'Twas the Chihuahua Before Christmas, Page 2

“Come on, Lila,” she said, opening the door that led from the kitchen to the backyard.

  As she walked across the snow to the stone outbuilding that served as the workshop for Petey’s Closet, Charlotte studied the animal tracks she had noticed earlier. Lila bounded by, leaving almost identical marks in the snow. “Weird,” Charlotte muttered.

  She unlocked the door to the workshop and flipped on the lights, then turned on the space heaters that made the place comfortable during the winter. It seemed extra cold, and Charlotte reflected that a stone building was a primitive dwelling, even when you put up drywall and track lighting.

  She looked around the well-lit space. “Ellen said she finished your silver parka,” she told Lila. Ellen was the main designer for Petey’s Closet. She had left to visit family the day before. “Your elf costume should be here, too.”

  She looked on the floor-to-ceiling shelves, where Ellen usually put completed projects. The pointy elf hat sat on the bottom shelf, but the rest of the costume and the parka weren’t there, so she poked through half-finished designs and scraps of fabric on the two work tables. The parka and costume were nowhere to be seen.

  “Where on earth could they be?” Charlotte asked, looking around. She turned at the sound of Lila’s barking.

  Lila faced a corner of the room, barking ferociously at a stack of boxes that held catalogs. Charlotte went over. The boxes were only a few inches away from the wall. She started to reach behind them, to check for the missing clothes, but thought better of it as Lila barked harder. There might be a mouse back there. She got a yardstick and ran it behind the boxes, but felt nothing.

  Lila continued to bark, pawing at the boxes.

  Charlotte scooped her up. “Oh, hush. Ellen must have put your clothes in the house somewhere. I’ll call her.”

  Back in the kitchen, she took Lila’s coat off before calling Ellen on her cell phone.

  “Merry almost Christmas!” Ellen answered.

  “To you, too!” Charlotte said. “Hey, I can’t find Lila’s elf costume, and I also want to show off that silver parka you made, to see how people respond. Where did you put them?”

  “They’re on the bottom shelf, to the right of the table.”

  Charlotte frowned. “That’s where I looked, but they’re not there. Where else could they be?”

  “Nowhere,” Ellen said. “That’s where I always put finished stuff. Also, I distinctly remember that I had to move some Halloween things to make room for the parka. So they’re definitely there. You must not have looked hard enough.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “How hard is it to look on a shelf? Could you have packed them in your suitcase accidentally?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Like I said, by accident.”

  Ellen blew out a breath. “I didn’t take my suitcase in the workshop, but hold on.”

  Charlotte cleared dishes off the table as she waited for Ellen to come back. As usual, Ivan had left the crusts from his toast on his plate, and as usual, she threw them out the back door for the birds.

  “Charlotte?” Ellen said. “I checked, and there is no elf costume or silver parka anywhere in my luggage.”

  “Well, where are they?” Charlotte demanded.

  “I have no idea. I’m sure I put them on the shelf, but even if I dreamed that, they have to be somewhere in the workshop.”

  Charlotte sighed. “Okay, sorry to snap at you. Phil Grant broke his leg and we’re scrambling to make sure Santa makes it to the clock tonight.”

  “Who’s the replacement?” Ellen asked.

  “Ivan.”

  Ellen burst out laughing. “Scariest Santa ever!”

  “I’m just grateful he agreed,” Charlotte said. She heard the sound of children’s voices come over the phone.

  “Listen, I have to go,” Ellen said. “The nieces and nephews want me to help them make paper snowflakes. The costumes are in the workshop. You’ll find them.”

  “All right,” Charlotte said. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas!” Ellen disconnected.

  Charlotte went back to the workshop, this time without Lila. It had started to snow again, fluffy flakes that drifted slowly down in the still air. She stomped across the yard and into the stone building. As she opened the door, she heard scrabbling in the corner of the room by the catalog boxes and shuddered. Mice gave her the creeps.

  Ignoring the shelf, she made a thorough search of the workshop, even going so far as to look inside boxes of Christmas trim, in case Ellen had opened one while she had the costume in her hand and left it inside. There was no sign of the elf costume or the silver parka.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Charlotte rubbed her face with both hands. She had the pointy green hat, at least. If she had to, she could pair it with a green Christmas sweater. Lila would still look reasonably elfy. She went back to the shelf.

