Jingle Bell Bark

by Laurien Berenson

  Damn. He was right.

  Now that I was standing up, I could see Eve through the doorway. Muzzle pointed toward the sky, front feet bouncing up off the ground to punctuate each loud yip, she was regaling the neighborhood with the story of our adventure.

  “Oh, knock it off,” I called crossly. “You’re not so smart yourself or you wouldn’t be stuck out there.”

  Eve stopped barking and gave me a wounded look.

  “I’m calling Dad,” said Davey.

  I spun around to face him again. “You are not.”

  “You’re doing it all wrong. You didn’t even put the stand on yet. That’s supposed to happen outside.”

  “Says who?” I demanded. It’s a sad thing when you find your conversational skills deteriorating to the level of an eight-year-old and he still manages to out-argue you.

  “Everyone. Don’t you know anything?”

  Apparently not.

  “Okay.” I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Here’s the plan. I’m taking the tree back out to the driveway.” Before he could ask, I held up a hand. “I’ll go out the back door, walk around the house, and pull it out from the other direction. That should unstick it. Then once the tree is outside, I’ll put the stand on.”

  “Then what?” asked Davey.

  “Then we’ll worry about the next step.”

  The answer was a cop-out, parent-speak for I haven’t the slightest idea. Still, the first part of the plan seemed eminently workable. And, in fact, it was. Once I was pulling the right way, the tree slid free without incurring too much damage.

  It came through the doorway so easily, in fact, that the big yank I’d given to dislodge it sent me tumbling backward down the front steps. I landed on my butt in the grass with half the Christmas tree in my lap. Luckily, Davey seemed to have disappeared, so the Poodles were the only witnesses.

  Faith looked as though she might be rolling her eyes, but I’m sure it was just a trick of the light.

  Christmas tree stands are tricky things. Every year I think I’m going to come up with a better solution and every year I never do. By the time I’d negotiated my way around this one and was ready to resume battle with the doorway, I was sweating freely despite the December chill.

  When a pair of headlights turned the corner and drove down the road, I stopped to watch the car go by, just as pleased to have a chance to straighten my back again and take a break. Except that the car didn’t drive by. Drawing closer, it turned out to be a dark green Explorer that stopped at the end of my driveway and pulled in.

  Bob hopped out, took in the situation in a glance, and grinned. “I think the tree is winning.”

  “I think your son is a traitor,” I replied. Still—and I wouldn’t have admitted this for money—I wasn’t entirely displeased to see him.

  “Step aside, woman.” Bob said in a deep voice. “This is man’s work.”

  “Oh yeah?” For a second or two I was tempted to ask him who he thought had been performing such chores in the years he’d been missing from Davey’s life. Then, thankfully, the impulse passed.

  I shut my mouth and stepped aside.

  “Go to it,” I said, waving a hand magnanimously. “I’ll send Davey out to help. And I’ll see you boys inside.”

  “You’re welcome,” Bob replied, standing over the tree like a conquering hero and surveying the task at hand.

  My grin was cheeky. “I know.”

  Consensus was, it was the best Christmas tree ever. It was definitely the biggest. With the stand affixed to the trunk, the star Davey placed on the top branch just grazed the ceiling. But once we’d dragged all the boxes of ornaments and frills up from the basement, we found there were plenty of decorations to go around. Oh, and I managed to get the wreath rehung too.

  We awoke Saturday morning, on the first official day of Christmas vacation, with a house that was finally looking ready for the holidays. Christmas was still seven days away and Davey was already in a state of high excitement. I could only hope he wouldn’t be able to sustain that mood for the next week, or one of us might quietly go crazy. When Bob came to pick him up for their day together, it was one of the rare occasions when I wasn’t entirely sorry to see him leave.

  Two cups of coffee later, I was having a last look at my Christmas shopping list which, thankfully, was mostly complete when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but Sam often stops by on weekends. Or, I thought, heading to the front hall, it could be Aunt Peg, in the neighborhood and dying to let me know how her sleuthing was coming.

