Wagging Through the Snow Page 3

  “Oil hinges,” Bob said into his phone.

  Frank turned the knob again. This time he applied his shoulder to the door and pushed harder. There was a sharp squeal as it finally gave way. The door swung open before us and revealed . . . virtually nothing.

  The four of us stood on the porch and squinted into the building’s dimly-lit interior. The only available light was that filtering through the dirty windowpanes. The bright glare of the sun on snow behind us didn’t help. It made the single room appear darker and gloomier.

  Frank remained undaunted. “There must be a light switch,” he said. Reaching inside, his hand fumbled around the doorframe. A few seconds later, we heard a sharp click. “Found it!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Turn on electricity,” Bob said into his phone.

  “Wash windows,” I muttered under my breath.

  Frank shot us both a look. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I should think so,” Bob replied. But when Frank continued to glare at him, he made a show of turning off the device and tucking it in his pocket.

  While the rest of us stood there wondering what to do next, Aunt Peg was ever prepared. “I thought something like this might happen. I’ve got a lantern in my van. Be right back.”

  In no time at all she was leading the way into the building.

  The interior room looked to be about twenty feet square. Shelves, now empty, lined one of the unfinished wooden walls. On the other side was a waist-high counter. An old-fashioned cash register sat on top of it. Its drawer was open and also empty. A cane and wooden rocking chair with a well-worn seat had been abandoned in one corner. Frank had been wrong about the fireplace, but there was a wood-burning stove. A box next to it held a pair of fire tongs and small pile of logs.

  Dust motes, stirred up by our footsteps, danced in the stale air around us and I stifled the urge to sneeze. A long, vinyl banner lay curled up on the wood plank floor. Sam picked it up, spread it out on the counter, and read aloud, “After Christmas Sale! Everything Half Off! All Decorations Must Go!”

  “It seems kind of sad.” My eyes came to rest on the rocking chair. “When Mr. Haney closed up this building last January, he had no idea that he’d never be back.”

  “Perhaps not,” Aunt Peg said tartly. “But he doesn’t seem to have left much behind.”

  “Haney’s loss is our gain.” Never one to dwell on sentiment, Frank was walking around the room, checking things out. “This place has potential, doesn’t it? Okay, so it needs to be cleaned up and aired out. But that’s no big deal. Picture the room decorated with holly and pine boughs, and maybe some swags of red ribbon.”

  My brother’s gaze flicked in Bob’s direction. “Claire could be in charge. She’s great with stuff like that.”

  Bob didn’t even hesitate before shaking his head. “Before you go nominating my wife to be in charge of housekeeping—which, by the way, is something she won’t thank you or me for—I think we need to discuss the feasibility of getting this business up and running at all. Is that something we even want to tackle? Especially on such short notice.”

  “Sure it is,” Frank replied. “Haney’s Holiday Home is a Christmas tradition. It was even profiled in a magazine. You told me Sam said so.”

  Sam held up his hands in a display of innocence. He wasn’t about to assume credit or blame for any part of this project. “All I did was look it up on the internet. Anyone could have done that.”

  “Think of all the children whose holidays will be ruined if their families aren’t able to come here like they’ve always done and cut down their own special Christmas tree,” Frank implored.

  “Heaven forbid they have to buy a tree from a nursery,” I said.

  “Or Walmart,” Sam added. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

  “You see?” Frank said to Bob. “Haney’s Holiday Home isn’t just a business. It’s a community service.”

  Aunt Peg leaned toward Frank and said in a stage whisper, “Don’t oversell it. Back off now and give Bob a day or two to think about it. He’ll come around.”

  “I will?” Bob sounded surprised.

  “Of course,” Aunt Peg told him. “Christmas is coming and you own a Christmas tree farm. If that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.”

  We heard a clatter from outside. Davey came racing up the steps and through the open doorway.

  “I thought I told you not to let go of your brother’s hand,” I said as he skidded to a stop.

