Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Page 11

  I went through the house unwinding the ribbon from various objects and had almost reached the living room when Maude arrived, followed closely by Sonny. I had forgotten that they had promised to help me with the Christmas mailing for Golden Rescue today. They stood at the door for a moment, taking it all in, and then Maude observed in her dry British way, “Interesting choice.”

  Sonny had brought her service dog, Hero, and all three of my dogs scampered to greet him, entangling themselves in ribbon along the way. There was the usual confusion of sorting dogs and people, which was made even more complicated by the fact that Maude had brought a casserole and Sonny had brought cookies. In fairly short order I rescued the food, turned the dogs out into the play yard, and explained about Mischief’s sudden interest in holiday decorating while the three of us finished clearing out the ribbon jungle.

  “Yesterday I came home and she had taken out all the silver Christmas balls and lined them up across the floor,” I said. “She even managed to put one in Magic’s crate.”

  “Clearly, she thinks the place could use some sprucing up,” Maude said, and Sonny was chuckling out loud.

  “I think she just likes leading you on a treasure hunt,” Sonny said.

  “Yeah, well, you know what they say,” I responded. “One dog’s treasure is another girl’s trash.” And to prove it, I wadded up the last of the ribbon, stuffed it in the trash and headed toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat. I’ve had a pretty full morning—a pretty full twenty-four hours, as a matter of fact.”

  “So I see.” Maude, following me into the kitchen, picked up a high-heeled, leopard- print shoe from the center of the table and examined it with a lifted eyebrow. Sonny found the mate protruding from the half-open bread box.

  For a moment I drew a blank, and then I exclaimed, “Oh, no! Those shoes danced with President Kennedy! Tell me she didn’t chew them!” I snatched the shoe from Maude and examined it quickly. “How did she even find them?”

  Sonny handed me the other shoe. “I assume we’re still talking about Mischief?”

  “Who else?” Both shoes appeared to be unharmed, and I looked around for the box.

  “She says she’s innocent,” Sonny said.

  “Yeah, well, all evidence to the contrary.”

  “She says it’s not evidence. It’s magic.”

  I spared Sonny a look that clearly said, Enough, already, and she shrugged good-naturedly. “I can only tell you what I know,” she said.

  “Might one ask how your dog came to almost chew up a pair of shoes that danced with a former president?”

  That was from Maude, and I gave up looking for the box and explained about Miss Esther and her eccentric gift while I warmed the casserole in the microwave and set the table. “She’s a sweet old thing,” I said, “but I’m afraid she thinks the shoes are more valuable than they are. She says the government has been after them for years.”

  Sonny examined the shoes skeptically. “They’re vintage,” she admitted, “but I don’t think even a museum would want a pair of shoes that may or may not have danced with a president. Do you suppose she really knew John Kennedy?”

  I shrugged. “She knew a lot of famous people.”

  “A pity the shoes don’t fit you,” Maude said. “This being the season for parties and all.”

  That reminded me of the Sheriff’s Department Christmas party tonight, and that reminded me of my morning with Buck and the missing Ashleigh. I filled them in on the events of the past twenty-four hours—including my unexpected overnight guests and the even more unexpected box of puppies—while we ate.

  “What I'm still unclear on,” Maude said with a meaningful look at me, “is how you lost control of Cisco in the first place.”

  Maude doesn't mean to be judgmental; she is quite simply a perfectionist dog trainer. And since she taught me everything she knows, she expects me to be the same. Which I am. More or less.

  “Well, it certainly wasn't my idea.” I couldn't help being a little defensive. “Cisco has always been an idiot about Buck, and Buck reinforces it. Cisco just can’t be trusted around him.”

  “It seems to me a little training in impulse control might be appropriate.”

  “Tell that to Cisco.” But I privately thought Maude was right, and I felt guilty for not being a better trainer. We spent a good deal of time working around law enforcement, and Cisco’s enthusiasm around Buck was not only embarrassing, it might one day very easily prove dangerous.

  “He runs to Buck because Buck gives him undivided attention,” Sonny commented. “That’s all he wants.”

