“Of course I did. Though I must say he seemed rather skeptical.”
I pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Conversations with Aunt Peg tend to take a while. “About what?”
“I gather he didn’t believe you and I would have taken over the care of two dogs belonging to a man that neither of us knew well.”
“Someone had to,” I said. Maybe that approach was simply too logical for someone who wasn’t a dog person. “Did you take him out to the kennel and show him the dogs?”
“I offered to, but he said he didn’t have time. Instead he asked me if they were valuable.”
Only to Henry, I thought sadly.
“But listen to this. Then Marley asked if I knew any reason why someone would want to harm either one of them.”
“That’s an odd question. Did you find out why he wanted to know?”
“It took a bit of perseverance on my part, but eventually yes. Apparently, the reason Detective Marley was asking about Pepper and Remington is because Henry died after ingesting a rarely used poison, ethylene-glycol.”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “What is that?”
“The chief component of antifreeze.”
Aha, I thought. Now Marley’s questions made sense. Most dog owners, even novice ones, knew that two things were toxic to their pets: chocolate and antifreeze.
“Does he think someone was trying to harm the dogs and poisoned Henry instead?” The notion sounded awfully far-fetched to me.
“I don’t believe he knows what to think just yet. He’s just asking around and seeing what turns up.”
“I’ll call him back after I see what Betty Bowen wants,” I said. “Though I won’t have any more to tell him other than what you already have. Still, if Henry was murdered, I’d love to see his killer brought to justice.”
“Tell him that,” said Peg.
The next number I dialed was Betty Bowen’s. That call went more quickly. As soon as I identified myself, Betty got right down to business.
“Now listen,” she said. “How are those two dogs doing?”
“Pepper and Remington are fine. They’re at my aunt’s house in Greenwich. We’re making arrangements to get them placed in good homes.”
“You can’t do that.” Betty’s voice lifted. “You’ve got to bring them back.”
“Back? ” I repeated. Did she expect us to return the Goldens to an empty house? “Back where?”
“Henry’s daughters are here. It’s about time, if you ask me. Robin Pruitt and Laurel Johnson. They rolled into town this afternoon and the first thing they did was come right over here and get Henry’s keys back.”
That seemed reasonable to me.
“They wanted to know how I happened to have the keys in the first place.” Betty sounded annoyed. “Like maybe they thought I was holding on to something I shouldn’t have. So I explained about how Johnny and I had been the ones to call nine-one-one, that we were right here when Henry was taken away. I told them about the dogs being left behind to fend for themselves. Rather than being grateful that someone was here to care for their father in his time of need, these two got all upset when they found out that something that belonged to them had been removed from the house.”
From the sound of things, Betty had gotten equally upset.
“Did you tell them that the dogs were being well cared for—”
“As if they gave a fig about that. Or about all the work that I did for those two animals out of the goodness of my heart. The girls said something about prosecuting me for theft and trespassing and God knows what else if I didn’t get those dogs back, and quick.”
I sighed. So much for our well-laid plans.
“Okay, we can do that. Are the sisters staying at Henry’s house? Is that where they want Pepper and Remington delivered?”
“No, they’re not at the house. They’re at . . . just a minute, I wrote it down here somewhere.” Paper shuffled in the background, then Betty was back. “They’ve got a room at the Hyatt Regency in Greenwich.”
“And the sisters think I’m going to bring those two big dogs there?” I asked incredulously. “The doorman won’t even let me in the door.”
“They didn’t mention anything about that.” Betty finally seemed to be calming down. “All they said was that they wanted Henry’s property returned. That I’d been the one to lose it so I was responsible for getting it back.”
“You didn’t lose Pepper and Remington, you put them in a place where you knew they’d be safe. You did the right thing.” In actuality, Betty had been all too willing to abdicate responsibility to the first person who’d shown up on her doorstep and indicated an interest in the dogs. Not that I could see any benefit to pointing that out.
“How about this?” I tried. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll go see the two sisters, tell them I have Henry’s dogs, and ask what they want me to do with them. That should make them happy, don’t you think?”
“I hope so.” Betty sniffed. “I’ll say one thing. Stuff like this sure teaches you not to try and be neighborly. Next time I see something bad going on, I’ll just stay inside my own house and mind my own business.”
My last call was to Detective Marley. Predictably, since it was nearly nine P.M., he wasn’t in his office. I left a message that I’d called and told him to try back at his convenience.
It occurred to me when I hung up for the third time that I hadn’t heard from Davey or the Poodles in a while. While I’d been on the phone, the snow had begun to come down in earnest. There hadn’t been enough time for much to accumulate but Davey was on his knees in the middle of the yard, pushing what little snow there was into a small mound.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making a fort.”
Ahhh, the optimism of youth. He’d already used up most of the snow that was on the ground. Sadly, so far his accomplishment looked less like a fort than like a medium-sized snowball.
“At that rate, it’s going to take you awhile.”
“I know.” Davey shrugged. He didn’t look unhappy about that prospect. He had time.
