We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  “Since you work with teenagers, I’m sure you can tell who is over twenty-one,” Claire said. “It’s always hard for me to judge their age. If I’m not sure, I just give them plain cider. No one ever complains, so either they can’t tell that it’s non-alcoholic or they were under-age.”

  “I think our crowd is going to be well over twenty-one tonight,” Marti predicted. “The silver fox next door seems to have quite a fan club of ladies over fifty. Though our handsome host might steal his thunder tonight.”

  “I always thought I would look stunning in ribbon curls,” Ed said.

  Jesi grimaced at the adult flirting. She held up a handful of keys and asked which one was for the storeroom.

  “You’re actually remembering to lock the doors now?” Marti asked her friend.

  “Of course,” Claire lied. “I take NHPD recommendations seriously, especially with this rash of petty thefts.” She explained the keyring system; the paw for the front door, the bone for the back door, the mall logo for the outer back door, the box for the supply room, and the Grinch for the antique store, which Delilah gave her in case of emergency.

  Jesi ran back with the box key, then returned the set to their hook in the office. Zac arrived shortly after and Marti asked him to help the new employee carry in the extra toys from the back. She showed Coach where the brandy was, in case he needed to mix up a new batch. The recipe called for one-half cup per gallon, plus two tablespoons of brandy extract, which added a more robust taste and the perception of a stronger drink.

  Henry Paige, the bookseller, came in, wearing a Dickens shirt, introducing his son, Dylan. He sent him over to pick out a present for his aunt’s dog.

  “I’m not sure how to say this,” Henry said.

  “Oh no, you’re not canceling, are you? You’ll make the perfect Santa to emcee the contest.”

  “No, of course not. I’ve been practicing my ho ho ho’s all week.” He checked to ensure his son was out of earshot. “I hate to put you on the spot, but Dylan is driving me crazy. He follows Emma’s Instagram and saw her posts about your event tonight. He asked if he could be a volunteer.”

  “Sure, we can always use extra hands,” Claire said.

  “Between you and me, I think he has a crush on her, but he would never admit it,” Henry confided. “I should warn you, he’s going through an awkward stage, kind of clumsy…and if he’s trying to impress a girl...”

  “Didn’t we all go through that stage?” Claire promised she would find some easy jobs for him to do to help the shelters, who would be very appreciative of the help.

  “Those Miss Seeton books you ordered from London are on the house,” Henry said, then called his son. The trio went upstairs to meet the shelter representatives and Dylan was put in charge of manning the silent auction bid sheets. His most important task, though, was to ensure no one got too close to the gingerbread display.

  Emma and Zac dashed in through the back door.

  “Hi Barbara,” Zac said, grabbing aprons for him and his sister. “I’m sorry we’re late. Emma had another crisis.”

  “Oh my God, Zac. This was tots not my fault. You know that I had to….hey, what’s Coach Bishop doing here again?”

  “He volunteered to help, so Claire assigned him door duty,” Barbara said. She spotted Delilah coming in the door and rushed to intercept her, sure that the woman brought a complaint from her husband. Emma ran upstairs to help, while Zac stayed downstairs to organize the registers.

  Delilah handed a donation to Claire, to be split between the rescue groups. “I’m sure Donald won’t mind if I contribute to your fundraiser, after all you’ve done for us.”

  Claire thought differently, but thanked her and invited her over for a cup of cider.

  “Oh, hello again,” Delilah said to Ed. She selected a cup of plain cider, staying just long enough to take a few polite sips. “Donald will be back from dinner soon, and then we have to inventory all the new pieces that came in. A most successful day, indeed.”

  “You’ve been working all day; can’t you do that tomorrow?” Claire asked.

  “He has to leave early tomorrow morning for an estate evaluation in Virginia. I’m so worried about his driving the van in this weather, but he said it should be clear for the next few days.”

  “Too bad he couldn’t do it via Skype, especially since you’re so very busy now.”

  “Oh, no. This sort of thing has to be done in person,” Delilah said. “He was going to drive straight through, but I insisted he stay overnight half-way there and back. Driving at night would be so dangerous.”

