The Twelve Dice of Christmas

by Gail Oust

  “All that’s left to do is pop the biscuits into the oven for few minutes.”

  Bill set the table, and while waiting for the biscuits to bake I told him all about my conversation with Steven and his plan to propose to his girlfriend. “Just think how romantic Christmas in London will be. Walking hand in hand along the Thames. Kissing in the shadow of Big Ben. Perhaps Christmas Eve service in Westminster Abbey. Chestnuts roasting, Yorkshire pudding, plum pudding, Boxing Day.”

  “Sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” Bill remarked when I’d finally finished fantasizing about celebrating the holiday abroad. “It can’t compare to England, of course, but Ohio can be a great place to spend Christmas. There’s nothing like family gathered to open gifts and share a meal. Since both your children have plans, have you given any more thought to coming to my son’s home with me?”

  The oven timer buzzed just then, granting me a temporary reprieve. Careful not to burn myself, I removed the biscuits from the oven and placed the casserole on the table. I served Bill a generous portion and spooned a helping for myself. He remained silent, giving me time to think before I answered his question.

  I peeled off the top layer of the flaky biscuit, and it was like peeling away layers of resistance. Suddenly, the answer became obvious. “Yes,” I said. “I’d love to go with you and meet your family.”

  “I can’t promise you Big Ben or Westminster Abbey, but I will promise you a warm welcome.”

  I felt pleased at seeing Bill tuck into his meal. And I also felt pleased with my decision to go with Bill to Ohio. He was an important part of my life and his family was an important part of his. It was time we got acquainted. Would they be shocked to know we slept together? Or would they insist on separate bedrooms? There was a lot of uncharted territory ahead of us, but I was up for the journey.

  Bill and I lingered over coffee, lulled by the soft chug of the dishwasher. “With all the talk about Christmas, I nearly forgot to tell you that Eula Snow has a new man in her life. His name is Ralph.”

  “Eula? The woman must be eighty.” Bill smiled at me over the rim of his coffee cup, his blue eyes bright with curiosity. “Tell me about this Ralph character? He must be a charmer. Have you met him? What’s he like?”

  I leaned back, prepared to enjoy myself. “He has the most amazing eyes. They’re a dazzling shade of dark gold. I suppose you’d call them amber.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  I wasn’t sure if Bill was teasing or not. “Ralph’s just so friendly and lovable. I certainly can understand why Eula fell head over heels for him.”

  “Hmm,” Bill muttered, obviously not thrilled to hear me rhapsodizing about some mysterious stranger. “How did Eula and this Ralph meet? Not on the internet, I hope. There are a lot of scam artists out there preying on lonely widows.”

  “Ralph just sort of showed up on Eula’s back porch.”

  “Sounds suspicious, if you ask me.” Scowling, Bill drained his coffee cup. “I hope you’ll never be so gullible that you’d fall for some person who suddenly appeared out of the blue.”

  “It’s possible if the stranger is as adorable as Ralph.” I saw Bill’s scowl darken and knew it was time to end my teasing. “Other than his beautiful eyes, Ralph’s most arresting feature is his long, floppy, feathery ears.”

  Comprehension washed across Bill’s face. “Then I take it this new man in Eula’s life is canine, not human.”

  “Definitely canine. He’s chocolate brown, maybe thirty or thirty-five pounds, has a stubby tail, and a great disposition. I tried to convince Eula that keeping a pet, especially a large dog, requires a commitment. I hope she’ll make a concerted effort to find the dog’s owner.”

  “From your description, Ralph could be a Boykin spaniel. Boykins are the state dog of South Carolina. If memory serves, they were originally bred for hunting turkey and ducks in the lowlands. Some folks refer to them as swamp poodles. From everything I’ve read or heard, they’re great dogs, smart, friendly, eager to please.”

  “Well, Eula can certainly use a friend what with all the crazy rumors circulating. Her sister insists she doesn’t show herself in public till all the furor dies down.”

  “I’ve been housebound lately. What kind of rumors are you talking about?”

  “Some people swear Waylon was a ladies’ man. Helen at the Koffee Kup asked me if it was true that love letters and a book of poems were found with the remains. Nothing I’ve learned so far about the man supports the theory of a jealous lover. My money, though, is on Bud Sanders as the culprit. The man has a wicked temper and can nurse a grudge.”

