The Chicago Lawyer’s offices were closed. After dropping the original through their mail slot, I felt I’d earned real food for a change. I stopped at a supermarket and loaded up on fruit and vegetables, new yogurt, staples, and a selection of meat and chicken for the freezer. They had some fresh-looking salmon in their fish case. I bought enough for two and grilled some for Mr. Contreras on my miniature back porch.

Before bringing him up-to-date on my search for Mitch Kruger, I had to tell him about Mrs. Frizell’s dogs. He was angry and miserable at the same time.

“I know you don’t think I can handle Peppy, but why couldn’t you bring the dogs over here? They could’ve hung out in the back and not gotten in anyone’s way.”

By the time he finished I was feeling wretched myself. I should have made better arrangements for them; I just didn’t expect Todd Pichea to move so fast, or so cruelly.

“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately. “You’d think after all these years I’ve worked with human slime I’d have been prepared for him and Chrissie. Somehow you never expect it to happen in your own neighborhood, though.”

He patted my hand. “Yeah, doll, I know. I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just the thought of those poor helpless animals—and then you think, heck, it could be Peppy and her puppies.… But I don’t mean to pound on you harder than you are on yourself. What are you going to do? About them Picheas, I mean.”

I told him what I’d done this afternoon. He was disappointed—he’d hoped for something more direct and violent. In the end he agreed that we had to move cautiously—and with the law. After a few glasses of grappa he left, somber, but not as outraged as I’d feared.

I had planned to make the probate court my first stop Monday morning, but before my alarm rang Dick was on the phone to me. It was only seven-thirty. His light, barking baritone pounded my eardrums before I was awake enough to sort out the harangue.

“Hold on, Dick. You woke me up. Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

“No, you goddamned well cannot. How dare you go pasting envelopes on our office door? Didn’t anyone ever tell you about the mail?”

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. “Oh, it’s not the content you object to, but the paste on the firm’s sacred doors? I’ll come over with an S.O.S. pad and scrub them down.”

“Yes, I damned well do object to the contents. How dare you make a totally private matter public in this way? Fortunately I got here before Leigh did and took his copy—”