Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Page 2

  She didn’t.

  I opened the door a crack and peeked out, expecting a little girl who was brokenhearted over an imagined slight by her BFF or because she’d gotten the cheap box of peppermints in the class gift exchange. But then I heard her say in a high, shaky, gasping voice, “Nick? You’ve got to come get me, Nick, something terrible has happened. I need your help…Can’t you borrow your brother’s car? No, I can’t do that! You said… I know but you said…”

  I stepped out of the stall tentatively, keeping Cisco on a short leash. The girl who was hunched over the sink was clearly in one of the upper grades, tall and broadly built—well, ok, plump—in worn jeans and a big shirt that did nothing to minimize her figure problems. Her dark hair was dull and tangled-looking as it fell around her shoulders, and her face was pale and blotched with crying. She whirled around when she heard us, a stricken look on her face, and disconnected the phone.

  I tried for a smile that was both casual and concerned, but that did not look too threatening or adult.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes dropped to Cisco, who, even without his Santa Dog hat, could not have looked more adorable. He grinned and swished his tail and pulled a little against the leash, eager to make a new friend. I reminded him, “With me,” and he settled down.

  She looked quickly away from Cisco when I spoke and swiped an unsteady hand over her face, half turning and avoiding my eyes. She said, “I’m fine.” But her voice sounded thick and tight and as shaky as she looked. I thought she might actually be coming down with something.

  I was careful to keep my distance as I offered, “Because I can get a teacher or something if you…”

  The door opened and another girl of about the same age pushed in, bringing with her a brief burst of noise from the corridor. “Hey, you about finished with my phone? Oh! Look at the dog!”

  She rushed over to us and started petting Cisco, and the first girl thrust the cell phone at her and hurried out. By the time I disentangled Cisco from what quickly became a half dozen giggling, cooing middle-grade girls who wanted to tell me all about their own dogs, we were fifteen minutes late for our next therapy dog visit, and I had all but forgotten about the teenager weeping on the phone.

  __________

  THREE

  Nursing homes are generally not the most cheerful places in the world, but with a Christmas tree in the lobby and blinking reindeer antlers on the volunteers’ heads, even the antiseptic-smelling, linoleum-tiled facility managed to take on a festive air. One of the church groups had sent Christmas cards to all of the residents, and the Women’s Club decorated the doors every year with artificial wreaths, so even the wheelchair-lined halls looked less bleak than they usually did. The Christmas cards were taped around the doorframes and the beribboned wreaths had candy canes on them. Cisco, prancing down the hall with his red velvet jingle-bell bow sounding merrily and his tail swishing back and forth, managed to dislodge about half a dozen Christmas cards, which slowed our progress considerably as I continually had to stop and tape them back on the doorframes.

  The mobile patients—mobile in this case meaning those who were able to sit up in a wheelchair—were assembled in the cafeteria, where there was a tabletop Christmas tree in one corner and a festoon of red and green construction paper cutouts strung around the walls. The room had that odd institution-food smell that was a mixture of canned green beans, warmed-over dinner rolls, and tomato sauce. It was, of course, one of Cisco’s favorite rooms in the world.

  Cafeteria chairs had been arranged in a semicircle around the room for those without wheelchairs, and there were perhaps twenty-five elderly and disabled people there waiting for us. They could hear the bells on Cisco’s collar coming down the hall, and by the time we entered, hands were reaching and faces were beaming. Cisco sat before each and every chair in turn, offering his paw for a handshake, grinning and basking in the affection.

  Mr. Morrissey told me about his cocker spaniel, as he always did, and tried to sneak Cisco a piece of fried chicken that he had saved from lunch, as he always did. Mrs. Daniels, who had been a hairdresser for forty-five years, wanted to brush Cisco’s coat, so I always carried his soft-bristle brush with me. The nurses told me that Mrs. Daniels consistently had more flexibility in her hands after grooming Cisco, and he loved it. I made small talk as I moved down the line, but I knew the one they had really come here to see was Cisco. My feelings were not hurt when they ignored me and fawned over Cisco. In fact, my feelings would have been hurt if they had not.

