Wagging Through the Snow

by Laurien Berenson

  The Dempseys lived on a quiet residential street that was lined with mature trees. Their branches, now bare, met to form a canopy across the middle of the road. In another season, the effect must have been shady and welcoming. But now, the tangle of intertwined tree limbs snaking upward toward the stark winter sky made me shiver and wish that I’d tied my scarf more tightly around my neck.

  “Don’t worry,” I told Faith. “This time I won’t be gone long.”

  The Dempsey home was an older colonial with white siding and freshly painted black shutters. A brick walkway led me to the front stairs. As I approached, the door opened. Sharon must have kept her word and called ahead.

  The man standing in the doorway—Tyler Dempsey, I assumed—didn’t look pleased to see me. The pinched expression on his face was accentuated by his thin lips and high forehead. Tyler had a slender build and the cashmere pullover he was wearing did nothing to add bulk to his narrow chest. His long, pale fingers rested on the doorknob as if he wanted to be prepared to slam the door shut at a moment’s notice.

  That wasn’t reassuring.

  He waited until I’d climbed the three steps and was standing right in front of him before speaking, “You must be Melanie Travis. Sharon LaRue warned me about you.”

  “Excuse me?” I tipped back my head to look up at him. “She was the one who wanted me to come here. Are you Tyler Dempsey?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m afraid I need to talk to you about your brother.” I looked past him into the empty foyer. “Maybe we could step inside for a minute?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Nothing you could say about Pete would surprise me. What did my brother do now?”

  “Are you sure you want to have this conversation outside?” This wasn’t at all how I’d pictured delivering the news of Pete’s demise.

  “Quite sure. Did Pete send you—is that why you’re here? What does he need this time? Money? A place to stay? Someone to bail him out of jail? I’m sorry, Ms. Travis, but whatever convincing sob story my brother told you to bring you to my door, I assure we’ve heard it all before.”

  They hadn’t heard this before, I thought meanly. Apparently my only option was to deliver the news standing on his steps.

  “Pete Dempsey is dead,” I said. “He died of exposure last Saturday night in Wilton.”

  “Dead?” Tyler cocked an eyebrow disdainfully. Other than that, his face betrayed no emotion. You might have thought I’d told him that the chef at his club was out of caviar.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” I added.

  “Yes, that is bad news,” Tyler agreed in a flat tone. “Where did the unfortunate event take place?”

  “At a Christmas tree farm, Haney’s Holiday Home, in Wilton.”

  “What was my brother doing at a Christmas tree farm?”

  “There was a cabin in the woods. A small shack, really. He appeared to be living there.”

  “Well.” Tyler frowned. “That part sounds about right.”

  “The Wilton police can give you more details about your brother’s death,” I told him. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved to hear from his next of kin.”

  “I’ll take care of that. And see what arrangements need to be made.”

  Once again I gazed into the house. “Perhaps I could offer my condolences to your mother?”

  “No, that won’t be possible. Mother isn’t well. News like this would be upsetting to her and, in her condition, that wouldn’t be good at all.”

  I should hope she’d find the news upsetting, I thought. But frankly, Tyler didn’t look terribly undone by the revelation of his brother’s death. Pete’s descent into alcoholism must have been painful for his family. And perhaps humiliating. Even so, I wasn’t sure that excused the lack of emotion with which Tyler had absorbed the news.

  “Thank you for doing your duty,” he said shortly. “Now you should be on your way.”

  Tyler stepped back and shut the door between us.

  “Wait!” Belatedly I remembered I’d brought something to give to him. “I have your brother’s school ring.”

  The door didn’t budge. I heard the lock click into place.

  If there had been a mail slot, I might have pushed the ring through. Instead, I shoved it back in my pocket.

  It seemed odd that Tyler had never asked for any details about what had happened. He hadn’t even appeared to be curious. The police had dismissed Pete’s death as an alcohol-related accident. His friend, John Smith, was sure Pete hadn’t had a drop to drink in months. Whichever version was the truth, Pete’s only sibling hadn’t even wanted to hear about it.

