The Dog Who Came for Christmas Page 8

  “They do get set in their ways, don’t they?”

  “You’re not kidding. It’s like I never grew up. Suddenly, he’s telling me how to drive, how to raise my kids . . .”

  “I missed that part.”

  “And always—always!—trying to fix me up on dates.”

  Travis chuckled.

  “Mother did the same thing.”

  “Yeah, well, after the latest disaster, I’ve decided no more dating,” Renee said. “I’m officially off the market.”

  “For good?”

  She looked down and her cheeks reddened.

  “For now, anyway.”

  “You might get lonely,” he said. “I know I do.”

  She shrugged and looked away, took another swallow of her drink.

  Travis set his cup down and started turning it in circles on the tabletop.

  “After my divorce—and the move back here—I was too hurt and too busy to even think about dating. Then Mother died, and I had her estate to settle. Gradually, everyone I knew went back to the lives they’d had before.”

  Travis paused and frowned at the coffee mug in his hands.

  Why am I telling her this?

  “It’s hard,” Renee said. “Everybody’s busy.”

  He nodded.

  “I thought I’d start dating again, by and by, but now that I’m ready, it doesn’t seem as if anyone in town is interested.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is! Remember the awards ceremony? I can’t find anyone to go with.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Travis paused. Until that moment, he hadn’t even considered asking Renee, but suddenly it seemed the most natural thing to do.

  What the heck? he thought. Why not?

  “Why don’t you go with me?”

  Renee shook her head.

  “No, that’s okay. But thanks.”

  “You see there? I’ve struck out again,” he said. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s just that . . . Well, for one thing, I have to work on Saturday. Plus, I’ve got nothing to wear.”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  Renee glanced at her watch.

  “And speaking of work, I’d better get back to the salon.”

  She grabbed her purse, and they headed out to the car. Travis got in and started the engine.

  “You sure you won’t come?” he said.

  Renee sighed. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “Okay, tell you what. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Sure, fine, whatever.”

  “Good.” He put the car in gear. “Just give me your phone number before you get out.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Savannah parked her Camry in the driveway at Marissa Daniels’s house and stepped out. It had taken two days to get an audience with her erstwhile best friend; two days of working her contacts and coming up empty-handed. The only person left in Bolingbroke who could tell her what she wanted to know was waiting for her inside.

  The stately columns and alabaster portico of Marissa’s home loomed overhead as Savannah made her way up the walkway. The gardener, blowing leaves off the front lawn, turned off the motor and waited for her to pass. She gave him a curt nod, then stepped up to the front door and rang the bell, noting with dismay the tacky Christmas decorations on the front porch. This was why she rarely took commissions from people she knew, she thought. Watching her hard work being destroyed bit by bit was just too painful.

  She saw a flash of movement behind the leaded glass windows, and the door swung wide. Marissa stood on the threshold, decked out in a peach velour tracksuit and jeweled slippers, her blond hair looking like she’d just returned from the salon.

  “Savannah, so good to see you,” she said, taking a step back. “Do come in.”

  The two women exchanged a brief hug and kisses that barely grazed each other’s cheeks.

  “I won’t stay long,” Savannah said. “I know you’re busy.”

  In truth, of course, it was she who was busy that day; Marissa Daniels had all the time in the world. With a gardener, a maid, a cook, and no job to keep her occupied, she had nothing to do until her kids got home from school. Nevertheless, Marissa’s idleness had conferred on her a higher social standing than her old friend. It meant she’d married well and, unlike Savannah, had no need to work for a living.

  The maid appeared and took her coat.

  “When you’ve done with that,” Marissa told her, “bring us some sweet tea in the parlor. Oh, and a few of GeeGee’s petit fours, too, if you please.”

  She giggled.

  “I swear, that cook of mine is going to turn me into a butterball.”

  Savannah looked back at her and smiled. She’d been taking in the grand entrance—the marble floor, the crystal chandelier, the subtle blend of peach and gold that culminated in a Gabryel Harrison still life at the top of the double staircase—pleased that the house she’d decorated hadn’t yet been ruined by its owner’s tasteless additions.

  “Come on,” Marissa said. “Let’s go have us a chin wag.”

  She turned and padded out of the room, her ballerina flats as soft as a whisper.

  “I was so surprised when you called, dear. Why, we haven’t seen each other for ages.”

  That’s because you decided I wasn’t good enough for you.

  Marissa tapped her chin thoughtfully.

  “I believe the last time must have been when you were here, working on the house.”

  Working on the house. As if she’d been one of the construction crew.

  They stepped into the parlor, and Savannah felt a pang. As she’d feared, it was already filling up with cheap tchotchkes and ugly, handmade decorations brought home by Marissa’s children: Kendall, a quiet, sweet-natured, if not particularly bright girl; and Cody, a smart-mouthed bully who at twelve was a smaller version of his father. Thank God she and Donnie had never had kids, she thought. The world had enough problems without one more horrid little urchin running around.