  Bill rose, rinsed our empty coffee cups, and put them on the drain board. I glanced at the kitchen clock and was surprised to see the hour. It was time to take my leave. Stifling a yawn, I slipped into my zippered fleece. “According to the schedule Monica handed me, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. I’ll get my casserole dish another time.”

  At the door, Bill placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “Kate, stay away from Bud Sanders and whoever else you think might be involved. If Waylon Snow’s killer is still alive—and still in the area—they might go to great lengths to stop you from snooping around. A person’s killed once; they can kill again.”

  I kissed him on the cheek—not that I’m a germophobe, but no sense taking chances. I left Bill framed in the doorway, backlit by light from the foyer, certain of two things: I wasn’t a snoop, and Eula wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

  Chapter 22

  Dog food? Check. Water bowl? Check. Food bowl? Check. Collar and leash? Check. On my way to the register at the dollar store, I added a bag of doggy treats to my cart and tossed in a rawhide bone, then for good measure also added a couple of chew toys. Since Eula was determined to keep Ralph—at least until his rightful owner came forward—I wanted to make sure she had the essentials.

  “New dog?” the clerk asked as she rang up the items.

  “Not me. A friend found a stray.”

  The clerk announced the total with a raised brow. “Must be a real good friend.”

  After paying, I darted a final look around to make sure there wasn’t anyone I knew close by to see me dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a sweatshirt fraying at the cuffs, then hurried to my car. I had my pride and didn’t want to be mistaken for a homeless person.

  On my way to Eula’s with a carload of pet supplies, I phoned Tammy Lynn. “Don’t know if you’ve heard the latest, but your grandmother has taken in a stray she found on her back porch and christened him Ralph.” I proceeded to give her a description of the animal and asked her to keep her ears open if anyone called to report a missing dog.

  “A dog would be a great comfort to Meemaw,” Tammy Lynn said. “I watched this show on TV about emotional-support animals. Meemaw could sure use one of them.”

  I couldn’t’ve agreed with Tammy Lynn more, I thought, as I reached Eula’s and parked behind Cora’s smaller Camry and Gloria’s larger Expedition. Plastic shopping bags filled with pet supplies in each hand and a hefty container of dog food tucked under my arm, I trudged up the front walkway. Thanks to Ralph, I didn’t need to knock. My arrival was heralded with a loud, enthusiastic bark. His stubby tail wagged back and forth like a metronome.

  I stepped inside the house and dumped my purchases on the living room floor alongside the sofa.

  “Looks like you hit the dollar store.” Polly strolled out of the kitchen, and Ralph deserted me in her favor. “Hope there’s a doggy ball in one of those bags. I’m going to teach Ralph to play fetch.”

  “Not until this house is clean from top to bottom,” Gloria reminded her mother as she came out of the guest room. “Monica said to make it sparkle.”

  I was happy to see Gloria’s wardrobe mirrored mine. She, too, had dressed in faded jeans and sweatshirt, suitable for manual labor.

  “Monica’s a slave driver,” Polly grumbled.

  “I’ll help with the cleaning as soon as I pack the last of the k
nickknacks. I still need to do another sweep to roundup the strays.”

  “I thought I heard your voice,” Cora said as she and Eula joined us in the living room.

  “Cora made me a smoothie using kale.” Eula raised a glass filled with a green concoction of some sort. “It’s rich in vitamins and minerals. It doesn’t taste half bad either.”

  Cora, however, had other matters on her mind beside kale smoothies. “I hope you ladies can talk sense into my sister. She refuses to listen to reason. First, she volunteers to open her home to virtual strangers, and now she wants to keep a stray dog.”

  “I’m sure this is only a temporary situation until the owners can be located,” I said. “Think of Ralph as your sister’s guard dog. Or her emotional-support animal.” From the look Cora shot me, I stood accused of aiding and abetting. Or in this case aiding and petting.

  “He didn’t have a collar,” Eula said in her own defense.

  Cora’s lips thinned in distaste. “The dog probably has fleas, maybe mange, or rabies. No telling what he could have picked up. He could turn on my sister in an unprovoked attack.”