  “That’s what everybody wants,” I muttered.

  “He’s out of control because he doesn’t have a job,” was Maude’s opinion. “He’s a working dog and he needs something to do. Since the kennel closed down you’ve stopped training agility, and how long since he went to tracking class?”

  “Come on, I missed one month.” The thing about tracking class is that it is invariably held at sunup, regardless of rain, snow, ice or sleet, and there is usually an hour’s drive involved to get to the open field or wooded hill where the course has been set. Who can blame a person for wanting to sleep in now and then? “And I can hardly train agility when my equipment’s in storage.”

  Maude gave me a stern look, which I avoided. Many of the top competitors, I knew, trained with nothing but a set of portable jumps and weave poles. In the snow.

  “Cisco says he’s a star,” Sonny insisted. “He feels his talents are being under-utilized. When he runs away, he’s just looking for a way to be useful.”

  Maude lifted an eyebrow. “For once you and I are in agreement, my dear.”

  Even I couldn’t argue with that. He had certainly proven himself useful when he had discovered Nick’s cache of stolen treasure...even though I had yet to be convinced that had not been an accident.

  “Speaking of runaways,” Sonny said, “if it wasn’t her boyfriend who was driving the car Ashleigh was seen getting into, who do the police suppose it was?”

  “No theories yet.” I was glad to turn the conversation to something other than my failures as a dog trainer. “She was carrying a bag, though, so she must have planned to be gone for a while. What I can’t figure out is how she ended up way out on Burdock Road, and then why she'd turn around and hitch another ride into town.”

  “Strange,” said Sonny. "The police don't really think she killed her own father, do they? A fourteen- year-old?"

  "One certainly hears worse on the news these days," Maude observed. "Personally, however, I wouldn’t trust the word of a boy who would toss a box of puppies out of a car. He’s got her stashed away somewhere, you mark me.”

  “Come on, Maude, he did bring them to Rescue,” I said. I was talking about the puppies now. “And I’m sure he didn’t really toss them out. He just left them by my mailbox.”

  “As though we have nothing else to do with our lives but take care of the mistakes of every irresponsible breeder in the county,” returned Maude, who had never turned down a homeless Golden in her life. “And unlimited funds, of course.”

  “If the female does have parvo,” I said unhappily, “it will cost a fortune to bring her through it.”

  “Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Sonny started to rise to clear the table, but I saw her wince and waved her to stay seated. She had arrived with her cane today, and I had not seen her do that in several months.

  “Sorry,” she said as Maude and I took the dishes to the sink. “The cold weather is starting to work its dark magic on my bones. I can’t wait to get to the coast. My sister says it’s seventy degrees today.”

  Sonny had a degenerative rheumatic condition that had reduced her to a wheelchair when I first met her; after she had adopted Mystery—and then Hero—I had seen a marked improvement, but I knew there were days, and always would be, when she could not get out of bed. I was glad she was getting out of the mountains for the winter and felt guilty for begrudging her, however
briefly, the escape.

  Maude said, “As a matter of fact, I’ve the chance to get away to a warmer climate this Christmas, too, and I think I’ll take it, by George.” She started rinsing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. “You recall my sister’s boy who moved to Florida a few years back and opened that hotel? He’s getting married over the holidays and he’s bringing the whole family over for the occasion. It will be quite a treat for me—I haven’t seen some of them in forty years.”

  Sonny congratulated her happily and shared her excitement, but I just stared. Maude never took vacations—not real ones, anyway. Dog shows, seminars and conferences hardly counted since I was usually with her, and we had spent every Christmas together since I was a child. I said, “But—this is awfully sudden, isn’t it? I mean, you didn’t say anything. And what about the dogs?”

  “Well, I couldn’t make any plans until I knew whether or not we’d be open over the holidays, now could I? And of course I wouldn’t consider going if the hotel weren’t dog friendly. Which it is. ”

  I quickly mustered a smile. “It sounds great. Lucky you.”

