I put the basket on the bed and opened it. Two black-and-gold fur balls tumbled out. Mrs. Frizell’s face softened slightly. She picked up the puppies and let them lick her. I sat down next to her and put a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Frizell … I don’t think anyone has told you, but Bruce is dead. While you were unconscious, someone took all your dogs and put them to sleep. Marjorie Hellstrom and I tried to save them, but we couldn’t.”

When she didn’t say anything I went on, “These are two of Bruce’s offspring. They’ll be able to leave their mother about the time you’re ready to come back home. They’re yours if you want them.”

She was scowling in the fierce way people do when they’re trying not to cry. “Bruce was one dog in a million. One dog in a million, young lady. You don’t just replace a dog like that.”

One of the puppies bit her finger. She admonished it sternly, but with an undercurrent of affection. It cocked its head on one side and grinned at her.

“You might have just a little bit of his look, sir. Maybe just a little.”

I left the puppies with her for half an hour and told her I’d be back with them again the next day.

“Don’t think I’ve made up my mind about this; I haven’t. I may sue you for negligence, letting my dogs die. Just keep that in mind, young lady.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.”

When I got home I told Mr. Contreras I was pretty sure she would take two of the dogs, but that he’d better get hustling to find homes for the other six. Before he could start trying to argue me into keeping one of them, I diverted him with a plan for Vinnie. As soon as he’d grasped the details, the old man was enthusiastic.

That night he waylayed Vinnie as the banker came in from work, then buzzed my apartment twice to let me know he was ready.

I came down the stairs two at a time. Vinnie’s round brown face tightened in dislike when he saw me. He tried to brush his way past me, but I grabbed his arm and hung on.

“Vinnie, Mr. Contreras and I have a deal for you. For you and Todd and Chrissie. So why don’t we go down there and talk and try to put all this ugliness behind us.”

He didn’t want to do it, but I murmured words about the police and the feds and the investigation that was revving up into U.S. Met’s role in unloading Diamond Head’s excess junk.

He frowned pettishly. “I could sue you for slander. But we might as well go down to the Picheas. He’s my lawyer and can tell you where to get off.”

“Splendid.”