Wagging Through the Snow Read online

  “Boots and jacket in the closet,” I said to Kevin, handing them over.

  He ambled toward the front hall and a Poodle escort followed. Kevin has been known to drop cookies, shoes, and the occasional rawhide strip. Tar, Faith’s daughter, Eve, and our younger male, Augie, trailed along behind him, no doubt hoping for edible discards.

  Bud, meanwhile, had given up on the mittens and gone trotting into the pantry. He was probably checking out the new bag of kibble. Half-starved when he’d been dumped by the side of the road the previous summer, the small dog had gained back all the weight he needed and more. Pretty soon he was going to be on a diet.

  “Anything exciting happen while we were gone?” Sam asked when he’d delivered the second bag, shooed Bud out of the pantry, and firmly shut the door behind him.

  The question—Sam’s customary homecoming query—had become a standing joke. The way my life went, you’d think he would know better than to ask. But apparently not.

  “Frank dropped by,” I said.

  “Just Frank? Not Bertie and the kids? Is everything all right?”

  “More or less. My brother made an impulse purchase yesterday. He stopped in to tell me about it.”

  Sam had crouched down beside our fifth Standard Poodle, Raven. He was ruffling his hands through her coat. “Christmas shopping already? Good for Frank. If he braved the mall on the day after Thanksgiving, he’s a better man than I am.”

  “He didn’t go to the mall.” I pulled out my chair and sat back down. “Frank bought a Christmas tree farm.”

  Sam paused to let that sink in. Then he looked up. “You’re kidding, right?”

  It took ten minutes to tell the whole story. Mostly because Sam alternated between interrupting me for details and laughing so hard that he couldn’t hear what I was saying. By the time I was finished, he was shaking his head.

  “So did you talk to Bob?”

  “No way. Frank’s going to have to break the news to Bob himself. I’m staying out of it.”

  Sam didn’t look convinced. “Don’t forget, Bob will be coming by later to drop off Davey. Frank’s probably counting on you to tell him then.”

  “Then he’s going to be disappointed,” I said. “I’ve spent half my life cleaning up after my little brother. This time he’s on his own.”

  Brave words. I just hoped I could make the resolution stick.

  But as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The first thing Bob said upon his arrival was, “Did you hear what your harebrained brother has done now?”

  “Hello to you too.” I stepped around my ex-husband and gave Davey a quick hug.

  Father and son, Bob and Davey were mirror images of one another. Both had sandy colored hair and dark eyes. They also shared the same lean, lanky build. At thirteen, Davey had yet to grow into the length of his limbs. Looking at him standing beside his father, I wondered if he ever would.

  Davey gave me two seconds of hug-time, then squirmed out of my grasp. He tossed his backpack onto a nearby bench and said, “What’s for dinner?”

  “ Guess. ”

  “Not turkey again.”

  “You like turkey.”

  “Yeah, but not every day.”

  “Excuse me.” Bob inserted himself between us. “Can we get back to what’s important here? Your brother—”

  “Your business partner,” I corrected.

  “—has bought himself a Christmas tree farm. What was he thinking?”

  Davey had been on his way to the kitchen, but that pronouncement stopped him in his tracks. He spun around and stared at the two of us. “A Christmas tree farm? For real? Way to go, Frank!”

  Someone growled under his breath. It might have been Bob.

  I shooed Davey on his way and turned back to my ex-husband. “Apparently Frank was thinking that the two of you should open a new business selling trees.”

  Bob looked pained. “It’s only four weeks until Christmas.”

  “Then you’d better hurry up and get started. Have you had a chance to take a look at the new property yet?”

  Bob pushed aside Davey’s backpack and sank down onto the wooden bench. “All I’ve seen so far are the few pictures the auction company put online to entice people to come to the sale. Although why anyone would be tempted by what they showed, I have no idea. The place looks pretty run-down. And that’s putting it mildly.”

  “Frank told me that the owner passed away last summer,” I said.