  Peggy shouted from the landing for Claire to come upstairs immediately. The baker raced up the steps, stopped by Peggy who told her, “Dylan brought holly, and it’s guaranteed bad luck to bring it into a house before Christmas Eve.”

  “This isn’t a house,” Dylan said. “Besides, it’s for Emma’s Christmas pudding hat.”

  “Holly is toxic to dogs, Dylan,” Emma said. “I appreciate the gesture, but you need to take it to the dumpster outside before something happens.”

  “Fine, geez, I was just trying to spread a little cheer.” Dylan grabbed the offensive sprig from its box and spun around in a dramatic gesture. Only too late did he realize how close he was to the volunteer setting up the pug rescue area. She fell backwards, but the tense teen was able to grab the crate from her arms just in time. He set the crate on the table and turned to help the woman.

  “See, I told you it was bad luck,” Peggy said, engaging Dylan in an argument that attracted everyone’s attention to diffuse. With all eyes on the bickering pair, no one noticed as Petunia Pug wriggled out of the cage and into the featured display. Still wearing her reindeer antlers, she sat in front, contentedly munching a gingerbread man. The remains of the cookie sentry’s foot and a few crumbs were all that remained in the center of the showpiece.

  The volunteer swooped in to grab the pudgy pug and brushed the crumbs off her holiday scarf. Peggy double-checked Viktor’s ingredient list to ensure there were no unsafe foods for dogs. Relieved there were not, she yelled at Dylan anyway, for good measure. Emma grabbed marshmallows from the cocoa table and tried stuffing them in the gap left by the pilfering pug. Claire ran downstairs for one of her doggie gingerbread men and a piping bag. She glued the replacement cookie with melted vanilla yogurt coating while the assembled audience watched in awe. Emma was sent down to print an edible tag that said “this one’s for Fido” to hang around the substitute cookie’s neck.

  Marti took the opportunity to waylay the teens into the stock room and grill them about the football coach. Zac confessed he didn’t know him, though reiterated his general disdain of anyone involved in athletics. Emma launched into an extended review of his coaching methods, which Marti cut short.

  “Emma,” Marti said, tapping her foot on the bamboo flooring. “We’re starting in a few minutes. Tell me in ten words or less if he okay or not.”

  “Well, I think that he requires too much of a time commitment from the players because Harry is never able to just hang at Starbucks with me, or…”

  “Ten words or less,” Marti snapped.

  “I guess he’s Okay, overall I mean. His hair looks weird like that, well not weird-weird, but weird-different, retro, that’s it. Anyway, Harry and the rest of the team think he’s the greatest ever and they have been super successful, though I think that has more to do with Harry’s natural…”

  “See, you only actually needed four words,” Marti said. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, I’ve got four words for that jock boyfriend of Emma’s,” Zac said. “Muscle-headed roid freak.”

  “I told you, Coach Bishop is dead-set against any enhancement drugs. The players get random tests, so if any of them did take anything illegal, they would be kicked off the team and suspended from school.”

  “Whatevs,” Zac said in a mocking voice. He turned to Marti and asked, “Why did you want to know about him?”

  “I just want to be sure he can
be trusted with all the donation jars and everything. This is Claire’s big night and I don’t want anyone to spoil it.”

  “Trusted with the donation jars?” Claire asked after the teens left.

  “You heard that, huh?” Marti knew she had no chance of spinning the overheard conversation. “You can’t blame me for worrying about you.”

  “And about Nick. I get it, but you don’t have to worry. I told you, I’m taking a nice long break from relationships,” Claire said and hugged her friend. “Now, let’s get ready for the rush.”

  Moments later, crowds of customers jostled through the door. Ed welcomed every guest, causing a bottleneck of women at the entrance. Claire sprang to action, moving the check-in station to the other side of the room. She encouraged lingerers to head upstairs for more refreshments and bidding opportunities. Barbara, Zac, and Emma manned the registers while Peggy and Jesi worked the floor and kept supplies stocked. Marti, the self-appointed shelter coordinator, helped vet potential forever homes and encouraged people to bid like the infamous Chicago voter, early and often. Claire flitted between all jobs.