  It was neither, as I saw when I looked through the small pane of glass next to the door. In fact, it was someone entirely unexpected. Annie Gault.

  I shushed the Poodles and pushed them behind me before opening the door. Some people are intimidated by big dogs, even friendly looking Poodles. And Annie, her face screwed into a mask of anxiety and a knit cap pulled low over her forehead, already looked uncertain enough.

  “Hi,” I said. I drew open the door and a blast of cold air immediately entered the house. Which was more than could be said for Annie. She remained standing on the step. “Can I help you?”

  “Maybe.” She tipped her head to one side and frowned up at me. “Maybe we can help each other. Is it okay if I come in?”

  “Sure.” I stepped aside. I hadn’t been blocking the doorway, but maybe it had looked that way to her. “I just didn’t want you to get run over by the dogs.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Annie hopped up the step and extended a hand for Faith to sniff. “I love animals.” Then her gaze went to Eve, and she stopped in her tracks. “Whoa, what’d you do to that one?”

  The continental, complete with wraps, tends to have that effect on people. “It’s a show trim,” I said.

  Annie still looked blank.

  “I show her in dog shows, and for Poodles, it’s required that they look that way to compete. Don’t worry, she’s very friendly.”

  “She doesn’t look unfriendly.” Annie was still gawking. “She looks weird. Like, seriously weird.” She stooped down to Eve’s level and crooned, “Poor thing, did someone dress you up to look like an idiot?”

  Eve wagged her tail in reply. The “someone” in question wisely didn’t say a thing.

  “That’s really out there.” Annie glanced up at me over her shoulder as Eve licked her fingers happily and Faith crowded in to get some attention. “Seeing you around school and all, I wouldn’t have figured you for someone kinky.”

  “Kinky?” The word seemed to stick in my throat. I wasn’t sure I’d have figured myself for someone kinky, either.

  “You know . . .” She indicated the Poodles. “A little on the bizarre side. Like this.”

  At least, I consoled myself, she hadn’t made it sound as though she thought that was a bad thing.

  And still Annie hadn’t given me a clue as to why she was there. Instead she seemed quite content to sit on the floor and play with my Poodles. I nudged Faith’s hindquarter aside and closed the door. I supposed I’d find out in time.

  “Would you like some cider?” I asked.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Annie braced a hand on the floor and pushed herself reluctantly to her feet. Faith and Eve seemed equally sorry to see her go.

  The Poodles are excellent judges of character. They’re friendly to strangers, but they’re too discriminating to love everybody. And though they tend to hide it well, there are some people they take an immediate dislike to. Interestingly, I’ve yet to like someone that my dogs didn’t. The fact that Annie had passed their inspection made her rise a notch in my estimation.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said.

  Bingo.

  “I was hoping maybe we could talk.” She looked around: living room, dining room, up the stairs to the second floor, then back at me. “Like, in private.”

  “This is as private as it gets,” I said. “If you’re looking for Davey, he isn’t here. Let’s go sit down
.”

  Annie hesitated briefly. I pretended not to notice and led the way to the living room. She pulled off her parka and cap as she walked and tossed both over the back of the couch. “Nice tree.”

  “Thanks.” She was stalling, but what the heck, I wasn’t in any hurry. “We decorated it last night.”

  “I’ve been asking around about you,” she said after a minute.

  “Oh?” That was a surprise.

  “Yeah. People say you like to solve mysteries. Like you’re a detective or something.”

  “Actually, the ‘or something’ part is more accurate.”

  I tried out a small smile. Annie didn’t match it. She looked very serious.

  “I’m thinking maybe I could hire you,” she said. “We could do a deal.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Wait a minute. You don’t understand. I’m not a real detective—”

  “I’ll tell you what I need.” Annie pressed on as if I hadn’t even spoken. “I’m looking for that thing that’s called client privilege, or confidentiality, or something like that. You know, like priests have in the confession booth?”