At moments like that I realized with singular clarity why motherhood is such a gift. In a world where it often seems as though everything needs to be newer, faster, and more expensive, it’s nice to be reminded that patience is a virtue worth cultivating, and that the simple joys of childhood are important, too.
“It’s almost your bedtime,” I said. “If it snows overnight, you can finish building a fort tomorrow. Maybe your dad will come by and help you.”
Now that Bob lived in the neighborhood, he and I shared a custody arrangement that was constantly evolving. Most weeks while school was in session, Davey lived with me. Most weekends he spent at least one day, and sometimes both, with his father. Eight years after our somewhat tumultuous parting, my ex-husband and I had actually turned out to be friends. Would wonders never cease?
Out in the yard, Davey stood up reluctantly. The Poodles had already come up the steps while we were talking. Davey was bundled up from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers. The Poodles, especially Eve, whose hindquarter was clipped to the skin, didn’t have nearly as much protection from the cold.
Faith’s short black curls were covered with a light dusting of snowflakes. Eve must have laid down in the snow. Her long mane coat was thoroughly wet on one side. She was going to have to be brushed out and blown dry once I’d put Davey to bed or the hair would solidify into thick, impenetrable mats.
Both Poodles moved past me to the center of the room. Stopping side by side, they braced their feet on the tile floor and shook vigorously. Ice-cold beads of water sprayed up my back and down my legs. I should have seen that coming.
“How about some hot chocolate?” I said to Davey as he shut the door behind him. I was sliding around the kitchen floor in my socks, trying to soak up the water the Poodles had just brought in. Shortcut housekeeping, the only kind I generally practice.
“W
ith marshmallows?”
“If we have some.”
While I heated up the milk, Davey dug around in the pantry. Faith and Eve elected to help him look. The fact that both Poodles emerged with biscuits didn’t come as a big surprise.
I prepared two steaming mugs. Davey plopped marshmallows on top, three for him, one for me. The dogs settled under the kitchen table to chew on their biscuits.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” I said. “You know how Henry hasn’t been driving your bus all week?”
My son nodded. “We have Annie now. She’s not as nice as Henry, but Joey and I like her okay. Is Henry coming back soon?”
“No.” I reached over and took his small hand in mine. “He isn’t. I’m afraid he won’t be coming back at all.”
“Did Henry die?” He seemed less shocked than interested. Children see so much on television, they’ve almost become inured to the small, everyday tragedies.
“Yes, he did.”
Davey considered that for a moment. “He was pretty old,” he said finally.
“Yes, he was.”
“I liked Henry.”
“I did too.”
Davey tipped back his head, looking out the window and up into the sky. “Did Henry go to heaven?”
“I’m sure he did.”
Davey smiled. “Henry used to give all the kids a lollipop on their birthday. Do you think he’ll have one for Jesus on Christmas?”
“I bet he will,” I said, and smiled with him.
11
To Davey’s dismay and my relief, the snowstorm fizzled out overnight.
Saturday morning the air was crisp and cold, the sky a shimmering, cloudless blue. And instead of being able to enjoy such a fine winter day, I had to go to the Hyatt and meet with Henry’s daughters. That visit would probably be followed by a session with the Stamford police. Why was it that my days off never seemed to have any more downtime than my workdays did?
The phone rang as we were eating breakfast. Oatmeal with cinnamon for Davey and me, several handfuls of dry kibble for Faith and Eve. Faith was pushing her food around the floor, Eve was scarfing up everything in sight. Judging by our bowls, Davey and I were following a similar pattern.
“That’s for me!” Davey cried, jumping up. My son was an eternal optimist. Not only was he always sure that the call was for him, he was positive it was someone he wanted to speak to.
“Hi, Dad,” he said gleefully into the receiver. The greeting was followed by a long laugh and a sidelong glance in my direction. “Okay,” he said after another pause. “Great. See you then.”
He hung up without even giving me the option of talking.
“Excuse me,” I said as my son slipped back into his chair and attacked his oatmeal with the renewed enthusiasm of someone who was in a hurry to move on to his next adventure.
“What?” So help me if this child did not have the most innocent brown eyes in the world.
“That was your father on the phone?”
Mouth full, Davey nodded.
“And he didn’t want to talk to me?”
“Nope.”
“How do you know? You didn’t even give him a chance.”
Davey shrugged. “He’s coming to get me, you can talk to him then. Dad and I are going Christmas tree shopping. He wants me to help him get his house decorated for the holidays.”
I sat back in my chair. That sounded like fun—fun I was going to have to miss. Not only that, but we had yet to put up a single decoration ourselves. It was a sad day when I found myself falling behind Bob when it came to domestic duties.
Since I was already feeling sorry for myself, I asked, “What did your father say that made you laugh?”
“He asked if you were making me eat oatmeal for breakfast.” Davey stared downward intently. He scraped the last spoonful off the sides of his bowl.
“I thought you liked oatmeal.”
“I do.. But let’s not tell Dad, okay?”
