Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Page 16

  That seemed to surprise her, and she gave me a smile that seemed almost as shy as it was pleased. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay. Maybe I will.”

  I rummaged around in the freezer until I found one of Aunt Mart’s emergency casseroles—the emergency being the kind that occurred almost daily around here, when I had nothing nutritious in the house to eat—and popped it in the microwave. While it heated I dialed the number of the hospital, asked for Miles’s room, and handed the receiver to Melanie.

  She told him about training the puppies and searching for the Christmas tree, and how Cisco had run away but she had gotten him back, and about Mischief breaking out of her crate and dragging a whole box of Christmas decorations inside it. She exclaimed suddenly, “Oh! We forgot to watch the video! Gotta go, Dad, love you, bye!” She thrust the phone at me and raced out of the room with all three dogs on her heels.

  Miles said, “Sounds like you two had a big day.”

  “I think she’s having a good time,” I replied casually, but I was grinning. The difference between the girl I first had met less than a week ago and the girl who had just raced out of the room was monumental. “I guess it took her awhile to warm up to me. How are you feeling?”

  “To tell the truth, I haven’t had a hangover this bad since the spring break in Mexico I’ll never remember.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “Now,” he corrected. “I don’t drink now. Mexico is why. But the upside is I’m all caught up on The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Ask me anything.”

  I laughed. “Listen,” I said. “I lost my cell phone, so if you need me call me on this line. I know how you freak out when you can’t reach me.”

  “Very funny.” He hesitated. When he spoke again his tone was very serious. “Listen, I want to explain why I was so short with you the other day. I’d just spent the morning on the phone with Melanie’s mother, and my lawyer. It turns out she’s decided to stay in Brazil with her new husband. Our custody agreement specifies that if either of us takes up residence outside the U.S., full custody automatically reverts to the other parent. So that’s what is happening. As of now, Melanie will be living with me. Permanently.”

  The silence between us practically echoed. Not only did I not know what to say, I didn’t even know what he wanted me to say. In a moment he filled the void with, “Yeah, I know. It hit me like that too. I don’t know how to be a full-time dad. I’m not even very good at being a part-time one.”

  I managed, “Miles, you’re being a little hard on yourself. You haven’t given it a chance yet.”

  “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? I have to figure it out. It’s just that there’s a hell of a lot to figure out, and I wasn’t prepared for this. So I over-reacted the other day when you were late, and I’m sorry.”

  I smiled into the phone, just a little. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Thanks.” Some of the tension in his voice eased.

  “It’s the least I can do, seeing as how you’re in the hospital and all.”

  “The thing is—I haven’t told Mel yet. Somehow I don’t think she’s going to be too happy about it.”

  “You don’t know that.” My protest sounded weak, even to my own ears. “Kids are resilient. You might be surprised.”

  “I thought the ski trip would give us a chance to get to know each other, and then I could sit down and talk to her… well, it didn’t exactly turn out that way. Thanks for stepping in, Raine. I didn’t expect it.”

  “Hey,” I reminded him, “that’s what friends do. Besides, I’m having fun.” It was the truth, and no one could have been more surprised than I. “She’s a good kid. I like her.”

  He said, “I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to the conversation we had the other morning.”

  “You mean the one where you gave me an ultimatum.”

  “I mean the one where I made a suggestion.”

  I said casually, because I did not want him to know how very much I had thought about that conversation in the past few days, “I’ve come close to eliminating a couple of options.”

  “Care to give me a hint which ones?”

  “You’re welcome to start guessing.”

  “You know that headache I mentioned?”

  “Right.” The microwave pinged and I said, “So, are they springing you tomorrow? What time do you want us to be there?”

  We had one of those back-and-forths about how he didn’t need me to pick him up and he could make arrangements for himself, and I finally told him that I would call after I had finished with the puppy interviews in the morning and let him know what time I’d be there. Men, honestly. Sometimes they can be such babies.

