Silent Night: A Raine Stockton Dog Mystery (19 page)

The doctor looked at me.  “Are you a relative?”

“Friend,” I said, and I met Miles’s eyes as I said it.

She looked at Miles.  “Mr. Young, I am sending an orderly with a wheelchair and he’ll take you up to your room.  We’ll help you make whatever other arrangements are necessary but this is not negotiable.”

I said, “I think we’ve got it under control.” And this time Miles did not argue. 

“It wasn’t on the bunny slope,” he told me when she was gone.  “I left Mel with her ski group while I practiced a mogul run and…” He looked wry.  “I guess it’s been a few years since I did that.  Dislocated shoulder and concussion.  They want to keep me overnight.  It’s hospital policy.  Completely ridiculous, of course. Just a little headache.”

It looked to me like the kind of headache that could kill a horse, and I casually went over and picked up the shirt he had dropped on the floor.  “I hear they have really good pain meds here.”  He winced as I helped him slip his arm into the sleeve, and Melanie solicitously pulled the shoulder of the shirt over his bandaged arm.  “But anyone can see you’re fine.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a smart-a…” He glanced at Melanie and smoothly finished, “Aleck?”

I smiled.  “Constantly.” 

He said, “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome.  You know Melanie is welcome to stay with me,” I added casually, “but if you’d feel better with someone more responsible in charge…”

“Hey,” was all he said, but the look he gave me was enough.

I returned a smile that only pretended to be reluctant.  “Well, okay then.”  Then I looked at Melanie.  “What do you say?  Girl party, right?”

She giggled just like a little girl, and Miles caught her hand and squeezed it.
 
I thought the two of them could use some daddy-daughter time, so I said, “What can I bring you from the vending machine?  Name your junk food.”

Miles ordered cola and Melanie ordered an orange drink and chocolate chip cookies—so much for her wheat allergy—and I left the room, glad to feel useful.

  The vending machine on the first floor was out of orange soda, so I went up one to obstetrics/pediatrics.
 
I was coming back down the hall toward the elevator with an armful of soft drinks and snack foods when I saw a familiar and unexpected figure—two of them, in fact—standing outside the nursery.

“Mrs. Holloway?” I said, and she turned.

Standing beside her, looking strained and bedraggled and not at all happy, was Ashleigh Lewis.

“Raine!” exclaimed Ruth Holloway.  “I almost didn’t recognize you without Cisco.”  Her face was radiant and her tone almost giddy.  “You’ll never believe what’s happened.  Oh, I’m sorry, Raine, this is Ashleigh.”  She touched Ashleigh’s shoulder and then smoothed back her hair gently.  “Ashleigh is staying with us until her situation is settled.”

I wondered if Ashleigh knew I was the one who had discovered her hiding place, decided there was no way, and said, a little awkwardly, “I’m so sorry about your father, Ashleigh.”

Ashleigh cast down her eyes and didn’t answer.

“Ashleigh’s not going to be our only guest over Christmas,” Ruth declared, practically bursting with excitement.  “We’re here to pick up Baby Hope—that’s what the nursery staff named her and I think it’s perfect, don’t you?—the baby who was left in the Nativity manger!  We’re going to be her foster parents, and if all goes well…” She broke off, a little breathless.  “Well, it does seem kind of destined, doesn’t it?  That Mary and Joseph should adopt the baby in the manger?”

I had to agree that it did seem appropriate, and I was happy for her, but I couldn’t help feeling that this whole thing had to be kind of hard on Ashleigh: awkward, plump, unwanted, and now the odd girl out in a foster family love triangle.  On the other hand, I had my hands full managing one incomprehensible child, so I said, “I think it’s great that you’re going to have so many people around your Christmas tree. I hope everything works out for you.”

“Thanks, Raine.”  She beamed, then said with a quick expression of concern, “No one is sick in your family, I hope?”

“Just visiting a friend,” I assured her.  “Merry Christmas.”

