3 Christmas Crazy (3 page)

After calling Zak and confirming his flight information for Friday afternoon, I headed over to Elsa Black’s to deal with her raccoons. Elsa, a middle-aged woman with a hearty disposition and a rough exterior, lived with her equally rough-around-the-edges husband, Dilbert, on the east side of town. If I had to guess, I’d bet a week’s wages that she’d yet to fix the door of her shed, as I’d instructed her to do the last time a raccoon family had decided to move in, causing hundreds of dollars of damage to the items they had stored there.

“Afternoon, Elsa,” I greeted her as Charlie and I walked up her deeply rutted dirt drive.

“I’m afraid the raccoons are back,” she informed me. “I hadn’t even noticed until Billy Sherman’s dogs started making a ruckus.”

“Did you fix the door to the shed like I told you to the last time I was here?”

“I was going to, but I guess I never got around to it,” Elsa admitted. “Seems like there are more chores to do than there are hours in the day.”

“Yeah, I get that. This time, however, you might want to move the repair to the top of your list.”

“I will,” Elsa promised. “I’m glad you were able to come so quickly. Dilbert swore that if the little bandits broke into the shed again, he was going to shoot them dead.”

Dilbert and Elsa lived on a large piece of property just outside the town limits. Dilbert is a nice enough guy, but I had no doubt that he’d follow through with his threat to kill the raccoon couple if I didn’t remove them before he returned home. It wasn’t that he was violent by nature; it was more that he was raised in a hunting family, and his relationship with the animals with which we share our habitat is vastly different than mine.

“I’ll move the raccoons, then take Billy’s dogs home. How long until Dilbert gets back?”

“
ʼBout an hour. Maybe more.”

“Okay. I need to get my traps.”

I had returned to my truck to get my equipment when Todd Miller, the Timberland County animal control worker who had been assigned my old route, arrived. The fact that Todd and I don’t get along isn’t surprising. I’m a rational individual with a keen instinct when it comes to dealing with problem animals, and Todd is a self-absorbed, egotistical idiot who barely knows a raccoon from a river otter.

“What are you doing here?” I asked the tall, blond-haired man with a fair complexion and a large head that reminded me of a Viking of old.

“Better question is, what are you doing here?”

“Elsa called me to take care of a raccoon problem.”

Todd laughed. “Didn’t you get the memo? Animal control is no longer your problem. Maybe you should pack up your toy box and head home.”

“I’m simply here to help out a neighbor. Now, if you don’t mind stepping aside,” I said, continuing to unload my equipment, “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I’m thinking you should be the one stepping aside.”

Todd was a good foot taller and outweighed me by at least a hundred and fifty pounds, so there wasn’t a lot I was going to be able to do if he didn’t voluntarily step aside. Still, hell would freeze over before I would step down, so it seemed we were at an impasse.

“Look,” I tried again, “I brought everything I need to peacefully and calmly relocate the raccoons. I realize that domestic animal control is your jurisdiction, at least for now, but Sage and Queenie are good dogs that simply slipped away. I’ll relocate the raccoons, then take the dogs home. It’ll save you a pile of paperwork,” I encouraged. “Besides, isn’t the shelter in Bryton Lake already filled beyond capacity?”

“My job is to bring them in. It’s up to the others to worry about what to do with them once they get there. You can deal with the raccoons, but I’m taking the dogs,” Todd decided. “It’s against county ordinances to let your dog run free. I figure Mr. Sherman ought to pay the fine to get the mongrels back.”

“I doubt Billy let his dogs run free,” I argued. “Queenie is a tricky little thing; chances are she simply broke out of her pen and took Sage with her.”

“You do that a lot when you worked this beat?” Todd asked. “Take dogs home without collecting the fines?”

“Occasionally,” I admitted.

“Guess that’s why I have a job and you don’t.” Todd snickered as he began rounding up the dogs. “I’m pretty sure this will be a second pickup for each of these dogs. Ol’ Billy is going to have to take out a second mortgage on his house to get these mutts back.”