  “You want to tell me something and you want to make sure I won’t tell anyone else.”

  “That’s right. Can you do that?”

  “Maybe. But if I can’t tell anyone what you’re going to tell me, how does that help?”

  Annie shrugged, looked annoyed. Like she didn’t want me to be asking questions. As if I could help it. That’s what I do.

  “Look,” she said, “it’s not as if I’ve thought this whole thing through. All I know is, I need some protection here. Some anonymity. Like, nobody ever has to know that this information came from me.”

  Now that was easier. “You can’t hire me. At least not unless you’re looking for a teacher. But I can give you my word that nothing you say will get passed along in a way that will hurt you. Is that good enough?”

  Annie considered. Her fingers had been gripping the arm of the couch but when Eve wandered over to say hello, her hands transferred themselves to the Poodle’s topknot and began to rub. For a dog “in hair” that’s a recipe for disaster. Under any other circumstances, I’d have stopped her immediately. Now I bit my lip and hoped Annie didn’t do too much damage before she managed to blurt out what she’d come to tell me.

  “You won’t tell anyone who your source is, right? I need you to promise.”

  “I promise,” I said. I really hoped I wasn’t lying.

  Annie nodded. Her hands returned to her lap. I tried not to sigh with relief. I did reach down and beckon Eve to my side. Faith’s short coat was impervious to careless attention. If Annie wanted a dog to pat, hopefully she’d look to the older bitch.

  “I guess you heard about what happened to Ms. Baker,” she said.

  There’d been a report in the Thursday newspaper; one that thankfully hadn’t mentioned my involvement. By the time a reporter had talked to the police at the hospital, I’d been long gone and the officers hadn’t given out my name. A follow-up in Friday’s paper had said that Carrie was recovering nicely, though she still had no memory of the details of her attack.

  Maybe it was time to give Annie a jolt, I thought. Something to get her moving. “Not only did I hear about it,” I said, “I was there.”

  “You were?”

  “That’s right. I was the one who found Carrie . . . Ms. Baker . . . after she’d been attacked. I chased her attacker through the school but he got away.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, I never even got close. Why?” I nailed her with a hard stare. “Do you know who it was?”

  “Not for sure,” Annie whispered. “But I think I might have an idea.”

  27

  “If you have information like that,” I said, “you don’t need to be talking to me. You should be talking to the police.”

  “Like that’s going to happen,” Annie scoffed.

  She reached out and hauled Faith into her lap. The Poodle is big for lapdog duty but she did her best, managing to get most of her front end draped over Annie’s legs. Faith’s head reached almost as high as Annie’s, blocking my view of the girl’s face. Once we had a canine barrier between us, however, Annie seemed to relax a little. Like maybe she thought I couldn’t try to force her to do something as long as my dog was in the way.

  “Why not?” I asked. It was a reasonable question. As far as I knew, Annie was a law-abiding citizen. If she had information about a police matter, I couldn’t see any reason why she should run it through me.

  “Look, it’s not that easy, okay?”

  “Life isn’t easy,” I said tartly. “This person you’re trying to protect hit an innocent woman over the head and put her in the hospital. He’s also likely to have been involved in Henry Pruitt’s murder.”

  The police hadn’t released information about the note that had been found in Carrie’s purse. Even so, the reporter who’d written Friday’s follow-up article had uncovered the connection between Carrie and Henry and speculated as to whether the two acts of violence were related. So I probably wasn’t telling Annie anything she didn’t already know. If she read the newspaper, that is.

  “I’m not trying to protect anyone,” she said. After a moment, she added in a smaller voice, “Except maybe myself.”

  I stared at her and sighed. It looked as though we’d reached an impasse. “Why don’t you tell me what you know? And when you’re done, we’ll figure out what to do with it.”

  “You’ll keep my name out of it,” Annie said firmly. “You already agreed to that.”

  “I’ll keep your name out of it,” I repeated. It looked as though this time I meant it.

