Jingle Bell Bark Read Online Free PDF Page B

wondered if he had anyone looking out for him. Besides, I needed to talk to Alice about her prospective puppy anyway. This might be a good way to kill two birds with one stone.
    â€œSounds good to me,” I said. “I’ll get back to you later.”

    By midweek, most of the kids had managed to find their way home from Thanksgiving break. But with only two and a half weeks until Christmas vacation, spirits were still running high. In my job as special needs tutor, I don’t teach actual classes; instead I work in private sessions with those students whose schoolwork is deemed to be falling below par.
    Howard Academy houses a primary and a middle school, teaching children from kindergarten through eighth grade. The school has an impeccable record of placing its graduates at the finest secondary institutions in the country. From there it is anticipated that the students will go on to Ivy League colleges and prestigious jobs, while remembering the academy that had given them their start with frequent and generous donations.
    I might have been more skeptical about that process except for the fact that it seemed to work so well. Bitsy Hanover, the headmaster’s wife, orchestrated numerous fund-raisers throughout the school year to which alumni responded with alacrity and enthusiasm. As I’d been reminded by Mr. Hanover on more than one occasion, maintaining the school’s reputation for academic excellence was an important component in this success. Thus every student was expected to perform at the highest possible standard.
    That was where I came in. And if occasionally, due to those circumstances, my work day was a little more pressured than I might have wished, that downside was more than offset by the fact that I loved the kids I got to work with. My job also offered a wonderful perk in that nobody minded if I took the Poodles to school with me, which was why Faith and Eve spent most days snoozing on their big cedar beds in the corner of my classroom.
    At lunchtime, before heading to the large refectory where students and teachers dined together, I pulled out my cell phone and placed a call to the bus company that serviced all of North Stamford.
    â€œHi,” I said when a woman picked up. “My name is Melanie Travis. My son, Davey, rides one of your buses to Hunting Ridge Elementary School. The driver is a man named Henry.”
    â€œYes, Henry Pruitt.” Her voice sounded unexpectedly wary.
    â€œI noticed that he’s been out for a day or two and I was wondering if you could tell me where he was.”
    â€œAre you a relative of his?”
    â€œNo, just an acquaintance.”
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s against company policy for us to give out any information about our employees.”
    Geez, I thought. They were a local bus company, not the Pentagon. “Could you tell me when you expect him back?”
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t answer that question either.” Her tone was clipped. “Please be assured that all your bussing needs will continue to be met in a timely and professional manner.”
    Right, I thought. Like that was going to make me feel better. I wondered if she was reading to me from the company brochure.
    â€œOne last thing,” I said, beginning to feel somewhat wary myself. “Is Henry still employed by your company?”
    â€œAs I told you a moment ago, I’m not at liberty—”
    Frowning, I hit the button and cut off the connection. Earlier I’d been mildly concerned about Annie Gault’s driving skills. Now I was genuinely worried about Henry.
    Alice’s phone number was on speed dial. As I hurried down the hall to the lunchroom, I left a message at her house telling her to find out Henry’s address and meet me after school.
    None of this felt good to me.

4
    W hen the Poodles and I arrived home that afternoon, Alice was sitting on our front step. I pulled the station wagon into the short driveway,