Todd probably wasn’t wrong. The county was tough on nuisance animals. The fine for a first offense was manageable, a second offense was painful, and a third was so steep that most folks left their dogs at the shelter for processing instead of paying it. I have to admit that while my dislike of Todd was personal, having to do with his noxious personality, there had always been a rivalry of sorts between the employees of the Bryton Lake shelter and me. The less-than-amiable working relationship mostly stems from a difference in philosophy. Bryton Lake is the capital of Timberland County, so the shelter there was considered the main facility even when the one here in Ashton Falls had been operating. As a general rule, ordinances regarding animal control originated in Bryton Lake and then were passed down to the satellite offices. The Timberland County Animal Shelter in Bryton Lake had established exceedingly rigid guidelines regarding leash laws and maximum durations of impounding.

Because of this differing approach to animal relocation and rehabilitation, I had been in a tug
-of- war of sorts with the folks at Bryton Lake even before I was removed from my job. After the local shelter closed, the county had hired Todd to make a daily pilgrimage from the main facility into Ashton Falls to deal with domestic animal control. It killed me to know that quite a few dogs, many of which I’d placed with new owners in the first place, had spent time behind bars in the doggy jail located in the neighboring town. I guess it’s not surprising that Todd resents my interference in what I’m sure he believes is his territory, but while animal control may be his job, Ashton Lake is my home. I will do whatever it takes to protect the four-legged creatures that live there.

I felt bad for Billy. I knew he was going to have a hard time paying the fine, and Todd the Toad was unlikely to give him a break due to financial hardship. Technically, Todd was following the dictates of the county ordinances I had been famous for ignoring entirely, but Ashton Falls wasn’t anything like the larger, upscale town of Bryton Lake, and therefore, I believed, shouldn’t have to adhere to their stringent laws.

After Todd left with the dogs, I relocated the raccoon couple, helped Elsa fix the door on the shed at least temporarily, then headed out into the woods to release the little troublemakers.

After releasing the raccoons, Charlie and I headed over to Donovan’s for a visit with my dad. Donovan’s
is a hybrid store offering a variety of products for the home and outdoors. Originally built by my grandfather over forty years earlier, the building is warm and cozy, with a seating area for social gatherings and an old-fashioned oak counter lined with jars of penny candy that still costs a penny.

“Hey, sweetheart. What brings you in on this stormy day?” Dad asked.

“Todd the Toad,” I grumbled as I poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot my dad always kept on the counter.

“Up to his bad mojo again?”

“He picked up Billy Sherman’s dogs,” I informed him. “It’ll be the second offense for each. I volunteered to take them home, but he was dead set on ruining poor Billy’s life with the astronomical fine he’s likely to get.”

“Billy does seem to have a hard time keeping the dogs corralled,” Dad stated. “How many times did you pick them up and take them home before you were let go?”

“A bunch,” I admitted.

“Maybe Billy needs to take a serious look at the amount of effort he’s putting into keeping his dogs contained.”

“I know you’re right.” I sighed. “Billy has a very relaxed approach to caging his dogs, and to be honest, it’s probably my fault. I always took them home when they got out, so Billy learned that having them run free was no big deal.”

“I guess he’ll get the message now,” Dad pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Maybe I can help Billy with some supplies to build a better pen,” Dad offered.

I smiled. “Thanks, Dad. That would be great.”

Kiva, the dog my dad adopted just over two months ago, wandered over from the seating area where he’d been sleeping next to my dad’s retriever, Tucker. Originally
, Kiva belonged to a local woman whose daughter had decided she needed to move to an assisted-care facility that didn’t allow animals. The poor woman had been devastated until my dad agreed not only to adopt him but to take him down the mountain for a visit with her every couple of weeks.

“How is Mrs. Watson doing?” I asked.

“Better,” Dad answered. “Kiva and I went for a visit the day after Thanksgiving. She seemed in good spirits, and she seems to like the staff at the facility.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid she’d sink into a depression after having to leave Kiva behind. He was her baby.”

“She misses him, but Kiva and I make the trip down to see her as often as we can. The staff has been really good about turning a blind eye to Kiva’s presence.”

I walked over to the seating area near the potbellied stove. Unlike in many of the larger stores in town, at Donovan’s loitering was not only allowed, it was encouraged. I used to worry that my dad would go broke providing free coffee and doughnuts to the townspeople, who liked to settle in next to the warm fire and play a game or two of chess while they caught up on the local gossip. But Donovan’s had been around for more than a generation and seemed to be thriving in spite of the changes that had come to our little town over the past forty years.