  I tried to spend an equal amount of time with each patient, but I have to admit I enjoyed visiting with some people more than others. I always saved Esther Kelp for last because she was, quite simply, one of the most interesting people I had ever known. She had been a makeup artist in Hollywood during the fifties and sixties, in the days of the Big Studios. She had known Ronald Regan and Montgomery Cliff. She had worked on movies like Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Giant. She knew Frances Bavier (remember Aunt Bea from The Andy Griffith Show?) which is a huge deal here in North Carolina. But even more impressive than that was the fact that she had actually known Lassie. She used to have lunch with Rudd Weatherwax, who, I hardly need explain, was Lassie’s owner/trainer and a legend in the world of dogs. Eventually she married a man from Raleigh, and they retired here in the mountains. She had the best stories of anyone I had ever known. And she was the only person in the world who could beat me at Lassie trivia.

  “Well, hello there, Mr. Cisco!” She greeted my dog, beaming. “Don’t you look like Christmas come uptown?”

  Cisco sat and swept his tail across the floor, smiling his biggest smile, as I bent to hug Miss Esther. She was a petite woman, all bone and sinew, with crisp silver curls and clear hazel eyes. She was always impeccably groomed, and today she wore a pale pink velour track suit with pearl earrings and carefully applied makeup. She had broken her hip in a fall from a ladder while painting the trim on her house back in the beginning of autumn, complications had set in, and since she had no one to take care of her at home, she had been sent here from the hospital to recuperate. She had graduated from the walker to a four-pronged cane over the past month and looked fitter than most people I saw on the street.

  “I thought they would have kicked you out of this place by now,” I told her with a grin.

  Her eyes twinkled. “Bah! They can’t get rid of me. But there is some news. My grandson in California is fixing up his guest house and he won’t have anything but that I should come and live in it. He’s got some fool notion of selling my life story to the movies, if you can believe that, but I say he just feels sorry for an old woman and thinks I can’t do for myself.”

  “Anyone can see you’re not an old woman,” I protested.

  “Well, now aren’t you sweet to say it? And that’s just why I told him I wasn’t about to up and move to California without seeing you and that sweet Cisco one more time before Christmas.” She scratched Cisco behind the ear as she spoke and then settled back with a big smile. “So how is your new kennel coming? Ready for the grand opening?”

  I had told her about the delays in the construction project weeks ago, but unlike most of the residents I visited, her memory was as sharp as mine—sharper, most days. “They’ve got it under roof,” I told her, “but we’re a long way from opening. The under-floor radiant heat was a little more expensive than I expected,” I confessed, “so money is running short. It might be spring before they finish up.”

  “You need to get yourself a rich fella,” she advised with a wink. “You young people do everything the hard way these days.”

  I laughed a little. “I think you might be right about that, Miss Esther.” The trouble was that I had a rich boyfriend—well, kind of—and my life was a great deal more complicated with him than without him. “When are you leaving for California?” I asked.

  "Sunday, they tell me. I'm planning to be all settled in by Christmas. What about you? Are you and the pups planning a big Christma
s?”

  “It’s always a big Christmas around my house,” I told her, even though that wasn’t exactly true this year. The Christmas party I usually gave for my dog-training students wouldn’t be happening this year, since I had no dog-training students. Christmas dinner with Aunt Mart and Uncle Roe was bound to be awkward without Buck. And this year there would be one less stocking hung on my fireplace, since Majesty had gone to live with Aunt Mart. It’s always sad to see the family getting smaller, especially at Christmastime. But then I thought about most of the residents of the nursing home, and I felt guilty for even almost feeling sorry for myself.

  “And how about those cute little Australian shepherds of yours?” Esther said. “What are they doing with themselves these days?”

