The Silence of the Chihuahuas (29 page)

The road wandered among the tall trees for a little while. It had been plowed at some point, but the surface was now covered with a few inches of fresh white snow. I steered the Toyota cautiously. It was silent. Sarah had stopped sniffling. She peered out the windshield.

“There,” she said, pointing at another road, which was half hidden behind a bank of snow-covered bushes. I made an abrupt right turn, tires sliding, and hit a snowbank with a big chuff. The car stopped. This road had not been plowed.

“How are we supposed to get there?” I asked, trying to see what lay ahead. It was all black. I didn't see any lights.

“It's not far,” said Sarah, jumping out. “We can walk!” She was definitely in a hurry now. Maybe she still thought she would get to keep Chiquita.

“Do you want to wear your sweater?” I asked Pepe.

To my surprise, he said yes. I rummaged through my purse and pulled out the rumpled sweater. It was one of several items we'd won during the
Dancing with Dogs
competition. I had chosen the most wintery design: pink felt with white snowflakes appliquéd on it. I wrestled it over Pepe's head quickly, hoping he wouldn't object, but of course he looked around at the snowflakes dancing across his flanks.

“Geri, this sweater is for a bitch,” he said.

I just can never get used to him using the B-word, even though I know he means a female dog. “Yes, but it looks really cute on you,” I said.

Pepe just shook his head, as he does when annoyed, and trotted off, following in Sarah's slushy footsteps. Already far ahead of us, she was just a dark silhouette in a veil of falling snow.

“Wait up!” I shouted, but she kept going.

I scooped Pepe up (he protested) and clomped after her. Sarah went around a bend in the road and we lost sight of her. I struggled to get through the snow, slipping and sliding.

By the time I reached the curve, I couldn't see Sarah. But I could see her footprints leading across a cleared area and toward a dark A-frame cabin set back among the trees. The only visible light was an orange flicker in one of the front windows.

“Are we going the right way?” I asked Pepe.

“
Sí
, but hurry please. I am freezing to death out here,” he said, shivering in my arms. I tucked him inside my jacket.

I couldn't help thinking it was Christmas Eve and I was wandering around in the woods in the dark. Snow was falling and the air was scented with pine, but I was shivering, and not just with cold. What was Sarah doing? Was she luring us into a trap? Perhaps this was the thieves' hideout!

Pepe must have had the same idea. “Go around to the back,” he whispered. “Let us reconnoiter. If we can find Chiquita, I will convince her to leave with us!”

But stealth wasn't going to be possible. I had angled off, thinking I would go around the side of the house, but as I got within a few yards of it, we were assaulted by a volley of barks and yips, squeals and growls.

“Ah, I believe we have found the collie, the poodle, and the corgi,” said Pepe.

The front door flew open and we saw a woman silhouetted against the dim glow from the indoor lights. She was surrounded by a swirling, leaping pack of little dogs.

“Come in! Come in!” she called. “It's so cold out there.”

Pepe and I approached cautiously but were somewhat reassured when we saw Sarah at her side.

“This is Carol,” Sarah said. “She's Trevor's mother.”

“Oh!” I reached out my hand to her. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

I couldn't read the expression on her face, but her body stiffened. “It's been hard,” she said, her voice a bit raspy as if she had been crying for hours, “but I'm trying to make the best of it.” She turned and went back inside, a pack of little dogs following at her heels. “My little darlings are a comfort.”

We were in a large room with a sharply pitched ceiling that soared to a peak overhead. In the center of the room, a small cast-iron stove provided the only warmth. Candles flickered on the windowsills.

Carol offered to take my coat and Pepe's sweater, which she hung up on pegs near the door. She was wearing a pair of scuffed moccasins, black sweatpants, and a gray flannel shirt. Her hair was dyed a bright red. Cut short, it stood out on the top of her head, a bit like a rooster's crest.

“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked.

I nodded. “And Pepe might need some water.” Carol headed into the kitchen and Pepe followed her, along with all the other dogs.