“What’s this?” I picked up a copy from the stack of fliers my dad had left on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Sheriff Salinger came in today and asked me to pass those out. Toby Haskell is missing.”

Toby was a ten-year-old boy from a troubled home who had run away on more than one occasion. “Do they think he ran away again?”

“The sheriff suspects he did, but they can’t rule out foul play, so he’s treating it as a possible kidnapping.”

“Wow. How long has he been missing?”

“Since last week. He took his backpack and some of the clothes in his closet, so chances are he left of his own free will, but I told Salinger I’d pass out the fliers just in case.”

I felt bad for the boy. His mother was a weak woman who had a tendency to hook up with abusive men. Toby had been removed from the home the previous summer, when it came to the attention of the folks from Child Protective Services that his mom’s live-in lover had given Toby a black eye. I knew the mother had gotten counseling after her boyfriend was arrested and Toby had been returned to her. My gut told me things hadn’t worked out and Toby had taken things into his own hands and run away. I hoped he was okay. Ten was young to be on your own, even if you were as intelligent and resourceful as Toby seemed to be.

I folded one of the fliers and put it in my back pocket. If Toby had run away, maybe I could track him down. After eight years working at the shelter, if there was one thing I was good at it was tracking down strays.

“Can you hand me that box of bows?” my dad asked.

I picked up the box, which was sitting open on the floor next to several other boxes of holiday garnish.

“I like your decorations, but where’s the tree?” I asked as I carried it across the room.

He had strung pine garlands along the counter and was in the process of adding big red bows, but the tree that normally served as the focal point of his holiday display was noticeably absent.

“I haven’t gotten around to putting it up yet,” Dad admitted.

“How about we do it now? I’ll help you.”

My dad smiled. “I’d like that. It’s been a while since we’ve put up the tree together. I’d better call Pappy. His feelings will be hurt if he’s left out.”

Pappy is my name for my grandfather, Luke Donovan.

“Call him,” I instructed. “I’ll run home, pick up Lambda, who’s staying with me while Zak is away, and check on Maggie and the pups. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

By the time I’d returned with dogs in tow, Dad had brought in the tree and set it up in the alcove near the seating area. The tree was at least twelve feet in height, with closely placed branches and a wide and sturdy trunk. It was going to take a
lot
of lights to cover the thing, but when we were done, I knew it would be magical.

My dad, who is a good foot taller than I am, volunteered to climb the ladder and hang the lights. Pappy fed him the line while I was tasked with untangling them. Why is it that no matter how careful you are when storing the darn things, they still end up hopelessly tangled by the time you use them the following year?

After we finished with the lights, we began hanging the ornaments. My dad had a large box filled with every size, shape, and color imaginable. My favorite had always been the hand-carved forest animals Pappy had fashioned from bits of wood over the years.

“Do you remember when I made this ornament?” I asked my dad and grandfather. The ornament in question was a fairly decent replica of Santa Claus made out of cookie dough.

“Second grade,” my dad replied. “I have no idea how that got in this box. I keep all the stuff you made at home for use on my personal tree.”

“Embarrassed for it to be seen in public?” I teased.

“Afraid it will get stolen or broken,” my dad corrected.

“If you saved all the masterpieces I made, you must have dozens of pinecone trees, cookie-cutter shapes, and photo holders. I’m pretty sure I made one of each every year until I reached the seventh grade.”

“I kept and cherish every one,” Dad confirmed.

“How about you, Pappy; did you save all of Dad’s childhood creations?”

“Your grandma did,” Pappy confirmed. “I’m not really sure what happened to all that stuff after she died. I suppose it’s in the boxes in the attic. I haven’t really bothered with a tree the past few years.”

Pappy had stopped putting up a tree since my grandmother’s death five years ago. He always joined my dad and me for Christmas dinner, but other than that, he kept pretty much to himself during the holiday season. I wasn’t surprised that Christmas served as a painful reminder of the woman who had loved the season so much, but after five years it felt like it was time to rejoin the fun and festivities.

“I could use some help with the fund-raiser this year,” I informed Pappy. “With the Zoo opening about the same time as Hometown Christmas, I think I’m going to have my hands full. I was hoping you’d be willing to serve as my co-chair.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. What do you need me to do?”

