The Bark Before Christmas (21 page)

Then the man surprised me. He glanced down at Faith and said, “That's a pretty Standard Poodle. She looks like a Cedar Crest dog.”

My shoulders relaxed fractionally. Cedar Crest was Aunt Peg's kennel name. “She is a Cedar Crest Poodle,” I told him. “Who are you?”

“Rick Stanley. I heard that you've been trying to get in touch with me.”

Rick Stanley. All right. Not a stranger then. At least not entirely.

I motioned Faith back to her bed.

“You might have just returned my call,” I said.

“I didn't feel the need.” He walked over, pulled out a chair at my teaching table, and sat down. “But then I heard from a couple of people that maybe I should talk to you. So here I am.”

“Who did you hear that from?” I asked.

“It's not important.”

Maybe not to him, I thought. On the other hand, Rick Stanley's sudden appearance had generated so many other questions that I'd be silly to waste my time lingering over that one.

“This is a private school,” I said. “How did you get in here? How did you know where to find me?”

“That part was easy,” Rick replied.

I stared at him across the low table. I wasn't going to let him brush off this query so easily. If the school had holes in its security protocols, Mr. Hanover was going to want to hear about them.

“I don't think so,” I said firmly.

“Look, it's no big deal. I'm a Howard Academy alum, okay? Class of eighty-eight. My brothers and I went to school here, kindergarten through eighth grade. I know every nook and cranny of this place. In fact, I bet I know this campus better than you do.”

“Then you probably know that visitors are supposed to check in at the front office,” I told him.

Rick just shrugged. “I didn't feel the need.”

That was the second time he'd said that. I was beginning to get the impression that Rick Stanley was the kind of man who gave his own needs very high priority. I wondered where that left the rest of us.

“Hey, I was in the neighborhood so I stopped in,” said Rick. “But I don't have all day. Do you want to talk about Kiltie or not?”

“I do.” I pulled out a chair opposite him. “What do you know about his abduction?”

“Not a single blessed thing.”

As if that was going to shut me up.

“You were at the Christmas bazaar from which he was stolen,” I said.

“Just an unlucky coincidence. Like I told you, I'm an HA alum. I live in Greenwich and I like to support the school when I can.”

“Did you see Kiltie when you were at the bazaar?”

“Sure, I saw him,” Rick said easily. “So what? I'm sure lots of people saw him. Sondra's daughter was carrying him around. She had him at the photo booth at one point. I was there with Duffer.”

“Where did he go after that?”

“How would I know? I wasn't keeping track. I was there to get my dog's picture taken. The girl finished and took Kiltie away and then it was my turn. That's all I know.”

“Duffer's a Cairn,” I said.

“Possibly.” Rick chuckled. “Depending on your point of view. If you ask Duffer, he'd probably tell you that he's damn near human.”

Been there, I thought. That shared connection made me warm to Rick Stanley just a little.

“I've heard he's a very good dog,” I said.

“He is.”

“Good enough for Todd Greenleaf.”

“So that's where this is going.” Rick's brief flash of good humor vanished. “That was supposed to be confidential. How did you find out?”

“It's not important,” I said, echoing his words from earlier. Two could play that game.

“Fine, don't tell me. I can guess. Todd must be trying to make himself feel important by dragging me through the mud.”

“No,” I corrected quickly. “I've never spoken to Todd.”

“Sondra then.”

“Wrong again.”

“I doubt it.” Rick shook his head. “That woman's a bitch.”

Among dog people, the word
bitch
doesn't have the same connotation that it does in the real world. As a reference to a female dog, it's used all the time with impunity. But Rick's tone made it clear that he was aiming for the insult.

“You sound like you're very angry at her,” I said.

“Of course I'm angry at Sondra. In my place, anyone would be. I've been waiting patiently all year for Todd to retire Horace. When he went home, it was supposed to be Duffer's turn.”

“Horace?” I asked.

“You really don't know much, do you?”

This time the insult was aimed at me. I didn't even try to dodge it.

“Why don't you enlighten me?” I said.

“Horace is an Irish Terrier, GCH Runnymede Hot Stuff. You've never heard of him?”

I shook my head.

“Really?”

I decided that the question was rhetorical and remained mum. Rick just sat and stared at me. After thirty seconds of silence that felt endless, I gave in.

“I have Standard Poodles,” I said.