“What's going on here?” I asked Sarah as I looked around. There was no indication that it was Christmas in the house: no tree, no holiday lights, no presents, no garlands. But there was evidence that a lot of dogs lived there. A doggy odor permeated the air and the carpet was stained. The sofa was covered with fur and lumpy pillows.

“I told Carol you were here for the Chihuahua,” Sarah said. “She got really upset.”

Pepe came running out of the kitchen. “I found her!” he said. “I found Chiquita!” Following him was a white Chihuahua with big brown eyes. She looked almost like Pepe except she had a pale brown splotch on her chest.

“Chiquita!” I said. I bent down to pet her.

Carol came back into the room with three mugs of steaming liquid in her hand. She frowned. “That's Lolita!” she said. “Trevor gave her to me!”

“He did not!” said Sarah hotly. “He gave her to me and I named her Chloe like the dog in
Beverly Hills Chihuahua
. You were just supposed to be holding her for me until I went back to school.”

Carol slammed down the mugs on the sideboard. Some hot liquid splashed out and hit a beagle, who yelped. Carol snatched up Chiquita and held her close.

“Sarah told me you want to take away this dog!” she said, looking at me defiantly.

“Yes, I want to return her to her rightful owner. A little girl is missing her dog desperately and it's Christmas Eve.”

“What's she talking about?” Sarah asked, looking from me to Carol and back again.

“The dog was stolen,” I said, “along with a car and a trailer full of stuff.”

“I told Trevor not to get involved with Jack and Barbara,” Carol said. “They had this scheme. Jack was getting information from the kids who talked to Santa and then using it to make a list of houses they were going to rob on Christmas Eve. But when he saw the chance to rip off that family that was moving, he couldn't resist. He sent Barbara to get the car and Trevor was supposed to get rid of the dog.” Carol whirled around, facing Sarah. “Everything would have been fine if it wasn't for you opening your big mouth. It's your fault Trevor's dead!”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked.

“After you told Jack that Trevor was going to give me the dog, Jack followed Trevor to the park where I was supposed to pick her up. He was angry that Trevor was jeopardizing their scheme. He wanted the dog dead because otherwise someone might recognize her and figure out what happened. I guess they fought over the dog and Jack killed Trevor. I got there just as he was dying.”

“That is true,” said Chiquita. “I was there when it happened.”

I looked at the little dog, confused. Had I just heard her talking?

Carol choked back tears. “I held my boy in my arms as he took his last breaths. Then I went looking for the dog. I found her shivering under a bush. Poor little Lolita. She was so traumatized!”

“My name is not Lolita,” said Chiquita. “Or Chloe.”

“Geri,” said Pepe. “There is something important you should know.”

“So you were the one who confronted Santa,” I said to Carol.

“You bet I did!” said Carol. “I put Lolita in my car and then I headed straight for the Gift Shoppe. Jack was just closing up. He didn't know I knew. He was all Ho! Ho! Ho! What do you want for Christmas, little lady? I said, ‘I want you dead.' And then I shot him.”

She pulled a gun out of her jacket pocket and pointed it, trembling, at me and Sarah. “Unfortunately, I'm going to have to do the same thing to you.”

Sarah and I took a reflexive step back.

Chiquita put a paw on Carol's arm. “Oh no,” she said, looking up at Carol. “You cannot shoot them. Somebody who loves dogs so much could never kill innocent people.”

“What?” Carol stared at the little dog she held, her eyes widening with disbelief. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I am,” Chiquita told her.

“She
is
talking,” I said.

“Yes, she is. I can hear her, too,” said Sarah, as dumbfounded as Carol.

“Of course she is talking,” said Pepe.

“We all talk,” said a beagle who stood and put his forepaws on Carol's knee.

“Yes,” said the Shih Tzu who also stood and put her forepaws on Carol's other knee.

“Yes, yes, and yes,” said all the other dogs, running up and dancing around the stunned Carol.

