‘Tell me that again. Bonnie says it’s all over town the kids saw a man in the manger? That they know who he is?’
Mary picked up her water glass, looked at it and held it in front of her. ‘That they saw someone, yes. That they know who it is I’m not sure. However, the way rumors work, by tomorrow the story will be they not only knew him but shook his hand on his way out.’ She put it down and picked up her wineglass. ‘What are we going to do?’
Mary sat at Ellen and Dan’s dinner table, along with Pat and Karl Bennington. She had no more than walked in her door when the phone rang. It was Ellen. Dan was home, had gotten her message and wanted to talk to her. Since she was coming over, she might as well stay and have dinner with them.
Mary thought about her feet for a moment, but she wanted to talk to Dan as well. She accepted and offered to contribute the bottle of wine she’d just purchased. So, here she was, sipping wine and waiting for someone else to bring in dinner. Somehow, that didn’t feel right. However, she was tired. Ellen was a good cook. She’d taught her, and it would be fun to see what she produced. But she felt uneasy. She should be standing over the stove, supervising, stirring, mashing, not just sitting here doing nothing. Get over it. She’d try. She took a small sip of the wine.
‘I guess it was inevitable.’ Dan sipped his wine absently. He looked directly at Mary but she didn’t think he really saw her. He was probably going over the night of Cliff’s death, wondering if there was anything they could have done better to protect the children. What it could have been, she didn’t know. Father D’Angelo had taken them directly to St Mark’s, where they waited in front of the manger for their mother to arrive. It had taken the crowd a little while to realize the posada was going to St Mark’s, that something unexpected had happened at St Theresa’s. She’d spent some time pointing toward the corner and making shooing motions, but finally the crowd had mostly turned the corner. It had evidently taken no time at all for them to see Ronaldo held a puppy. Coos and goos had apparently come from all sides, accompanied by ‘Where did you get him?’ She’d been told the children only said they found him, but somehow where they found him had quickly become public knowledge. So did the fact all those police cars and all that yellow tape was because Cliff Mathews was dead and the children had found him as well. Murdered. Mary fervently hoped none of them knew they’d not only found the body but had actually seen the murderer. It seemed she’d hoped in vain.
‘How did that piece of information seep out?’ Evidently Dan was struggling with the same puzzle.
She shook her head.
The swinging kitchen door opened and Ellen and Pat appeared, bearing plates. Ellen put one in front of Mary. Pat sat one in front of Dan and another in front of Karl.
‘What is this?’ Mary looked at her plate. It held a small piece of chicken breast topped with prosciutto and covered with a sauce that gave off a slight tangy fragrance. Mary had never seen chicken done that way and it smelled delicious. Whipped sweet potatoes and fresh green beans completed the picture. A basket of crunchy French rolls appeared along with a bowl of spinach salad. She’d come to talk to Dan. This was an unexpected bonus.
‘It’s Balsamic chicken.’ Ellen stood back a little and surveyed the plates with satisfaction. ‘It’s a new recipe I got off Williams-Sonoma’s website. It sounded wonderful and it was easy. So, you’re my guinea pigs. Tell me what you think.’
The rapidly emptied plates spoke louder than any words. Mary pushed back her chair and started to clear the table, but Pat took the plates out of her hands before she could make for the kitchen. ‘You‘re off duty. I think both Dan and Karl want to talk to you. I only hope the conversation doesn’t spoil your appetite for dessert. I brought over Brownie pudding.’
‘Oh, goodness. I haven’t had that in ages. It’s a perfect winter’s night dessert. Can I make the coffee?’
‘You can sit right there and help these two try to figure out what’s going on.’
Ellen and Pat disappeared through the swinging doors. Dan poured Mary a little more wine and offered the bottle to Karl, who nodded. Dan topped off his glass then poured the last few drops into his own.
‘There was no useful forensic evidence in that whole damn manger scene. Lots of people had been in and out, but we did find one whole footprint.’
‘Whose?’
Dan didn’t answer Mary right away. He seemed to weigh how he wanted to answer. ‘It was a sandal. A man’s sandal.’
‘Where was it?’
Dan actually smiled. ‘In a cow pat.’
‘In a … oh.’
‘Father D’Angelo?’ There was no smile on Karl’s face. ‘No one else wears sandals this time of year. That can’t mean much. He’s been in and out of the manger for days.’
