Butch had installed a weapons safe next to the laundry room door so she could remove her two Clocks and put them away without bringing them into the house proper. Butch had designed the whole project, down to the tiniest detail. Every part of it had been done with utter practicality and convenience in mind.
And with a new puppy around, Joanna thought as she took the time to remove her weapons, it’s a good thing we have mostly Saltillo tile on the floors rather than carpet.
Prepared for the worst, she went back to the Blazer, retrieved the puppy-laden carton, and headed into the house. Butch sat at the kitchen counter, laboring over his laptop.
There was an
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office in the house—a spacious, nicely furnished office off the dining room, but that was used mostly as Joanna’s at-home office. Butch preferred to work in the kitchen, where he could write and keep tabs on the laundry and the progress of dinner at the same time.
He looked up from the screen when she came in. “What’s this?” he asked, spying the carton. “Surely you didn’t bring home more work to do-” He broke off in mid sentence when Lucky poked his tiny black nose up over the edge of the box. Butch’s jaw dropped.
“Don’t tell me you brought home a puppy!”
“I couldn’t help it,” Joanna explained quickly. “The woman who was murdered had a whole bunch of dogs, including Lucky’s mother …”
“You’ve already named him?” Butch asked. “That sounds a whole lot like we’re keeping him.”
“Lucky’s the only survivor—the other dogs all died, Butch,” Joanna told him. “They were locked in an overheated mobile home with Carol Mossman. We think the heat did them in.”
“Which is why he’s Lucky, I suppose,” Butch said, reaching out and lifting the squirming black fuzz of a dog out of the box.
“By the way, where’s Tigger?” Joanna asked, suddenly worried how their resident half pit-bull, half golden retriever mutt might react to the interloper’s presence.
“In Jenny’s room,” Butch replied, stroking the puppy’s ears. “She has tennis in the morning, so she and Tigger went to bed early. Has this little guy eaten, by the way?”
“Not recently,” Joanna answered. “He had some milk earlier this afternoon.”
“We’re a bit shy on Puppy Chow at the moment,” Butch said. “And he’s way too little for Dog Chow, so let’s see what we can do.”
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With that, Butch handed Lucky over to Joanna and went prowling in the refrigerator.
He returned with a half gallon of milk and some bread, which he crumbled into a cereal bowl. Then he poured milk over it and set the concoction down on the floor in front of the famished puppy, who stepped into it with both front feet.
“That’s one thing I love about you,” Joanna said softly as they both stood watching the puppy eagerly lap up his milk and bread. “You’re totally unflappable.”
“I like to think I try,” Butch said modestly.
“What say we go for broke, then?” she asked, gathering her courage.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What are you saying? Is there another puppy out in the car that you haven’t brought in yet?”
“Not exactly.”
“What then, exactly?” Butch prodded.
Joanna took a deep breath. “What if I told you I might be pregnant?”
“Pregnant? You’re kidding!”
“No. I’m not kidding. I’m late. Over a week now.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. I mean, I’m sure I’m late, but I’m not remotely sure if I’m pregnant.
It’s possible, though.”
Suddenly, Lucky was forgotten. Grinning from ear to ear, Butch grabbed Joanna by the waist and swung her around the kitchen in a series of circles. “Joey, this is wonderful news. It’s great! I can hardly wait to find out for sure. What time is it?”
“It’s nine o’clock. Why?”
“What time does Safeway close?”
“I don’t know—nine or maybe ten. Why?”
“Let’s go right now and get a pregnancy test. You can buy 54
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them over the counter, can’t you? I mean, you don’t need a prescription or anything, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Joanna told him. “But can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