  “He’s right behind me,” Davey said breathlessly. Thank goodness he was right. “You guys better come and have a look. There’s something weird out here.”

  “Weird how?” Aunt Peg immediately perked up. While the rest of us were processing that information, she was already on her way to the door.

  Davey gulped for air. “Out in the woods. It sounds like someone’s crying.”

  “You’re imagining things,” Frank said with a snort.

  Davey looked at me and shook his head. Damn. I had hoped Frank was right.

  We all scrambled through the doorway together. As Sam scooped Kevin up in his arms, I shut the door behind us. Davey flew across the porch and hopped down the two steps. “This way.”

  At first glance, the wooded area behind the building looked as though its trees had been planted in an orderly fashion. Although that might have been the case at one point, once we entered the forest it quickly became clear how overgrown the farm’s cash crop had been allowed to become.

  The main path leading into the woods was about six feet wide and clogged with snow. Foliage encroached on either side. Some of the Christmas trees were only waist-high. Others soared way above my head. Most appeared to be Scotch pine, but I also saw some spruces and a batch of balsam firs. Mr. Haney had clearly believed in catering to a variety of tastes.

  Aunt Peg was out ahead of us. Moving with assurance, she was retracing the footsteps the boys had left in the almost knee-deep snow. Determined to catch up, I raced ahead of the rest of the group.

  We left the main path behind and veered off into the trees. The vegetation was thicker there. Snow-covered boughs hung low over the narrow trail. I’d gone about fifty feet when the sound of a soft, mournful whimpering made me stop abruptly in my tracks.

  “See?” Davey came up behind me. “I told you. Something’s out there.”

  “Go back and take Kevin from Sam,” I told him. “You two stay behind the adults while we go see what it is.”

  Reluctantly, Davey did as I’d requested. As soon he reached the three men I took off again, following in Aunt Peg’s footsteps. In the quiet woods, the low, mewling sound seemed to float on the light breeze. It had an almost ghostly quality. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck beginning to rise.

  It was hard to travel fast in the wet snow. I was looking down and watching where I was placing my feet, so when Aunt Peg stopped unexpectedly, I almost ran into her.

  Aunt Peg is nearly six feet tall and broader than I am. There was no way I could see around her. As I ducked to one side, pushing several heavy branches out of my way, I heard her suck in a sharp breath.

  Then the view in front of me cleared and I saw what she had seen.

  The body of a man was lying in a drift of snow beneath a lush fir tree. There was a jagged, bloody gash across the top of his head. A thick branch, broken off the tree above, lay on the ground beside him. The man’s skin was pale and waxy looking. His eyes were open and staring at the sky.

  I flinched and quickly turned away. When I raised my hands and held them in place, Frank, Sam, Bob, and the boys halted immediately. No one needed to come any closer. There was nothing any of us could do to help.

  Whatever had made the sound that drew us to this place, it was clear that we’d arrived too late.

  Chapter Four

  Bob called the police. Sam hustled the kids back down the path and took them home. Under these gruesome circumstances, Aunt Peg definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere. I knew I could c
atch a ride with her later.

  My brother has never been the most useful person in an emergency. Now Frank walked into a nearby thicket of trees and threw up. As he finished heaving, I once again heard the soft keening sound that had drawn us to the clearing in the first place.

  Aunt Peg and I shared a startled glance.

  “That man looks dead,” I said. “He is dead, right?”

  “He is,” Aunt Peg replied. “But maybe he’s not alone.”

  Davey had said there was something weird going on out here. As I recalled those words, I found my thoughts scattering in all sorts of unwelcome directions. Even in broad daylight. Even though I was accompanied by two strong men—and Aunt Peg, who could probably take them both down in a brawl.

  While I was envisioning malevolent forest spirits, Aunt Peg opted for a more practical approach. Giving the body a wide berth, she trod carefully around to the other side of the clearing. There she knelt down in the snow, removed one of her gloves, and held out her hand.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I think there’s something burrowed underneath the body. A little animal of some kind. I can see a pair of dark eyes looking out at me.”