  Even after I’d made it clear that Pete no longer wanted anything from him, Tyler had been chiefly concerned with getting rid of me. I wondered what I should make of that.

  Chapter Nine

  When I turned and started down the steps, I saw a tiny woman standing on the sidewalk next to the Volvo. She was bundled up against the cold in a long, puffy coat with a hood trimmed in fake fur. There were thick-soled boots on her feet and her hand, extended toward the car, was encased in a bright red mitten.

  Faith was wise in the ways of the world. She knew better than to throw herself against the car window, barking at someone she couldn’t reach. Instead, she was sitting upright on the seat, looking at the woman quizzically through the glass. As I drew near, I realized that the two of them appeared to be holding a conversation.

  “Her name is Faith,” I said when I reached the sidewalk.

  The woman turned. Clear blue eyes peered up at me from a face that was wrinkled and covered in age spots. Several wisps of gray hair escaped from beneath the hood and fluttered in the breeze.

  She smiled and said, “I’m Stella. Stella Braverman. That’s a pretty dog in there. Is she a Poodle?”

  “Yes. She’s a Standard.”

  “I used to have a couple of Poodles, Chloe and Pierre. They weren’t that big, though. I think they were Mini size. They were great dogs. I wish I could have another but at my age, I don’t want to get a pet I might not outlive. Because then what would happen to it when I was gone?”

  “Maybe your family—?”

  “No, there’s just me. Even my friends are dying off now. Old age isn’t for weenies. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. What’s your name? I don’t think you said.”

  “Melanie Travis,” I told her.

  “I saw you were visiting the Dempseys. Are you a friend of Betty’s?”

  “No, although I was hoping to speak with her for a few minutes.”

  “And Tyler left you standing on the step.” Stella shook her head. “That boy needs to learn some manners. Although in his case, it’s probably too late. I’ve known Betty since before he was born, and some days he tries to keep me away too. Tells me she’s feeling too poorly to see me.”

  “Is she very ill?” I asked.

  “Cancer.” Stella whispered the word as though it was too awful to say out loud. “Betty doesn’t have more than a few months left. Leastwise, that’s what the doctors tell her. So if Tyler thinks I’m not going to visit my best friend now, he can think again. I’ve had a key to the back door of that house for fifty years, same as Betty has one for my house. As soon as Tyler goes off somewhere in his car, I’m in there like a shot.”

  She looked up and winked. “Kids. They don’t know as much as they think they do. So what did you want to see Betty about?”

  “I’m afraid it’s complicated,” I said.

  “Good. I like complicated. Let’s go inside and get warm and you can tell me all about it. Bring Faith along too. She doesn’t look very happy sitting in that car all by herself. Do you like herb tea? If not, you should drink it anyway because it’s good for you. How about Fig Newtons? I just got a new box yesterday at the supermarket.”

  There was something surprisingly comforting about placing myself in Stella’s hands and simply following her directions. Plus, she struck me as the kind of woman who wouldn
’t take no for an answer.

  Five minutes later, Faith and I were seated in her front parlor. Stella came in from the kitchen carrying a small tray that held two delicate china cups and a plate of cookies. Now that she’d shed her bulky outerwear, the elderly woman looked even smaller than she had outside. I jumped up to take the tray from her, but Stella waved me away and set it down on the coffee table between two love seats.

  “I found a couple of shortbread cookies in the pantry for Faith,” she said. “They’re pretty stale, but she probably won’t mind. I read online that you’re not supposed to feed dogs raisins. Did you know that?”

  “Yes. No grapes or chocolate either.”

  “Well, then I guess you’re on top of things. Raisins and figs seem kind of similar to me. So I figured better safe than sorry.”

  Stella handed Faith a shortbread cookie. The Poodle swept it gently out of her hand. Stella watched with satisfaction as Faith chewed and swallowed the cookie. Then she sat down on the other love seat.

