A Suspicious New Yearfeatured

The only way that dachshunds expedite their business in the early mornings before I have to go to work is if it’s below freezing outside.  Then they hustle, running and shivering off the porch to empty themselves and then come scurrying back.

There is something desperately unfair about watching dachshunds tunnel back under blankets and quilts to go back to sleep while you leave and work all day at a job where almost no one really understands your job or what you do (if I had a dollar every time someone gave me attitude because a kid didn’t qualify for services, I could buy the entire province of Ontario).  Jeremy was also still asleep but not for long because Johann Sebastian was very cold and still held a grudge from the when they had crossed swords the night before.  Being asked to go outside to pee when it was 15 degrees outside had him in a treacherous mindset.  As soon as Johann burrowed under the covers he spun around and rotated until he pressed the bottom of all four paws and his belly (which has no fur) against Jeremy’s naked back.

“EEEE-YOOOWWWW!” Jeremy shrieked and almost rolled off his side of the bed.  Johann slipped deeper under the covers muttering “I really dislike you at times, but the one thing you do have going is that you’re quite warm and I can stay toasty-oasty in winter…”

“Stop disturbing my blankets!” growled Gustav.

I sighed and collected my things and went into work.  The district had called a virtual day due to staffing issues so the building was quiet, I didn’t have to give treatment and I could whittle away the piles of paperwork that covered my desk.

It was still cold, overcast and grey when I arrived home and as I pulled my car into the garage I spotted a parcel hidden on the front porch.  I’d actually been quite proud of how much I’d been able to cut my own shopping back so when I went to pick up the box I flipped it around so I could see where Jeremy had ordered something.  But to my shock I read:

FROM: LOUIS VUITTON

101 AVENUE DES CHAMPS-ELYSEES

75008 PARIS

FRANCE

And then, as if that wasn’t enough:

TO: AURORA ALEXANDRIA

(our house number, our street)

TULSA OKLAHOMA

UNITED STATES

I have heart issues, can’t take sudden shocks to my system and I pressed my hand against the front door for balance as I dropped to one knee, gasped for breath, and tried to keep the world from spinning.  This was either a prank that was beyond cruel or an incredibly misguided attempt to honour her passing.  The three year anniversary of her death was in two more days and to get a package addressed to Aurora herself from her favourite couture house was too much.

The dachshunds flung open the front door and Gustav brought me my nitroglycerin spray.  Johann sniffed and inspected the package.  “It’s legit,” he reported, “it is indeed from France.  It has the certain je ne sais quoi of DeGaulle Airport.  There is leather and canvas in that box.”

We got everything inside and the three of us stared at the package, which sat silently on the countertop.  I almost expected it to start glowing or something similar, and I shooed Bowie out into the backyard.  This was downright strange and with Bowie’s terror of the supernatural the last thing I needed was for Jeremy’s dog to have a stroke after being confronted by a haunted handbag.  Jeremy would never purchase any Vuitton product retail (or at all) and he certainly wouldn’t put Aurora’s name on the label.  Whatever was happening, he wasn’t involved.

I genuinely didn’t know who else to ask and I called the only other person that had a close relationship to Aurora herself–my ex-husband.  “I know this is a strange question, but did you order anything from Paris, have it shipped to this house, and addressed it to Aurora?”

Even as the words were coming out of my mouth I already knew the answer and Andrew immediately responded with “Absolutely not!  I’d never do something like that.”  Silence, then “What are the dachshunds up to?  This is seriously bad, even by their own standards.”

The dachshunds in question shook their heads quickly, with wide eyes.

“There are no charges on any of my cards,” I reported.  “Whatever it is, they aren’t involved.  Jeremy isn’t either.  I’ll keep you informed,” and we disconnected.

Gustav and Johann Sebastian sat in chairs with their heads resting on the kitchen counter and watched the package with wide eyes.  Then Johann Sebastian said, “We’d better make sure all of our bases are covered,” and hurriedly left the room.

When he returned he had his incense and small box of holy items.  He quickly wrapped himself up in his Buddhist kasaya and handed Gustav some votive candles to light.  “We must bless this box,” he said, “just in case.  We don’t want to make anything angry, and sending out thoughts of Peace never did any harm.”

The blessing didn’t take long but Gustav was still fidgeting with impatience when Johann gave the final chant.  Once the candles were extinguished and removed I took some scissors, broke the tape, and pulled out the contents.

The invoice identified it as a Speedy 25 from the By the Pool collection.  It was a beautiful bag and we all inhaled the heavenly scent of vaschetta leather.  Then we stared at it.  Now what are we supposed to do?

The dachshunds and I didn’t even get a chance to discuss next steps because to our horror we heard a car door shut in the driveway and saw Jeremy coming up the front walk, home from work.  “I told you that blessing was going to take too long!”  shouted Gustav.

