Silver Bells. Mary Burton
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“Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. That’s so like, some dark-age time. I have to buy gas, use my own car, and drive through snow and hope the person I’m delivering to isn’t going to shoot me dead.”
The kid had a point, Hank thought as he ushered him to the door just in time to see his new day lady/man walking toward the door. He groaned. Miss Sadie was yapping her head off, and the twins were bellowing at a high-decibel level. There was no sign of Churchill anywhere.
Hank sighed as he introduced himself to his day lady, who just happened to be an older man who said he was Mason Hatcher. He had quirky-looking hair that stood up in little spikes. Rosy cheeks, wire-rim glasses, and a mouth pursed into a pout. He wore a heavy black coat, sensible shoes with laces, and it looked like he had thick ankles. He was thick all over, Hank decided when Mason removed his coat, hat, muffler, and gloves and folded them neatly on the bench next to the door. Mason looked at him and said, “I don’t much care for dogs.”
“Yeah, well, the dog goes with the deal. And one is temporarily missing. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He’s…a little bigger. I’ll pay you extra for the dogs.” Hank hated how desperate he sounded.
“We’ll see,” was Mason’s response. “Now, where are my charges?”
“Huh?”
“The children. Where are they?”
“Upstairs, second door on the left.”
Mason stomped his way up the steps as Hank made his way to the kitchen, where he started to unpack the groceries. There wasn’t one thing fit for the twins. Obviously, broken toe or not, he was going to have to go to the market himself with Alice’s list. Damn, his toe was killing him. And, to his horror, his whole foot looked swollen. He also had to go out to look for Churchill. Don’t let Churchill out. He can jump the fence. Ben will kill you if anything happens to him. The words rang in Hank’s ears until he thought he would go out of his mind.
It suddenly dawned on him that the house was very quiet except for childish laughter wafting down the stairs. Even Miss Sadie, her head tilted to the side, was aware of the sudden silence. A minute later Mason was walking down the steps, a twin in each arm. The little twits were gooing and laughing and tweaking the man’s nose. How was that possible? He’d turned himself inside out to please them, and all they did was pinch, cry, and fight him every step of the way. Obviously, he didn’t have the touch. The right touch.
“I have to go out,” Hank said. He was stunned at his belligerent tone.
“I’d put on some shoes if I were you, Mr. Anders. It’s freezing outside.”
“I don’t know how that’s going to work, Mason. I broke my big toe.” If he hoped for sympathy, he wasn’t getting any from this guy.
“Soak it in Epsom salts,” Mason said without missing a beat. “When will you return, sir? By the way, is there a lady of the house?”
“When I’m done doing what I have to do is when I’ll be back. I can’t give you a specific time. There is a lady of the house but not right now. She’s…well, what she is…she isn’t here.”
“I see. And you’re in charge temporarily, is that it?”
“No, no, I’m not in charge. Well, I am, but I’m not. I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but…you, Mason, are in charge.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Call me Hank.”
“I can’t do that, sir. You’re my employer. The company frowns on familiarity. Will there be anything else before I feed these little angels?”
“Nope, that’s it. See ya, Mason.”
Shoes on, his toe throbbing, Hank dressed and left the house. His game plan was to ride around the neighborhood to look for Churchill before doing anything else. He’d start first by warming up the SUV and brushing the snow off the windshield. He turned around when he heard banging sounds coming from Albert Carpenter’s house. Someone on a ladder was banging with a hammer and stringing lights, and who was it standing next to the ladder but Churchill!
“Hey!” he shouted.
A female voice responded, “Hey, yourself!”
“Do you need any help, other than my dog?”
“Your dog! This is your dog! I don’t think so! He’s mine now. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I walked him. I fed him. And he slept at my house last night. That means he’s mine. It was freezing out last night. He could have died out there. You just try and get him back and I’ll…I’ll…” The hammer drove a nail into the post with deadly precision.
“That’s private property. What do you think you’re doing anyway? Mr. Carpenter died yesterday.”
“I know he died. God rest his soul. I’m hanging Christmas lights. What’s it look like I’m doing? Furthermore, it’s none of your damn business what I’m doing. Don’t even think about stealing this dog from me. Just try calling him. I betcha five bucks he will ignore you.”
Hank felt befuddled. That was a sucker bet if he ever heard one. Who was this person? She had yet to turn around, and she was bundled up like Nanook of the North.
His toe throbbing like a bongo drum, Hank whistled for the dog. Churchill ignored him. He called him by name. Churchill ignored him. He called out, “Good boy, come on now, I’ll give you a treat.” Churchill plopped down and put his head between his paws.
“I’ll take that five dollars now.”
It was like a lightbulb went off in Hank’s head. “I know who you are. You’re that know-it-all who brought Churchill back last night when I was giving the twins a bath.”
Amy banged in another nail with the same deadly precision. “Wow! You figured it out. Guess you have a brain after all. He’s mine, and he’s staying with me.”
“You’re trespassing, you know. The old guy just passed, and you’re hanging Christmas lights on his house. That makes you some kind of ghoul in my opinion. I wonder what the cops will do if I call them. I want my damn dog, and I want him now.”
“Why don’t you try taking him and see how far you get.” The hammer swung again. The sound was so loud, Hank winced. “Go ahead, call the police. I’m just being a good neighbor. I know for a fact that Mr. Carpenter always had Christmas lights. In his later years he probably had someone do it for him. And just for the record, these are my lights. I didn’t steal them, nor did I break into Mr. Carpenter’s house in case that’s the next thing you’re going to say. Furthermore, you…you…buffoon, don’t you think it’s a little strange that a woman is doing this when someone of your…ilk should be doing it? Go bother somebody else. I’m busy.”
Buffoon. Someone of my ilk. What the hell did that mean? His toe was throbbing so bad he wanted to bang it on the porch railing. Anger at his circumstances rippled through him. “Listen to me, you…you dog snatcher, I want my dog, and I want him now. He’s a boy dog. Why’d you put that stupid red ribbon with a bell on him?”
The voice that retaliated was syrupy sweet. “It’s