  Instantly, Ralph became the center of everyone’s attention. Impervious to our stares, he sat patiently at Polly’s feet, his tail thumping rhythmically on the hardwood floor. Now, I’m a rank amateur when it comes to canines, but in my estimation, Ralph projected an award-worthy performance of man’s best friend, not a crazed attack dog.

  “I think it’s in my sister’s best interest if I call the Humane Society and have them send someone out to remove him.”

  “Cora, please don’t.” Eula seemed ready to burst into tears when Cora reached for her cell phone. “I can’t bear the thought of Ralph locked up in a pen with a bunch of other dogs.”

  “Tell you what,” Gloria spoke up. “I’m a card-carrying member of the local Humane Society. If it will make you rest easier, why don’t I take Ralph to the vet our group uses? Have him checked out. Make sure he’s healthy. Then, Eula can foster him while we wait for the owner to claim him.”

  “Oh, Gloria, you’d really do that for me?” Eula’s voice quavered.

  Cora rolled her eyes but knew she’d lost the battle. “Well, let’s pray the mutt finds a suitable home before it’s time for my sister to enter Valley View Manor. Sorry, dear,” she said, softening her tone and giving Eula a hug, “but you can’t take him with you. I hate to see you getting too attached to the animal.”

  The bag of supplies from the dollar store chose that moment to topple over. Doggy treats, rawhide bone, bowls, collar, leash and pet toys spilled out.

  Polly stooped to pick up a green dinosaur. “Think you might have gone a little overboard with the chew toys, Kate?”

  “It’s not just any dinosaur, it’s a T. rex,” I said, gathering up the items, which included a purple alligator. “The package said they’re good for dental health.”

  “Kate’s right,” Gloria agreed. “The rounded nubs help clean dogs’ teeth and freshen their breath.”

  Cora plucked her sweater from the back of a chair and slung her purse on her shoulder. “Ask me, you’re throwing good money after bad, but it’s not my money.”

  The remainder of the morning passed quickly. The house was now tchotchke-free and the bins stored out of sight in the attic. While in the attic, I noticed evidence that the sheriff’s men had made a thorough search. The contents of trunks and boxes were strewn about: photos, clothing, old linens. Once the holidays were over, I’d try to persuade a couple of the Babes to help restore order among Eula’s keepsakes. In the meantime, Polly, with Eula’s help, was making headway with the cleaning chores.

  “Hey, everyone,” Pam announced shortly after noon. “Reinforcements have arrived and she brought subs.”

  Polly peeked into the bag of sandwiches. “Perfect time for a break. I’m starving. ”

  “I’ve got sweet tea in the fridge,” Eula offered. “And cookies in the cupboard.”

  We’d just polished off the last of the Oreos when Gloria returned with Ralph in tow. “Dr. Emory pronounced Ralph a fine specimen of a Boykin spaniel with a little Lab mixed in,” she announced, unclipping the dog’s leash. “Except for being a bit underweight, he’s fit as a fiddle.”

  Eula clasped her hands tightly. “Did anyone report him missing?”

  “Not yet,” Gloria said. “Dr. Emory scanned Ralph for a microchip but didn’t find one. He suggested we print up some fliers and post them around town.”

  Pam nudged the remaining sandwich across the table to Gloria. “Megan’s a whiz when it comes to computers. I’ll ask her to make some fliers with Ralph’s picture. She can post it on Facebook, too.”

  “The doctor had his receptionist call the animal shelter about Ralph in case the owner contacts them regarding a lost pet.” Gloria unwrapped a turkey sub and took a bite.

  I filled a glass with ice and poured Gloria sweet tea. “In the meantime, it looks as though Sir Ralph has found himself a good temporary home.”

  “Dr. Emory suggested we bring him in for a professional grooming.”

  I was grateful Cora wasn’t around to hear this. She’d have more to say on the subject of good money after bad, even if it wasn’t coming out of her own pocket.

  “Don’t worry about the cost,” Gloria said, seemingly able to read my mind. “Dr. Emory has a soft spot for Boykin spaniels. He used to have one as a boy.”

