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whose internal clock is more accurate than my Timex, was waiting just inside the front door. I could hear her excited yips as I fit the key to the lock. When the door swung open, she was dancing on her hind legs to greet us.
    Problems forgotten, Davey gathered Faith into his arms and gave her a hug. His face disappeared into the thick ruff of her mane coat. Standing upright, the Poodle was taller than he was. Hopping together, they managed an awkward dance of greeting around the front hall.
    â€œSheesh,” said Joey. “She’s only a dog.”
    â€œShe is not.” Davey shook his head, and Faith’s ear wraps flapped around him. “She’s the best dog in the whole world.”
    Joey was not impressed. “Big deal. What have you got to eat?”
    The three of them headed for the kitchen. Davey knew how to unlock the back door and let Faith out into the fenced yard. The milk, glasses, and shortbread cookies were on shelves low enough for them to reach. Confident that they could fend for themselves, at least for a few minutes, I headed upstairs to change my clothes.
    A few weeks earlier, at Aunt Peg’s suggestion, I’d started roadworking Faith. It’s not easy being beautiful, even if you’re a dog, and especially if you’re a Standard Poodle whose grandfather won the group at Westminster and whose breeder has plans for you to finish your championship. Sixty years old and more autocratic than ever, Aunt Peg has a way of always getting what she wants. Certainly I’ve never figured out how to turn her down. Which was why Faith and I were now running two miles around the neighborhood several times a week.
    The steady, rhythmic jog was developing Faith’s muscle and building up her hindquarter. As a nice bonus, it had also knocked a couple of pounds off of me. So far, my biggest problem had been finding the time to fit jogging into my schedule.
    Luckily, Alice seems to think that having two six-year-old boys entertain each other is easier than having one at home by himself, and she’d volunteered to watch Davey while I ran. As soon as I was suited up in sweatpants, T-shirt, and trusty sneakers, I walked both boys down to her house and dropped them off.
    Though I’ve heard of something called a runner’s high, I had yet to experience it. For me, jogging was hard work. Not so Faith, who completed the entire distance with head up and tail wagging. I guess that’s the difference between four legs and two. We stopped and picked up Davey on the way back, then walked the length of the street to cool down.
    Davey was chattering on about a new board game Joey had just gotten, and I was thinking of a nice hot shower, when we let ourselves in the door. My answering machine is on the kitchen counter, and its message light was blinking. I pressed the button, then picked up Faith’s bowl and refilled it with fresh water while I waited for the tape to rewind.
    â€œMel!” Frank’s voice sounded tinny, but I could hear the urgency in his tone. “I’m at the coffee bar. You know, Haney’s old place? Where the hell are you? I need you to get over here right away.”

Three
    I threw a heavy sweater on over my T-shirt and we headed out.
    The drive was a quick one. Frank’s building was only a couple of miles away on back roads that twisted and curved through the Connecticut countryside. The area wasn’t as densely populated as the neighborhood Davey and I lived in, but it was clearly residential.
    Surrounded by houses on large wooded lots, the small store sat wedged next to the road. There was a bit of space for parking in front and more on one side, but most of it was currently taken up by a dumpster the size of a semitrailer. Frank’s black sportscar was parked near the door and I slid the Volvo in beside it.
    â€œWow!” Davey gazed at the dumpster in awe.
    Knowing my son, I figured he was wondering how to climb inside. Quickly I