the steps to join us. “Poppy, dear, what is going on? Where is your mother? She should have been expecting me.”

As she drew near, Peg stopped and stared at the sixth grader. “Where is your coat, Poppy? It's freezing out here. What is Sondra thinking letting you run around in the cold dressed like that?”

Belatedly I realized that Poppy, wearing just a pair of jeans and a thin, cotton shirt, was clasping her arms over her chest and shivering. As I hauled myself to my feet, I unzipped my parka and pulled it off. Aunt Peg snatched it out of my hands and draped it over Poppy's shoulders.

“Thank God you're here,” the young girl said through chattering teeth. Now that I looked more closely I could see how pale she was. Her freckles stood out like bright spots of color on skin the color of parchment. Her fingers twisted in agitation. “I need help. You have to come with me right away!”

“Where?” I asked, exchanging a glance with Aunt Peg. “What's the matter?”

“Back there.” Poppy snapped out a quick point around the side of the house. Without waiting to see if we were following, she was already heading back that way at a run. “They're fighting. Somebody's going to get hurt. Hurry
up!
”

Aunt Peg and I both scrambled to catch up. “Where are we going?” she asked me.

“Sondra has a kennel in her backyard,” I said. “She converted the pool house. I'm guessing that's it.”

Passing the garage, we flew through an open gate and onto a flagstone terrace. Outdoor furniture, covered in winter tarps, was pushed up against the back wall of the house. Poppy veered left, heading toward the covered pool and the small, pale yellow building on the other side. Aunt Peg and I hurried along behind.

“It doesn't look like a kennel,” Aunt Peg muttered. “Where are the runs? Don't the dogs ever get to go outside?”

Hell if I knew. Everything about this visit was proving to be a mystery to me.

Ahead of us, the young girl skirted quickly around the kidney-shaped pool. As she approached the smaller building, I expected her to go straight to the door. Instead Poppy bypassed the walkway, hopped over a low bush, and sidled over next to a window in the near wall. Clearly this wasn't the first time she'd spied on the occupants of the kennel.

But who was inside now? And what were they doing in there?

Curiosity propelled me to follow the sixth grader. Before I was even able to get a glimpse of what was going on, however, Aunt Peg took matters into her own hands. She stopped on the flagstone walk, delivered a withering glance my way, and announced in a loud voice, “I don't
think
so.”

“Shhhh!” Poppy cautioned, pulling back from the window. She looked like she was about to cry. “They'll hear you.”

“I should hope so.” Peg marched over to the door, turned the knob, and thrust it open.

Once again, I found myself scrambling to play catch-up. As the door flew inward, I heard the occupants of the room before I saw them. The sound of two voices, both raised in anger, was suddenly crystal clear in the sharp winter air.

Moving quickly, I managed to be right behind Aunt Peg when she entered the building. Poppy, hunched down inside my parka as if she hoped to remain invisible, trailed along behind.

“You've pushed me around for the last time,” Sondra was saying shrilly. “I'm not going to let you control me anymore.”

“You should be grateful I
am
in control,” Jim McEvoy shot back. “Somebody has to be. Especially after the mess you've made of things.”

A blast of cold air accompanied us into the small room. Even so, the battling McEvoys—facing off in front of a wire pen containing a pair of unhappy-looking Westies—were so intent upon each other and their own invective that they didn't even appear to notice our arrival.

“Daddy, stop it!” Poppy screamed. She lifted her hands and placed them over her ears. “Both of you stop it now!”

That got their attention. As Jim swung around in surprise, I realized that he was holding a third Westie in a firm grasp beneath his arm. The small, white terrier looked every bit as uncomfortable as the other dogs inside the pen.