She wished me a Merry Christmas back, and Ashleigh never lifted her eyes from the floor.

We stayed to see Miles settled in his room, but I could see his macho act was just that—an act—and I was reminded that people generally weren’t in the hospital for the fun of it.  I gathered up the remnants of our snacks and tossed them in the trash can, then said, “Okay, Melanie and I are off to do some serious damage to this town. We’ll call you tonight.  Get some rest.”

Miles kissed Melanie’s cheek and hugged her tight before she scrambled down from the bed, and then he held out his hand for me.  “Come here,” he said.

He looked a little pale and tired, so I took his hand.  He said, “About what I said the other day… I’m sorry.  I was an idiot.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “you were.”  I hesitated.  “And you were also right.  I’ll do better next time.” And then, because I didn’t want the moment to get too sentimental, I said briskly, “What do you need me to pick up from the lodge?  How are you getting your car back here?”

He said, “You don’t have to do that. I’ll get someone from the lodge…”

I said, with severely lifted eyebrows, “Excuse me?  Melanie has been without her iPad for at least four hours that I know of, and we’re coming up on an emergency here. Give me your room key.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s what neighbors do.  Besides …” I smiled at him.  “It’s Christmas.”

He lifted his hand to my neck and made as though to draw me down to him, and I was sorely tempted, believe me.  But I thought,
Head injury, child watching
, and I caught his hand and kissed his fingers lightly.  “Rest,” I advised.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turned to Melanie.  “Come on, kiddo, let’s hit the road.  I’ve got puppies to feed.”

Of course the mention of puppies was all it took to erase whatever uneasiness Melanie had about leaving her father, and she hurried me along impatiently as I secured Miles’s room key and instructions.  We were out of there before the eleven o’clock lunch carts rolled down the hall. Allowing for a brief stop at Taco Bravo on the highway, we had gathered all of Melanie’s and Miles’s possessions from the ski lodge, made arrangements for his car to be delivered to his house, and were safely back at my house being mauled by an excited canine crew by 2:00 in the afternoon.

There was a note from Maude: “Puppies out at 12:45.  Three calls, none qualified. Set up interviews beginning at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.  Will arrive at 9:30.”  Then there was a P.S.: “Don’t concern yourself with the Stokes dog; I’ll take care of it.”

What can I say?  That was Maude.

“Hey,” Melanie said, pausing at the entrance to the living room as she wove her way between two Aussies and a pushy, affectionate Golden toward the back of the house.  “Why are all your Christmas decorations in your dog’s cage?”

Sure enough, Mischief had finally managed to drag the entire cardboard box of Christmas ornaments off the highboy, out of the dining room, and somehow had wedged it halfway into her crate.  A trail of red ribbon, glitter garland, and miniature lights marked her trail through the house, and blue and green and red and silver Christmas ornaments spilled from the open lid of the box onto the floor in front of the crate. 

“Oh,” I said, “that’s just Mischief’s idea of a joke.”  But I stood with my arms folded across my chest in complete bafflement, trying to figure out how she had done it.  And once she pulled the box into her crate, how had she managed to climb over it and be waiting for me at the door when I got home?

“Dogs don’t make jokes,” Melanie said skeptically.

“This one does.”
 
Then with a helpless little shake of my head, I abandoned the effort of trying to understand the wiles of my dog.  “Come on, let’s take the puppies out.”

The clumsy, comical antics of three fuzzy puppies worked their magic on Melanie just as they had on me.  While the three older dogs raced around the play yard, practically shouting
Look at me!  Look at me!
Melanie had eyes only for the puppies.  She picked them up and turned them around when they started to stray out of their safe zone and into the big dogs’ play yard, she laughed out loud when they tripped over their own feet while chasing each other and face-planted in the grass.  When the two bigger pups ganged up on the little female, Melanie stepped in and scooped her up protectively.  I have to admit, as crazy as it sounds, I saw a little bit of myself at that age in her when she did that.

