The Bark Before Christmas (9 page)

I'd meant to stop only briefly but the photo booth was so much fun to watch that I found myself lingering. I watched Santa Claus handle Kiltie, and Coco Lily, and a young boy's Gila monster, all with equal aplomb. Eli framed and shot his pictures with swift precision and Cooper was a wizard at producing the finished Christmas cards quickly and efficiently.

I sensed Mr. Hanover's presence behind me a moment before he spoke. “I'd say our Santa Claus is working out rather well, wouldn't you?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “He's doing a great job.”

The headmaster paused to let his gaze slip with satisfaction around the room. “I might offer the same congratulations to you.”

“Not yet.” I held up both hands, fingers tightly crossed. “We still have several more hours to go.”

“I have every faith in your abilities, Ms. Travis. I trust that you'll manage to stay on top of things.”

“Thank you, I—”

A medium-sized, blue-and-white, canine missile came hurtling past my legs, nearly knocking me over. Mr. Hanover started to reach out his hands to steady me but my reflexes—honed by years of dog ownership—had already kicked in. I swooped down and snatched up the end of the long leather leash that was whipping across the floor in the blue merle Aussie's wake.

“Memphis, darn it! You're a bad dog! Come back here.”

The Australian Shepherd didn't seem at all inclined to heed his owner's frantic calls. But he had no choice but to respond to my hand at the end of his lead. Captured, he spun around and circled back, then sat down with his long pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Dark eyes twinkling, the playful Aussie looked like he was grinning at me.

“I'll leave you to manage this, shall I?” said Mr. Hanover.

He melted away into the crowd, just as the dog's owners appeared. A small boy, looking shamefaced by his error, ran past me and threw his arms around the Aussie's neck.

“Sorry about that,” said the boy's mother. She took the leash from my hand and wrapped it around her fingers. “Eric was supposed to be holding on tight but Memphis likes to play and he got away. We were on our way to see Santa.”

“Memphis led you right to him,” I said.

“I bet he smelled the biscuits,” Eric guessed.

The Aussie now had his nose tipped up in the air. He'd risen to his feet and he was looking longingly in the direction of Bertie's trays of treats.

“He'll get one after he has his picture taken,” I told them as I walked the trio to the back of the line.

“No, he won't,” Memphis's owner said firmly. She gave the leash a sharp snap. “He's a bad dog.”

I reached down and gave the Aussie's head a pat. The dog gazed up at me happily. “If you don't mind my saying so he won't make the connection. You're mad at him now because he embarrassed you—”

“No, I'm angry because he didn't come when I called.”

I'm always amazed by how many people—who've never taken the time to teach their dogs a good, solid, recall—nevertheless expect those dogs to come when summoned, even under the most trying circumstances. If Aunt Peg were there, she'd have given the woman a stern lecture on dog training.

Short on time, I merely said instead, “Memphis will be much more likely to come when you want him to, if you don't yell at him and call him a bad dog.”

The woman looked at me like I was daft. “It's not like he understands the actual
words
.”

I left the trio at the end of the line, sidled up to the front, and beckoned Bertie over. “Keep an eye on the Aussie,” I said. “He's a pistol.”

“So I saw,” she replied with a chuckle. “I love a dog with personality. Don't worry about us. We'll be fine.”

“Everything else good?”

“Perfect,” said Bertie.

It was exactly what I wanted to hear.

A
s the afternoon passed, the crowds grew steadily larger. I continued to make my rounds, keeping a constant eye out for anything that might require my attention. I resolved a complaint about an ornament that broke right after a customer bought it, found Danny the janitor and got him to reset the fuse box again, then mediated an argument between two children, both of whom were determined to purchase the same Christmas stocking.

By midafternoon, I'd begun to breathe a little more easily and smile a lot more often. I greeted countless students and their parents and saw numerous dog show exhibitors who'd heard about the bazaar from Aunt Peg and come to shop. Sam showed up with the boys and I took time out to watch them get their faces painted before heading back to work. Sondra McEvoy and I crossed paths several times, both of us circulating around the large room. I stocked up on raffle tickets and signed Davey's and Kev's names on the stubs.

Quinn Peterson arrived with her pony, Scooter, and caused a minor sensation when she blithely led the aged Shetland in through the auditorium's back door. The pony seemed somewhat bemused by all the activity, but was otherwise impeccably behaved. He quickly became a kid magnet as the pair waited in line for their turn with Santa Claus.

“Ho, ho, horse!” Santa boomed in a jolly voice.

Wherever he'd come from, I thought, this guy was a find. Nothing the kids threw at him seemed to faze him.

Confronted by the lights, the camera, and Santa Claus himself, Scooter merely blinked his eyes and flicked his gray-tipped ears back and forth. He graciously allowed himself to be maneuvered into position. As a reward for his good behavior, Bertie treated the Shetland to two candy canes. He nibbled them both with quiet dignity while the group of children now gathered in a semi-circle around the booth, pressed in closer and watched wide-eyed.