  I took a step back. “Well, don’t ask it to come out here. What if it’s a wolverine? Or a biting otter?”

  Aunt Peg cast me a look. “You don’t spend much time in nature, do you?”

  “Not in the woods. Not in the middle of winter.”

  “Trust me, it’s not a biting otter. I think it might be a little white dog.” She turned her attention back to the task at hand, beckoning as she crooned, “Come on out, little guy. Nobody’s going to hurt you. You must be very cold under there. Come to me and I’ll take care of you.”

  Aunt Peg loved dogs completely. She could communicate with them on a level most people didn’t even know existed. If there was a dog in the world who could resist her charms, I had yet to meet it.

  I heard a rustling sound, followed by scratching and scrambling. A black nose poked out from beneath the body. Then a dirty white head emerged. After a brief hesitation a small, raggedy dog with dark, button eyes crawled out of his hiding place. He walked cautiously across the crusted snow to Aunt Peg’s outstretched hand.

  Even from afar, I could see that the bedraggled canine was wet and shivering.

  Aunt Peg remained still as the dog sniffed her fingers. When he relaxed and pressed his head into her hand, she picked him up and tucked him against her body. “You poor thing. Have you been out here all night?”

  “Possibly longer.” I glanced at the corpse between us.

  “The police are on their way,” Bob said, returning to my side. “I sent Frank back to the office to wait for them. When they arrive, he’ll show them where we are.”

  “Good idea.” I was sure Frank had been grateful for the assignment.

  Bob nodded in Aunt Peg’s direction. “What’s that?”

  “Unless I miss my guess, it’s a Maltese,” she informed him.

  A Maltese. There was a dead body lying on the ground just a few feet away. Somehow, that wasn’t enough of a distraction to keep Aunt Peg from identifying the breed of the dog she held cradled in her arms. Amazing.

  Bob looked around the clearing. “Where did it come from?”

  “It was under the body,” I told him. “It must have belonged to that man.”

  “He was keeping him company.” Aunt Peg unzipped her parka and slipped the small dog inside, then closed her jacket again for warmth. “I suspect he was waiting for his owner to wake up.”

  We’d all been avoiding looking at the body. Now our attention was directed back that way.

  “Who do you suppose he is?” asked Bob.

  Aunt Peg took a step toward the corpse. “Maybe there’s some ID in his coat.”

  “No. Don’t.” To my surprise, she stopped when I held up my hand. “You’ve already appropriated the guy’s dog. I think we’d better let the police handle the rest.”

  “I guess you have a point.” Aunt Peg gazed up at the tree above him. “That branch must have broken off and hit him on the head. But what do you suppose was he doing out here in the first place?”

  “Walking his dog?” I said.

  Bob frowned. “This is private property. The least he could have done was have the decency to die somewhere else.”

  In the silence that followed that statement, I could hear the sound of approaching sirens. It sounded as though the emergency crews had turned out in force. Wilton was a quiet town. I was guessing the police here didn’t receive many reports of unidentified dead bodies.

  “That’s odd.” Bob was still peering at the body on the ground.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Look at the guy’s clothes. He’s got on a ton of layers to stay warm, but everything he’s wearing looks old and worn. Even his boots.”

  I took a peek at the dead man’s feet. There was a hole in one of his upturned soles and the toe of his other boot had been mended with duct tape.

  “See what I mean?” Bob asked. “This is a nice area. If he lived around here—close enough to be out for a stroll in these woods—you’d think he wouldn’t be wearing clothes that looked like they came from the Salvation Army. Or the dump.”

  “Maybe he’s an eccentric recluse.” Aunt Peg sounded pleased by the thought. “Or a hobo that hopped off a passing train.”

  Except there were no passing trains in the vicinity. As Aunt Peg knew perfectly well.

