Wrapped Up in Crosswords (14 page)

Rosco had never heard his former partner use such an affectionate tone, even with Helen. “Who was Skippy One?” he finally asked.

Al's reply was a husky-voiced “Dog I had as a kid. We had to move. The new place my folks found didn't take pets.” He shrugged. “It was a rental. So … so, some lucky person got himself a real nice pooch. Skip could do every trick in the book …” Al concealed his emotion by bending down to stroke “Skippy Two” 's tattered ears. “… And I bet you can, too, can't you, boy?…” Lever continued to rub the dog's sooty head. Both man and dog seemed utterly transformed. “Look, Poly—crates, you go on in and get back to the party. I'm going to take my man, Skip, to the back door. He needs some serious chow … Besides, this tail could wreck more than a few pricey things in that sitting room. Heck, I feel like a bull in a china shop in there myself.”

Rosco didn't consider it wise to mention that “Skippy Two” might not be invited to join the party in his present state. Instead he retorted with, “Too bad your Secret Santa didn't give you a leash. There's a law, you know?” But the jest was lost on Al. It was doubtful he even heard it. “Any message you want me to pass along to Helen?” he added, but that seemed to fall on deaf ears, as well. “Your wife?”

Rosco returned to the party. “Your hubby's got himself a new best friend,” he told Helen. “But I'd suggest you give him a bath before inviting him to share your bed. On the other hand, you may not have much choice.” Rosco looked at Martha. “The guy you most enjoy poking with a fork has turned into a Mr. Softie …” But something in her expression made the joke die before Rosco finished it. She looked like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.

“Martha and Stan are about to exchange their Secret Santa gifts,” Belle explained in a voice Rosco thought was a little too bright and eager to please. “They drew
each other
as partners. Isn't that a
coincidence
?”

Stanley seemed more comfortable with this fact than Martha. He held out a small rectangular box; Martha's gift was clenched in fingers that hung at her side. For a moment Rosco wished mightily that Sara hadn't arranged the “coincidence.”

“You know,” Stan said, “I wasn't happy I'd drawn Martha at first … no offense, Martha … but I thought, well, a guy … I know what to get a guy. That would have been easy. Hunting up something for Martha was hard—which was actually a good thing …” He seemed about to continue, but instead thrust the package into her empty hand. “I hope you like it.”

Martha put down her own gift as she opened Stanley's. Inside was a handkerchief, the fabric so sheer as to be almost translucent, and the lace border wide and delicate and ruffled. “Oh!” she gasped, “How did you know?”

“I got it in the new antique shop. It's got an M on it … in pink, like your Lawson's outfit. I realize it's a little frilly, but I thought that if you didn't like it you could always—”

“But I
collect
handkerchiefs,” Martha blurted out. “I especially like antique ones! Oh, look at the M! Oh, it's beautiful!” She held up her gift while Sara gave Belle a furtive and knowing glance.

“And what did you get Stanley, dear?”

“A book … Oh, no! I didn't mean to say that … Here.” Martha thrust her present into Stan's hands. “Forget you heard me …”

Stan opened the wrapping. “Rudyard Kipling's poetry …”

Martha winced. “I just … I mean … I didn't—”

“My granddad used to quote from
If
all the time,” Stan interrupted. There was a genuine smile on his face. “I haven't heard it since the old man passed on …” He began flipping through pages. “Here. This is the passage:

‘If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold On!' …”

He looked at the gathered company and finally at Martha. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very, very much.” His eyes had misted up. Rosco was happy Al wasn't there to witness the spectacle, but then he realized Al's—and Skippy Two's—eyes were probably just as dreamy and damp.

Sixteen

“I hope you're pleased with yourself … You and Sara, both.” It was late Christmas eve, and Rosco and Belle were tucked into bed, while Kit and Gabby were ensconced in their own pillowy nests on the floor. The dogs were only half-awake as they listened to the drone of human speech; vigilance, for the moment, had been placed on the back burner.

“Well, didn't it work out perfectly? Stan and Martha couldn't have found more ideal gifts for one another. And the way they were looking at each other? Sara thinks—”

“I know
exactly
what she thinks,” Rosco chortled. “But not even Sara Crane Briephs can arrange marriage proposals nowadays.”

“No one mentioned anything like that, Rosco!”

“Sara did.” He laughed again. “In this very house, in fact.”

“I think it's terrific what happened,” Belle retorted with a smug smile. “Even if Stan and Martha simply become better friends.”

“Mmmm hmmm … And since Sara's the Newcastle bigwig in charge of the random drawing to determine who wins the
Crier
's puzzle contest this year—”

“She'd never
fix
a contest!” Belle insisted.

“Oh, no?” Rosco chuckled.

“I'm certain she wouldn't. I'm
pretty
certain she wouldn't …”

“Unless Stanley or Martha are among the contestants …” Rosco shook his head while Belle frowned:

“Sara
wouldn't
… would she?”

Rosco grinned. “Well, I hope she realizes she's going to needs to arrange a better companion for Helen ASAP.”

“What's wrong with Al?”

“Did you see him when we left the party? I was surprised he even remembered Helen was with him. He opened the door for the new Skippy—who very nearly got to ride shotgun. If Helen doesn't watch her step she may be relegated to the backseat on all family outings.”

Belle sighed happily. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“I wouldn't use those precise words with our ‘Albert,' if I were you.”

“I didn't know he'd had a dog when he was a kid. I didn't think he even
liked
animals.”

“He had me fooled.” Rosco shrugged, then put his arm around his wife; and she cuddled against him while a prolonged groan rose from the floor.

“I think we're being told it's too late for any hanky-panky, Rosco.”