“We love you,” said the corgi.

“Yes, we do,” the toy poodle told her.

“I can't . . . believe it . . . ,” said Carol.

“I can't believe it,” said Sarah.

“I can't believe it,” I said.

“Why not?” Pepe asked me. “I talk to you all the time, do I not?”

“You can't kill them,” said a miniature collie. “If you do, you will have to kill all of us because we are witnesses.”

“I must be losing my mind!” Carol backed up and almost fell onto the sofa, her gun hand wobbling. “What's happening?” she asked, sagging into the cushions.

“It's Christmas Eve,” said a silky Yorkie, jumping up onto the sofa. The other dogs followed, climbing all over Carol, nuzzling her and licking her face and hands, and echoing the Yorkie's sentiments. “We can tell you how we feel about you.”

“We know you're really good at heart.”

“You always take care of us.”

“We have to help
you
now.”

“You only killed Jack because he killed your son,” said the corgi.

“You must have been temporarily insane,” said the toy poodle.

“Yes,” the Shih Tzu told Carol. “They will go easy on you for that.”

“But not if you shoot these people in a premeditated way,” said the Yorkie. “They will put you away forever.”

“You need to give yourself up,” said the miniature collie. “After all, there are extenuating circumstances.”

“This is unbelievable,” I said. “How can they all be talking?”

“Geri, have you not heard the old folktale about animals being able to talk at midnight on Christmas Eve?” Pepe asked me.

“Well yes,” I told him. “I do remember something about that. But it's not midnight yet.”

“So?” he said. “What is the
problemo
? If you can believe that animals talk at midnight on Christmas Eve, why not at eight p.m.?”

I didn't have an answer for that.

“It's a Christmas miracle,” said Sarah, her eyes wide and soft.

“Wherever the law puts you,” a sheltie told Carol, “we will bring you treats.”

“And always make sure you have enough food and water,” added the toy poodle.

“That's nice,” wailed Carol. “But I can't leave you!”

“Don't worry,” said Sarah. “I'll take care of them. They can stay right here where they belong.” She was keeping her eye on the pistol in Carol's hand.

So was I. Carol's grasp was loose but not so loose I could wrestle it away from her. I saw Pepe sneaking closer to the sofa, but I wasn't sure about his plan. Normally he could have told me since I was the only one who could hear him talking, but if Pepe spoke now, everyone would hear him. The Christmas miracle was a mixed bag.

“We would like that,” said the poodle.

“Sarah has always been good to us,” said the Yorkie.

The miniature collie ran over to Sarah and danced around her, saying, “Yes, Sarah is our friend.”

“That's true, dear,” said Carol, her voice wavering. “I know you love animals. And they know it, too.” Her fingers lost their grip and the pistol dropped to the floor. I took a few steps forward and grabbed it.

Pepe gave a deep sigh. “I am
muy
glad I did not have to bite her. I do not think Santa would approve of me biting someone on Christmas Eve. I did not want to risk going on the naughty list.”

I held the pistol on Carol while Sarah dialed 911. But Carol was no longer a threat. She just kept fussing over her dogs, marveling over the many stories they were sharing with her about their lives before she rescued them. When the police arrived, she was beaming with excitement and kept telling them about her amazing talking dogs. Who were now silent.

“The police think Carol is
loco
,” Pepe told me when they left. “Her dogs were right—they will surely go easy on her.”

Sarah kept her cool. She convinced the police to let the dogs stay in the home where she could watch over them. When we left, she was calling her little sister and trying to persuade her to come over for some popcorn and hot chocolate and dog gossip. Pepe and I would have loved to hang around and talk to the dogs, but we had a more important errand to run. Returning Chiquita to Sophie.

When we got back to the Black Forest Inn, we found Santa Claus knocking at the door to our room. Slung over his back was a small brown canvas bag.

“That is not the real Santa,” Pepe told me. “Santa does not knock on doors. He comes down chimneys. Everybody knows that.”

