Chapter 1
For the first time since my divorce, I was looking forward to Christmas. Instead of being a fifth wheel at my sister's house, watching her kids open their presents and enduring an awkward holiday dinner during which my sister and her husband would grill me about my lack of employment, I was going to celebrate Christmas at my house and toast to all the good things that had happened during the past year. My new job, working at a private detective agency. My new boyfriend, Felix Navarro. And my new pet, my Chihuahua, Pepe. I was determined to create the total Christmas experience: a wreath on the door, bayberry-scented candles, cookies baking in the oven, eggnog in a crystal punch bowl, and a pile of presents under a fat Christmas tree glittering with ornaments and sparkling with lights.
Unfortunately, I had waited until the last minute to get the tree. Felix kept promising he would go with me, but he was too busy working as a dog trainer. Apparently pets frequently misbehave around the holidays, just like people. So by the time I arrived at the Christmas tree lot on December 24, the trees had been thoroughly picked over. Most of those left were either too big or too expensive or both. My Chihuahua, Pepe, tried to help.
“This one! This one, Geri!” he said, rushing back and forth between me and a Noble fir leaning against the chain-link fence that defined the tree lot. But as soon as I pulled the tree out and twirled it around to see if it was the right one, he dashed off down the next aisle to the Grand firs.
I put the Noble fir back and followed him. He was standing in front of a huge tree with bushy branches that towered over my head.
“That's too big, Pepe!” I said. “Where would we put that?”
The woman next to me looked puzzled. I saw her glance around, but there was no one in the aisle but me and my little white Chihuahua.
“I'm talking to my dog,” I said.
She smiled weakly and went scuttling away.
I was a bit disappointed. It isn't that unusual. Most people talk to their dogs. It's just that very few dogs talk back. Mine does. He's been talking since I adopted him from the Humane Society. He was a rescue, one of a group of Chihuahuas, flown up from Los Angeles where they were being abandoned in record numbers.
“Over here, Geri!” I heard him say. He had vanished, crawling through the fragrant branches of the evergreens and into the next aisle. I went around the corner and found him sniffing around the trunk of a Douglas fir. It was a beautiful tree, about six feet tall, with thick branches, stiff green needles, and plenty of room for ornaments.
“Good work, Pepe,” I said as he danced around the trunk with glee. “This tree is perfect!” He scurried ahead of me toward the cashier at the front of the lot, while I followed a bit more slowly, dragging the tree along the path.
As we approached the counterâa piece of plywood on top of two sawhorsesâI almost stumbled over Pepe. He had stopped in front of a spindly little tree that was propped up against a trash can. Maybe someone had planned to buy it and changed their mind or maybe the owner of the lot had decided it would never sell and was going to toss it out.
“What is it, Pepe?” I asked.
“This tree,” he said. “It is so sad.”
“Yes, it is sad,” I said, thinking he was referring to the spindly branches, the big gap on one side, the long bare stem on the top.
“It reminds me of me when I was in dog prison,” Pepe said.
I was surprised. “You mean because it looks abandoned?”
“
SÃ
. It is hopeless, in despair, afraid no one will take it home as I felt before you came to my rescue.”
“Oh, Pepe, that is so touching,” I said. I wanted to scoop him up and kiss his little white furry head, but I couldn't let go of the big Douglas fir. It would have squished him.
“Can we take it home, Geri?” he asked.
“What? You mean instead of this tree?” I asked, shaking the one he had picked out. A few needles drifted down. Perhaps it was too old. Perhaps it was too big. I didn't have any ornaments yet. My sister had inherited the Christmas decorations from our childhood. I was planning to ask her to share them with me, but maybe I should start my own tradition, beginning with this scrawny tree.
“
Por favor
, Geri,” Pepe said.
“Sure, Pepe,” I said. “If you really want that tree, we'll get it.”
“
Muy bien
,” said Pepe. “We will call the tree Arturo.”
“Arturo?” I asked as I set the big tree aside and picked up the tiny tree. It was about three feet tall and weighed about the same as Pepe, probably about seven pounds. “You name trees?'
“
SÃ
,” said Pepe. “Do you think animals are the only beings with souls?”
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Back at home, Pepe seemed content to let me set up Arturo in the tree stand I had purchased along with a single strand of small white lights. I put the tree on my dining room table. The top just barely cleared the dangling crystals of my chandelier. I heard Pepe go into the living room and turn on the TV. Yes, he does know how to turn on the TV. He can work the remote control with his tiny paws.
“Geri, come quick!” he said. He sounded upset.
