We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  “Oh dear! Donald won’t be happy about that. He’ll be here in about an hour for the start of the contest.” Her brow furrowed as she looked at the ornate Victorian mantel clock on the counter. “He has such a finely-tuned nose, he can pick up the faintest odor. Oh, today of all days.”

  “Everything will be fine, don’t worry. The exhaust fans were running at the time, so I’m sure they kept the air clean. Besides, the front door was open for at least an hour while the fire department was here.”

  “The fire department?” Mrs. Prescott gasped.

  “It was only a precaution,” Claire assured, without success. “Actually, Marti thinks the acting fire chief is interested in me and that’s why he came. There was no fire, just a bit of smoke.”

  “Smoke?” Mrs. Prescott’s porcelain skin turned more pallid. “Donald will be so concerned about the effect on his books. Many are first editions, you know.”

  Claire did know, as Donald made a point of telling her so when he first moved into the shop three months ago. With an exaggerated smile, he had wished continued success to his neighbor--only, perhaps moreso the boutique merchandise, as the lingering smell of liver and garlic would ruin his collection of fine books. Claire explained she never used garlic, as it could be dangerous to dogs, and showed him the heavy-duty exhaust fans installed in her kitchen. His florid face reddened when he spied cheeseburger cookies on the menu. A week later, the landlord called about an anonymous complaint he received regarding rancid smells reminiscent of Goose Island’s tanneries. The baker fumed, reminding her landlord that she had never received complaints before. As a courtesy, she had always baked meat-based recipes after the mall closed, but now baked them at home to avoid any confrontations with her distasteful neighbor.

  “I’m sure he won’t even notice,” Claire told Delilah, to reassure herself as much as her. “As I said, the fans were running and the doors were open for even more ventilation. I wanted to mention it to you, in case any of your customers asked you about it; news travels fast in this town.”

  Delilah fiddled with the pearl buttons on her cuff.

  “On a brighter note,” Claire said. “It should be a busy day today for you. Are you going to open early?”

  “No, Donald said it would be more professional to stick to our established schedule. I thought I should get here early, though, to make sure everything is set.”

  Not for the first time did Claire wonder if Donald wasn’t related to Mike Barbon, the rigid Chamber President. That this gentile woman lived with such an ogre was a great tragedy to Claire, but she focused on the positives, hoping Delilah’s color would begin to return.

  “You’ll probably start seeing people arrive early; there’s been a lot of buzz about your contest,” Claire said. “I hear the News may stop by later to take some pictures of the early entries.”

  “Yes, it’s all so exciting. Thank you again.”

  “No thanks necessary. The extra traffic will be great for the rescue group today. Speaking of which, I better get back to work myself.”

  Claire returned to her shop just as the FedEx driver pulled up with another delivery, the third this week. Barbara O’Reilly, the Posh Pup manager, was still bundled in her periwinkle wool coat and hand-knitted scarf as she opened the door for the courier. He stacked five boxes in the corner and wheeled his dolly back to the van for the next shop’s delivery.

  “Barbara, what are you doing here already?” Claire asked. “I thought you weren’t coming in until noon. Did they cancel the planning breakfast?”

  “As soon as I heard about the fire alarm, I left. Is everything ok?”

  “I should have called you. Of course, the town would be buzzing about it.” Claire opened the first two boxes and moved them to the holiday toy aisle. “It was a false alarm.”

  “Marti’s burned plate special, I hear.” Barbara tried not to laugh, but failed.

  Claire couldn’t help but giggle herself as she recounted the episode. “She’s at home today, nursing a cold she blames on the fire department for keeping us outside too long.”

  The pair sorted through the boxes, with Baron sniffing the interesting pieces. He ignored the heaviest box, which contained jugs of pet-safe de-icer.

  “This came in the nick of time,” Barbara said. “We’re supposed to get a dilly of a snowstorm in a few days.”

  “Maybe those doggie snow boots will start selling. I don’t know why I listened to Dean and ordered so many.”