“That's no excuse.”

Indeed. Aunt Peg probably would have said the same thing.

“Horace retired in November, after the National Dog Show,” Rick said. “I assume you've heard of
that?
”

“Yes.”

“As soon as he was done showing, Duffer was supposed to be next in line. Imagine my surprise, then, to find out that Todd was also planning to add Kiltie to his string.”

“In
your
spot,” I said. We're dog people. We anthropomorphize.

“A spot I'd waited for
all year,
” Rick repeated in case I hadn't yet gotten the point.

“That was a rotten thing to do,” I agreed. “You must have been furious with both of them.”

“I was,” Rick muttered. “And they deserved it.”

Now he'd made me curious. “How did Sondra manage that?” I asked.

“Manage what?”

“To bump Duffer and get Kiltie put in his place. Why would Todd do that to a longstanding client? Is Kiltie a better dog?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then what happened?” Rachel had told me that the incentive was money. I was curious to hear what Rick would say.

“I have no idea,” he replied sullenly. “Maybe she's sleeping with him.”

I snorted under my breath. I was pretty sure that Todd was gay.

“Besides,” said Rick, “what does it matter? The important thing is that Sondra's in and I'm out.”

“And that Kiltie is gone,” I added. “Stolen from a Christmas bazaar that you attended.”

“Along with plenty of other people.” Rick dismissed my logic as unimportant. “I guess I should say thank you to you—considering that Kiltie disappeared while you were in charge.”

Just what I needed. Yet another person trying to make me feel bad about what had happened.

“Not so fast,” I said. “I'm hoping to get him back.”

“I'm sure you'll understand if I don't wish you good luck.”

“You wouldn't want Kiltie to reappear so that Duffer can beat him fair and square?”

“We're way past that point.” Rick stood up and headed for the door. “And anyway, you know what they say.”

I couldn't resist asking. “What's that?”

He paused to look back. “All's fair in love and dog shows.”

R
ick Stanley, so careful to close the door behind him when he entered the room, left it sitting open when he walked out. Now I barely had time to gather my thoughts before a new caller came striding in through the open doorway.

I saw who it was, swallowed a sigh, and thought,
Damn
. The school wasn't even half-full that morning, so why did my room have to be the only place on the campus that was as busy as a souk on market day?

The headmaster stopped in the middle of the room, laced his hands together neatly at his waist, and regarded me with a stern expression on his face. “Are you entertaining visitors, Ms. Travis? On school time?”

“That wasn't a visitor,” I said, thinking quickly. “He was a school alum.”

Mr. Hanover considered that for a moment. “You will have to pardon me,” he said, “if I don't see the distinction.”

“We were talking about school business.”

“Indeed. What business is that?”

Drat, I thought. Why didn't he stop asking questions? Otherwise I'd never be able to stop enlarging the progressively deeper hole I appeared to be digging for myself.

“It was Kiltie,” I admitted.

“Ah yes, Kiltie.” The headmaster nodded. “The canine who has gone astray. As it happens, I was coming to check on your progress with that regard. Perhaps in light of your recent conversation with the
school alum,
you have new information that you might want to share?”

I wish, I thought.

“Pardon me?”

Crap, I thought guiltily. Had I said that
aloud?

“I'm still looking,” I said.

“A week has passed. . . .”

Six days. I wanted to correct him. It hasn't been a whole week. Not yet anyway.

“I may be getting closer,” I said instead.

I read somewhere that social white lies are acceptable under certain circumstances. Ones involving desperation. I was sure that this occasion had to qualify.

“I'm happy to hear that,” Mr. Hanover replied. “We've received no further communication from Sondra McEvoy regarding her potential litigation. That is also good news. Nevertheless, the sooner we can wrap things up and put this whole unfortunate episode behind us, the better both I and the Howard Academy board of directors will feel.”

I nodded. I could certainly understand that.

“What about Jerry Platt?” I asked.

“What about him?”

“I haven't seen any updates in the newspaper. I was wondering if you'd been in contact with Detective Young. And whether you might know how the police investigation into Platt's death is coming along.”

The headmaster looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with the phrase
Don't borrow trouble,
Ms. Travis?”

“I've heard it, yes.” Unfortunately it was one of those pithy sayings that seldom seemed to apply to my life.