  Before I finished my conversation with her father, Melanie was excitedly calling to me to hurry up, and as I returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to get the casserole out of the microwave, she plopped her iPad in the middle of the table. “Wait, you’ve got to see this! It worked, it really did – look, I’ve got it all cued up.”

  I abandoned the casserole and sat beside her, peering at the fuzzy still photo of Mischief frozen in video with one paw out of her cage. The real Mischief and Magic crawled underneath the table, almost as though they knew what was about to happen. Cisco, for once completely innocent, sat beside me alertly, ready to pass judgment with the two of us.

  Melanie pushed play and the screen sprang to action. Mischief edged out of her crate and went immediately to her sister’s crate, tugging at the lock. I watched in a mixture of amazement and consternation as, after less than ten seconds' work, the second Aussie nosed open her door and wedged herself out, wriggling happily. I stared.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Replay that.”

  Melanie did, and I could hardly believe my eyes. “That’s not Mischief,” I said. “It’s Magic!”

  Melanie grinned. “I know, right? You never double-lock Magic’s cage, so it’s easy for her to get out and then open the other door.”

  “Holy cow.” I sank back in my chair, amazed. “It was Magic all along.”

  “Watch this.”

  She pushed PLAY again and we watched as the two dogs scampered off, moving in and out of the frame, disappearing for long periods of time. Melanie fast-forwarded until suddenly Magic appeared again, carrying something in her mouth. “What is that?” I leaned forward for a better look at the oversized, ungainly object that she half carried, half dragged across the room.

  “Looks like a box,” Melanie said.

  I leaned back again. “That’s exactly what it is,” I said with a small shake of my head. “It’s a shoe box—the box the shoes Miss Esther gave me were in. Mischief—or Magic—took the shoes out days ago.”

  We watched as Magic placed the shoe box in Mischief’s crate, then scratched around on the cushion until it was mostly covered. Mischief then got inside the crate, turned around a few times and plopped down. When she did, the door, which was open only enough to admit an Aussie-sized body, swung closed of its own momentum.

  Melanie ran to the living room while I watched the recorded Magic casually saunter into her crate and settle down for a nap. I leaned down and found the real Magic resting her head on her paws beneath the table, and I glared at her. “You must think you’re pretty clever, huh?”

  She blinked at me and closed her eyes.

  “Here’s the box,” Melanie said, returning. “It’s kind of squished.” She tried to straighten out the flattened corners. “Hey, there’s some stuff in here.” She pulled out a few scraps of yellowed tissue paper and handed me a manila envelope.

  I undid the clasp and shook out the contents. There were a couple of letters addressed to Esther at a Los Angeles address and a zippered plastic bag containing a dozen or so souvenir postcards from the fifties. “Hey, look at this,” I said, pulling out one. “It’s a studio shot of Lassie.” I gave a shrug and a half grin. “Maybe Magic is a fan.” I repacked the items, reminding myself to call the nursing home tomorrow to see if they ha
d a forwarding address for Miss Esther. I was sure she would be glad to have her letters back, even if the postcards were only souvenirs.

  We ate a quick dinner while the puppies wrestled and tumbled in their ex-pen, and the older dogs settled underneath the table and pretended not to watch our every bite. I turned on the outdoor lights and let Melanie take the puppies out by herself, but I watched her from the kitchen window while I cleaned up the dishes. It took some doing, but I managed to convince Melanie to let the puppies have a well-deserved nap while we set up the tree.

  I got a fire going in the living room fireplace, dragged the tree inside, and carried down more boxes from the attic. The dogs, sensing the excitement of something new in the air, scurried up and down the stairs with me, trying to peer into the boxes. With Melanie’s help, I wrestled the tree into the stand, got it semi-straight, and cut the net. The dogs scooted back as the branches sprang out of their confinement and filled the room with the piney smell of Christmas, and Melanie clapped her hands and laughed out loud. We spent the next hour unpacking boxes and unwinding lights, and both Mischief and Magic sat back and watched with pleased expressions on their faces.