  “Mischief has learned a new trick. She can hop up on the counter, open the cabinet, and take down her own food dish. “

  “Gracious! How in the world did you teach her that?”

  “Are you kidding? That’s the last thing I’d want to teach her! She figured that out for herself.”

  We laughed and talked about dogs for a while, which was my favorite subject, and fortunately, also one of Esther’s. I knew that she, like most of the people here, missed the pets of her youth, which was one reason my visits with Cisco were so valuable. But what made visiting with Esther so enjoyable for me was that she not only held up her side of the conversation, she usually had far more interesting things to say than I did.

  That’s why I was a little disappointed when, after chatting for only three or four minutes, she declared decisively, “Well, you’ve got things to do and I won’t keep you.” She fumbled for her cane and I put it within reach. She pulled herself to her feet. “Come on back to my room, sweetheart, I’ve got a little something for you.”

  I thought she had probably gotten someone to bring in a Christmas present for Cisco, or perhaps she had knitted me a scarf, and I was touched. “Now, Miss Esther, I hope you didn’t go to any trouble on our account.”

  She moved fairly well on her cane, but I had to bring Cisco into a close heel and slow our pace by half in order to stay well behind her. We edged past medicine carts and wheelchairs, I.V. stands, and half empty lunch trays, and as much confidence as I had in Cisco’s training, I never took my eyes off him—particularly around the lunch trays.

  We maneuvered safely through the obstacle course and reached Esther’s room without incident. As soon as we were inside, she turned to me with her finger laid across her lips in a shushing gesture, poked her head outside the door, looked up and down the corridor, then quickly pulled the door closed behind us.

  “A secret?” I teased her, smiling. “Well, I guess it’s that time of year, isn’t it?”

  But Esther was not smiling when she turned away from the door. She gripped my arm with more force than I would have thought possible from such a small woman, and, leaning in close, said seriously, “Didn’t I hear you were married to the sheriff?”

  Terrific. It’s not that I don’t love explaining to people how I could have divorced a wonderful man like Buck, but this was twice in the space of an hour that the subject had come up. My Christmas spirit was starting to sink.

  “Actually,” I said, “I used to be, but I’m not any more. That is, he’s not really the sheriff, he’s just serving out my uncle’s unexpired term, who used to be sheriff. But we’re not married now.” Even I was confused by that, and when I saw her eyes start to cloud over I clarified, “Acting Sheriff Lawson is my ex-husband.”

  She frowned a little, then said decisively, “Well, that’s almost the same thing. Just as long as you have somebody to go to if things get rough. Come away from the door. I have to tell you something and I don’t want anyone else to overhear. This is just between you and me.”

  The room was small and starkly furnished with hospital bed, a clothes locker, one guest chair and a chest of drawers. Leaning on the cane, she went over to the locker. Cisco and I followed slowly, pausing in the center of the room.

  “I don’t know how they found me here, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t let me leave the state without making one more try for it.” Her voice had a grim note that wasn’t at all like her.

  “Who?” I was starting to get a very bad feeling this had nothing to do with a gift-wrapped dog toy or a hand-knit scarf. “Who's making one more try for what?”

  She swung open the door of the clothes locker and then paused, resting a moment with both hands on the handle of the cane. “Honey, will you come over here and give me hand?”

  “Cisco, down.” In a room that small, a dog Cisco’s size seemed twice as big, so it was safer for everyone to leave him stretched out in a corner. He watched alertly as I went over to Esther. After all, he had received dog biscuits everywhere he had gone today; he had every right to expect that more were forthcoming.

  There were only a few items of clothing hanging in the locker: a quilted satin robe, a couple of flannel nightgowns, and two or three velour track suits like the one she wore today. On the floor there were several pairs of shoes lined up, and overhead there was a collection of shoe boxes. “You’re going to have to reach way to the back,” she said. “It’s the one on the bottom…That’s it,” she said as I stood on my tiptoes to push aside the front boxes, dragging one forward with my fingertips. “Bring that one down here.”