Bob arrived within the hour. When my ex-husband had first reappeared in our lives, he’d been living in Texas and driving a flashy cherry red Trans Am. A subsequent relocation to Connecticut, with its long, often snowy winters, had convinced him of the need for a more practical vehicle. Over the summer he’d traded his car in for a dark green Ford Explorer, perfect for carting home Christmas trees and any other large objects of desire he and my son happened to stumble upon.
Not content to blend in with all the suburban matrons driving similar SUVs, Bob had modified the Explorer’s lights, bumper, and exhaust system. I heard the car’s low, powerful rumble as he pulled in the driveway. I imagined the neighbors did as well.
The Poodles ran to the front of the house, recognized Bob, and declined to bark. They faded back as Davey opened the door and ran out to greet his father. Bob tries but he’s just not a dog person. He doesn’t understand the elemental connection I feel with Faith and Eve. To me, the two Poodles are members of our extended family. To Bob, they’re just big, black animals that are often in the way.
“I hear I missed you last night,” he said as he followed Davey back inside. Seeing the two of them together, it was hard not to be struck by the resemblance between them. They shared the same coloring—sandy brown hair and dark, umber eyes—as well as the same lithe, lanky frames. Even their mannerisms were similar. Bob and I waited in the hall as our son went to find his shoes and warm jacket.
“I stopped by the Bean Counter after you’d left,” he said. “Bertie was still there. She said you’d had dinner together.”
Bob is Frank’s partner in the coffee house. My brother’s in charge of day-to-day management; my ex-husband handles the accounts, the taxes, and most of the ordering. Recently, they’d decided that their joint enterprise had been successful enough to tempt them into thinking about expanding.
“We stopped by after Davey’s play practice yesterday.”
“Oh yeah, the Christmas pageant. I’ve heard all about it. I bring a gift of incense for the Baby Jesus.”
I grinned. “I guess Davey’s had you running lines with him, too?”
“Both of them,” Bob confirmed. “I think he has them down pat now.”
Good luck with that, I thought. By my count, Davey was rehearsing his two lines at least a dozen times a day. No doubt Bob would discover that fact for himself as the afternoon went on.
“Davey says you’re going Christmas tree shopping?”
“Right. Want to come?” Bob craned his head around and looked into the living room. “We could pick up a tree for you, too.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. Unfortunately, there are some people I need to see this morning in Greenwich.”
“Listen,” Bob whispered. He nudged Faith out of the way with his knee and leaned closer so he wouldn’t be overheard. “What’s the deal with Santa Claus?”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. Does Davey still believe or doesn’t he?”
“No,” I said with some regret. These small rites of passage only served to remind me how quickly time was going by, and how fleeting my son’s childhood would be. “Remember all those questions Davey asked last year? How did Santa travel all over the world in one night? How did he know who’d been good or bad? And what about houses that didn’t have chimneys? Even then, he had his suspicions, and this year the jig is up. The kids talked about it at school. One of the parents confirmed that there was no Santa and next thing you know, they all knew.”
“How’d he take the news?”
“For a while he was really bummed. Apparently, he was afraid that if he stopped believing, that would be the end of Christmas. Once I explained that for adults the holiday was about the spirit of giving rather than receiving, he decided he could really get into it.”
Davey had taken my little speech to heart and we’d already tucked away presents he’d chosen for both his father and for Sam. Later in the weekend, we were planning to go shopp
ing for Bertie, Frank, and Aunt Peg.
“Good,” said Bob. “I’ll follow your lead, then. And speaking of leads . . .”
He paused as Davey came charging down the stairs. His boots were on and correctly laced; he was dragging his jacket behind him. Trotting down the stairs after him, Eve was carrying his gloves in her mouth. I wondered when he’d trained the Poodle to do that.
“... I got this flyer in my mailbox.”
“Merry Maids?”
“No. Franny’s Dog-Walking Service.” He pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his pocket. “I thought this might be something you could try if you ever have to leave the Poodles alone for a long period of time.” He smoothed out the sheet of paper and handed it over. “What’s Merry Maids?”
“A neighborhood house-cleaning service. Alice was talking about them last night. They’ve put pamphlets in everyone’s mailboxes too.”
“I wouldn’t mind having someone come in and clean my house once a week. Are they any good?”
“I have no idea. All I know is that they’re advertising in the area.”
“You should ask Annie,” said Davey.
“Who?” Bob asked.
“My bus driver,” said Davey. “She knows all about everybody:”
“What makes you think that?” I asked curiously.
“Because Henry said so.”
“Now you’ve lost me,” said Bob.
“Henry was Davey’s bus driver,” I told him. “He was an older man and unfortunately he died last week. Annie is Davey’s new bus driver.” I turned to my son. “What did Henry say about Annie?”
“He didn’t say anything about Annie.” Davey rolled his eyes. It didn’t take a genius to interpret that expression. Mothers could be so dense. “He was talking about himself.”
“And?” Bob prompted.
“Henry used to tell us that we had to behave ourselves because if we didn’t, he would know about it. It was his job to drive around the neighborhood, so he saw everything that was going on.”
How did he die? Bob mouthed to me above Davey’s head.
I turned away so Davey wouldn’t hear and muttered under my breath, “He was poisoned.”
Jingle Bell Bark Page 9