  “Trust me, that place has been in a state of disrepair for a lot longer than that. Abel Haney was in his nineties when he died. He’d owned the land for fifty years and it doesn’t look as though he’d made a single recent improvement. Who knows if the place is even compliant with current safety standards?”

  “Abel Haney?” Sam came walking into the front hall. He was staring down at his phone. “As in Haney’s Holiday Home? It says here that your Christmas tree farm has been a seasonal fixture in North Wilton for decades. Fairfield County Magazine even named it a ‘top holiday attraction.’ ”

  “I’ll bet,” Bob muttered. “What year was that?”

  Sam squinted at the screen. “Nineteen eighty-eight.”

  “That’s a whole different century.” Davey laughed from the kitchen doorway. “I wasn’t even born then.”

  “That Frank, he’s a dreamer,” I said happily. Wasn’t it wonderful that this wasn’t my problem?

  “That’s one way of putting it.” Bob clearly wasn’t amused. “Don’t think I’m forgetting it was your fault that I went into business with your brother in the first place.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said. “You are not blaming this problem on me. Besides, until yesterday the two of you made great partners. Look at The Bean Counter. It’s a big success.”

  “And do you know why?” Bob shot back. “Because each of us has stuck to doing what we’re good at. Frank is operations and I’m finance. He’s not supposed to wake up one morning and decide to squander my money on some holiday pipe dream.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “It wasn’t entirely your money, was it?”

  “Like that makes all the difference.” Bob braced his hands on either side of the oak bench and pushed himself to his feet. “I suppose there’s no point in complaining about something I can’t change. The only thing left to do now is go have a look at the place, and see what we’ve gotten ourselves into.” He pulled the edges of his parka together and ran up the zipper. “How’s tomorrow? Are you guys free?”

  Sam, Davey, and I shared a look.

  “What?” Bob stared at the three of us. “Of course you’re coming. I’m not checking out Haney’s Holiday Home on my own.”

  “Now that you own the place, it needs a new name,” Davey said. “What about Frank’s Folly?”

  “You’re not helping.” I pointed toward the kitchen where Davey was supposed to be doing something. Anything. I didn’t even care what. He eluded my outstretched hand with a grin.

  “Call it whatever you like, but you guys are in on this too,” Bob said. “Eleven o’clock. I’ll see you there.”

  Sam watched as Bob left, pulling the door shut behind him. “That must be why you divorced that man,” he said thoughtfully.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve never been good at taking orders.”

  I wanted to muster some outrage at that, but I really couldn’t. Whatever.

  * * *

  Early Sunday morning my phone rang. A glance at the name on the screen confirmed what I’d already suspected. The only surprise was that it had taken her this long.

  Even in a family as contentious as mine, Aunt Peg was notable for her forceful personality, her unending curiosity, and her total inability to ever, under any circumstances, leave well enough alone. Which meant that if there was trouble brewing anywhere in the vicinity, Aunt Peg wanted in. And if possible, she’d also like to drag her relatives into the fray too.

  So this situation had the potential to be the sum of all good things as fa
r as she was concerned. Christmas. Family troubles. And Bob had a problem. Did I mention that Aunt Peg and my ex-husband don’t get along? To say that she would greet his tree farm predicament with gusto was an understatement. I could practically picture her rubbing her hands together with glee.

  “I take it you’ve heard the news,” I said into the phone.

  “Claire called me,” Aunt Peg replied. “Thank goodness I have one relative who takes the time to keep me informed.”

  Claire was a relatively new addition to the family. She was still naïve enough to believe that Aunt Peg used her formidable powers for better, rather than worse. She’d learn.

  “I hear you’re going to have a look at the place.”

  “So Bob tells me,” I said. “It didn’t sound like we had a choice.”

  “Excellent. Eleven o’clock, right? I’ll see you there.”

  She disconnected before I even had a chance to ask if she’d been invited to accompany us. Which was obviously a moot point. But still.