He looked real enough to me, I thought, until he turned around, lifted up his fake white beard, and gave me a big grin.

“Felix!” I said, running into his arms. I was amazed that my boyfriend had driven all the way to Leavenworth and was standing in front of me wearing a Santa suit. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you,” he said. “I couldn't stand us being apart on our first Christmas Eve together.”

I gave him a big hug. He felt good in my arms, his body lean and strong.

“I'm so glad,” I said.

“Who's this?” asked Felix as we separated, noticing the small dog I held in my arms. I was carrying Chiquita, who was exhausted, emotionally and physically, from her long ordeal.

“It's a long story,” I said, “but it has a happy ending. Come on in, and I'll tell you.”

Once in our room, I put Chiquita on the bed. She curled up and went to sleep while I filled Felix in on all that had transpired.

Felix was impressed. “You are going to make one little girl really happy,” he said.

Meanwhile, Pepe was rooting around in the canvas bag that Felix had dropped on the floor. He wrestled something out. It was a Christmas stocking, decorated with an appliqué candy cane.

“This is it?' asked Pepe, incredulous. “Where are the presents?”

“I brought one for each of us,” Felix said, pulling out two more matching stockings. “I thought we could leave them out tonight and see what Santa leaves for us.” He winked at me.

“That gives me an idea,” said Pepe. “What if we put Chiquita in the stocking so she looks like a present? Then Felix can deliver her.”

“I love that idea!” I said.

“Great!” said Felix, pulling out the stockings and draping them across the TV. I realized he had misunderstood me.

“No, I was talking about Pepe's suggestion!” I said.

“What suggestion?”

I turned to my dog. “He didn't hear you speak,” I said. “How could that be? Everybody could hear you and the other dogs just a little while ago.”

“Sadly, I do not know, partner,” Pepe told me. “Perhaps that magical time in the old folktale has already passed.”

I looked at the clock. It was just past midnight. It had taken longer than I thought to talk to the police.

“Geri,” said Felix, putting an arm around me, “don't be upset. You told me that Pepe talks to you, and I believe you.”

That made me feel better. I'd finally told Felix about Pepe talking while we were on our last case. And when he said he believed me, I knew he meant it.

“So,” Felix continued, “why don't you tell me what Pepe said? Tell me about his idea that you like so much.”

I recapped my dog's suggestion. Felix liked it, too.

“And I have another idea!” Pepe said. He was rolling around on the carpet trying to wriggle out of the pink sweater. “I want to give Chiquita this sweater!” Pepe said. “Christmas is the time to give to others!”

“It does look good on her,” I agreed, after trying it on Chiquita. She was adorable in pink. We stuffed the sleepy Chihuahua into the smallest of the stockings. She fit perfectly, with her head just peeping over the top.

Pepe and I decided to go visit Tim and Sophie first. Felix would knock on the door a few minutes later, making his entrance as Santa, with Chiquita.

Snow was falling as Pepe and I went down the balcony to Tim and Sophie's room. The air was alive with dancing white crystals. Across the empty highway, the fairy-tale-like Bavarian buildings twinkled with white lights.

The festive mood did not extend to Tim and Sophie's room. Tim answered our knock, but his face fell when he saw that I only had one dog with me. Sophie was already tucked into bed, but she was wide awake, watching a TV show. Her eyes brightened when we came in but quickly filled with tears when she saw we did not have Chiquita.

“I guess you didn't find my doggie,” she said. Tears spilled over, leaving tracks down her cheeks. I felt bad that we had postponed their reunion for even a minute.

“Geri,” said Pepe, “do you not think this would be a good time for Santa to make his entrance?”

I was about to agree when there came a loud knock at the door. Felix's timing couldn't be better, I thought, as Tim went to get it.

And in strode Santa with the biggest “Ho-ho-ho” I'd ever heard. His cheeks were all rosy, and his beard was fluffy and white, and his big belly shook whenever he laughed.