“Find me a Santa, for one thing. Earl Fielder is going to cover the Santa role for the tree lighting and Village opening, but he’s already informed me that he’s going to be out of town during Hometown Christmas.”

“Where’s old Earl going? He always plays Santa,” Pappy said. Everyone in town knew that Earl not only
played
Santa, but in many ways, he
was
Santa. Not only was he a plump fellow who sported a long white beard, but he went out of his way to make sure everyone’s Christmas wishes came true.

“I heard his wife is threatening to leave him if he doesn’t go to her sister’s farm in Minnesota this year. Most times she goes alone, but Earl said that this year she’s been quite adamant.”

“That’s too bad. It won’t be the same without Earl spreading his special brand of Christmas spirit.”

“I’m not sure the Christmas spirit is what Earl will be spreading this year.” I told them about his blowup at Rosie’s that morning.

“He seemed okay when I came in,” Dad commented.

“Gabe intervened and managed to calm him down. It’s not like him to fly off the handle like that.”

“Maybe his problems with Betty are a bit more serious than simply spending Christmas with her family,” Pappy pointed out. “Marital problems can bring out the worst in a person.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “Either way, I’m going to need a substitute Santa.”

“I’m sure I can find someone,” Pappy assured me. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Actually, I have a list. A long one. Maybe we can get together for lunch tomorrow and go over it.”

“Rosie’s at noon?”

“Sounds perfect.”

After a couple of hours, Dad, Pappy, and I stood back to admire our handiwork. The tree was beautiful. It had grown dark while we worked, so Dad lit the tree and some candles and then turned off the lights. Soft Christmas jazz serenaded us in the background as we curled up on the sofa and told stories of Christmases past. At some point my dad ordered pizza and opened a bottle of wine. Between the three of us and the five dogs, we finished off two pizzas plus an order of bread sticks.

“I remember your first Christmas,” my dad began as we sipped the last of the wine. “I was a new dad and so excited about starting new traditions. I took you into town and picked out your Christmas stocking, as well as a truckload of Santa gifts for under the tree.”

“Grandma made you a red velvet dress to wear to church,” Pappy added. “It had white lace and red bows. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“I kept that dress,” Dad informed me. “Along with that first stocking and the stuffed puppy your mom sent you, which you dragged around the house until you were six.”

“Mom gave me Mr. Floppy?” I asked. I remembered the puppy but assumed my dad had bought him for me.

“She did. She stopped by that first Christmas Eve. She couldn’t stay, because her parents were waiting for her, but she wanted you to have the gift.”

Suddenly I felt like crying. “Did she give me gifts other years?”

My dad hesitated. “A few. I was going to save this for later, but she sent us each a gift this year.”

“She did?” I was shocked. “What is it?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Christmas?” Dad asked.

“No, this is perfect. Let’s open them now.”

My dad went into the back room and returned with two huge boxes. Each contained the most awesome snowboards I’d ever seen.

“She bought us snowboards?” I was stunned. “They’re so . . .” I searched for the right word. They were like no other boards I’d ever seen.

“They’re prototypes,” Dad supplied. “Your mom called me before she sent them. She’s been staying with her parents in Switzerland while she tries to figure out her life, and she met a man who builds and sells snowboards and ski equipment. She talked him out of two of his boards and sent them to us. They are truly the first of their kind.”

“Wow, that’s so awesome. I can’t wait to try mine out.”

“Sunday,” Dad suggested.

“It’s a date.”

Dad smiled.

“So how is
Mom?” I had to ask. “I guess she didn’t marry her prince?”

My mom had been in town a few months earlier, although no one had bothered to fill me in on her presence until after she’d left. After a lifetime of world travel, glamorous love affairs, and exotic adventures, she’d become engaged to a prince, only to realize at the last minute that marriage to a wealthy and powerful man she didn’t love might not be all it was cracked up to be.

“No, she didn’t get married. After she left here, she went to her parents’ chalet and has been there ever since.”

“And the guy who made the boards? Is he a new boyfriend?”

“She says they’re just friends.”

“Did she mention coming back for a visit? I didn’t get to see her last time, and I thought maybe . . .”