  “Just so,” agreed Maude with a crisp and pleased nod of her head. “Now let’s see if we can raise a few funds, shall we? Spaying that Golden bitch of Lester Stokes is not going to be free, either—and that’s assuming he agrees to it.”

  “I’ll go back out there in a few days,” I promised. “He wasn’t about to agree to anything today.”

  I let the dogs in and got them settled in their places—Hero under Sonny’s chair, Cisco beside mine, and the two girls watching us hopefully from the braided rug by the door. There is an unwritten rule among dogs: no one willingly leaves the kitchen while people are sitting at the table. There was, after all, a plate of homemade butterscotch cookies in the center of it, and as every patient dog knows, accidents do happen.

  Years ago we had started sending out Christmas cards to all our clients at Dog Daze Boarding and Training, whether they had been in once for a quick nail trim or taken a year’s worth of training lessons from us. We had built up quite a mailing list, and the solicitation letters for Golden Rescue we included in each card usually netted us a few hundred dollars each year. With the economy the way it was, I did not expect to net much above the cost of the mailing this year, but we had to keep trying. Besides, it was important to remind people that Dog Daze would be reopening soon.

  I hoped.

  Shortly after Thanksgiving, Maude, Sonny and I had gathered all our dogs, posed them in Santa hats, and spent the day photographing them until we finally got one in which all the dogs were looking more or less at the camera and their hats were on more or less straight. A few hours with Photoshop and we had a Christmas card no soft-hearted animal lover could resist. All we had to do was tuck the letter from Rescue inside each card and affix a mailing label and stamp. The work went fairly quickly, but I was glad to have to help. I munched cookies while I stuffed envelopes, and I casually mentioned my plans to go to the Sheriff’s Department Christmas party that night.

  Maude seemed surprised. “Really? I didn’t think you’d go this year.”

  I shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on it, but Buck made a point of inviting me. They’re doing something special for Uncle Roe.”

  Sonny said, “I thought you said Miles is in town.”

  “He is. Or was.” I couldn’t help frowning a little as I stuffed another plea for money into a Christmas card. “Not that it matters. Or would have mattered, even if he wasn’t mad at me.”

  “Mad at you?” Sonny arched an eyebrow. “What could you possibly done to have made him mad? Aside from badgering him with environmental petitions and putting your name on every lawsuit that’s been filed against him in this county, of course.”

  Since she was the attorney of record for all of those lawsuits and the environmental petitions, she hardly had room to talk, and she knew it. “Miles doesn’t care about that stuff. We agreed to disagree a long time ago.” And I shrugged, pretending a nonchalance I was very, very far from feeling. “But you’re probably right. He was interesting enough, but there was never any chance of it going anywhere. It was a disaster waiting to happen. ”

  Maude and Sonny exchanged a look I didn’t like or understand.

  “He always seemed a pleasant enough chap to me,” Maude said, making crisp, efficient folds in the stack of solicitation letters at her elbow before passing them to Sonny to be inserted into the cards. “And you did seem to enjoy his company.”

  Despite her reserved British manner, Maude was not above fishing for information, and I suppose she was entitled. She had seen me through too many heartbreaks not to have something of an investment in my personal life.

  “I barely know him,” I said. “We don’t have anything in common. And…” I frowned again. “He called my guys ‘dogs.’ Damn dogs, to be precise.”

  “The villain,” observed Maude mildly. “He should be flogged.”

  Sonny was trying not to smile. “Well, I can certainly see how that would put him on your persona non gratis list, but it doesn’t explain what you did to get on his.”

  “It was a stupid misunderstanding. He didn’t think I was being responsible with Melanie. She wasn’t out of my sight for one minute, and most of the time we were with a police officer, for heaven’s sake. How much more responsible can you get? He just doesn’t understand how things work around here. He was completely unreasonable.”

  They both were tactfully silent, and after a moment, a corner of my lips turned down in dry acknowledgement. “Okay,” I admitted. “So he had a point. But it doesn’t matter." I was trying hard to make myself believe that. "Like I said, it was fun hanging out with a rich guy, but it never would have gone anywhere. He’s not my type.”