“Santa!” screamed Sophie. She scrambled out of bed in her pink flannel pajamas. Santa knelt down as she ran to him. Snow clung to his shiny black boots.

“Have you been a good little girl?” asked Santa.

“Oh yes!” Sophie told him.

“I know you have!” said Santa. “And I have something very special for you.”

“Hey,” Pepe told me, “there is something odd about this Santa.”

“Shhhh!” I told my dog.

“And here it is, little Sophie,” said Santa. He took the Christmas stocking out of the large bag he carried. Chiquita stuck her head out of the stocking as Santa handed it to Sophie.

“Arf-arf!” said Chiquita happily.

“Chiquita!” yelled Sophie, hugging her dog close. “Oh, Chiquita, I thought you were gone forever!” she added as Chiquita licked her face.

“Thank you, Santa,” said Tim, a tear in his eye as he gave the big guy a hug.

“And this is for you,” Santa told him. He handed Tim a very small package, about the size of a jewelry box.

When Tim opened it, it contained a gold ring with a dark red stone.

“I can't believe it,” Tim said, taking the ring out of the box. “This is my grandmother's ring. I gave it to my wife on our first anniversary. She dropped it down the drain in the kitchen sink years ago and we thought it was lost forever.”

I was mystified. How did Felix come up with a present that would be so meaningful to Tim?

“Nothing is lost forever,” said Santa. “Especially not the love between two people who have pledged to spend their lives together.”

Tim's eyes filled with tears.

“This is heartwarming, Geri,” said Pepe. “But I tell you this is not Felix. This Santa smells of sugarplums and spice and everything nice. Felix always smells like the dogs he trains.”

“Merry Christmas!” said Santa, opening the door to the balcony. He stepped outside and seemed to vanish into the night air. The door blew shut with a bang.

“Wow!” Tim said, staring at the ring. He sank down into the chair beside the little table in the room and looked over at Sophie, who had scrambled back into bed and was tucking Chiquita in beside her, kissing her repeatedly on the head. “It's almost enough to make me believe Santa is real.”

“Of course he's real, Daddy,” said Sophie with a bit of scorn in her voice. “He found Chiquita.”

Just then, there was another knock at the door.

“I'll get it,” I said.

“Ho-ho-ho!” said Santa, entering the room. As he passed me, he winked and asked, “How's that for timing?”

I recognized his voice. It was Felix! “Weren't you just here?” I asked him.

He shook his head. His beard was not as fluffy as the previous Santa's. Nor was his stomach as protuberant. And his “ho-ho-ho” was not as hearty.

“Told you so,” said Pepe.

Felix turned to face Tim and Sophie, then noticed that Chiquita was already in the room. He looked confused, groped around in the canvas bag he carried, and came up empty.

“Hey,” said Felix. “What happened to the stocking? How did the Chihuahua get into the room?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Everything is fine now. I think it's time for us to leave.”

Of course, we couldn't go without multiple hugs and kisses from Sophie and Chiquita. Finally we scrambled along the balcony through the thickening snow back to our room. When I opened the door, my jaw dropped.

There was a punch bowl full of frothy eggnog sitting on the bedside table and two crystal cups beside it, already filled with the beverage. A plate of shortbread cookies sat on top of the TV. There was a bite taken out of one of them. Christmas lights were strung up over the bed. And sitting in the middle of the table was Arturo, the funny little tree I had left on my dining room table back in Seattle, but now he was all decorated with blue ornaments and white lights and the special golden star ornaments that my mother had collected and given to me and my sister in Christmases past.

I whirled around and gave Felix a big hug. “Wow!” I said. “No wonder you were delayed. This is amazing. How did you pull this off?”

Felix took off his Santa cap and scratched his head. “I didn't do any of this,” he said. “Where did it come from?”

“Santa?” I asked.

“Told you so,” said Pepe, looking up from where he was gnawing on a bone that had been left under the table.

“Here to make all your dreams come true,” said Felix, tumbling me down onto the bed.

It
was
the best Christmas ever.