  Another unauthorized addition to the room had been hung on the wall next to the fireplace. Savannah walked over to take a look. It was a montage of photos from their high school days. There were the two of them: leading cheers at a football game, painting banners for homecoming, and dancing at the prom with Trey Daniels and Travis Diehl, the girls’ outsized hairdos as Southern as pimento cheese. She felt her throat tighten. Who would have believed that a year later Travis would be at Princeton, and Savannah and Donnie Hiller would be arguing over who had left the cap off the toothpaste?

  “Trey had a gal at his office put that together for me on my birthday,” Marissa said, glancing over her shoulder. “Look at us, having a big time.”

  The maid walked in and set down a tray with two glasses of tea and an artfully arranged plate of cookies.

  “GeeGee says Mr. Daniels told her to save the petit fours for him,” she mumbled.

  Marissa’s lip twitched.

  “Well, he is the man of the house,” she said brightly. “If he doesn’t think his wife and her old friend deserve them, then we’ll just have to make do.”

  The maid padded out as they helped themselves to the tea and cookies.

  Savannah took a sip.

  “How is Trey these days?”

  “Fine. Deer season started last week, and he’s as happy as a pig in mud. I swear, I never met a man who enjoyed killing things as much as my husband does. If it isn’t deer season, it’s some other kinda season, and if nothing’s in season, then he’s out setting traps in the woods.”

  “Good. I’ve had two clients lose their cats to coyotes this year.”

  Marissa’s shrug was noncommittal.

  “I suppose every man needs a hobby.” She motioned toward the sofa. “Have a seat, and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Savannah sat on the leather sofa, clutching her glass, and wondered where to start. After the abuse she’d taken at The Grow
ler, she was desperate to discover who, if anyone, was trying to steal Travis Diehl’s affections, but just begging Marissa to tell all wouldn’t work. They might be “old friends,” but they were no longer equals, and Savannah couldn’t afford to reduce her status further if she wanted information. Marissa didn’t do favors for people who couldn’t return them.

  “It’s about Travis.”

  “Oh. Is anything wrong between the two of you?”

  Savannah reached for a cookie. Was that an innocent question, she wondered, or had Marissa heard something? If she had, it couldn’t be common knowledge, or she’d have heard about it at Winona’s. As her gaze returned to the pictures on the wall, she was struck by the irony of the situation. There’d been a time when she, not Marissa, had been the key player in Bolingbroke’s rumor mill.

  Savannah was the mayor’s daughter back then—the most popular girl in school, the person at the very center of everything. Even after her divorce, when some folks had taken Donnie’s side, she never lost her place in the social pecking order. It seemed to her that she would always lead a charmed life.

  But then her father got involved in a bad land deal, and not long after, he lost his bid for reelection. Suddenly, the party invitations dried up; old friends were “not at home” when she called; and instead of living comfortably under her parents’ roof with a generous allowance, Savannah had been forced to get a job. She’d never gotten over the humiliation.

  “Actually,” she said, “I came to ask if you might have heard from him.”

  “Me?” Marissa simpered. “You mean he hasn’t been in touch?”

  “Of course he’s been in touch,” Savannah said. “But lately, he says he’s been too busy to get together. The fact is, I’ve seen less and less of him since his mother’s funeral.”

  “Dear me, that is a long time. But then, he did have to settle his parents’ estate, and taking over the company has got to have been a nightmare.”

  “Well, he could at least call.” Savannah gave her a frank look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was seeing someone else.”

  There. She’d said it.

  Marissa settled back in her chair.

  “Are you asking me if I’ve heard anything?”

  “If you don’t mind. I think I have a right to know.”

  “Hmm,” she said, reaching for another cookie. “I’d have thought you’d keep better tabs on your man. You must be very busy at . . . work, these days.”

  Savannah felt her lips tighten. If Marissa thought she was going to sit there while she toyed with her like a cat with a mouse, she had another thing coming. She’d taken about all the crap she was going to from the girls at the bar.

  She set her glass down.

  “Look, let’s just be honest. If you haven’t got any information for me, then I should just go and let you get on with your day. Thank you for the tea and cookies,” she said, standing. “I can let myself out.”

  “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Marissa waved her down. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know everything that goes on in this town.”

  Savannah remained standing.

  “And?”

  Marissa leaned forward.

  “It just so happens that Travis was seen having coffee with an eligible female this very afternoon.”

  Savannah felt the blood drain from her face. So, she thought, it was true.

  “Who? Who was he with?”

  “Sadly, I do not know the lady’s name, but I’m told she’s a hairdresser at Winona’s, and my source referred to her as ‘Pinky.’ ”

  Savannah paused for a moment, then laughed out loud.

  “‘Pinky’? Oh, my goodness. You really had me going there for a second.”

  She dropped back down on the couch, patting her chest.

  “That’s just Renee Richardson. People call her that because she’s got pink bangs.”

  “Richardson.” Marissa frowned. “That name rings a bell. Do I know her?”

  “I doubt it. She’s new in town: divorced, with three brats, and as poor as a church mouse. Travis must have seen her in line and bought her something out of pity.”