  Maude’s brows shot up into her steel-gray bangs. “Now, I simply can’t let that pass. My dear, you can’t be unaware that this new fellow of yours is exactly like the old one? Be that for good or ill I can’t say, but he is definitely your type.”

  I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Sonny shook her head, looking amused. “Think about it, Raine. Good-looking, powerful, charming, in a position of authority…”

  “Mild-tempered, easygoing, well-liked,” added Maude.

  Sonny finished, “Who are we describing?”

  I still didn’t get it, and Sonny laughed softly. “Miles is just another version of Buck, only without the uniform. I can’t believe you didn’t realize that. I thought that was why you were attracted to him in the first place.”

  I scowled fiercely. “I never said I was attracted to him. Besides, that’s ridiculous. They’re nothing alike.”

  Sonny and Maude looked at each other again, but neither said a word. I slapped another stamp on an envelope. “Besides,” I said, “even if they were…”

  I stopped, staring at the envelope on the table before me.

  "Guess who lives on Burdock Road?” I said, and slowly raised my eyes to them in triumph. “Keith and Emmy Stokes—Nick’s brother! I think I know where Ashleigh is!”

  __________

  ELEVEN

  There is nothing, and I mean nothing, as much fun as walking into a party looking hot and feeling like a hero. Well, okay, I’ve heard tell that a clean run in an agility trial is even better, but since I’ve never had one I can’t testify to that.

  My red dress had a square neck that showed enough cleavage to make me feel just a little naughty—but not enough to scandalize my aunt—and a flirty skirt that flared well above the knee and made my legs look a mile long. My silver shoes had three-inch heels and big, red sequined buckles on the toes. My hair, which had grown out over the past few months, curled perfectly around my collarbone. I spent a long time primping and preening in front of the mirror, because in my line of work there aren’t a lot of opportunities to look gorgeous. I appreciate them when they come.

  The Sherriff’s Department’s annual Christmas Party was held in the Legion Hall, as were most hol
iday parties with more than ten guests that weren’t church-affiliated. The employees pitched in to have a ham dinner with all the fixings catered, and traditionally the sheriff supplied the beer and wine. I could see by the number of happy people with glasses in their hands that Buck had kept up the tradition.

  There was a big, fragrant Christmas tree in one corner and a woodsy-smelling fire going in the fireplace. The buffet table was covered with a white cloth and scattered with colorful glass Christmas balls. Covered aluminum chafing trays added the aromas of butane and good food to the mix. Mannheim Steamroller was on the stereo and the wood-floored building echoed with laughter. I left my coat in the foyer, fluffed up my hair, and felt like a million bucks when I walked in.

  Of course I knew everyone there. A couple of the wives—who had naturally been on my side in the divorce—hugged me and told me how great it was to see me. Even Deke, apparently moved by the Christmas spirit and at least one beer, nodded pleasantly at me and commented, “Looking sharp, Ms.—uh…” He never had gotten used to not calling me by my married name. “Raine,” he finished awkwardly. In the spirit of the season, I smiled and thanked him.

  My aunt, looking sharp herself in a beaded black sheath and smelling of Sand & Sable perfume, embraced me, and Uncle Roe kissed my cheek. “There she is, the girl of the hour,” he declared. “Why in the world you just don’t go ahead and join the force, I’ll never know.”

  I laughed. “If things don’t pick up in the dog-training business, I just might have to do that.”

  Across the room, Buck lifted his mug to me and smiled, and I felt a warm glow spread all the way out to my fingertips. He looked particularly handsome in a tan wool sweater and the suede sports coat I’d given him the last Christmas we were married. It was oddly pleasant to see him out of uniform, relaxed and happy and surrounded by his peers, drinking a beer. He glanced a question toward his mug, and I lifted my index finger. He turned to get me a beer.

  “Honestly, Raine, I’d think you’d have enough to do this time of year without running all over the county helping these boys solve their cases,” said Aunt Mart. “Heaven knows I do.”