  Betty was talking with the Purrfect Paws Rescue and waved Claire over. The late Ms. Fischer’s neighbor thanked her for the invitation. “I’m having such a fun time; exactly what I needed to get me out of the house. Sharon helped me with suggestions about soothing Ruth’s cats and helping them adjust to me.” Betty put on her glasses and read the notes. “Can you show me where to find these?”

  Claire led the way to the holistic section and showed her the options. Betty took all the recommended products, plus a selection of handmade cat toys, two Santa Claws beds and a package of organic catnip.

  “I’ll have them hold this at the register,” Claire said. “But, first let’s get you a VIP bag and a cup of cider.”

  They walked over to the greeting station, where Ed was surrounded by female admirers. Claire snuck behind him to get the cat gift bag while Betty waited in line. She encouraged the lingering women to meet the adorable dogs available for adoption around the store.

  “Spirited or extra spirited?” Ed asked the next in line. He explained the difference and poured a cup of plain cider.

  “You look very familiar, have we met?” Betty asked.

  “I get that a lot; I must have one of those faces.”

  “He’s being modest,” the woman behind Betty said. “The paper recently did a feature online about Coach Bishop. He coaches the high school football team, and they’re on a record winning streak.”

  Ed smiled for the obligatory photo as the line pushed forward. Betty took the drink and walked with Claire out to the heated tent where people and dogs socialized.

  “Next time I go to the library, I’ll ask them to show that to me. I don’t have much luck with computers, despite my granddaughter’s tutoring.”

  “I could show you,” a handsome silver-haired man said. He stood and pulled out a chair for Betty.

  “Betty, this is George. He’s a retired stock trader and a keen bowler,” Claire said, leaving her latest matchmade pair to get to know each other.

  The shop owner stopped to talk with Tyler and Wrigley, who each had a plate of goodies to eat. His new girlfriend, Julie, and her terrier, Sammy, walked up with two cups of cider. The athletic brunette asked Claire how she was getting along with Ed, admitting she encouraged Tyler to drop a hint about Claire to the handsome coach.

  “I coach the girls’ softball team, so I’ve gotten to know Ed,” Julie said. “I never realized that he looks like JP, and believe me I’ve seen all his films, until Tyler mentioned it.”

  “I’m not sure I see the resemblance, but I guess,” Tyler said.

  “Anyway, I hope you don’t mind I put a little bug in Ed’s ear about you,” Julie said. “He needs a relationship with a real person, not all those women that hang around him.”

  “All those women?” Claire asked.

  “He’s polite to them, but I can tell he isn’t interested. He’s quite a catch, a rising star in his profession and very easy on the eyes, especially with his new hairstyle,” Julie said, gazing in Ed’s direction a little too long for Tyler’s liking.

  “If you like that sort of L.A. thing,” he scoffed. Wrigley and Sammy shared the last cookie, sending their owners in search of more.

  A jingle-bell alarm called Claire upstairs to organize the volunteers and their dogs for the parade. She hardly recognized Henry, who had fully transformed himself into Santa. He took the list of parade participants and stood on the landing to announce each to a rapt audience. The adoptable pooch howliday parade drew everyone’s attention, weaving through the store like a Christmas conga line.

  Santa Henry reminded all guests to vote on their favorite costumed dog by placing their tickets in the appropriate bucket. Additional votes could be expressed by dropping in monetary donations, Marti added. The jolly elf continued, “The dog with the most tickets and dollars takes the coveted trophy, along with a basket filled with toys and treats. The money raised will be divided between all the local pet shelters.”

  Claire took a quick inventory of baked goods and popped into the kitchen to roll out more truffles. She asked Zac to start the holiday karaoke machine, pre-loaded with holiday pop songs and classic crooning tunes. She sprang out to sing along with a group performance of “Do they know it’s Christmas?” while the truffles chilled. She called Marti and Helen on stage to perform “Mele Kalikimaka”, while Emma and Jesi hula danced in the background. “All I Want Is You” queued up and Claire exited the stage, knowing she should only attempt notes that high in total privacy.

