Page 18 of No Business Like Snow Business

Then I thought about how weird and pathetic that sounded, and said, “Van Ruyven. I’m not from around here.” I pulled out the photograph and passed it to him. “That’s my uncle. He disappeared in 1987 and ended up here—I don’t know for how long. We thought you might know the guy with him, in the Blitzen’s cap.”

Bob plucked his folded glasses from where they hung on the neckline of his sweater and put them on. “Let’s see, let’s see.”

As he studied the photograph, there was a scraping and shuffling sound from the back of the house, then some clicking and scrabbling. Bob looked up, and Harvey and I both turned asa black streak whipped into the room. At the fireplace, it whirled and went down on its forelegs, backend thrust in the air. It was a medium-sized dog with a plumed tail and longish silky coat that was slightly wet with melting snow, all black except for a patch of white on its chest. It crouched there for a moment, mouth open as it stared at us. Then it leaped up and zoomed out of the room again.

Bob started to push himself out of the chair. “Caspar!” he called. “Ah, rats. I keep reminding Linda to put the box in front of the doggy door until the fence is fixed. “Linda! Caspar’s been outside. We’re lucky he came back.”

“He moves the box, Bob,” someone—presumably Linda—called from another room. “It’s not heavy enough.”

Bob sighed and sank back into the chair. “Well, could you keep him in there with you for a little while? I have visitors.”

“Ididn’t get to meet the visitors.” Linda sounded some combination of amused and affronted. A moment later, she entered the living room with Caspar trotting beside her, staring up at her empty hands as though treats might magically appear in them.

Linda looked a lot like her husband, short and slight with a wrinkled face and bright, shrewd eyes. Her pants were red, and her sweater green, an inverse of Bob’s ensemble. Her gray hair was up in a tidy bun. “Hello, Harvey,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”

Something about the way she said it made me think she wasn’t at all surprised to see Harvey with a friend. The back of my neck prickled. Were people seriously gossiping about Harvey and me? Why didn’t that bother me the way it should?

“Sterling Van Ruyven.” I stood and extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Sterling.” Linda gave a slight nod that was either acknowledging or assessing. Maybe both.

Caspar, clearly disappointed in the lack of treats, came to the couch and nudged his snout between Harvey’s knees, gazing up at him.

“Caspar, come here.” Linda reached out and tugged the dog back gently by his collar. “He doesn’t have anything for you.”

“I wish I did,” Harvey said to the dog.

I sat again, and the dog came to nuzzle me.

“Of course he came back, Bob.” Linda turned to her husband. “I told you, he’s too codependent to run away.”

“Well, let’s get something heavier to put in front of the door, just in case. We don’t need him wandering the neighborhood chasing the reindeer.” Bob glanced at us. “Part of our fence is down. Bunch of snow fell from the roof and collapsed it. I used to be the one to fix things like that, but these old bones…” He patted his knee. “Anyway, Caspar can’t be let out unsupervised until we get it fixed, but he’s decided where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Bob adjusted his glasses with one hand as he studied the photograph again. “Sterling Van Ruyven has asked me about the fellow in this photograph, Linda. He’s in a Blitzen’s cap. But I don’t think I know him.”

“Let me see.” Linda took the photograph from him. Caspar lifted his nose from my knee and shuffled backward, then trotted out of the room. “Travis,” Linda said after a moment.

Bob frowned. “Travis?”

“Travis Jones.” She handed the photograph back to him. “You remember Travis.”

“Travis.”

“He works for Wonderland Heating & Cooling now.”

“Travis!”

“Yes, Travis.”

Bob nodded. “We ought to see if Travis can fix our fence. They do a little of everything there.”

Harvey agreed enthusiastically, launching into a story about the emergency call Wonderland had made to the museum when the heating broke last year.

“So that’s Travis Jones?” I asked, nodding toward the photo in Bob’s hand, aware that I sounded a little impatient and hating myself for it. It was just that my neck was still prickling with a strange combination of embarrassment and inadequacy. I tried to imagine having this sort of conversation with anyone back home.Yes, Tuck Mounson, you remember him? Owns every media outlet in the tri-state area. Oh, Jemma Halworth? We ought to see if her billion-dollar software company can design our new home security system. They do a little of everything there.

Bob squinted at Possibly-Travis. “So says Linda.”

“I’m right,” Linda put in.

“It does look a bit like him. But everyone looked the same in those silly trapper hats.” He leaned forward in the chair to hand the photograph back to me. “I’d try Wonderland Heating & Cooling. Travis worked for me one summer when he was home from college. Good worker—it’s coming back to me now. Married…what’s her name? She wasn’t from around here.”

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