  Faith and Eve were lying on the nearby bed. Both their heads had been inquisitively cocked to one side as I’d spoken on the phone. Two sets of dark eyes watched as I put the device down on my dresser. I was certain they knew who I’d been talking to.

  Aunt Peg was a renowned Standard Poodle breeder. She was also a long-time dog show exhibitor and now a Toy and Non-Sporting group judge. Her Cedar Crest Kennel had produced many of the best Standard Poodles bred and shown in the U.S. Dogs were Aunt Peg’s vocation and her passion. And no matter how often she and I clashed, I would always be grateful for the fact that Faith had entered my life as a gift from Aunt Peg.

  There was no way I could ever repay her for that and we both knew it.

  “I’m sorry,” I told the two Poodles. “She didn’t ask to talk to you.”

  It was clear they didn’t believe me.

  “Really,” I said. “Would I lie to you?”

  Eve hopped down off the bed and left the room. Davey appeared in the doorway a moment later. He was wearing flannel-lined jeans, Bean boots, and a thick Williams College sweatshirt: warm clothes for tramping around a snowy tree farm.

  “Blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” he told me. “Sam’s cooking. If you don’t hurry up, Kev and I will eat them all before you get there.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  Chapter Three

  From our house in Stamford, the drive to north-west Wilton took twenty-five minutes. Though it was only the last week of November, there was already snow on the ground. We’d had six inches on a school day two weeks earlier, followed by another three inches the day before Thanksgiving. New Englanders are used to dealing with winter weather, however, and even the small roads were clear and easily passable. It occurred to me as we neared our destination that a fresh coat of glistening snow might make the Christmas tree farm look more attractive than it otherwise would have.

  Unfortunately, that turned out to be wishful thinking. My first impression of Frank’s new acquisition was that it was hardly worth the trip.

  Our only indication that we’d arrived at the right address was a faded wooden sign that had fallen off its post and was leaning against a tree by the side of the road. Block lettering that might have once been red, but was now a tacky shade of pink, announced the name of our destination. Beside the empty signpost, a narrow dirt driveway led the way into the densely wooded property. At least the driveway was plowed.

  “Well.” Sam cleared his throat as he nosed the SUV into the rutted lane. “This looks rustic.”

  Davey leaned toward his window for a better look. “I was going to say shabby myself.”

  The SUV bounced from side to side as we negotiated the driveway. I reached back to steady Kevin in his seat. “This is only the entrance. Maybe it will look better when we get to the buildings.”

  “Time to buy a Christmas tree?” Kev asked hopefully.

  “Not today,” I said. “We’re just going to have a look around.”

  “Ornaments?”

  “No ornaments,” Davey told him. “But while the grown-ups are talking, you and I can collect pinecones. I bet we’ll find lots of them around here.”

  Kevin clapped his hands. He enjoyed doing anything his big brother suggested.

  A few seconds later, we emerged from the trees and got our first look at the portion of the property where Haney’s Holiday Home conducted business. Sam lifted his foot off the gas pedal and the SUV rolled to a stop. The driveway had been in a state of disrepair. What we saw before us looked even worse.

  Two weathered clapboard buildings had been erected on the far side of a clearing. The smaller building had a corrugated roof and double garage doors. I guessed it was an equipment shed. Hopefully, it was only my imagination that the walls of the decrepit structure appeared to be swaying in the light breeze.

  Thankfully, the larger structure looked more secure. A sign, stuck in the ground beside a shoveled walkway, identified that building as the office. Two wooden steps led to a covered porch whose banister was mostly intact. A narrow door, coated with peeling green paint, provided access to the building. It was flanked on either side by small, square windows whose glass was coated with grime.

  A parking area on the other side of the clearing had recently been plowed, and I saw that we weren’t the first to arrive. A black Jeep Wrangler was already pulled up beside a low drift. As Sam parked the SUV, the Wrangler’s door opened and Frank hopped out.

  “So . . .” he said, waving a hand expansively. “What do you think?”