  The hat was gone.

  Charlotte stared at the empty space. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  After fifteen minutes of frustrated searching, Charlotte was forced to admit that the elf hat was not in the workshop. She must have taken it into the house with her.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she muttered, as she trudged back to the house. She met Ivan coming out, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. “You haven’t seen Lila’s elf costume anywhere, have you? It’s green and red, with a little pointy hat.”

  Ivan shook his head and put a cigarette between his lips.

  Charlotte gave him a stern look. “Santa Claus does not smell like cigarette smoke, just so you know.”

  Ivan lit the cigarette and shrugged. “I will put on cologne.”

  “He doesn’t smell like cologne either.”

  Ivan squinted at her through the smoke drifting in front of his eyes. “What does he smell like?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said, exasperated. “Cookies and reindeer manure, probably.”

  Ivan smirked. “Is that what Mrs. Claus smells like, too?”

  Charlotte stepped past him and pulled open the back door. “If I can’t put together an elf costume, she’s going to smell like bourbon and despair.”

  Charlotte searched every place she could think of, but Lila’s elf costume appeared to be well and truly gone. She started looking through Lila’s other clothes, hoping to cobble something together.

  Ivan stopped by Charlotte’s open bedroom door as she stood in front of the bed, which was covered in dog outfits.

  Lila pranced up to him, holding a tiny cheerleader pom pom in her mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Ivan asked Charlotte.

  “Trying to figure out something for Lila to wear. I’d leave her at home, but the kids would be so disappointed.” Charlotte pointed to a little ensemble arranged on the bed – a pale-blue skirt with glitter snowflakes printed on it and a white turtleneck sweater. “Does this say ‘snow fairy’ to you? I’m going for a Nutcracker ballet look.”

  Ivan nodded. ”If Tchaikovsky had written his Waltz of the Snowflakes for Chihuahuas, I am sure they would have looked just like that.”

  “Really?” Charlotte looked at him hopefully. “You’re not just saying that?”

  Ivan glanced at his watch. “We had better eat lunch soon if you are going to finish everything in time.”

  Charlotte’s phone rang as she and Ivan were finishing their grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup in the kitchen. She picked it up. “This is Charlotte.”

  “Where are you?” Phil Grant asked.

  “At home.”

  “Didn’t Shermont tell you about my accident?”

  “Yes, and Ivan is going to take your place.” Charlotte glanced at the kitchen clock. “But we have hours yet.”

  “The Santa costume needs to be altered, Charlotte. Susan and I have been waiting for you and Ivan to show up.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “Shermont must have forgotten to tell me, and I didn’t think of it. We’ll be there soon.” She hung up and looked at I
van. “We have to go to Phil Grant’s house and see how the Santa suit fits you.”

  Ivan pushed his chair back. “I will shower, to get rid of the cigarette smell.”

  “There’s no time for that. Let’s just go.”

  Susan Grant opened the door to them. “Come on in.” She patted Lila where she sat in the crook of Charlotte’s arm, then wrinkled her nose as Ivan passed her. “That’s quite the cologne.”

  Ivan gave a regal nod. “Thank you.”

  Charlotte set Lila down on the floor. “How’s Phil?”

  “All hopped up on Vicodin,” Susan said. “It was a clean break, so he should heal up fine. It’s not the first ski injury he’s had, just bad timing.” She led the way into the living room, where the Santa suit lay on the couch, the boots on the floor below it. “Shall we see how it fits?”

  “The boots are too tight,” Ivan said.

  “They can’t be too tight,” Charlotte said impatiently. “Phil is six-foot-two, for God’s sake.”

  Ivan shrugged. “He has small feet.”

  “He does not,” Susan said huffily.

  Charlotte circled Ivan where he stood in the middle of her living room. The legs of the Santa pants drooped to the floor, completely obscuring the black costume boots. On the other hand, the shoulders of the coat, tailored to fit Phil’s lanky frame, stretched taut over Ivan’s broad, powerful shoulders, making the sleeves ride up his wrists.

  Susan shook her head. “We are up poo creek without a paddle or a boat. I don’t think we even have water wings.”

  Charlotte bent and lifted one of the pant legs. “I could cut out a section of these and fasten the white cuffs on at the new length.”

  “Don’t you cut my Santa pants!” Phil yelled from the other room.