  • • •

  At the end of the day, I stowed the mop and scrub bucket in a utility closet in the mudroom. Gloria, Polly, and Pam had already left, their work finished. Ralph pranced into the mudroom and did a little tap dance by the back door.

  Eula was right behind him, carrying his leash in one hand and covering her mouth to hide a yawn with the other. “Gloria told me the vet said Ralph needs regular exercise,” she said, reaching for a jacket hanging from a peg.

  Ralph practically did a jig at the prospect.

  I looked from the excited dog to a tired Eula, then back at the dog and sighed. “Eula, why don’t you rest a bit while Ralph and I get some fresh air? I’ll take him for a nice romp outdoors.”

  “As long as this isn’t an imposition.”

  “Not at all.” I took the leash from her and grabbed my jacket, which I’d hung next to hers. “This will be a good time for me to start gathering the pinecones my friends need.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Eula said with a weary smile. “I might even take a little catnap.”

  I snapped on Ralph’s leash, retrieved the scrub bucket from the utility closet, and let him lead the way.

  After being cooped up in the house all day, Ralph had energy to burn. Straight as an arrow, he bounded into the woods with me holding on to his leash for dear life. The scrub bucket clanged against my side as I half walked, half ran to keep pace. A thick carpet of leaves rustled underfoot and branches snagged my coat. We dodged fallen trees and rotting stumps along the way until Ralph stopped to relieve himself at the base of a tall pine. Out of breath, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to get my bearings and caught a glimpse of Eula’s house barely visible through the trees. Finished doing his business, Ralph raised his head, his golden eyes alert, his body tense. Suddenly, he charged forward. The leash jerked out of my hand.

  “Ralph!” I called and hurried after him.

  I found him frantically pawing a hollowed-out log. Dried leaves and dirt flew every which way, but Ralph continued his feverish quest.

  “Ralph! Stop that!”

  But the thus-far obedient Ralph refused to obey my command. I opened my mouth to scold, but Ralph found what had captured his interest. He planted his muzzle in the heart of the hollow log and dragged out what, at first glance, appeared to be a bundle of rags. Proud of his accomplishment, he took hold of it with his mouth, hauled it over to where I stood, hands on hips, and set it at my feet like some sort of prize.

  “What is it, boy?”

  Ralph let out an excited yip, so pleased with himself that he gave me what passed for a doggy smil
e.

  Dropping the pail—which had yet to hold its first pinecone—I crouched down to examine his treasure. The item the dog unearthed was wrapped in a heavy cloth, filthy and reeking of decay. Loath to touch it with bare hands, I poked at it with a stick I found on the ground. The thing felt solid, heavy. Curious to find out what someone had gone to great lengths to conceal, I poked and prodded some more—and didn’t stop until the cloth dropped away.

  I stared at the object in fascination. “What on earth . . . ?”

  Ralph sat patiently, watching, waiting.

  Inside the rotting cloth, I’d uncovered a round, thick slab of metal with part of a wood handle attached. The object in question reminded me of one my mother had used years ago to tenderize meat. But if that’s indeed what it was, why hide an ordinary kitchen gadget deep in the woods? I studied it more closely and noted the thick coating of rust.

  As I slowly straightened, Polly’s words, spoken during her aborted television interview, rushed back to me. She had likened the size of the hole in Waylon’s skull to a small hamburger patty. That would also describe the size and shape of Ralph’s find. And what if the rust wasn’t really rust at all, but blood? Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the night’s encroaching chill pebbled my arms. Had Ralph just unearthed the murder weapon?

  I reached into the pocket of my jacket and withdrew my cell phone.

  Chapter 23

  Picking up the scrub bucket, I upended it and sat down. I might as well make myself comfy while I waited for Brookdale’s finest to arrive. Ralph, my self-appointed guard dog, settled at my feet but kept his head high, his eyes alert for trouble. Night was quickly falling. Strange noises emanated from deep in the woods—deer, fox, maybe coyotes—and I was grateful for Ralph’s company.

  After a small eternity, I saw the beam of a flashlight cut through the dark and heard leaves crunch and twigs snap. Ralph growled low in his throat. I placed a hand on his head as much for my sake as his. “Easy, boy,” I told him. “I think the cavalry finally arrived.”