  She handed me a flower-sprigged cup and saucer, and picked up the other set for herself. “Now then, suppose you tell me what’s complicated?”

  I started with my brother’s purchase of Mr. Haney’s Christmas tree farm. I didn’t know exactly why, except that Stella seemed like she would enjoy a good story. I wasn’t surprised that she made a great audience. Stella concentrated as she listened. Her attention was focused on me like a laser. When I got to the part about finding Pete’s body in the snow, she issued an audible gasp.

  “I’m sorry,” I said with a guilty wince. I’d gotten so caught up in telling the tale that I hadn’t thought to soften the news. “You must have known Pete too. I shouldn’t have just blurted that out.”

  “You don’t need to apologize on my account. It’s poor Betty I’m worried about.” Stella sighed. “This will come as a real blow to her. The rest of us . . . well, it’s been five years. I guess we all suspected that something had gone terribly wrong. But Betty still held out hope that she would see Pete one more time in this life. When she got the diagnosis, she even sent Tyler out looking for him, hoping he could track him down. But nothing ever came of his efforts.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I said again. The words felt wholly inadequate.

  “For pity’s sake, don’t keep apologizing.” Stella waved me off again. Apparently she was good at that. She dropped her hand beneath the table and slipped Faith another cookie. She was good at that too. “To tell the truth, in some ways it was a relief when Pete went away. Of course, at the time nobody suspected that he wouldn’t come back. But let’s just say that most of us were ready for a break. That boy’s life was one big drama.”

  I finally took a sip of my tea. It tasted like weeds. “I understand he had a drinking problem.”

  “That’s right. Even worse, Pete was a mean drunk. He’d get soused and set his sights on something he thought he ought to have. He didn’t give a flip who was standing in his way. Fistfights, car wrecks, marriages falling apart . . . the consequences meant nothing to him.”

  “That must have been hard on his family,” I said.

  “Not just his family,” Stella said. “It was hard on everyone around him. Stonebridge is a small town and Pete wreaked havoc around here. Plenty of people were just as happy when he disappeared. Excepting Betty, of course. She knew her son had lost his way, but she was always hopeful that Pete would find himself again.”

  “And Tyler? How did he feel about it? Were he and Pete close?”

  “Not really. Not so’s you’d notice anyway. It can’t have been easy for Tyler, growing up in Peter’s shadow. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t born the favorite, but it was something he had to deal with. Tyler was a quiet child, the little boy standing in the background that you might not even notice when his brother was around. So I guess that’s one good thing that came out of all of Pete’s problems.”

  Faith tapped the toe of my boot with her paw. She was looking for another cookie. Faith wasn’t a spoiled dog, but she wanted to be. There was just a single shortbread cookie remaining. Stella looked on approvingly as I handed it over.

  “One good thing?” I said.

  “After Pete left, Tyler really stepped up. I guess you could say he came into his own. He’s a whole new man now. Betty’s spent the last five years pining for her lost son. I’d imagine Tyler spent the same amount of time thanking his lucky stars that Pete was gone.”

  Maybe that explained Tyler’s dispassionate response to his older brother’s death, I thought. Or maybe it gave him a motive for making sure that Pete never returned home.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Stella,” I said, rising to my feet. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

  “My pleasure. These days I’m happy to talk to anyone who comes by. Otherwise it’s just me and the television.”

  She stood up and walked us to the door. “You want to talk to someone who knows what-all Pete got up to, you should go see his ex-wife, Penny. That woman will give you an earful whether you want one or not.”

  “Does she live in Stonebridge?”

  “Yup. Born and raised here, just like the Dempseys. Her name is Penelope Whitten now. She took her maiden name back after the divorce. Not that that came as a surprise to anyone.” Stella’s lips curved upward in a smile. “Once she hears Pete’s gone for good, she’ll probably dance a jig right around the block.”

  * * *

  “Stella sounds like a character,” Sam said that night.

