Chopping Spree

pile some stuff by the door to keep him in.” A prolonged crash preceded a spill of cardboard boxes out the kitchen door. A streak of black, gold, and white hurtled toward us. “Late!” Darlene shrieked, in a voice that would have started an avalanche.

Late paid no attention whatsoever. Arch had dropped to his knees as the dog rushed us. The bassett bounded up, tongue extended, slathering Arch’s face with kisses. My son, overwhelmed, toppled back on his behind. Late howled with exultation. Darlene screeched a torrent of commands that the puppy ignored.

“Darlene!” I called over the general confusion. “Can you tell me exactly what Barry said? You know, when he called to tell you about his puppy?”

Darlene was headed toward the kitchen. I followed, and managed to trip over only one box upended by the puppy.

“Here’s his food dish, water dish, and vitamins,” she said, as she dumped mismatched plastic bowls and other canine paraphernalia into a grocery bag. “He was outa Puppy Chow.” She whacked the bag down beside me on the counter. “All’s Barry said to me was, ‘If I have to go on a business trip allova sudden, I want Goldy Schulz t’have my dog.’ Then he asked if I knew who you were, the caterer who helps her husband solve crimes, and I said yeah, and he asked me to go get the puppy right then. I said, ‘So yer goin’ on a business trip, then?’ And he says, ‘Maybe.’ So I went and got the puppy. That was yesterday. I’m tellin’ ya, I can’t go through another night listening to him howl and whine. I mean, I used to watch Barry’s house and the puppy when he had to be out of town for a coupla nights, but it’s not like he left me any cash to take care of the hound for the rest of his life. I am sorry Barry died, though. He was a nice neighbor, if a little—Well, you know. Overdosing on the social life.”

Out in the hallway, Late’s piercing yip was giving me a headache. Arch was egging him on in Boy’s Dog- Speak: Yeah, boy, c’mon boy, sit, yeah, roll over, yeah! OK, I’ll rub your tummy. Bet you’re hungry, right, boy?

Overdosing on the social life? “Did Barry have many girlfriends?” I ventured.

Darlene rolled her eyes, opened her refrigerator, and popped open a beer. She did not offer me one, which was probably just as well.

“Look, I already talked to that private dick—”

“John Rufus?”

Darlene slurped foam. “Yup, and I told him about the bra saleslady—”

“Pam?”

“Yup.” Darlene tried unsuccessfully to suppress a belch. “That’s what the cops called her when they showed me her picture. Blonde who wears her hair in sort of a pickaninny?”

“The very one.”

“Well, she’s been over there, too. Those two, Pam and Ellie. That’s all I know about Barry’s girlfriends. ’Cept he didn’t leave either one of ‘em his dog.”

“Thanks.”

Darlene put down the beer, picked up the grocery bag, and shoved it at me. Since she couldn’t find any puppy food, she added, she’d given Late some chili last night. He’d seemed to like it.

“Chili?” I repeated, nonplussed. No wonder you were up all night.

When Darlene raised that thin eyebrow again, I hustled back to the foyer. Arch had thoughtfully brought along a leash and was clipping it to Late’s collar. Late, panting, twisted his stubby, muscled neck to look me over. He was a hefty, short-haired black hound with a wide, white chest and magnificent gold streaks along his face. He did resemble Barry’s old hound, Honey, especially with his red-rimmed eyelids around large woeful eyes. I’m grieving, his countenance seemed to say, cheer me up.

“He’s just three months old,” Darlene explained from behind me. She couldn’t hide the joy in her voice at the prospect of ridding herself of the hound. “Oh, and he goes to High Country Vet, so you might want to check in over there, you know, see if he needs shots or worming or something.”

I thanked Darlene and headed out after Arch and the puppy to the van. Late’s enthusiasm for Arch did not extend to going in a car, however, and once we were all inside, the little dog started whining inconsolably. I started the engine. The dog wailed even louder.