  Charlotte let the fabric drop. “I might be able to stuff the extra length down inside the boots.”

  “Then the boots will be even tighter,” Ivan said.

  “Work with me, Ivan. It’s only for an hour, and you’ll be sitting down.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I am just saying, it is hard to be jolly if my feet hurt.”

  Susan groaned. “No matter what you do with the bottom half, the jacket is ridiculous.” She looked at Ivan. “Do you have a red sweater or something?”

  Ivan shook his head. “I have a white and gold tunic, from my circus days. It is something Ded Moroz might wear.”

  Susan looked at Charlotte. “Does he understand we’re talking about Santa and not someone from Lord of the Rings?”

  “Ded Moroz is the Russian equivalent of Santa,” Charlotte explained. She plucked at one of the too-short sleeves. “Ivan, you have a black coat, right?”

  “Several.”

  “Then we’ll reverse the colors. Instead of a red coat with a black belt, I’ll whip up a red belt to cinch the black coat. I think I also have some white fake fur. I can make cuffs and fix them to the coat with double-stick tape. With the red Santa hat, I think it’ll pass.”

  Susan nodded. “You’re absolutely right. Plus, we’re running out of time.”

  Charlotte blew out a breath. “Let’s pack everything up so I can take it home. And don’t forget the beard.”

  Two hours later, Ivan stood in Charlotte’s living room. Phil’s boots couldn’t accommodate the extra pants fabric, even after Charlotte took off the fur cuffs with a seam ripper, so Ivan brought out a pair of black leather boots from his wolf-training days. They came up to the knee, higher in front than in back, and had a stacked heel. Of Ivan’s three black coats, one was full length and another had a stand-up collar that looked vaguely military. Charlotte settled on the third, which was made by a famous designer and looked it, even with a red vinyl strip cinching the middle.

  Charlotte plopped the Santa hat on top of Ivan’s black hair and studied him. “You definitely look festive.” He looked like some kind of Christmas gigolo, but she didn’t say so. “What time is it?”

  Ivan checked his watch. “Four.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “The event starts at six. We’d better put the beard on you. I’ve never worked with one before, and there’s no telling how long it will take to get right.” She rummaged through the paper bag Susan had packed and came up with the false beard and a bottle of spirit gum.

  Ivan took a step backward. “You will not put that on me.”

  Charlotte looked at him in confusion. “It’s part of the costume. Even your Santa has a beard. You said.”

  “I am not talking about the beard.” He pointed to the bottle of spirit gum. “I used that glue once before and had a bad reaction to it.”

  “How bad?” Charlotte asked. “Rash bad, or worse?”

  “I could barely breathe. We were nowhere near a hospital. The circus master had to put a tube down my throat until the effects wore off, so I did not suffocate.” He scowled. “The tube had been used to siphon gas.”

  Charlotte put the spirit gum back in the bag and studied the beard. “This is too thin on the edges to work with a wire.”

  “Can we buy another beard somewhere?” Ivan asked.

  “At four o’clock on Christmas Eve? I don’t think so.” She looked down at the beard in her hand. “We can probably use Elmers glue. If it ruins it, I’ll buy Phil another beard.”

  Ivan shook his head. “No glue.”

  “Elmers is nothing like spirit glue,” Charlotte argued. “It’s just water and…something. Horse’s hooves, maybe.”

  Ivan shook his head more emphatically. “No glue. It will kill me.”

  “But, Ivan–”

  Ivan crossed his arms. “You can have Santa Claus or you can have glue. Not both.”

  Charlotte raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll cut a beard shape out of the same fake fur I use for the cuffs, and we’ll hang it from your ears with coat-hanger wire.” She handed him the Santa hat. “See if you can get your hair to stay up under this.”

  Charlotte put on her coat and headed outside to the workshop. The bread crusts were gone, although the snow was trampled as if by an animal rather than birds. Squirrels, probably.

  The keys were cold in her ungloved hands. She unlocked the workshop door, switched on the lights, and froze.

  A smear of bloody-looking liquid ran across the linoleum floor.

  “What on earth?”

  As if in answer to her question, a shrill noise came from the corner of the room with the catalog boxes – something between a shriek and a moan.

  Charlotte backed out of the workroom and ran to the house. “Ivan!” she shouted. “Ivan, come quick!”