  “Just my luck,” Bob muttered. “I knew there had to be something sketchy about this deal. ‘It’s just beautiful open land and trees’, Frank said. ‘Undeveloped property in Wilton. What could possibly go wrong?’ And here we are.”

  I’d expected there would be a catch too. But even I hadn’t imagined one of this magnitude.

  “I’m sure the police will get everything sorted out,” I told him. “They’ll remove the body and notify the next of kin. In an hour or two, this unfortunate episode will all be over and your life can go back to normal.”

  “Normal.” Bob shook his head. “Which I suppose means going back to arguing with Frank about opening a Christmas shop on five minutes’ notice.”

  The next hour passed in a flurry of activity. A pair of policemen were the first to arrive. They were followed by an ambulance and EMTs. The medical examiner rolled in after that. Frank kept busy making trips back and forth from the parking lot, directing each new group to the scene. Bob, who’d identified himself as co-owner of the property, was asked a multitude of questions—most of which he had no answers for.

  Aunt Peg and I stood off to one side, trying to stay out of the way as the officers photographed the body, then conducted a brief examination. Mostly that seemed to consist of them pointing at the dead man’s head wound, then at the broken tree branch, and nodding in agreement.

  The police also searched the body for identification, but I didn’t see them remove anything from the man’s pockets. So when the officers stood up and stepped away from the body, I was surprised to overhear one of them refer to the man on the ground as Pete.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the one nearest me. “Do you know who that man is?”

  Earlier, Aunt Peg and I had been asked to supply our names and the reason for our presence. The two policemen—busy dealing with Bob—hadn’t bothered to introduce themselves to us. In the intervening time they’d neither paid us any further attention, nor commented on the little white dog whose head was clearly visible poking out of the opening of Aunt Peg’s parka. Now they seemed surprised to hear me speak at all.

  “His name is Pete,” the officer replied.

  Thanks to my big ears, I already knew that much. “Does he have a last name?”

  “I’m sure he does, but I’m not aware of it.”

  “But you do recognize him?”

  “We’ve seen him around town,” the other policeman told me. “Pete’s made his home in Wilton for quite a while now. Four or five years, I’d guess. Usually we’
d see more of him in the summer months.”

  “Did he live around here?” I asked.

  “That’s the thing. Pete didn’t live any one place in particular. He did quite a bit of wandering. Then he’d just set up camp wherever he found a likely spot.”

  “Are you saying that Mr. Pete here was homeless?” Aunt Peg asked.

  “That’s about the gist of it. People felt sorry for him and gave him money, most of which he took directly to the liquor store.”

  The first policeman added, “Pete didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. And sometimes he got confused about where he was. But other than that, he was harmless. We made sure that he stayed away from the schools, but beyond that there wasn’t much else we could do.”

  “But—” I sputtered. “Wasn’t there a shelter he could go to? Some place safe that would take him in?”

  “There are social services that could have helped him. But Pete would have had to do his part too. For one thing, he would have needed to get the drinking under control. For another, he had to want to be helped. Have you ever dealt with the homeless, ma’am?”

  I shook my head.

  “Many of them don’t want to be part of the system. They prefer to make their own choices and look out for themselves. For some, that kind of enforced structure is something they purposely left behind. They’d rather live on the streets and maintain their independence. During the time Pete was here in Wilton, he always seemed to manage tolerably well.”

  “Until now,” Aunt Peg said drily.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the officer agreed. “Until now.”

  He stepped away from us and walked over to confer with the EMTs. The medical examiner had arrived a few minutes earlier and the group of men stood huddled around the body. They spoke quietly among themselves, their voices too soft for me to hear what they were saying.

  “What about Pete’s dog?” I asked the officer who’d remained with us. “What will happen to him?”

  “Dog?” His gaze shifted to Aunt Peg, who was frowning at me mightily. I could see that she was tempted to stuff the little Maltese down out of sight and zip the parka up to her chin. “Is that Snowball in there?”