  The kids were in bed and we were sitting in front of a fire and enjoying a glass of eggnog. The Poodles were spread out on the floor around us like a plush carpet. Bud was upstairs on Kevin’s bed.

  Some of the Christmas decorations had been put in place while I was away that afternoon. There was a wreath on the front door and an electric candle in each window. A length of pine roping had been wrapped around the banister in the front hall. Now the house was filled with that wonderful evergreen smell.

  “But I’m not sure it’s a good thing she recommended that you talk to Pete’s ex-wife,” Sam added. “Ex-wives can be dangerous.”

  Having met Sam’s ex-wife, I was inclined to agree. On the other hand, I was an ex-wife as well. And Bob and I got along splendidly.

  Well, most of the time anyway.

  “Ex-wives also know where the bodies are buried,” I pointed out. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “You’re still concerned about what John Smith said, aren’t you?”

  I turned and faced Sam across the couch. “How can I not be? If Smith was right and Pete hadn’t had a drink in months, then his death couldn’t have been caused by a drunken stupor or intoxicated bumbling in the dark. The smell of gin on Pete’s clothing? The empty bottles in his cabin? It looks like someone deliberately set out to mislead the police about what happened. Someone who had a hand in his death.”

  Neither one of us mentioned the word murder, but we were both thinking it.

  “I’m not sure what kind of answers I can get from people who hadn’t seen Pete in years,” I said. “But I know I have to try.”

  Sam nodded. I wasn’t sure whether the gesture was one of acquiescence or resignation. But then he raised his glass and tipped it in my direction, offering a brief salute. “Go get ’em. And let me know what you find out.”

  I rested my head on Sam’s shoulder and wound my arm around his body, pulling us closer together. Perfect.

  * * *

  In my experience there was no point in calling people on the phone to ask them about something they might not want to discuss. Invariably they just hung up on me. When I appeared in person, however, I had much better luck.

  Maybe that was because I looked like the elementary school teacher I actually was. Or maybe it was due to my winning personality. Just kidding. Most likely it was because I took Faith with me almost everywhere. And who could resist the obvious charms of a big, playful Standard Poodle?

  Friday afternoon after school, Faith a
nd I went back to Stonebridge. With the help of some mild internet stalking (thank you Facebook and Instagram) I not only had Penelope Whitten’s address, I also knew that she was a stay-at-home mother of two adorable elementary school–age boys, and that she planned to spend the afternoon decorating the outside of her house.

  Holy moly. If the average person ran into as many people with bad intentions as I do, they would know better than to put that much information out there for the taking. But considering Penelope’s lack of internet discretion, I could only guess that the worst guy she’d ever run across was her ex-husband, Pete.

  Her house was smaller than the Dempsey home and it was located closer to the center of town. The Cape Cod–style home was painted light blue with white trim, and it sat up near the road on a narrow lot. A row of midsize bushes, each one trimmed into a neat square, flanked either side of the front door.

  As advertised, Penelope was out in the front yard. At least, I assumed it was she, since the woman I saw was holding a giant ball of Christmas lights that she was attempting—not very successfully—to untangle. As I parked along the curb and got out, the woman lifted her head and glanced my way. Her hair was tucked up into a red knit cap, exposing an unlined forehead, a slender nose, and cheeks that were rosy from the cold. She would have been pretty except for the ferocious scowl on her face.

  “Maybe I can help,” I offered.

  Since I wouldn’t be going far, I had rolled down the windows on the passenger side of the car. As I walked across the yard, Faith stuck her head out to watch the proceedings. She was just as eager to see what would happen next as I was.

  “Sure, why not? Four hands have to be better than two.” The woman shrugged. “I guess you must be Melanie?”

  “Um, yes.” Sharon had told me this was a town where everybody knew everyone else’s business, but even so, that was fast. “And you’re Penelope?”

  “Penny, please. The only one who called me Penelope was Pete. He was a huge fan of Homer.” She yanked on either end of the ball of lights and when they separated slightly, passed one side over to me. “You know, the Odyssey?”