Obligingly, he shifted the baby so we could shake hands. His manner was pleasant, but it was clear my name meant nothing to him. The Millhones must not have occupied a prominent place in the family lore. He said, “If you’re here trying to sell me something, I’m afraid I can’t help. Sign says no soliciting.”

He gestured toward a stenciled notice to the right of the front door.

“I can see that,” I said. “I’m here for something else.”

“You better make it quick. Baby needs a diaper change.”

“I drove up from Santa Teresa this morning with bad news about your dad. Would it be all right if I came in?”

He stared at me briefly, his expression opaque. “Might as well.”

He moved aside, allowing me to step into the living room. He closed the door behind me. “These are my kids. Two of ’em, at any rate. I got another girl in first grade.”

The little boy was staring at me, trying to make up his mind if I was of interest.

The baby’s age was indeterminate. He looked down at her, jiggling her in a manner that made her smile. She had four teeth the size of freshwater pearls. “This is Bethany. We call her ‘Binky,’ and this is Scott. Amanda’s still at school, though she should be home shortly. A neighbor picks her up.”

“How old is the little one?”

“Ten months. Scott’s three and a half, in case you’re about to ask.”

From somewhere in the back, two big Doberman pinschers trotted into the living room side by side and checked me out. Lean and muscular and black, with caramel-colored trim, they flanked me, giving me the sniff test, which I hoped I would not flunk. I wondered if there were traces of Ed, the cat, on my jeans. Ethan didn’t issue a warning, so I assumed there was no danger of an attack.

“Do the dogs have names?”

“Blackie and Smokie. The kids came up with those,” he said. “Have a seat.”