  “Well, these gingerbread puzzle toys are selling like a house on fire.” Barbara’s rosy cheeks crinkled as she chuckled at her joke. “I was hoping they would arrive today to restock the shelves. I have a feeling that we’ll be extra busy today, with the first day of the contest next door.”

  “Maybe it will be so busy that the creep will overlook the smoke incident.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be far too involved with his own success to notice. The whole town has been talking about the contest and everyone at the breakfast had at least one prized possession in their bags. I don’t know if they’ll be more excited to find that the trinkets are treasures or ugly enough to win the contest.”

  “That’s exactly what I told Mrs. Prescott when I pitched the idea. She was so appalled at having to call any client’s item an ugly sweater.” Claire laughed. “I told her people love that.”

  “They should have paid you for your marketing expertise. Imagine how much your Manhattan firm would have charged for that promotion.”

  “I feel badly for Mrs. Prescott. Besides, I know it’s killing him to give the money to charity.”

  “If he does,” Barbara said. “One thing I know he won’t give is credit to you for masterminding the event.” She switched on the neon bone sign that announced the store was open, welcoming in the early shoppers.

  Claire went back to the kitchen and pulled out a bowl of snickerpoochie dough from the refrigerator. After rolling the scooped balls of dough in a mixture of cinnamon and cornmeal, she put four trays in the oven. The cookies were not only fast to make and bake, but they also perfumed the shop with cheerful cinnamon.

  A line of at least fifty people stood outside the antique shop. While they waited to have their antiques evaluated, they pulled up hoods and tightened scarves to protect against the bitter chill that whipped across the outdoor shopping center. Several hopefuls took turns holding spaces and running into Carrie Teaford’s coffee and tea shop for hot beverages. Some popped in to explore Claire’s shop, including her friend Traci Bancroft, who stopped in to show the antique figure she and Ken bought in Bali on their honeymoon.

  “I was told it’s Semara, the Balinese God of Love, hand-carved from an ancient Belalu tree by a blind monk two centuries ago,” Traci said. She swathed the treasure in a fern-patterned batik scarf and tucked it into her bright red Hermes tote bag. “I suppose it could be a phony, but I still love it.”

  “I still can’t get over your ring,” Claire said. “It’s absolutely stunning.”

  The sparkling engagement ring featured a ten-carat princess-cut emerald, surrounded by a halo of diamond baguettes. The wedding band sparkled with emeralds and diamonds, beneath which a secret message was engraved. After Traci and Ken returned from their whirlwind engagement, wedding and honeymoon, she had shown the inscription to Claire. Alongside the longitude and latitude of their Indonesian wedding, were intertwined hearts, one hand-drawn by each. Only Traci’s smile outshone the new jewelry, a relief to Claire after nearly seeing her friends arrested for their spouses’ murders just a few months earlier.

  When the kitsch dog clock barked eleven-forty-five, Traci dashed outside to regain her place in line. All conversations ceased as the assembled treasure seekers waited for their golden ticket, guaranteeing an appraisal that day. In exchange, each handed over a generous cash donation to be donated to a to-be-named children’s charity. Curious Posh Pup shoppers ventured next door to see what was happening, leaving the store empty.

  Zac Martin began his shift with a cuddle wi
th Baron. The teen poked his shaggy-haired head into the kitchen.

  “Where is everybody? Did Scrooge finally convince the landlord to shut us down after last night?”

  Claire looked up from sifting flour into a large bowl. “How did you know about that?”

  “Keckers’ friend Chad posted it. His dad has a scanner, so he’s always the first to know when something happens. Not that anything ever happens here. Except for last night, of course.”

  Despite the occurrence of four murders, committed by their former shop neighbor’s aunt that summer, life had returned to Snore Haven normal for the teens.

  “Nothing actually happened,” Claire said. “We just slightly overbaked a tray of ginger cookies.”

  “Ala Marti, I know. Hanna tweeted the update. Her cousin is on the squad.”

  Not to be outdone, Claire asked, “Well, did you know that the police had a call at the Christkindlmarkt last night? Yvette told me that she and several other sweets vendors reported stolen items.”