Dan nodded. ‘It doesn’t implicate him, but it doesn’t eliminate him, either.’ He held up a hand before Mary could say anything. ‘Whoever stabbed poor old Cliff didn’t leave right away, which might. Father was pretty much in evidence all evening. Our murderer was by the animals, the darkest part of the manger scene, when the kids saw him. Well away from the manger and the body. Logic would say he would have left immediately. Why did he stay? There’s only one answer.’
‘And that is?’ Karl looked as if he knew the answer.
Mary thought she did also.
‘He wanted the puppy. The kids interrupted him, probably startled him pretty bad. We’re just lucky he didn’t do anything when he saw them.’
Mary looked into her wineglass, shuddered and picked it up. Her hand started to shake at the thought of what might have happened and she set it back down. She ran her fingers up and down the stem instead. ‘There’s one other person I know who wears sandals.’
Both men turned to stare at her.
‘Who?’ Dan said.
‘Evan Wilson.’ She thought back. Wasn’t there someone else? Was it Glen? She wasn’t sure. ‘He helped me take the dog food to the library the day we started the food drive. He wore sandals and white socks. Only, why would he kill Cliff and what would he want with the puppy?’
‘I have an idea about that.’
Dan and Mary turned their attention to Karl. He had been quiet through most of dinner, through all the conversation, contributing almost nothing. Now he pushed his glass aside, clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward.
‘Mary knows this but I haven’t been able to catch you. Remember that little poodle stolen from Golden Hills winery last summer? Belonged to Naomi and Bill Bliss?’
Dan nodded. ‘Cliff had a picture of it. Naomi had broken down when she saw it, claimed he took it from the winery. Why is another mystery. I’m afraid that dog is long gone.’
‘No. He’s not.’ Karl raised his head and looked directly at Dan. ‘He’s very much alive and I think someone close is using him for breeding. That puppy the kids found? I think that poodle is its father.’
The room was so quiet the faint clink of dishes in the kitchen could be heard. A laugh from Pat broke the stillness, but Dan didn’t say anything. He simply stared at Karl. A loud meow from Jake, Ellen’s yellow Tom, announcing his presence as he passed through the dining room on his way to the living-room bookshelves finally seemed to restore Dan’s speech.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Two things. Cliff brought me a saliva sample from a dog he wanted the AKC to test for DNA. He asked me to send it in. I did. The results came back the day he died, so he never saw them. The dog was the Blisses’ poodle, so he’s alive. At least, he was when Cliff took the sample. Alive and close.’
‘What’s the second?’
Mary didn’t think she’d ever seen Dan look so intent.
‘I got to looking at Sampson a little more closely. I’m sure he’s a cockapoo. And his toenails aren’t right.’
‘His what?’ Mary wasn’t sure she’d heard right. ‘His toenails?’
Karl nodded. ‘Dogs have either clear or black nails. A black dog will have black nails. A black dog who has a white paw will have clear nails on his white paw, black ones on his black paws. If the paw is only partly white, the nails will probably be mixed as well. There are a few poodles who have a recessive gene for clear nails. Merlot, the Blisses’ poodle, has that gene. He’s passed it on to several of his pups. He’s the only dog I know, personally, who does. Sampson has clear nails on all four paws even though two of his paws are black.’
Dan didn’t say anything. Mary found she couldn’t.
Dan found his voice first. ‘You think Cliff found the poodle and took a puppy from whoever has him to do … what?’
‘Blackmail somebody.’
Mary almost dumped what was left of her wine on the tablecloth. She hadn’t heard Ellen and Pat come back into the dining room, but they must have been there a few minutes, long enough to hear what Karl had said. ‘Oh, you startled me.’
Ellen grinned, pulled out her chair and sat. ‘I could tell. You jumped a mile. Coffee’s brewing.’ She turned toward Karl. ‘You think Cliff found the Blisses’ poodle?’
‘No doubt about that.’ Karl gave one decisive nod. ‘The question is, where?’
‘I hope not in a puppy mill.’ Dread filled Pat’s voice.
‘We’ve had no reports of one for some time.’ Dan looked over at Karl as if for corroboration. ‘That dog has been missing for over six months. Usually we hear when the first pups show up.’ He paused, as if thinking it through. ‘What’s the gestation period for a dog?’