“Can I have a pony ride?” asked one.

I started to step forward, but Quinn had everything under control. “I'm afraid not,” she said. “Scooter's too old to be ridden anymore. But you can give him a pat if you like. Scooter likes it when people pat him.”

One by one, the children stepped forward to run their small hands through Scooter's long shaggy coat. Eye to eye with many of them, the Shetland gently nuzzled their pockets looking for treats. He stood patiently until everyone had had a turn.

“Time to go,” Quinn said finally. “Was that okay, Ms. Travis?”

“That was perfect,” I told her. I escorted the pair back to the door where the trailer was waiting. “I hope you love your pictures.”

Quinn flashed a sunny smile. “I'm sure I will. See you Monday!”

With Scooter's departure, the level of excitement in the room seemed to drop. I wasn't the only one who was getting tired. By now the bazaar had been open for five hours. Just three more and I could call it a day. I couldn't wait.

Sam brought the boys by so that I could check out their purchases before they headed home. Davey appeared to have satisfied his curiosity about my workplace. And Kev had worn himself out running from one booth to the next, eager not to miss a thing. Both boys had enjoyed their time at the bazaar thoroughly.

Sam, who'd managed it all, was my hero. Nothing new about that.

“You'll get your reward later,” I told him in an undertone.

“I can't wait,” he replied. He wasn't the only one.

As my family left and I turned back to the room, I thought I heard a dog bark. Despite the number of pets we'd hosted throughout the day, the bazaar had been remarkably free of canine commotion. I knew I had Bertie to thank for that. Now I paused near the stage, lifted my head, and looked around.

“What?” asked Rita, coming up beside me.

“I thought I heard a dog bark.”

“Only one?” She laughed. “That's a miracle, considering.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Together we both looked toward the photo booth. In the time since I'd last paid attention to the concession, the line of kids had disappeared. A thick velvet cord had been draped across the end of Candy Cane Lane. A sign on Santa's gilt throne read
BE BACK SOON
. “There he is.” Rita pointed across the room. Our Santa Claus, his arms cradled around his ample belly was heading out the door. “Look at the way he's holding his stomach. I wonder if he ate too many candy canes.”

“I don't think that's his problem,” said Claire. Careful not to trip in her pointy shoes, she walked over and joined us. “I'm guessing he's desperate for a smoke. When you stand right next to him, he kind of reeks.”

I wrinkled my nose and hoped fervently that Santa would have the good sense to walk around a corner of the building—and out of the sight of any children—before pausing to light up a cigarette.

“You guys have been doing a great job with the photo booth,” I said to Claire.

She smiled and nodded. “I can't believe how busy we've been all day. We never even got a chance to stop for lunch. Santa Claus was getting kind of peeved about not having a break, so we all decided to take one now.”

“Where is Bertie?” I asked.

“She, Eli, and Cooper went to check out the food concession. I'm on my way to join them.”

“Lunch is on me,” I told her. “You guys have earned it.”

Rita and Claire went their separate ways. I took a deep breath and headed back into the fray.

“Melanie?” Tony Dahl waved me over to the gift-wrapping booth. “A little help?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A customer told me there's a loose dog running around over by the wooden puzzle booth. It's jumping on people and being a bit of a nuisance. I thought you might want to check it out.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. Our second loose dog of the day. “I'll go take care of it.”

The puzzle booth was at the far end of the room. I started to head in that direction. A small shriek redirected me.

“I've been attacked!” Madeline Dangerfield screamed from inside her jam concession. “It's a rat!”

Well,
that
got everybody's attention.

“It's not a rat,” I said quickly, raising my voice so that everyone around us would hear me. “There are no rats in here.”

As I was speaking, a small, fluffy, gray dog came scooting out from behind the booth: Charlotte's Cockapoo, Coco Lily. I'd met her earlier when she was having her picture taken. I leaned down as the little dog came barreling toward me and Coco Lily ran straight into my arms.

“Good
girl,
” I crooned. The Cockapoo seemed relieved to have been caught. She licked my chin and wagged her long, plumed, tail. Tightening my arms around her wriggling body, I rose to my feet.

“Look,” I said, turning in a small circle so that everyone could see. “It's only Coco Lily.”

“Coco Lily.” Madeline sniffed. “What kind of name is that for a dog?” At least she had the grace to look embarrassed by her outburst.

To my relief, several people began to laugh about the mix-up. Everybody resumed their shopping. Crisis averted.

Still holding the Cockapoo in my arms, I gazed around the big room. I wondered where Charlotte was and how Coco Lily could have gotten loose. Earlier, I'd seen both her and Kiltie tucked safely into their side-by-side crates behind the raffle table. Both dogs had appeared to be sleeping.

At the time—with Sondra walking around the bazaar selling tickets—the booth had been untended. I wondered whether she'd returned to the table since then. Taking Coco Lily with me, I headed in that direction. With luck, I might find Charlotte along the way.