  I hung four red velvet stockings embroidered with the names Mischief, Magic, Cisco and Majesty over the fireplace. I filled a bowl with red and green glass balls and tacked a garland of dog bones and fake holly over the doorway. I sat on the floor and carefully unwrapped my mother’s imported Italian crèche, arranging the figurines on a snowy bed of cotton batting beneath the Christmas tree.

  “Aren’t you worried the dogs will eat those?” Melanie asked. She was hanging miniature ceramic dog bones tied with red ribbons on the tree branches.

  “They wouldn’t dare.” I unwrapped the delicately painted porcelain manger and placed it toward the front of the scene I was building. “Besides, I have fence that goes around the tree, just like the one that goes around the wood stove.”

  I had learned the value of that years ago, when I came home after a party to find all my Christmas presents shredded and one tired puppy asleep on a chewed-up cashmere sweater. The fence might not be the most attractive Christmas decoration, but it was definitely better than the alternative.

  I unwrapped two sheep and placed them behind the manger and found the shepherd next. When I unwrapped the next items—my own addition of a ceramic collie, two Aussies, and a golden retriever—Melanie giggled. “Those don’t belong there.”

  “Who says?”

  “There weren’t any dogs in Bethlehem.”

  “I’ll bet you a dozen dog biscuits Bethlehem was swarming with dogs. And even if it wasn’t, no self-respecting shepherd would have tried to move his sheep to Bethlehem without a good herding dog.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Melanie’s familiar skepticism was back. “And what about the golden retriever? I bet they didn’t even have them back then.”

  “Well,” I admitted, “you’re probably right about that.” I arranged the four dogs worshipfully at the foot of the manger. “But if there had been golden retrievers back then, they would have been among the first on the scene—probably helping the wise men carry their frankincense and myrrh.”

  I couldn’t help being reminded of our town’s living Nativity as I placed the camels and the donkey and the holy family: Mary, Joseph, and finally the cherub-faced Christ child. As I started to set the figurine in the manger I hesitated, thinking about Nick and the stolen baby Jesuses, and then I frowned a little, struck by something else.

  “Okay, that’s the last one,” Melanie announced, stepping back to admire her work on the tree. “Can we let the puppies out now?”

  “Sure,” I replied absently. I followed her into the kitchen, and while she herded the puppies out into the back yard, I looked around until I found the ceramic doll head Cisco had picked up at the Christmas tree farm. The resemblance between the angelic face on the expensive, hand-painted figurine that belonged in my manger and the face on the cheap ceramic imitation was striking.

  “Odd,” I murmured out loud, but just then the back door opened and a stream of puppies came bounding in, while at the same moment three big dogs decided they wanted to go out.

  I orchestrated the exchange, and Melanie asked, “Can I show the puppies the Christmas tree?”

  As a general rule puppies and Christmas trees do not mix, and neither do puppies and fireplaces, which is why I had confined these three to the kitchen. But I was feeling festive, and how many more opportunities would Melanie have to enjoy the puppies or a Christmas tree? So I secured the fence around the Christmas tree and barricaded the fireplace with ring gating, supplied Melanie with a clicker and a handful of treats and decided to use this as a training opportunity. We formed teams of big dogs vs. puppies and played games of “fastest sit” and “fastest come”. The puppies won almost every round (well, okay, sometimes I gave them a head start)—with the exception of the female, who was a little shyer and slower than her brothers, and who was so intent on trying to cuddle up next to Melanie that she often missed the command. We played until the puppies fell asleep on the floor from exhaustion and my ribs hurt from laughing. Cisco, Mischief, and Magic wanted the games to go on all night, but I knew when enough was enough.

  “Okay, it’s past these guys’ bedtime,” I told Melanie, scooping up one puppy under each arm. “Mine, too. We’ve all got a big day tomorrow.”