  Barbara emerged from the stock room to contribute news she heard about the town’s infamous thief with a sweet tooth.

  “We should come up with a catchy name. How about Rotten Sweet Tooth?” Zac proposed.

  “Or the Sweetz Zapper or, if Kyle’s storefront gets robbed, the jamburglar?” Claire said, harking back to her GenX advertising childhood.

  “Maybe we should leave it to the press,” Barbara said tactfully.

  “You’d think that the sweet snatcher would have been caught by now. It’s been going on for months,” Claire said.

  “That’s because you’re not on the case,” Zac said.

  “It will do Chief Maloney good to solve something on his own,” Barbara told Claire. “You don’t need to be dragged into anything like that again.”

  “At least we don’t have to worry about being a target. I doubt unsweetened carob is on the thief’s most-wanted list,” Claire said.

  She was about to split tasks between her staff when the jingle bells chimed at the front door. Wisps of expensive perfume reached the back room, announcing Lana Vanderloft’s presence. Baron was already at the counter charming his favorite customer when Claire came out to the retail floor.

  Lana whipped off her cranberry wool cape with the flair of a matador. Her shiny chestnut hair was pulled in a bun, revealing a lightly made-up face that defied her age. “Claire, thank gaawwd, you’re here! I have an absolute emergenza!” The unique dialect was influenced by years in theater and various global residences, currently North Haven. A recent trip to the Amalfi Coast influenced her vocabulary of late.

  “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

  “I just found out that the board secretary is bringing home a puppy tomorrow. I absolutely must have a dozen of your cupcakes to send to her. Or maybe I should get two dozen? There must be enough for the neighbors’ dogs, so they welcome little Goldie to the cul-de-sac. Make any flavor you think is best. Perhaps some grain-free, in case there are any allergies. Oh, and ice cream too. My babies adore the carob chip.”

  Claire pulled out her order book and scribbled down the details. Lana’s chauffer, Claude Morris, stomped the slush off his polished shoes on the paw mat before stepping back to speak with Barbara. The manager’s cheeks turned as rosy as the Santa pin she wore on her apron. Claire and Lana smiled as they watched the pair pretend to discuss business. Their blooming romance was obvious to everyone but themselves.

  When Barbara caught them looking, it was Claire’s turn to quickly cover with a business conversation. “Goldie will be a very popular pup. When would you like to pick up this order?”

  “As soon as you open tomorrow, of course! I told you it was an emergency,” Lana said.

  Claire dropped her pen, hoping a solution would occur to her while bending over to retrieve it. Her first instinct was to say ‘are you nuts?’ Of course, this was a perfectly sane request to the sophisticated socialite. It simply had to be done. Perhaps, though, a slightly later pickup time could be negotiated.

  “Oh dear. I still have to make mincemeat pies for a catering order, and four birthday cakes, and...”

  “I suppose a later time could still work. How about if Claude stops by at two o’clock?”

  “Great,” Claire chirped. So much for the take-charge hypnosis CD Marti had given to her as an early Christmas gift. Under the counter, she texted her off-duty employees, asking if they could come in for a few hours to help with the order.

  Lana picked out a bone-shaped basket and several little gifts to accompany the bakery order. “Are those cinnayum rolls in the oven? I’ll take a dozen of those to take home now. They smell divine!”

  “So does your new perfume; it’s inspired me to think of a sugar plum biscotti recipe.” Claire closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I detect your signature rose scent, but I smell plums…and lemon, and apples too, and a spice…wait, don’t tell me…is it bergamot?”

  “Sicilian bergamot, to be précisément correct. I picked up a few bottles of Creed parfumes when I was in London last month. The scent is…was my…” Lana clutched at the emerald and diamond clasp of her pearl necklace. “Leave it to that shrew to tell me that she saw Creed at Neiman Marcus in New York last week. Bunny’s hoping to chair the Snow Gala next year, and is doing everything she can to rattle me now that we’re down to the wire on this year’s event. I will not allow her to take anything else from me…”

  The pearls were yanked from side to side like a wild pendulum, until they snapped and flew like a lariat into a basket of holiday hedgehog stuffed toys.