“After our initial interview, Detective Young has not felt the need to contact me again. I can only see that as a good thing. Under the circumstances, I feel I should exercise the same restraint with regard to the way he conducts his business.”

“I see,” I said.

“I should hope so,” Mr. Hanover intoned.

There was no mistaking the subtext to his remark. But just in case I had, the headmaster said, “It appears as though Howard Academy has narrowly escaped becoming the focus of what one can only assume would be scurrilous and sensationalistic publicity. I would be extremely annoyed if that good fortune were to reverse itself for any reason.”

“I understand.”

“Keep your head down, Ms. Travis.” The headmaster paused, then added, “You may find that your continuing employment at Howard Academy depends upon it.”

The iron fist in the velvet glove. I could almost feel it wrapping itself around my throat.

“I'm not looking for a murderer,” I said. “I'm just following the trail of a lost dog.”

“Then we find ourselves in agreement. Kindly see that it remains that way.”

“I'll do my best,” I promised.

I hoped that it would be good enough.

 

On Fridays, Howard Academy has early dismissal. So it was only a few minutes after two o'clock when Faith and I found ourselves back in the Volvo, cruising down Lake Avenue on our way to Deer Park. I'd called Sondra before leaving the school and told her we were coming.

“You must have news for me,” Sondra said. She'd sounded excited. “Do you know where Kiltie is?”

“Not yet. I'm still working on that. But I have a few more questions for you.”

“Questions?” In an instant, Sondra's mood changed. “What kind of time-wasting idiocy is that? I don't need more questions! I need answers—”

I'd turned off the phone as she was still speaking. Sondra could rant and rave to empty air if she wished, but I was through listening to her complain.

“I hung up on her,” I said across the front seat to Faith. “Sondra won't have liked that. Maybe she won't see us when we get there.”

The big Poodle flapped her tail up and down in response. Faith likes everything I say. Either that, or she found the idea of skipping our visit with Sondra as enticing as I did.

“But here's the problem,” I told her. “Even though I've talked to a bunch of people, I'm no closer now to knowing where Kiltie is than I was when I started. So I must be missing something.”

Faith woofed softly. She agreed. Too bad she couldn't also tell me what it was that I had overlooked.

“So we're going to talk to Sondra again. We're going to ask more questions and see if we get different answers. And I want to talk to Jim, too.” I flicked on my blinker and turned into Deer Park. “I've been thinking about my conversation with Louisa. There's trouble in that house. And it looks like Poppy is right in the middle of it.”

Faith tipped her head to one side. I took that as a sign of approval.

That's one of the great things about talking to dogs. They make you feel like you're really smart. Even when you know you're not.

This time, Sondra didn't meet us at the door upon our arrival. Instead the maid opened the door and stared at Faith and me with a blank expression on her face. “Yes?” she inquired.

“I'm Melanie Travis,” I told her. “I'm here to see Sondra. I believe she's expecting me.”

“Please wait here. I'll check and see if she's receiving visitors.”

The door closed in our faces. I looked down at Faith. “
Really
?” I said in a low tone.

Faith didn't bother to answer. She looked every bit as miffed by this turn of events as I was.

“Maybe we should go,” I whispered. “What do you say? Want to make a run for it?”

The door snicked open again. Now Sondra stood in the doorway. Hands propped on her hips, she stared out at the two of us. “Who are you talking to?” she demanded.

“Faith.”

The Standard Poodle lifted her tail in acknowledgment. Never let it be said that my dogs don't have manners.

“We were just passing the time,” I said to Sondra. “While we stood and waited on your front step.”

Sondra looked annoyed. Nevertheless she stepped aside. I took that as an invitation. I entered the house and Faith followed me inside. Once again we were directed to the library.

On our previous visit, we'd started with small talk. This time Sondra got right down to business.

“Maybe this isn't working,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I sat down on a love seat near the fireplace.

“Peg told me you knew how to get things done.”

“Did she?” I knew I sounded pleased. Compliments from Aunt Peg are as rare as horse feathers and this was the second one I'd heard recently.

“I haven't seen any evidence of that, however,” Sondra snapped.

“You wanted me to talk to some of your fellow exhibitors,” I said.

“And?”

“I've spent the last few days doing exactly that.”

“With nothing to show for it apparently. Who did you see?”

I ticked off several names on my fingers. “Chip Michaels, Jo Drummer, Meredith Kronen.”

“Meredith?” Sondra sounded surprised.