  Melanie picked up the female puppy and cuddled her under her chin. “If I had a puppy like this, you know what I would name her?”

  “Noelle?” I suggested. “Holly?”

  She shook her head.

  “Christmas? Angel? Star? Prancer? Dancer?”

  “Nope. I’d name her Peppermint, and call her Pepper for short. Because peppermints look sweet on the outside, but they’re spicy when you taste them. And just because this puppy looks quiet on the outside doesn’t mean she’s not spicy on the inside. It would be nice if she had a name to remind her of that.”

  I looked at Melanie with newfound respect as I placed the two boys on their fleece mat inside the ex-pen. They immediately curled up together and fell asleep again. “You know,” I said, “I think you’re exactly right. That’s a great name.”

  Melanie handed the puppy over to me. “Maybe we could tell people that tomorrow,” she suggested. “Whoever adopts her, I mean.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “We’ll do that.” I placed the pup beside her brothers. She yawned hugely, circled once, and then collapsed bonelessly atop one of the boys, sound asleep. Melanie and I laughed, and we spent a few more minutes just standing there in companionable silence, watching them sleep. There’s something about kids and puppies that can transform even the gloomiest holiday into something special. And all in all, this wasn’t shaping up to be such a bad Christmas after all.

  __________

  FIFTEEN

  The telephone rang at 7:15 the next morning. It was barely dawn, and the grayish light that crept into my room was enough for me to see Cisco rise from his bed, stretch elaborately, shake out his fur, and trot over to my bed with an expectant look on his face. He knew that phone calls in the dark, more often than not, meant that he would be putting on his Search and Rescue vest and going to work. I really hoped that wasn’t the case on this cold December morning, less than two weeks before Christmas.

  I picked up the phone on the second ring and tried not to sound too groggy. The voice on the other end was not the one I expected.

  “Is this the woman who always rises at the crack the dawn?”

  “Miles?” I blinked, rubbed a hand over my face, and squinted at the clock again. “For your information, dawn hasn’t cracked yet. Not in this part of the world anyway. Is everything okay?”

  “Now it is,” he assured me. “I’m on my way home—with medical permission, by the way. I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to pick me up.”

  “Thanks for waking me up to tell me that. How are you getting home?”

  “I found a driver.”

  Of course he did
. People like Miles never had to worry about the inconveniences ordinary people face. Then I was ashamed of myself for the uncharitable thought, particularly when he asked with more than a touch of anxiety in his tone, “How’s Mel?” He was just a dad who didn’t want to waste any time getting back to his little girl.

  “Still asleep. You weren’t planning to pick her up now, were you?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, we’re doing puppy interviews this morning and I promised she could help. I think she was kind of looking forward to it.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

  “I could ask her when she wakes up,” I volunteered.

  “No, that’s okay. I just felt a little guilty about ruining her ski trip, but as long as she’s having a good time, that’s okay with me.”

  “Do you want to come for breakfast? I’m making pancakes.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks, I’ll pass. I know your cooking, remember?”

  “Your loss. For your information, pancakes are the one thing I actually know how to make.”

  “Well then, I might just have to take a rain check. Give me a call when Mel is ready to come home, okay?”

  By the time we hung up I could hear the puppies whining downstairs, and only seconds after that, Melanie’s feet were padding down the stairs. It was a quite a difference from the last time she had stayed over, and I couldn’t help smiling as I watched her bossily usher the puppies outside.

  Six dogs, one kid, and me: the odds were against it, but somehow dogs were fed and exercised, the puppies’ pen was cleaned and sanitized, pancakes were made and Melanie and I sat down to eat them within the hour. The pancakes were excellent, by the way. I hoped Melanie remembered to tell her father.

  “Don’t you think the puppies need a bath before their people get here?” Melanie said, spearing another forkful of pancakes. “First impressions are everything, you know.”