‘About twelve weeks. Add six weeks for the pups to be weaned and Sampson could be Merlot’s.’
‘I’ll put out feelers.’
‘What’s a puppy mill?’ Visions of a stream, water wheel and sacks of grain filled Mary’s head. She didn’t think that’s what they were talking about.
Karl voice was heavy with disgust. ‘It’s a place that turns out puppies like a factory. They vary in awfulness. Some buy second-rate pure breeds, but some don’t care how they get their breeding dogs. They’re interested in one thing only: puppies. Little things like health, clean conditions and the quality of the dog don’t matter. If it can pass for a purebred, they can sell it for one. Papers aren’t included, but lots of folks don’t care.’ He paused, looked over at Dan and shook his head slightly. ‘But I think it’s more likely he’s local, servicing some backyard breeder’s dogs and possibly producing cockapoos.’
Dan nodded. ‘It makes sense. Keep Merlot under wraps, bring just one or two bitches to him and sell the puppies out of the area.’
‘Sampson wasn’t out of the area.’ Ellen pushed back her chair and headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll bring in the coffee. Don’t solve this thing until I get back.’
‘She’s got nothing to worry about.’ Dan sounded glum. He picked up his teaspoon and started to tap it on the table.
Mary reached over and took it away. ‘We’re on edge enough.’
He smiled and let her. ‘The rest of Sampson’s litter could be in Southern California, for all we know. Maybe they kept him back for some reason.’
‘Or the rest of them could be right here.’ Mary became lightheaded. Sampson and the puppies in Evan’s shop were about the same size, and they looked alike. Could Cliff have stolen him to blackmail … who? Evan hadn’t said who the puppies belonged to, but he knew. He had to. He’d looked nervous when the children were handling them. Why? If Merlot was the father, then the mother had to be a cocker. Did Evan have a cocker? Mary had no idea. He lived just about a block from her, but she’d never been to his house. Evan, mild-mannered Evan, who ran an immaculate and seemingly honest store, a man who wouldn’t steal a dog or condone anyone else’s doing it. A man who enjoyed playing Scrooge at the Christmas extravaganza during which he wore a long bathrobe, tied at the waist, a bathrobe that had a hood, and sandals. No. It couldn’t be. Who else had cockers? Half the people in Santa Louisa. Maybe not half, but they were a popular breed. Glen Manning and John Lavorino. They had at least one female cocker. Maybe Cliff making trouble for them at St Mark’s had nothing to do with lifestyle. Maybe it was about dogs. Could that be? Should she say something?
‘What do you mean, they might be here?’ Dan set down his spoon and looked at her suspiciously.
‘I mean – well …’
‘She means Evan has puppies for sale that look like Sampson,’ Pat answered for her. ‘I saw them when I was in there a few days ago.’
‘He does, does he?’ Unfortunately, Dan looked interested.
Mary nodded.
‘Are they cockapoos?’
‘Evan says so.’
‘Who owns them?’ Ellen seemed as interested as her husband.
Mary shrugged. ‘Evan didn’t say.’ She didn’t add Evan seemed determined not to say.
‘Odd.’ Karl pushed his dish away. ‘Evan usually gets me to check out any of the animals he sells. He doesn’t care about papers and breeds, and if the dogs don’t have papers, he’ll say so. However, he’s careful about shots and health. He doesn’t want anyone to buy an animal from him that’s going to go home and die.’
‘How about goldfish? Susannah won some at the fair a couple of summers ago. They only lived a day.’
‘Fish are tricky, especially fair fish. Still, Evan wants everything alive and healthy when they leave him. I wonder why he didn’t call me.’
‘Hmm.’ Dan attacked his pudding with gusto. ‘Maybe I’ll drop in on Evan tomorrow. Take a look at those puppies.’
Should she say something about John and Glen? No. Those two had been through enough. She’d corner Evan tomorrow, right after her committee meeting, and make him tell her who owns the puppies. If he wouldn’t tell her, she’d have to investigate further. If it turned out they belonged to John and Glen, she’d … she’d decide what to do then. Right now, saying anything would be the same as idle gossip. She looked at the brownie pudding Pat put before her and her stomach lurched. She reached for her coffee instead.