“Since when do our four-legged pals make the decisions around here?”

“I hope you don't expect an honest response to a loopy question like that.” Belle stretched away to turn out the light, then stopped mid-movement. “Okay, so what did you get me for Christmas?”

“Aren't you jumping the gun a little?”

“It's eleven-thirty … No, it's eleven-thirty-three, almost thirty-four …” She leapt out of bed. “I'll go first.”

Whether it was Belle's feet hitting the floor or the recognition that the ominous gift exchange was finally upon them, both dogs became fully alert in an instant. They looked at each other, their ears cocked to full listening mode, their brains concentrating on feathers and twittering songs.

“It's a crossword,” Belle said, sliding back between the covers. “You have to fill in the answers to learn what your gift is. I brought you a pen.”

“Why don't you just read me the answers. If it's anything like your
Belle's Nöel
, it might be Independence Day before I figure this thing out.”

“Spoilsport.”

Rosco grinned and sat up straighter. Then he pulled open the drawer in his bedside table. “I made you a puzzle, too. Actually, I had help—”

“From who?”

“Isn't it
whom
?”

“Don't split hairs. Who was it?”

“The same person who helped me with the puzzle I used as a marriage proposal. And good detectives never reveal private sources.”

“It was Sara, wasn't it? And she didn't breathe a word. Not even when we discussed her role in the competition.”

“Detectives never reveal private sources, Belle—”

“And Al probably, too. That's so unfair, Rosco! Everyone's in on the secret except me!”

Both Gabby and Kit woofed in unison.

“Well, except for those two four-legged loafers.” Belle laughed. “Because I doubt your clandestine constructors were of the canine variety … Wait! Was it
your
puzzle that Gab was chewing on the other day? I thought something seemed fishy about the way you acted when you snatched it from her mouth …” But Belle's words trailed off as she began hurriedly writing in puzzle clues. “Oh, Rosco! You constructed a poem. How clever—and sweet …”

“It's more doggerel than poetry, I'm afraid. But it rhymes, if you use your imagination.”

“
Dog
-what?” Belle was so engrossed in the crossword she scarcely heard her husband.

“Never mind.”

“No … what did you say? Something about a dog?”

Rosco laughed and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, that's not fair! You can't just fill in the HER GIFT part. You have to work the Down clues, too.” He pulled the crossword from her hand.

“Give me that!”

“My turn to learn what
my
gift is … But you'll have to be patient. I'm a lot slower at these cryptic word diversions than you …”

Gabby and Kit began to whine in frustration.

“Do you think they're asking to go out again?” Belle wondered.

“I think they're
telling
us to shut up and go to sleep so we're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Santa's gift deliveries tomorrow morning,” was Rosco's amused reply.

Out of sight of the humans, Gabby hung her head in disbelief, while Kit, who previously would have deemed this behavior unnecessarily corny and theatrical, decided it was just the ticket. Stoic New Englanders, she thought, could learn a lot from their thespian counterparts in southern California.

“This could take all night,” Gabby whimpered.

“You said it,” Kit grumbled in response, while Belle kept up a running description of the crossword she'd created for Rosco.

“… I wrote a poem, too … It's really an I.O.U. because you'll have to try—”

“Hey, don't tell me!”

“You're right. I'm not going to say another word. But then we haven't had any snow or even a good, solid freeze—”

“You have no self-control whatsoever. Have I ever told you that?”

“About a million times. It's just that I'm not certain a pair of—” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “That's it! I'm not saying another word, I swear.”

Rosco gave her a kiss. “You're as bad as Martha.”

“It's not a book, if that's what you're thinking,” Belle insisted.

“I gathered that much. Now, are you going to
tell
me what my present is or let me figure it out on my own?”

“My lips are sealed,” Belle answered with a grin. “Why don't we
both
fill in our crosswords at the same time—bearing in mind that I've already supplied you with a major, and I mean
major
, clue.”

“This isn't a competion, Belle.”

“Oh, no?… On your mark, get set, go!”

This was too much suspense for Kit and Gabby, who simultaneously jumped on the bed and began pouncing up and down.

“What's gotten into you, Kit?” Belle demanded. “I thought you'd outgrown these puppy antics. And, you, Gab; you're supposed to be learning ladylike behaviour from your ‘big sister'.…” But Belle's heart wasn't in this reprimand, because even as she spoke her eyes were scanning the crossword Rosco had given her.

“Oh, Rosco!” she burst out. “ONE PAIR OF LOVELY … Oh, what an extravagant, wonderful gift! I saw them in the shop window, and I … and I—” She threw her arms around her husband's neck. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Gabby looked at Kit, who stared levelly at her in return. “One pair of
lovely
…?” rumbled from the bigger dog's throat. “One pair
of lovely
…? And you let us get completely bamboozled into thinking …? And all the work I went through? All that chewing and shredding?”

“That's what I heard him say. Honest! I mean, I thought that's what he … Because a ‘pair of love' and a ‘pair of
lovely
': they're almost the same thing, aren't they?”

“Someone's got to teach you the difference between adjectives and adverbs, young Gabby. Or in this instance, adjectives and nouns—”

But Gabby yipped Kit into silence. “Look! Look out the window! What are those white spots flying around?”

Kit turned her head. “Snow, you birdbrain.”

“My first snowfall.” Gabby's terrier voice had turned docile and full of awe.

Then Kit also began to stare through the window, and the stillness of both dogs caused Belle and Rosco to take notice, too. “The first snow of the year,” they said almost in unison, while Belle curled up close to Rosco and added a soft:

“I guess it's going to be cold enough for my gift after all.”

Rosco's Gift To Belle