I tightened the screws that would hold Arturo uprightâI was already feeling nervous about putting the screws on a tree with a nameâand hurried into the living room. Pepe was watching the news, which was odd, as he usually prefers the telenovellas on the Spanish language station.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Look!” said Pepe. On the screen was a photo of a white Chihuahua wearing a pink collar. She looked a lot like Pepe, except she had a brown splotch on her chest.
Her name was Chiquita. According to the announcer, she belonged to a little girl named Sophie. Sophie also wore pink: a pink puffy jacket and pink snow boots decorated with white snowflakes. The camera zoomed in on her face. She had big, dark brown eyes that were filled with tears.
“Please help me find my dog,” said Sophie. “She is my best friend in the whole world.”
The camera panned up to show a distraught middle-aged man behind her, his hand on her shoulder. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a gray sweatshirt with a college emblem on it. I couldn't read the name of the school. “We don't have a lot, but we are willing to offer a reward to anyone with any information.” His voice vibrated with emotion; his face was gaunt.
The camera cut to a young female reporter who was bundled up in a heavy blue parka, wearing brightly patterned knit gloves on her hands. She stood on a snow-covered street, with various Bavarian-styled buildings trimmed with hundreds of twinkling white lights in the background.
“This is Sharon Jacobson, reporting from Leavenworth, Washington,” the woman said. “This is where Tim Rohrbach and his five-year-old daughter Sophie stopped this morning during their trip from Colorado Springs to Seattle. Sophie wanted to talk to Santa, and her father was inclined to indulge her. Sophie's mother died just two months ago from breast cancer. Tim and Sophie are moving to Seattle so they can be closer to Sophie's grandparents. They left their car briefly, but when they returned, the car was missing, along with the trailer containing all of their household possessions. Even worse for Sophie, her dog, Chiquita, is also missing. The Chihuahua was napping in the backseat when the car was stolen and hasn't been seen since.
“A few hours later,” the reporter continued, “the trailer was found abandoned eighty miles west of Leavenworth, outside of Monroe. However, it was completely stripped. And the car is still missing. Even worse, so is Chiquita the Chihuahua.
“Hey,” said the reporter, holding up one gloved hand for emphasis, “it's Christmas, folks. This sort of thing shouldn't happen. Please keep your eyes out for a blue Volvo station wagon with this license plate WTW712. If you have any information, please contact the authorities. Tim and his daughter are still in Leavenworth. The owners of the Black Forest Inn have generously put them up, as Sophie refuses to leave without her Chihuahua. We're hoping to get her reunited with her dog so she can have a happy Christmas.”
“That poor little girl,” I said.
“Geri, we can help her!” said Pepe.
“How?”
“We will go there and track down her Chihuahua. Are we not private detectives?”
Well, yes, my dog thinks we are private detectives. He even insisted I make cards reading
Sullivan and Sullivan Detective Agency
. They are decorated with clip art images of a red magnifying glass and a paw print. I actually work for an eccentric PI named Jimmy G, who owns the Gerrard Detective Agency, and I'm only a trainee. But Jimmy G was spending the holidays gambling in Reno, and the office was officially closed until the new year.
Pepe clicked off the TV. “How far away is this Leavenworth?”
“About a two-hour drive over Stevens Pass,” I said.
“
Vamanos
!” he said, jumping off the sofa.
“But what about the snow?” I asked.
“No
problemo
,” said Pepe. “I can track through the snow. Did I not find the famous Olympic skier Hans Duckworth when he was buried by an avalanche in the Alps?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” I said. “I don't believe that at all.” Pepe was always telling me these preposterous stories. According to him, he had fought bulls in Mexico City, wrestled an alligator in an Alabama swamp, and raced in the Iditarod.
“It is true, Geri!” He seemed hurt. “I burrowed into the snow and brought him a hot toddy, which kept him warm until the search-and-rescue team was able to dig him out. If you Google his name, you will find the story. Of course, they left out the role I played, but people often overlook us little dogs. That is why we must go find Chiquita.”
“But Felix is coming over . . .” I said. I was already anticipating the delicious dinner I would cook, the eggnog we would drink, and the sweet lovemaking that would followâ
Pepe interrupted my thoughts. “We will restore the Chihuahua to the little girl and be home before dinner,” he said. “But we must make haste.
Andale
!” he added, running to the door.
There was nothing to do but follow in his tiny footsteps. If your dog is loyal to you, you have to be loyal to him. I grabbed my warmest clothesâmy winter parka and mittens and my snow bootsâand a sweater for Pepe (he steadfastly refuses to wear clothes, but I had a feeling he might change his mind once we got to Leavenworth) and off we went.