I got some leftover chicken from the fridge and a clicker from the basket of training supplies on the back porch, and spent a few minutes demonstrating the rudiments of clicker training to Melanie.  People are always asking me when is the best time to start training a dog, and my answer is: as soon as he’s born.  Puppies' brains are like little sponges—just like children’s—and while they are young and eager to learn everything about the world and their place in it, there is absolutely nothing you can’t teach them.  Melanie was a quick learner, too, and within two minutes had all three puppies lined up in perfect “sits” before her, eyes watching her expectantly to discover what else they could do to earn a treat.  She was grinning from ear to ear with her newfound importance, and so was I.  Kids make the best clicker-trainers for two simple reasons: timing and coordination.  Thanks to the video game industry, children today are practically born with those skills.

“You can teach a puppy anything you want,” I told her, “as long as you let him know with the clicker when he’s done something you like, and reward him with food for doing it.  But the clicker is powerful tool, and you can’t treat it like a toy.  Remember—the first time you click without giving a food reward, it’s like lying to the puppy. You’ve broken his trust. So when you run out of treats, what do you do?”

“Put the clicker in my pocket,” she replied solemnly, memorizing every word I said.

“Right.”
 
I was starting to think I might be better with children than I’d been giving myself credit for.  “And it’s also important never to make learning seem like a chore, so we always stop the training session while the puppy is still having fun.  That way they’ll always be excited when they see the clicker, okay?”

She assessed the three waiting puppies and decided, “Okay, I guess they’ve learned enough for a while.”

I said, “Good call. Let’s take them back inside and let them have some nap time.”

I gathered up the two males, and she picked up the female.  “How long do they have to nap?” she wanted to know.

“A couple of hours.”

“Okay.  I think I’ll teach them to shake hands, next.”

There’s nothing like the confidence of someone who has never discovered that failure is an option, and that’s something you only find in kids. 

I gave Melanie the responsibility of putting the puppies in their ex-pen and making sure the door was latched while I brought the older dogs in from the play yard.  I was proud of myself for having discovered something that would take her mind off her dad—and her mom, for that matter—but when she seemed intent on pulling up a chair and watching until the puppies fell asleep, I realized I needed to come up with another plan. 

“You know what we need to do?” I declared suddenly.  “Get a Christmas tree!”

Melanie looked reluctant.  “Do you think it’s okay to leave the puppies alone?”

“Sure, they’ll be fine.”

“What if the big dogs break into their pen and step on them?”

I thought her concern was sweet, so I didn’t point out that since that hadn’t happened so far, I didn’t think it was likely to.  I said, “We’ll take Cisco with us and put the Aussies in their crates.  But you’ll have to help me put the Christmas decorations away some place safe in case Mischief gets out again.”

“Why don’t you just put a lock on her door?”

“I’ve tried that.  She always figures out how to open it.”

“You need to find one she can’t open.”

“I know.  But first I need to find out how she’s getting out in the first place.”

Melanie was thoughtful as we dragged the box of Christmas ornaments out of Mischief’s crate and repacked it.  I decided the only really safe place for the box was on the front porch, so I carried it outside while Melanie put on her coat again.

“You know,” she said when I returned, “if you really wanted to know how she was getting out, you could set up a camera while we’re gone.  Like the security camera we have at my house in New York.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed.  “Good idea,” I said.  “Only one problem.  I don’t have a camera.”

She grinned.  “I do.”

It only took a few minutes to set the trap.  Melanie engaged the video function on her iPad and I set it up on the
mantel
opposite the dogs’ crates, high enough to give a pretty good view of most of the room.
 
Mischief and Magic watched with such interest that I actually became a little nervous  that Mischief might find a way to escape her crate and turn off the camera—or, more likely, knock the  tablet off the
mantel
and break it.  I therefore double-checked the slide bolt on her crate and even secured it with a plastic cable tie.  She had chewed through the cable ties before, but it might buy us some time.