Maude.
“FBI,” I corrected.
“Well then, ” said Buck, “this sounds to me like the kind of case a future FBI-agent in training should be able to figure out.”
Melanie said thoughtfully, “Yeah.” Then, more confidently, “Yeah, I will. Don’t you worry about that.” She turned to walk away, then looked back at me. “You know,” she said, “I’m glad the Forest Service downsized you. If they hadn’t, you never would have opened Dog Daze. And if you hadn’t opened Dog Daze, you never would have met my dad and...” She shrugged. “Funny how things work out, huh?”
I did not bother to point out that the way I had met her dad had been far, far more complicated than she made it sound. That was a story for another day. I agreed simply, “Right. Funny.”
“But there was no sleigh in that alley,” she repeated sternly. She walked away, pondering, while the rest of us shared a grin.
Aunt Mart slipped her arm through Buck’s. “Buck, honey , I know you’ve got to get back to work but if I could steal you and that hammer of yours for just one more minute, I really don’t like the way that tree is tilting to the left…”
She led him off, and I wandered, drawn by the pull of exquisite party food aromas, toward my office for a quick taste of what was cooking before everyone else arrived. The best thing about Melanie’s dad , Miles—aside from the fact that he was inexplicably wild about me—was that he was a great cook and he didn’t mind who knew it. Thanks to him, this year the Dog Daze Christmas party would include garlic shrimp, non-alcoholic eggnog, and some kind of incredible melty cheese wrapped in bacon on toast points for the adults, along with the cookies and punch for the children.
I opened the door to my bright blue and yellow office, where the food prep stations had been staged, and he turned, a spatula in one hand, wearing a Santa hat and an apron decorated with dancing elves . He deadpanned, “Do you think this outfit is emasculating?”
The other great thing about Miles is that he makes me laugh way, way more than he makes me cry, which, all things considered, makes my relationship with him the best one I’ve ever had with anyone except Cisco. I went into his arms and kissed his lips, which tasted of garlic shrimp and white wine sauce. He leaned his forehead against mine, looked deep into my eyes, and said softly, “There was no sleigh in that alley.”
Someone put on the Bow-Wow Baritone’s version of “Jingle Bells” (easily recognizable, since the lyrics are “woof-woof- woof”), and Miles and I carried out platters of hors d’oeuvres to the buffet table. The jingle bells over the door rang repeatedly as one dog after another tugged his owner excitedly inside—terriers, hounds, toys and mutts, all dressed in their Christmas finery, accompanied by men, women and children of all ages. Someone gave Cisco a dog-bone shaped present wrapped in gold, with which he pranced around proudly, teasing the other dogs, until Pepper grabbed one end of it and a tug of war ensued. The stuffed toy inside was ignored for the gold ribbon that came on the package, and Maude snapped pictures of the two golden retrievers playing tug of war with the ribbon.
“All that glitters is usually golden,” I said , grinning as I watched them.
The jingle bells sounded again and a yellow lab bounded in. Melanie, who was untangling Pepper’s paws from the ribbon, looked up at the bells, then at me. She burst into laughter. “I’ve got it!” she cried. “It was Cisco’s jingle bell collar that you heard! He was wearing a jingle bell collar in the picture, and when you put him down he probably started scratching . It wasn’t sleigh bells at all — it was Cisco!”
Miles brought me a glass of eg g nog , and I lifted it to Melanie in a salute. “Good for you. You’ll be taking your Detective First Class exam before you know
“FBI,” I corrected.
“Well then, ” said Buck, “this sounds to me like the kind of case a future FBI-agent in training should be able to figure out.”
Melanie said thoughtfully, “Yeah.” Then, more confidently, “Yeah, I will. Don’t you worry about that.” She turned to walk away, then looked back at me. “You know,” she said, “I’m glad the Forest Service downsized you. If they hadn’t, you never would have opened Dog Daze. And if you hadn’t opened Dog Daze, you never would have met my dad and...” She shrugged. “Funny how things work out, huh?”
I did not bother to point out that the way I had met her dad had been far, far more complicated than she made it sound. That was a story for another day. I agreed simply, “Right. Funny.”
“But there was no sleigh in that alley,” she repeated sternly. She walked away, pondering, while the rest of us shared a grin.
Aunt Mart slipped her arm through Buck’s. “Buck, honey , I know you’ve got to get back to work but if I could steal you and that hammer of yours for just one more minute, I really don’t like the way that tree is tilting to the left…”
She led him off, and I wandered, drawn by the pull of exquisite party food aromas, toward my office for a quick taste of what was cooking before everyone else arrived. The best thing about Melanie’s dad , Miles—aside from the fact that he was inexplicably wild about me—was that he was a great cook and he didn’t mind who knew it. Thanks to him, this year the Dog Daze Christmas party would include garlic shrimp, non-alcoholic eggnog, and some kind of incredible melty cheese wrapped in bacon on toast points for the adults, along with the cookies and punch for the children.
I opened the door to my bright blue and yellow office, where the food prep stations had been staged, and he turned, a spatula in one hand, wearing a Santa hat and an apron decorated with dancing elves . He deadpanned, “Do you think this outfit is emasculating?”
The other great thing about Miles is that he makes me laugh way, way more than he makes me cry, which, all things considered, makes my relationship with him the best one I’ve ever had with anyone except Cisco. I went into his arms and kissed his lips, which tasted of garlic shrimp and white wine sauce. He leaned his forehead against mine, looked deep into my eyes, and said softly, “There was no sleigh in that alley.”
Someone put on the Bow-Wow Baritone’s version of “Jingle Bells” (easily recognizable, since the lyrics are “woof-woof- woof”), and Miles and I carried out platters of hors d’oeuvres to the buffet table. The jingle bells over the door rang repeatedly as one dog after another tugged his owner excitedly inside—terriers, hounds, toys and mutts, all dressed in their Christmas finery, accompanied by men, women and children of all ages. Someone gave Cisco a dog-bone shaped present wrapped in gold, with which he pranced around proudly, teasing the other dogs, until Pepper grabbed one end of it and a tug of war ensued. The stuffed toy inside was ignored for the gold ribbon that came on the package, and Maude snapped pictures of the two golden retrievers playing tug of war with the ribbon.
“All that glitters is usually golden,” I said , grinning as I watched them.
The jingle bells sounded again and a yellow lab bounded in. Melanie, who was untangling Pepper’s paws from the ribbon, looked up at the bells, then at me. She burst into laughter. “I’ve got it!” she cried. “It was Cisco’s jingle bell collar that you heard! He was wearing a jingle bell collar in the picture, and when you put him down he probably started scratching . It wasn’t sleigh bells at all — it was Cisco!”
Miles brought me a glass of eg g nog , and I lifted it to Melanie in a salute. “Good for you. You’ll be taking your Detective First Class exam before you know
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