Amelia hunkered down on the wooden porch floor beside Grace and peeked inside. Game tables seating five or six men filled a spacious living room. Men, intent on their game, never raised their eyes from the cards. Cigar smoke colored the air gray.

“They’re gambling, poker or black jack maybe,” Amelia whispered. She nearly burst out laughing and covered her mouth. “Zachary and those five guys. They’re gambling, aren’t they, Grace? Is that illegal?”

“I don’t think so, but what do I know? At least he’s not in a bar or with some woman.” She sidled away from the window. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Nervously, looking in both directions, they descended the steps, crossed the yard, and hastened to Grace’s car.

“What do we do now?” Amelia leaned against the car and fanned her face with her hands. She was breathing hard.

“You okay?” Grace asked.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. What next?”

“I’ll tell Hannah and let her pass the information on to Max.”

“I hate Zachary, shirking his responsibilities like this. Do you think he’s addicted to gambling?” Amelia pushed away from the car.

Grace was getting into it. “Let me take you to your car. I don’t know if he’s addicted. It’s hardly what I expected to find.”

“Me neither. I’m rather disappointed. I’d anticipated a more exotic ending to this sleuthing.”

7

How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?

The Perfect Pet Shop was small and crammed with varieties of canned, bagged, and boxed cat and dog food, leashes and collars, animal beds, vitamins, doggie beds, and other paraphernalia that drew dog lovers. Grace hesitated before entering the shop, deliberating with herself as to the wisdom of bringing home a puppy. Everyone had been adamant about getting an older dog from the shelter or from a foster family.

It’s no different than a child, Grace assured herself. A dog can be scarred by the way it’s treated as a puppy, just as a child who’s been mistreated can be scarred. Her dog would know only love and good care. These sweet little puppies had already suffered the trauma of separation from their mothers and confinement in a cage. Poor little tykes, she thought, living in a cage.

Grace pulled open the door of the shop and headed to where the cage stood, and two puppies yapped their heads off and clawed at the wire siding. With relief she noted that the puppy that had first captured her attention was still there, along with a smaller, black-and-white puppy. The puppy she liked seemed shier, yapped less, and as she approached, it scooted to the rear of the cage and huddled as if afraid. Poor little thing!