  “Oh, that woman!” Lana growled. “I should have let her take the fall for fraud—and murder—when I had the chance.”

  Claire knew only too well that Lana was bluffing. She never would have let one of her charities, or her nemesis, be plagued with news of the fraudulent celebrity escapade from the past summer.

  “I’ll help you collect them, don’t worry,” the shop owner said. “I hope we can find all the pearls.”

  Lana’s face lightened as she reached in and pulled out the beaded string. “Dahling, they’re hand-knotted. I only need to get this section restored. Does that shop next door repair jewelry?”

  “I think they do, but shouldn’t you use your jeweler? This necklace looks very expensive; is it a family heirloom?”

  “This? Jonathon picked it up when we were in Thailand years ago. We were walking from the beach and it matched my sarong.”

  “Oh, they look real, especially the green stones and crystals on the clasp, they sparkle exactly like real gems.”

  “Well, they are genuine, naturellement. But it was from one of those regular jewelry stores, off the rack, as they say. Still, it has great sentimental value. It was such a happy time we spent together, just after we were married…” the widow paused and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief discreetly handed to her by her chauffeur. “Anyway, Stephan, my jeweler, flew out to Switzerland to pick up my new watch, and his underlings won’t do a thing without his being there. You know how I hate to wait for anything, and I’m sure it’s tres simple. I’ll go next door and make inquiries. It’s important to support new local businesses.”

  “No argument here!”

  “Are we set? Just charge the final amount to my account. I know Goldie and her new friends will simply pawsitively adore your creations. Ta!”

  Baron jumped up, so his front paws rested on the counter. “Woof!”

  “I never get over how precious you are,” she said to the charming Eurasier. “Claire, dear, be sure to include a cupcake and ice cream for Baron from Aunty Lana.”

  “Thank you!”

  Baron wagged his feathery tail in anticipation of the frozen treat, one of his favorites.

  “Wait,” Claire shouted. “Sorry to startle you, but I realized your misfortune may be my fortune. Well, not mine exactly, but, well, let me explain.”

  As briefly as possible, she outlined her plan. As expected, the feisty philanthropist was all too eager to participate in th
e scheme to help.

  Claire hid behind a crowd and watched through the window as Lana made a grand entrance into the antique shop, introducing herself to Donald and feigning admiration for his well-known reputation. The queue of people she cut off were mesmerized as the talented actress delivered her lines. She placed her Gucci handbag on the counter and retrieved the broken necklace. While Donald inspected the gems with his eye loupe, Lana took an exaggerated sniff of the flowers on the table. Claire dashed in as soon as she saw the cue.

  “These smell heavenly! What a lovely atmosphere in here.”

  Claire ran up to the antique throne, which held the mass of Mr. Prescott. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, breathlessly. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you were with a customer.”

  “It’s perfectly all right, Miss; you seem in distress,” Lana replied to the pretend stranger. “I’ll take a look around this dahling shop while I wait. So many lovely little things; perfect to accessorize my homes.”

  Mrs. Prescott scurried to intercede. “Clarissa, is everything all right?”

  Undeterred, Claire whispered in Donald’s ear, “I thought I caught a whiff of natural gas. You have such a fine sense of smell, I had to dash over to ask you. Do you smell anything funny in here?”

  “Of course not,” Donald snapped. “Didn’t you just hear our customer? It smells divine in here.”

  “I don’t notice anything either,” Delilah confirmed.

  “That’s such a relief. I was reading a mystery late last night, where the victim died of gas poisoning. I guess I let my imagination run away from me.” Claire turned to leave, then added, “Well, good luck with the promotion today. I can’t wait to see the entries.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you,” Donald said before lowering his voice to a growl. “Now go away.”

  “I agree,” Claire said, launching into her pitch. “It’s such an amazing idea to raise funds for local charities. Your ‘Deck the Halls with Kitsch and Gaudy’ ugly antique contest is such a fun concept; I know everyone is going to love it. I think it might be the event of the season.”