“She sent me to Rachel Bright.”

“I hope you didn't believe everything that woman told you.”

I ignored the statement and said instead, “Rick Stanley.”

Sondra lifted a brow. “And what did
he
have to say for himself?”

“Rick's delighted that Kiltie's missing.”

“He would be.”

“It sounded as though he had a good reason to be upset,” I said. “How
did
you get Todd to put Rick's Cairn Special aside and commit to Kiltie instead?”

“That's none of your business.”

“But what if whatever strings you pulled had something to do with Kiltie's disappearance?”

“They don't.”

“How can you be so sure—”

“Stop it!” Sondra said suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Stop badgering me.”

“I am
not
. . .” I began. Then I let my voice trail away. Arguing with Sondra would get me nowhere.

I switched gears and tried again. “So what have you been doing since the last time we spoke?”

“Me?”

I nodded.

“I've been waiting.” As I watched, Sondra's features rearranged themselves into a picture of dejection. “And hoping that my little dog will find his way home soon.”

Last time I'd sat in Sondra's library, I'd been moved by her show of grief over the loss of her dog. This time, I wasn't convinced. Not only that but, in her place, I'd have been a lot more productive. Sondra had asked for my assistance in locating Kiltie, but I hadn't thought that would mean that she'd be abandoning her own efforts.

“That's
all?
” I asked.

“I'm a busy person.” Sondra narrowed her gaze. “And I was counting on you to do
your
job.”

“I'm a busy person, too,” I said mildly. “And finding Kiltie isn't my job. I only got involved because I thought I could help.”

“Well,” she said, rising to her feet, “it appears that we were both wrong, doesn't it?”

Good manners dictated that I should stand as well. Instead I remained seated.

“I'd like to talk to your husband,” I said. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with him?”

“No,” Sondra replied firmly. “I don't want Jim involved in this at all.”

“He was at the bazaar,” I told her. “I saw him there with Poppy, early that morning. Maybe he knows something.”

“He doesn't. Jim knows nothing about any of my dogs. He never has.”

“Does he like Kiltie?” I asked curiously.

“That's rich.” Sondra's chuckle sounded forced. “He doesn't even
know
Kiltie. He couldn't pick that dog out of a lineup if his life depended upon it.”

“Even so—”

“I said I don't want you contacting Jim and I meant it. As you know, he and I are separated. We're currently in the process of working out a divorce. That means that my life and my dogs are no longer any of Jim's business. And that's exactly the way I want things to stay.”

Reluctantly I realized that I probably shouldn't fault Sondra for taking that position. If I were faced with the task of unraveling all the bits and pieces of my life from those of someone whom I no longer loved, I might well have felt the same way.

“I think we're done here,” she said abruptly.

As if on cue, Sondra's maid, Kalinda, appeared in the doorway to the library. She was holding my coat in her hands. I stood up. Faith did, too.

As we crossed the room, Sondra said, “Peg should have warned me about you. She never mentioned you had such a volatile temper.”

“Excuse me?” I said incredulously.

I was perfectly calm. After all, it wasn't my dog who hadn't been seen in nearly a week. Which brought up another point. Kiltie had now been gone for several days longer than when we'd last spoken. Yet, curiously, Sondra appeared to be
less
willing to cooperate with me. I wondered why that was.

As she walked us to the door, I asked her. Reaching for the doorknob, Sondra went still. All at once, the atmosphere in the hallway felt oddly charged. I half expected her to lash out at me again.

Instead, Sondra slowly shook her head. “I'm just trying to deal with this situation the best way I can. Sometimes I think . . .”

“What?” I turned and looked at her.

“I just have to believe in my heart that things have a way of working out for the best.”

I felt as though I left Sondra's house with more questions than I'd had when I arrived. I didn't like that feeling at all.

 

On the drive home from Greenwich to Stamford, I called Aunt Peg.

“Your friend Sondra McEvoy is very strange,” I said.

“Surely you can't blame that on me.”

“No, but I can blame you for getting me involved with her.”

“Pish,” said Aunt Peg. “That wasn't my fault either. You got yourself involved with Sondra when you misplaced her dog at your Christmas bazaar.”

I bit back the first retort that sprang to mind and said instead, “Sondra seems to think that I have a temper. She called me volatile.”

“Considering the tone of this conversation, it occurs to me that perhaps she has a point.”