All That Glitters (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries) (5 page)

That’s the way things are handled in a small town.

My
a
unt
surveyed the perpetrator, who had not yet completely grasped the fact that he was free,
thoughtfully, “Jacobs.  Are you the James Jacobs with two children who lives out on Blackberry Mountain?”

He answered cautiously, “Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re on our list!”  She
turned to me and
repeated
,
as though that explained everything,
“He’s on our list.”  She reached for his hand.  “Come downstairs and have a hot cup of coffee and some cookies.  We’re going to fix up a box for you to take home to those children.
”

Like I said, that’s the way things are done in a small town.

O
ver the next several days stories began to pile up about the Secret Santa
.  At least
a dozen
of the recipients of our food baskets had also received a gift from Secret Santa— an envelope filled with cash for some
;
for one it had been a new water heater after being unable to replace the broken one for six months;  one elderly woman who lived alone in a drafty old house had found a beautifully wrapped package containing an electric blanket on her porch—along with a not
e
that read “from your Secret Santa
.
”  More than one family with small children had
discovered
that
wrapped gifts with their
children’s
’ names on them  had been left by their door overnight, and the tag on each one read “
f
rom your Secret Santa.”  An excited buzz of speculation and anticipation started to build throughout the town as everyone tried to guess the philanthropist’s identity... and secretly hoped they might be the next object of his generosity.

“It’s like that billionaire in Kansas City who went around giving hundred dollar bills to the homeless.”

“Or that fellow in L.A. who dropped cash from a
helicopter
.”

“Or that guy that travels to a different city every Christmas, handing out cash in the Projects.”

My aunt did not think it was any of those.  “One person couldn’t do all of this, “ she maintained.  “It
simply has
to be a group, like the Boy Scouts or the Knights of Columbus.”

I said, “I wonder how he knows what everyone needs.”

“I shouldn’t imagine it would be that difficult,” observed Maude.  “All one would need is a glimpse at the case file from one of any number of  charitable organizations.”

Maude,
Aunt Mart
and I were on our way home from
the Women’s Club Christmas Gala, at which a lot of cheese puffs had been eaten and a lot of fruit punch consumed, an endless list of thank-yous had been read and a program involving  the middle school chorale had been presented.  I am not a member of the Women’s Club and their meetings are usually the kind of thing I’d fake a case of the flu to avoid attending, but my aunt had invited me as part of her Keep-Raine-Busy campaign, and I just didn’t have the energy to refuse.  Maude, who was a member of the Women’s Club but rarely actually attended meetings, had come along for moral support.

Naturally, Secret Santa had been a subject of gossip and speculation at the meeting.  Everyone had a story; no one had a clue.  My favorite theory, however, was the one involving the head of the textile plant who had suddenly found Jesus/a conscience
/a desperate need to redeem himself after putting so many people out of work and plunging the county into a premature economic depression.

I said with a sigh, “Well, whoever he is, I sure wish he would pay me a visit.”

My aunt, who was driving, laughed lightly.  “Honey, don’t we all?  Why, only the other day…”  Suddenly she hit the brakes so hard that my seat belt locked.  “Good heavens, are those foxes?”

“No,” said Maude
, twisting in her seat to look out the window
.  “They’re puppies.”

But I had already unfastened my seat belt and was scrambling out the back door, hurrying toward the two small gr
a
y forms that were gamboling along the side of the road and into the path of traffic.
  I scooped up the pups before they could make a fatal mistake, and I recall the amusement in Maude’s tone  as she observed, “Maybe he already has.”

A
couple of hours later two gorgeous blue merle Australian shepherd puppies were making themselves at home in the ha
y
-
lined stall next to the young collie.
They were mirror opposites of each other—one with a patch over the left eye, the other with a patch over the right; both perfect little females about twelve weeks old. 
“I can’t believe people sometimes,” I said, fuming.  “Just look a
t
those pups.  Natural bobbed tails, perfect fold on the ears… who would just toss them out?  I mean, look at them!”