  I hoped to God he wasn’t looking for an honest answer.

  “It could do with some sprucing up,” I told him.

  Frank frowned. He didn’t get it. “Well, sure. But that’s just cosmetic stuff. We can have that fixed in no time.”

  “Good one, Mom.” Davey looked at me and grinned. That boy is a child after my own heart.

  The sound of approaching cars had us all turning back to look at the tree-shrouded entrance. After a moment, Aunt Peg’s minivan and Bob’s dark green Explorer came bouncing into view.

  “Your driveway needs some work,” Sam commented.

  “It’s too late now, but we’ll get to that next year,” Frank told him. “I’ll be sure to earmark some of the profits for paving.”

  “Some of the profits?” Sam muttered under his breath.

  I looked at him and shrugged.

  There’d been plenty of times in the past when Frank’s optimism had left me feeling incredulous too. My brother has a tendency to leapfrog over problems, seeing only the desired solution that lies ahead. Sometimes that tunnel vision worked for him. Other times it left him knocked flat on his back and wondering where things had gone wrong.

  Davey unloaded Kevin from the SUV. I took a minute to check that his boots were fastened and his mittens were actually on his hands. By the time that was done, Bob and Aunt Peg had parked and joined us.

  We all stood and stared at the pair of dilapidated buildings.

  “Hey,” Frank said suddenly. “There’s even a chimney. I bet the office has a fireplace.”

  I saw Bob’s eyes widen fractionally. He turned and looked at his partner. “Don’t you know?”

  “Um . . . not exactly.”

  “But you must have gone inside the building before you bought it.” When Frank didn’t reply right away, Bob added, “You did look inside the building, didn’t you?”

  “I would have.” Frank’s voice edged toward a whine. “But the auction was hectic and there wasn’t time.”

  “No time to step inside a building that you were planning to buy?”

  “Land!” Frank blurted out. He sounded pleased with himself, as if he’d come up with a particularly clever answer. “I was buying the land. Look around. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  I had to admit, what we could see of the property did possess a certain pastoral charm. Particularly if you were willing to look past the tattered buildings and pothole-filled parking lot and fasten your gaze on
the wondrous forest of pine trees that spread out around us in three directions. As I’d suspected it might, the blanket of new snow had freshened everything up. I hated to think what Haney’s Holiday Home might look like during spring thaw.

  Aunt Peg was already on her way to the steps. “Rather than standing here wondering what’s inside, let’s go have a look, shall we?”

  The porch sagged beneath our collective weight as Frank fished around in his pocket for the key to open the office door. While we waited, Bob stepped to one side and pulled out his phone. He began to record what sounded like a to-do list.

  “Replace front step,” I heard him say quietly. “Brace banister. Check porch supports.”

  Davey and Kevin had remained behind on the walk. Davey took his little brother’s hand and said, “Kev and I are going to go explore the woods, okay?”

  “I guess that’s all right.” I looked at Sam, who nodded. “But don’t go too far. And don’t get lost. And don’t let Kevin out of your sight.”

  “Mo-o-om.” Davey stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “It’s all good. We’ll be fine. They’re just trees.”

  “Strange trees,” I clarified. Then frowned. Even to my own ears that sounded overly protective. “Don’t get into any trouble. And if you do, come right back.”

  “No trouble,” Kevin agreed. “We’re going to look for pinecones.”

  “And grizzly bears,” Davey told him.

  Kev’s mouth opened to form a round O.

  “No bears,” I said quickly. “No coyotes. No beavers. In fact, no wildlife at all. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Davey called back over his shoulder as he and his brother went tromping away through the snow.

  “Got it!” Frank announced, pulling the key out of his pocket.

  It was an ornate skeleton key, at least four inches in length. Bronze in color, it looked heavy. How Frank could have misplaced something that size in his pants pocket, I had no idea. He shoved the key in the lock and turned it hard to the right.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then we heard a small thud as the bolt receded. Frank turned the knob and pushed. The door didn’t budge.