  A cheery customer, bosoms heaving out of her sparkly Santa v-neck sweater, bravely took on the challenge. Channeling her inner Mariah, Ms. Benson sailed through the song, until the very end. Her voice cracked and the screech sent Turner the Mastiff, howling and running through the store. His shocked owner tried to keep up but dropped the leash within a few strides. Claire raced to catch him, but he veered to the right, knocking into Ed and spilling two mugs of cider on his holiday sweater. Baron woofed, calling the wayward dog toward him. Unfortunately, Turner had built up too much speed and ended up crashing through the gate to join his friend behind the counter. Zac grabbed the massive dog’s leash while Barbara guided the shaken customer back to his dog.

  Claire helped Ed up and picked up the tray and mugs. “Are you okay?”

  Ed shook his head. “I’m not even sure what happened. Did anyone get the license plate of that truck?”

  Claire pulled out the towel she kept tucked in her apron for just such emergencies and tried to blot the cinnamon-scented liquid that dripped from his sweater.

  “Oh, you’re soaked. Let’s go upstairs and you can shower.” Claire immediately felt the intense stares of the entire store. She raised her voice and walked toward the stairs. “By yourself, that is. I’ll show you where the bathroom is and you can change into some spare clothes. Clothes I keep for staff in case of emergencies like this. I won’t be with you, of course.”

  As they walked upstairs, several offers to bathe Ed could be heard. Marti turned up the volume on the karaoke machine and played “Feliz Navidad”, knowing no one could resist singing along to the catchy tune.

  Claire set out towels, a pair of sweats and a Posh Pup polo and laid them on the dresser. She locked the door behind her when she left, in case some of the guests wanted to make good on their offers. As she walked back downstairs, she sang the last half of the extended song, adding a chorus of Feliz Navi-dog.

  Zac programmed the next song on the karaoke machine and announced a group singalong. “As most of you know, Claire has a unique talent for rewriting song lyrics to fit just about any situation,” he explained. “This one is too good not to share, so I took the liberty of programming the words to The Twelve Dogs of Woofmas on the screen. Claire, please lead us in your pawfect holidog song.”

  “Well, if you insist,” Claire said, cheered on by staff and customers alike. She was on Nine Doxies Dancing when Ed
came downstairs, pulling the tight shirt over his torso. Several of the singers were distracted, but caught up in time for five golden pups. Stepping off the stage to thunderous applause, Claire was approached with many requests for copies of the lyrics. Emma promised she would post the video with words for everyone to sing along.

  “Feeling better?” Claire asked Ed. “That must have been so sticky and er, um, uncomfortable.”

  “The hot shower worked magic, though a helping set of hands would have been welcome.”

  Helen shouted, “Call me anytime!” She asked Claire how she managed to get so many hot men in her shower, causing the flustered owner to back into the counter, knocking over a stack of empty boxes.

  “I’ll get those for you,” Ed said. As he bent over, the unbuttoned polo exposed his chest. Besides well-toned pectoral muscles, she noticed several red splotches.

  “Oh no,” Claire exclaimed. “Did the cider burn you? I have some aloe vera back here, but you better see the doctor.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got a red rash around your lower neck area. Do you want a mirror?”

  “Oh, those. I noticed them upstairs. I must be allergic to something in that sweater. I’m sure they’ll go away soon enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said. “What a terrible night it’s been for you. Forced to wear an itchy sweater, working all night, then attacked by a galloping dog.”

  “A perfect first date, all in all,” Ed said, surprising Claire with a kiss on the cheek.

  “Oh!”

  “That’s the best that the greatest freestyle lyricist of our time can come up with?”

  Barbara called out, “Everything okay?” before stepping into the back. Claire’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and she ran to the bathroom to collect herself. Why didn’t the take-charge CDs cover situations like this? Should she say something, or was that just a friendly gesture? She would tell him they needed to stay in the friendship zone, next time. That decision made, she returned to the floor, thanked him and wished him a good night from behind the counter.