It was almost four o'clock and the crowds in the auditorium were finally beginning to wane. Even so, it took me a few minutes to make my way across the room to the raffle table. As I drew closer I saw that Helen Baker, another parent volunteer, was currently manning the booth.

“Come to buy some raffle tickets?” she asked with a bright smile. “We have plenty of great prizes.”

“No, thanks, I got my tickets from Sondra earlier. I've come to return a wandering dog. Coco Lily is supposed to be locked in one of those crates in the back of the booth. You didn't happen to see how she got out, did you?”

Helen shook her head. “Sorry, I have no idea. When I got here a few minutes ago, both crates were empty. Just like they are now.”

I dodged around behind the table and had a look for myself. Helen was right. Both Kiltie and Coco Lily's crates were sitting open. And neither one was occupied.

Maybe Poppy had taken Kiltie outside for a walk, I thought. Might she have accidently let Coco Lily loose as well?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I quickly discarded it. Poppy McEvoy was a conscientious and responsible child. She would never have released Kiltie from her crate without first looping a leash securely around the Westie's neck. And if Coco Lily had somehow gotten away while she was there, Poppy would definitely have gone chasing after her.

“Is something wrong?” asked Helen.

“I don't know,” I said slowly. The hair on the back of my neck was beginning to tingle. I leaned down, slipped the Cockapoo inside her box, and fastened the latch. “I think I'd better find Sondra.”

“I saw her over near the food stand about ten minutes ago,” Helen said helpfully.

“Thanks, I'll start there. Could you keep an eye on Coco Lily for me? And if Charlotte Levine shows up, would you keep her here until I get back?”

“Sure,” Helen replied. “I can do that.”

By the time I reached the food concession, Sondra was nowhere to be seen.

“She was here a few minutes ago,” Bertie told me. She, Claire, and Eli were just finishing their late lunch. “Try over near the stage. And while you're looking around . . .”

I'd started to go. Now I stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

“If you run across our Santa Claus, send him back inside. He's been gone for at least twenty minutes. We thought he'd come and grab some food with us, but we haven't seen him. Now we're ready to get back to work.”

“He's probably out there puffing away and lost track of time,” Eli grumbled. The two men had not hit it off.

“If I see him, I'll let him know,” I said. “But first I really need to find Sondra.”

“Then don't worry about us.” Bertie waved me on my way. “I can run outside and reel our Santa back in.”

I looked for Sondra near the stage, and then along the row of booths beneath the windows. I even stuck my head in the ladies' room. It was frustrating to realize that with both of us on the move around the auditorium, we could very conceivably just keep missing one another.

Then, for the second time that afternoon, I heard someone shriek.

“What now?” I muttered, spinning in my tracks.

And there Sondra was, standing beside the raffle table. It looked as though she'd sold most of her tickets and returned to the booth to replenish her supplies. Poppy was standing next to her mother. The young girl looked stricken. Helen appeared to have removed herself a prudent distance away.

As I hurried through the crowd to get to Sondra and Poppy, I suddenly realized that the most important thing about the scene was what
wasn't
there. Mother and daughter were now both accounted for. But Kiltie was nowhere in sight.

“What do you
mean
you don't know where he is?” Sondra demanded of Helen as I approached. Sondra's voice was sharp enough to make my ears sting.

“Why would I know anything about your dog? I just volunteered to sit here and sell raffle tickets.” Helen gazed past Sondra and sent me a pleading look. “Here comes Melanie. She was looking for you. Maybe she knows something.”

“Thank God you're here.” Sondra whirled around to face me. “Where's Kiltie?”

“I have no idea.” I was out of breath and the words came out in a rush. “That's why I was looking for you. I saw that his crate was open. I was hoping that you had him.”

“Why would
I
have him? I've been busy all day. That's why I brought a crate. The last time I saw him was several hours ago when Poppy took him to have his picture taken.”

“She and Charlotte were together—” I began, but Sondra wasn't listening to me.

Instead, she'd rounded on her daughter. Her expression was thunderous. “Poppy Louise McEvoy,
what did you do?
”

Quailing beneath her mother's glare, Poppy seemed to shrink in size. She clutched her arms tightly across her chest. Her shoulders slumped and her lips began to quiver. A tear slipped down her cheek, followed quickly by another.

“I didn't
do
anything,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “After Charlotte and I got the pictures, we brought Kiltie and Coco Lily right back here and put them in their crates, just like you told us to. I latched the door. I know I did.”

“Don't you
dare
lie to me.” Sondra bit out the words. “If you had fastened the door to his crate correctly, Kiltie would still be here.”

“It's not my fault,” Poppy wailed. “I was careful. Charlotte was here. Ask her!”

“Let's all take a deep breath,” I said firmly. Stepping forward, I deliberately wedged myself between mother and daughter.

Poppy quickly retreated backward. She seemed relieved to have a barrier placed between her and her mother.

I glanced over at Helen. “Do you know Charlotte Levine?”

She nodded. “I know what she looks like.”