  Ivan opened the back door before she reached it. The Santa hat was pulled down low on his forehead, and strands of black hair stuck out from one side. “What is it?”

  “There’s some kind of animal in the workroom,” Charlotte panted. “Lila barked at some boxes earlier and I figured there was a mouse behind them, but now there’s this bloody stuff, and it’s too much for a mouse. Maybe it’s a rat.” She shuddered and tugged at his red belt. “Come on. I’m not going in there by myself.”

  Ivan pulled away and opened a kitchen drawer.

  “What are you doing?”

  He took out a cleaver and hefted it in his hand. “We don’t want it to suffer.”

  Charlotte stayed behind Ivan as he stalked across the frozen yard in his knee-high boots and makeshift Santa outfit, the cleaver dangling from one hand. She had left the workshop door open, and the squealing sound came again as they neared it. “Oh, God, what is it?” she whimpered.

  Ivan lifted the cleaver and stepped inside. He studied the mess on the floor for a moment. “Where are these boxes Lila barked at?” he asked quietly.

  Charlotte pointed.

  Ivan walked stealthily over, the cleaver raised. Then he put his booted foot against the bottom box and slowly pushed it to one side.

  Charlotte remained outside, peering around the door frame. She expected a furry form to either run out or thrash around on the floor, fatally injured. But the
only thing she saw was a ragged hole in the drywall. “It must be a rat,” she said, shuddering again.

  “Do you have a light?” Ivan asked, bending to peer in the hole.

  Charlotte went to one of the shelves and took down a flashlight. She crept forward, arm extended to its fullest, and handed it to Ivan.

  He turned it on and pointed it in the hole. Then he squatted and looked closer.

  “Can you see anything?” Charlotte asked.

  Ivan stood. “It is not a rat.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He didn’t answer, but walked toward the door, leaving the cleaver on a work table.

  “Where are you going?” Charlotte trotted after him as he went out the door and followed the outside wall of the workshop.

  “To block the hole, so it can’t escape.” He walked to the corner of the building that matched the hole, looked around, then picked up some stones from a pile that marked the edge of an old wall.

  Charlotte watched as he wedged the stones into a depression that had been scraped out at the base of the workshop wall. “Don’t be cryptic, Ivan. If it’s not a rat, what is it? Could you tell?”

  “It was hard to see in the dark, but it is too big for a rat.” He stood and brushed off his hands, leaving dirty smears on the fleecy red Santa pants.

  Back inside the workshop, Ivan closed the door behind them, then took a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves from his coat pockets and put them on. He knelt on the floor and reached inside the hole. A growling squeal came from inside.

  “That sounds like a raccoon!” Charlotte said. “Be careful!”

  Ivan grasped the ragged edge of the drywall and jerked a piece free. “We will need a box and a blanket.”

  Charlotte found a box of ribbon and dumped the spools onto the floor. A bolt of quilted cotton lay on the work table. She quickly cut off a length and put it in the bottom of the box. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of a canine yelp. She turned in time to see Ivan lift a small, filthy form from the enlarged hole. “You don’t mean it! A Chihuahua?”

  The dog in Ivan’s hands writhed and snarled, biting at his gloved fingers with bloodied lips. Its long fur, matted with dirt, was light in color, but what color was impossible to tell. Mud caked its delicate front paws.

  Charlotte walked slowly over and put the box on the floor. “It’s okay,” she crooned. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Ivan put the Chihuahua in the box, gripping the scruff of its neck to keep it there. With his other hand, he reached back into the hole, felt around, and brought out a small, slick-looking form. It moved feebly in his grip.

  “A puppy!” Charlotte breathed.

  Ivan put the puppy in the box. The mother curled protectively around it, wedging herself into a corner in the process.

  Ivan looked up. “It would be best to cover the box.”

  Charlotte grabbed a remnant of black silk from the table and draped it over the top.

  Ivan slowly withdrew his hand from beneath the fabric. The snarling stopped.

  Charlotte found a roll of packing tape and pulled off a length, wincing at the noise it made. “Is that the only puppy?” She taped the fabric to the cardboard sides of the box.

  Ivan felt inside the hole. “No more puppies, but there is something.” With a rustle of fabric on plaster, he dragged out a grubby silver item.

  “Lila’s parka!”