  She nodded and we sealed the deal. Still it took her a few minutes to get loosened up enough to talk. Her hands rubbed restlessly over Faith’s neck and shoulders; her eyes darted around the room. I thought about the two cups of coffee I’d drunk earlier and wondered if I had time to take a bathroom break. Before I could come to a decision about that, Annie finally began to speak.

  “At first when Henry died I wasn’t going to say anything because, hey, I wasn’t really sure, and besides it’s not my problem. Also too, well . . . I got my job because Henry was gone, so I didn’t particularly want to look a gift horse in the mouth. You know what I mean?”

  Close enough, I thought. I nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  “But now with Ms. Baker getting hurt, I figured I really ought to tell somebody. Because Ms. Baker is a nice lady and none of this is her fault. She’d never even hurt a fly. So I’m thinking this shit is getting out of hand and it’s gotta stop.”

  “What has to stop?” It took effort not to sound as impatient as I felt.

  “Johnny,” Annie said softly. Her eyes dropped. She buried her face in Faith’s topknot. “Johnny Bowen.”

  Finally, we were getting somewhere. Maybe.

  “What about him?” I asked.

  “He’s um . . . dealing.”

  “Drugs.” That had to be what she meant, but I said it anyway just to be sure.

  “Yeah,” she said, then added quickly, “But it’s not like he’s some big slimeball or anything. And he doesn’t sell the hard stuff, mostly just a little weed. He’s small time, you know. The neighborhood supplier.”

  The neighborhood supplier? Outrage flooded through me. That neighborhood was only a couple of blocks from my own. An area that was filled with kids. An area that shouldn’t have had any need for a supplier.

  “Now you’re mad,” said Annie. She looked upset.

  “Damn right I’m mad.” I shot up out of my chair and began to pace. “Johnny Bowen is selling drugs to kids—”

  “No,” she interrupted, shaking her head furiously. “No, he isn’t. He doesn’t do that. He only sells to adults. To people who are old enough to know better.”

  A drug dealer with a conscience? I didn’t think so.

  Then abruptly I stopped and stared at Annie. I wondered if she thought she was an adult, som
eone who was old enough to know better. And I wondered how this teenager who was driving my son’s school bus had come to be so well versed in Johnny Bowen’s dealings.

  “I don’t do drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said quietly.

  I didn’t say a thing. I just looked at her, sitting in my living room with a hole through her eyebrow where the hoop used to be, her full lips outlined with a ghoulish-looking black pencil, her pale, slender hands cradling my dog in her lap.

  “Okay. It’s not like I’m trying to pass myself off as some innocent or anything. Maybe I used to dabble a little. At one time. But I’ve put all that behind me now.”

  “I should hope so,” I said.

  Annie started to push Faith away. “If we’re gonna have a fight about this, I’m leaving.”

  “Sit,” I said, waving her back down. “And stop being so dramatic. How do you expect me to feel, with you coming in here and talking about taking drugs? You drive my son’s school bus, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I expect you to believe me.” Annie’s voice was taut with dignity. “I’m telling you the truth. All of it. So you’ll understand that I know what I’m talking about when I say that Johnny was really pissed at Henry Pruitt. Pissed enough maybe to have done something about it.”

  “Henry found out that Johnny was dealing.”

  “Yeah. Johnny thinks maybe he suspected for a while. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead or anything, but that Henry, he stuck his nose into everybody’s business.”

  She certainly wasn’t the first person to tell me that.

  “Now you have to understand that Johnny’s kind of paranoid anyway. But he got this idea that Henry was watching him all the time. Following him when he went places. He even thought Henry might have bugged his phone.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Annie shrugged. “That’s Johnny for you. He’s a little out there when it comes to dealing with other people. Anyway, he thought Henry was acting pretty suspiciously. He was really worried about what Henry might do next.”

  Johnny was the one dealing drugs, I mused. And he’d thought his neighbor was acting suspiciously?