  “Could be,” Marissa said, “but when’s the last time he had a cup of coffee with you?”

  Savannah refused to be goaded. Travis and Renee? The notion was ridiculous. Still, if Marissa’s source had seen them together, then other people must have, too. Better to put a stop to it before someone got the wrong idea.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take care of Renee. In the meantime, I’ve got another problem.”

  “Which is . . .”

  “Every time I want to get together, Travis has an excuse for why we can’t. If it isn’t work, it’s the foundation, and if that’s not it, then it’s something else. Last night, he told me he had to stay home and take care of his brother.”

  Marissa grimaced.

  “Now, that’s a problem. How on earth are you going to get rid of Hugh?”

  “I’m not sure,” Savannah said. “Once their parents were gone, I thought Travis would do the right thing and put him in a home, but it’s been over a year now, and he’s still living in that house.”

  “Maybe Travis wants to keep him.” Marissa giggled. “You know, like a pet.”

  Savannah smirked.

  “Well, I have a strict ‘no pets’ policy.”

  Marissa reached for another cookie. “Back in the day, that sort wasn’t even allowed in a regular school. They had their own places to go, and they were perfectly content. But now”—she rolled her eyes—“the schools waste all our time and money on them instead of giving normal children the education they need.”

  She paused, and her mouth opened.

  “That’s where I’ve heard the name Richardson. Has she got a boy at the elementary school?”

  “I’m not sure, why?”

  “There’s a strange little boy with that name who’s always making trouble for Cody. I’ve complained ’til I’m blue in the face, but Hank Fielding doesn’t want to hear it.”

  Marissa set her glass back on the tray and began dusting the cookie crumbs from her lap—Savannah’s cue that their visit was over.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” she said. “In the meantime, I think you need to tell Pinky to kindly leave Travis Diehl alone.”

  The maid appeared with her coat.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Savannah said, and smiled. “I prefer to let other people do my dirty work.”

  CHAPTER 12

  All was quiet as Kieran and the dog scoured the woods that afternoon, searching for the materials they’d need to build their fort. The fallen leaves, sodden with rainwater, no longer crackled underfoot as they made their way along the narrow paths, and the crow that had been quick to sound the alarm had finally settled down to watch them in silence. They’d found the perfect spot for their hideout the day before. Now, they were collecting sticks and branches for the walls.

  Kieran spotted a broken branch and reached down to pick it up.

  “I found a video on YouTube that showed how to make one,” he said, testing the branch’s strength. “It looked pretty easy.”

  While Kieran made his selection, the dog waited patiently, untroubled by the saddlebags that hung down at its sides. If he’d thought about it, the boy might have wondered why the dog was so willing to do what he asked, but finding it in the woods again the day before had been the answer to a prayer. He knew better than to question a miracle.

  The stick in Kieran’s hand was straight and strong, an inch thick and as long as his leg—perfect for one of the pickets against which he’d place the rocks and branches for the fort’s walls. When he’d drawn out his plan the night before, he figured they’d need a dozen sticks like it, but getting them back to the clearing would be a problem. A load that large wouldn’t fit in his small arms, and making multiple trips back to the clearing with only a few sticks at a time would have taken him all day. He’d considered making a
travois, like his scoutmaster said the Indians used, but the long branches would have been too hard for the dog to pull over the tangled ground. Instead, he’d tied two of his mom’s cloth grocery bags together and laid them over the animal’s back. As the boy loaded his gathered sticks into the sacks, the dog accepted the extra weight with alacrity.

  “That’s the last one,” he said, patting the dog’s head. “Let’s go.”

  They turned and headed back the way they’d come.

  “This is going to be an awesome fort,” Kieran said, imagining it in his mind’s eye. “It’ll be like our own private clubhouse. We can meet there every day, and when I’m not around, you can sleep there, too.”

  What the boy did not say was that he hoped the dog would come and live with him instead of remaining out in the woods. After all, even a well-built fort wasn’t as comfortable as a house was, and if it got much colder outside, the dog might freeze to death without a more reliable form of shelter. Still, the two times he’d tried to coax it out of the woods, the dog had resisted, and Kieran didn’t want to take the chance that it would run off and never come back. He was certain, though, that if the dog would only come home with him, it would want to stay, and with Dr. Joan on his side and Grandpa, too, he was sure his mother would change her mind and let him. He just had to keep the dog from getting away this time.

  The clearing was on a patch of ground that was sheltered by the branches of a short leaf pine whose broad green canopy acted like a giant umbrella. All around it were saplings and brush, a few of which Kieran had tied together with twine to make a secret entrance—something he’d added to the plan after seeing one on YouTube. Once finished, he thought, their fort would be almost invisible.

  Kieran ducked under the bowed saplings and held back the shrubbery “door” to let the dog enter the clearing. Even after the rain they’d had, the ground inside and its soft bed of pine needles were almost dry. The dog stood patiently while Kieran emptied the saddlebags and then the two of them took a well-deserved break. As the boy sat down, the dog began circling the ground beside him.

  “I like it here,” Kieran said. “It’s peaceful.”