  The shoebox was so old the cardboard was soft around the corners, and part of the name of manufacturer had been worn away. But it was heavy: heavier than a scarf, and heavier than dog biscuits. I have to admit, my curiosity was aroused as I handed it over to her.

  Esther tucked the box under one arm, carefully steadying herself as she released the cane, and I automatically put out my hand to hold her elbow. She removed the lid of the box and smiled as she surveyed the contents. Inside was a pair of worn and dusty leopard-print pumps.

  “I danced with Jack Kennedy in these,” she said, touching them fondly.

  “No kidding?” I could see why she would want to hold on to them, and even go to the trouble to make certain they traveled with her to the nursing home.

  “Of course,” she added, “that was back during my CIA days.”

  I stared at her.

  With one last reminiscent smile she replaced the lid on the box and, drawing in her breath significantly, she offered it to me. “Now, I don’t mean to be giving you trouble,” she said. “This is yours to do with as you please. You just don’t let those government fellows bully you, understand? I’ve been keeping these safe for fifty years, and I reckon the time has come to turn the job over to somebody else. Besides…” She smiled contentedly. “My grandson says we’re all going to be rich when we sell my story to the movies.”

  With every word she spoke my dismay deepened, and by the time she shoved the box into my hands I was just about as confused as I had ever been. She had always been so sharp and so sensible, but as fascinating as Esther’s life in Hollywood had been, I seriously doubted that the CIA had been after a pair of her leopard-print pumps for half a century. And I really, really hoped she wasn’t seriously counting on selling her story to the movies in order to finance her trip to California.

  I said gently, “Miss Esther, are you sure you want to give these away? You danced with a president in them.”

  She looked at me blankly. “President of what?”

  “The United States?” I prompted. “Jack Kennedy?”

  “Pshaw.” She gave an impatient twist of her wrist. “He wasn’t President. He was just cattin’ around with Marilyn.”

  I ventured carefully, “Monroe?”

  One of the CNAs, looking perky in a red-felt Santa hat, poked her head in the door. “How’s everything going in here, Miss Esther? Are you enjoying your visit with the sweet doggie?”

  Esther rolled her eyes and gave me a knowing look, and for a moment she seemed more like her old self. I relaxed cautiously.

  The nurse looked at me. “Raine, if you get time will you stop by Mrs. Gunfelder’s room? She’s bee
n looking forward to your visit all week but she didn’t feel up to coming down to the cafeteria this afternoon.”

  I murmured, “Of course.”

  But as soon as the door closed behind the nurse, Esther turned and clamped a hand on my arm again. “Now you remember what I said. You don’t let them bully you, understand? The law is on your side. You get on out of here,” she said, urging me to the door. “Go on, hurry, and don’t let that box out of your hands until you get home, you hear me?”

  I tried to extricate myself gently but she was a woman on a mission and her grip was like iron. Finally I said helplessly, “Um, my dog?”

  She blinked a little and released my arm. I called Cisco to heel.

  I picked up Cisco’s leash and, just before we left, I turned and gave Esther a one-armed hug. “You take care of yourself, okay? Have a wonderful trip to California. I’m going to miss you.”

  She patted my back affectionately, then pulled away from the hug. Her eyes were dead serious as she looked into mine. “You’re a good girl, Raine Stockton, and you and Cisco have meant the world to me these last few months. You go on out and have a good life, and you let me know if you ever need anything, you hear? I’ve got friends with connections.”

  Esther Kelp might be slipping into the pleasant mental fog of old age, complete with its delusions and oddities, but there was no denying the sincerity of her intentions. “Thank you, Miss Esther,” I told her, smiling. I held up the box. “And thank you for these. I know what they must have meant to you. I’ll treasure them.”

  But with all that happened later, it was several days before I remembered to bring it in from the car, and then I stuck it in the room with the Christmas decorations and all but forgot about it.