“Gorgeous,” agreed Maude.  “But times are difficult for everyone.  Perhaps whoever abandoned them was hoping they were setting them free to find the perfect home.”  She looked at me meaningfully.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”  I gave an impatient shake of my head.  “I told you, I’m not
ready
for a dog.
”

“When will you be ready?” asked Maude reasonably.

I frowned uncomfortably.  “I don’t know.
  Maybe never.”
 

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
Maude’s gaze was steady and compassionate. “Raine,” she said, “you are punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.  Cassidy live
d
a full long life, and it was her time to go.  Someone else chose to end your marriage; you didn’t.  Your father would not have wanted you to keep this place like a museum to honor him; he would want you to live in every inch of it. You need to get on with
it.”

She was really starting to annoy me on the subject.  “Look, I can barely take care of myself, much less a dog,” I told her.  “If  I read my own application on a pet adoption form I’d turn it down.  Besides, you know what they say… when the time is right, the
right
dog will appear.”

“A collie and two Australian shepherds have already appeared,” she pointed out.  “What more do you want?”

I blinked back a surprising hotness in my eyes
, and the anger in my voice was both unexpected and
embarrassing
.
“
I want
Cassidy
back,
” 
I said
tight
ly
.  “I want to have Christmas dinner with my dad one more time.  I want my husband to keep his
marriage
vows.  And right now I want to find a home for these puppies.”  I turned on my heel and walked away.

I
advertised the dogs on the radio and in the paper.  I had several calls about the Aussie puppies, but most people wanted only one and the
pups
were so obviously attached to each other—not only littermates, but twins—that I hated to break up the pair unless I absolutely had to.  A couple of people were interested in the collie, but when I interviewed them I knew
that she would just be going to sit atop another dog house in another muddy ten-by-ten pen. 
Perhaps the hardest thing I had to do was to turn people down because they couldn’t afford the adoption fee, which
was just enough to cover the cost of shots and spay/neuter surgery, which our vet performed at his own cost.  In the case of the puppies, that came to
sixty
-six dollars and fifty cents each; for the collie, it was slightly less. On
more than one occasion I was tempted to waive the fee, but the humane society had a strict policy and I had to honor it
—particularly since I was the one who had written the policy.  Besides, I was as unemployed as everyone else in the county, and  I couldn’t afford to pay the fee out of my own pocket.

And then I had an excited call from a young mother who had wanted to get one of the puppies for her ten year old son but who, upon learning of the fee, had hung up in disappointment before I could even add that I was looking to place the puppies together.  “It’s a miracle,” she exclaimed, barely pausing to remind me who she was, “an absolute Christmas miracle!  I mean,
I heard about that woman that got her rent paid just when she was about to
be
kicked out on the street, and you heard about Craig Killian’s transmission going out and him with no way to get to work over in Wilford
and then
the very next day he got four hundred eighty five dollars in the mail—which is just what it was going to cost to fix his car!  I know it’s happening all over town,
but I never expected it to happen to me—to us—to
Nick
.
 
All he’s been asking for all year was a puppy for Christmas, and when I told him we couldn’t afford the fee he was so disappoint
ed
that I
just didn’t know what we were going to do.  Johnson tried to get extra shifts down at the gas station, and I started asking around to see if somebody didn’t need their house cleaned for Christmas but you know how it is this time of year, nobody has any extra cash… until I looked in the mailbox this morning and what did I see but an envelope from Secret Santa with—this is the miracle part!—exactly
sixty-
six dollars and fifty cents in it!”

“Wow,” I said, impressed.  “That is a miracle.”

“And even though Johnson says we could buy
Nicky
a lot of
Christmas
toys for that much money, what he wants is a puppy, so I knew I had to call you back.  The only thing is, we were hoping to get something with a little less hair, and
Nick
has always wanted a dog like Snoopy.  I don’t guess you’d have any beagles, would you?”