This close to her due date she was spending almost all her time inside with him, but yesterday Mr. Contreras had gone to a Las Vegas Night that his old parish was running. He’d been involved in the planning for six months and didn’t want to miss it, but he called me twice to make sure Peppy hadn’t started into labor, and a third time at midnight to check whether I’d written down the phone number at the hall they’d rented. That third call was what was giving me malicious pleasure at her trying to wake him before six.

The June sunshine was bright, but the early morning air was still chilly enough that my bare feet grew too cold to feel the porch floor. I went back inside without waiting for the old man to get up. I could hear Peppy’s muffled barks continuing as I kicked my shorts off and stumbled back into bed. My bare leg slid over a wet spot on the sheet. Blood. It couldn’t be mine so it had to be the dog’s.

I pulled my shorts back on and dialed Mr. Contreras’s number. I had my knee socks and running shoes on before he answered, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.

“You guys must have had a good old time last night,” I said brightly. “But you’d better get up and face the day—you’re about to become a grandfather again.”

“Who is this?” he rasped. “If this is some kind of joke you oughtta know better than to call people at this time of morning and—”

“It’s me,” I interrupted him. “V. I. Warshawski. Your upstairs neighbor, remember? Well, your little dog Peppy has been barking her head off outside your door for the last ten minutes. I believe she wants to come inside and have some puppies.”

“Oh. Oh. It’s you, doll. What’s that about the dog? She’s barking at my back door. How long have you left her outside? She shouldn’t hang around out there barking when she’s this close to her time—she could catch a chill, you know.”

I bit back various sarcastic remarks. “I found some blood spots in my bed just now. She may be getting ready to whelp. I’ll be right down to help you get things in order.”

Mr. Contreras started in on a complicated set of instructions about what I should wear. These seemed so pointless that I hung up without ceremony and headed back outside.

The vet had stressed that Peppy didn’t need any help with her delivery. If we got involved with her while she was in labor or picked up the firstborn puppies it could cause her enough anxiety that she might not be able to handle the rest on her own. I didn’t trust Mr. Contreras to remember in the excitement of the moment.