If he saw this handbag, he would never believe I didn’t buy it.  He would go mad.  Retribution would be swift and dire.  With the cost of Louis Vuitton products, this could very well end our marriage.  I needed to bring him up to speed on what had already happened and tell him about the handbag before he saw the handbag.

The dachshunds started scooping all the packing material back into the shipper with lightening speed and I tossed the purse back in its dustbag, stuffed it back in the box, and crammed the whole lot back into the shipper.  Jeremy’s key was turning in the lock and Gustav was screaming “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO???  WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO???” while I was shuffling around the kitchen holding the package like it was the cross between a hot potato and an atomic bomb.

“The dishwasher!” gasped Johann Sebastian.

It was the only answer to conceal a box that big that fast and I opened it with one swift motion, threw it in, and slammed the door shut just as Jeremy entered the house.

I felt like the three of us had WE’VE BEEN UP TO SOMETHING AND YOU WON’T LIKE IT written in neon across our foreheads and the three of us tried to keep from looking guilty and smiled widely at him with fixed grins instead.

He stopped abruptly when he saw us and narrowed his eyes at us warily.  “What have you three been doing?  Wait, WHO PEED?  Someone peed!”

“No,” I said, “No one peed.”  (but I was going to, if he opened the dishwasher)

Jeremy set down his messenger bag and made a quick inspection of the front room and den, muttering under his breath about dachshunds and treachery and wives who forget to do chores until he saw that the vacuum was in a different spot.  “I don’t see any pee, but–wait, did someone vacuum?”

“Yes, I did, the den,” said Gustav truthfully.  “And I reorganized the Christmas records back to your office,” added Johann Sebastian.

Jeremy entered the kitchen with a proud smile and pointed to the now empty sink.  “And I see that someone loaded the dishwasher!”

“Yes, last night,” I squeaked.  (The dachshunds started to shiver and look at each other with fear at the word “dishwasher”.)

He gave me a hug.  “Thank you baby girl.  It’s about time you learned that there’s not a kitchen fairy who cleans up after you!  Oh–wait, look, you always forget something.  You didn’t start it!”

The dachshunds pressed their paws to their mouths in horror and I nearly fainted as he leaned over and pressed the “Heavy Cycle” button.  He turned back to me and smiled warmly.  “You always leave something for me to do.  You can’t get anything past me!”  He started chatting about his day for what seemed to go on forever, then–“What would you like to do for dinner?  I think I’d like to grill outside.”

“Sure, whatever you’d like,” I replied faintly as the dishwasher churned away.  Johann hid his face in his paws.

Jeremy got a package of steaks from the fridge and gestured to me with them.  “Fresh Market has the absolute best steaks, and you know I only want the best for my baby girl.  I better go fire up those coals!”

The second he’d exited the back door to start his grilling ritual the dachshunds and I lunged for the handle on the dishwasher and yanked it open.  A cloud of steam billowed in our faces and the shipper was soaked in hot water when I pulled it out.  I gasped, “Hide this, somewhere, anywhere–quick!–before he comes back in!” and the dachshunds seized the package and tore across the house and down the hall to my sewing room.

After dinner they took me to where they’d hidden it, in a corner of one of the closets and we pulled out the parcel–or what was left of it.  The cardboard shipper was a total loss and the orange gift box had water damage but the purse itself was fine.  The extra protection from the thick cotton dustbag had saved it.

This still hadn’t answered the question about what we were going to do, or how we were going to tell Jeremy, and then Gustav noticed that the hot water from the dishwasher had pulled off all the ink from the shipping label and destroyed the invoice–so we didn’t have the weak evidence that we did to prove it hadn’t been addressed to or ordered by me in the first place.

We were back to square one and, all of us wanting to avoid one of Jeremy’s meltdowns, concealed the Vuitton back in its hiding place.

I didn’t like this at all.  Secrets always multiply faster than you think they will and we went from one mystery Kendra Scott box, to more of them, and now we had a Louis Vuitton hiding in a closet addressed to a Spoiled Spaniel who was no longer alive.  Keeping secrets from a spouse is always guaranteed to blow up in your face eventually and I wondered how many more mysterious parcels would show up and which one would finally light the fuse.

He’s got to be told, I decided, before this gets any worse, but even as I walked into the living room to talk to him he was sliding scores and his baton case into his messenger bag.  “It’s Tulsa Winds night, baby girl,” he reminded me and soon he had left for yet another rehearsal.

He had no clue but Bowie had picked up that something suspicious was going on, and looked at the closet where the bag was hidden with a quizzical and somewhat alarmed expression on her face until I shooed her out.  This couldn’t go on, and for the next few days the three of us avoided the sewing room entirely like a bomb was hidden there.  But the following day after work Jeremy was in a bad mood so I couldn’t talk to him then, and after that I was busy with activities for the Junior League so the days started to crawl by without the Vuitton in the room ever really being addressed.

I was getting the definite uncomfortable feeling that whatever was afoot was something that was going to blow even the most egregious dachshund treachery out of the water.

I was correct.