“Let me try to calm him down, Mom, before you pull out. I brought him some smoked pigs’ ears.”

“Jake won’t be happy you snitched from his store of treats.”

At this, Arch launched into more Dog-Speak: Don’t worry, buddy, your new brother is going to love you, yeah, buddy, Jake’s a big old bloodhound who shares everything, et cetera, et cetera. I disconnected from Arch’s reassuring chatter and Late’s crying, and studied Barry’s chalet-style house next door. Two sheriff’s department cars were parked in the driveway. The red police tape that I knew was printed with the word Evidence had been strung around the house and yard. Hmm.

Barry’s house stood out in this neighborhood because he’d taken great care to make it look handsome. While Darlene had continued to paint her home an opaque lime green—hip some decades ago in Aspen Meadow, like everything else about Darlene—Barry had painted the gingerbread trim of his dark brown wooden house a bright red. Now, the outside lights illuminated not only the Swiss-style abode, but the fresh fall of snow in the front yard. The curtains were pulled, but a lit interior told me the detectives were working.

Without thinking, I released the brake and allowed the van to roll down to Barry’s driveway. Arch, preoccupied with calming the dog, did not notice. Nor, apparently, did anyone inside. I powered down my window and stared at the house. Why did you leave me your dog, Barry? I heard no answer to my question but puppy whining and the frigid night wind sweeping through the pines.

“Mom!” Arch whispered. “You’re freezing me out! Late’s shivering! Close the window, would you?” The dog threw back his head and began to howl. “Mom! What are you waiting for?”

We took off. Tom was not at home, which puzzled me, but Arch helped me get the separate “pet housing area,” as we called it, ready for our latest guest. Because of the catering business, I had to be extra careful about keeping the animals out of the kitchen. I tried not to think of the unsuccessful box barricade Darlene had built for Late.

Late, meanwhile, was getting to know Jake out in our fenced backyard. Like Barry’s yard, ours was blanketed with snow. Howls, yips, and growling let us know the two canines hadn’t quite decided to be friends. When Arch opened the back door, Jake began to lumber in, but was impeded by Late streaking through his legs. Arch said he’d calm Jake if I could get hold of Late. I quick-stepped into the living room, where Late was avidly sniffing one of Tom’s Oriental rugs.

“No you don’t, buster.” I scooped him up and hugged him to me, then lowered myself into one of the wingback chairs. To my surprise, Late turned, perused my face, and began to sniff my chin. My heart melted at the sight of those droopy brown eyes with their pink rims. The dog appeared worried. You, he seemed to be thinking, definitely aren’t Barry.

“Why did your master leave you to me?” I asked him. “From the sound of it, he had two girlfriends. Why didn’t he leave you with one of them? The only thing recommending me was that we already had a hound. Different kind, though.”

In my lap, Late panted, but said nothing.

“Was it because of the truck accident?” I asked Late. “Barry was scared because that truck nearly killed him as well as me? So he called his neighbor and said, ‘If I die before I get home, give my dog to the caterer’?”

Late still wasn’t in a talkative mood, so I just patted him. Arch appeared, carrying a tray of homemade dog biscuits. Apparently, Late’s olfactory glands worked as superbly as Jake’s, because he whirled, jumped off my lap, and tore toward Arch. Arch, delighted to be once more the center of the basset’s universe, started feeding him goodies from the plate. When the phone rang, I headed for it, mostly to prevent myself from mentioning crumbs and dog-mess to Arch.

“I had to finish up something at work,” Tom reported from his cellular. “Apparently my delegating didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped. Anyway, I didn’t want you to worry. Did you get the dog?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. Arch is spoiling him rotten even as we speak.”

“Is he cute?”

“He’s black streaked with gold and white, and he has a face frozen in the ‘sad’ setting.”

Tom snorted. “Did Barry ever mention to you that he wanted you to take care of his hound? The detectives