BABY LOVE

By Barb Goffman

Originally published in
DOUBLE CROSSING VAN DINE

Published by Crippen & Landru, August 2025

I wasn’t the greatest at math, but even I knew having a savings account balance nearing zero was problematic. Especially when your wife wanted to have a baby.

And not sometime in the future. Hannah wanted that baby now—or at least nine months from now—and she was doing everything she could to make it happen. I was exhausted.

Stretching, I leaned back in my soft leather chair. It was part of the furnishings Hannah’s grandmother had left us—along with this Tudor home—when she died a few months ago. Moving in here had been an easy decision. Good school system. Nice neighborhood. But there had been one big drawback—the impact on my work.

Movement outside the casement window caught my eye, fish crows nasally cawing hello as they flew past, their short squared-off tails shining in the early-afternoon light. I wished I could be as carefree as those birds. I had time on my hands like they seemed to, but I was bogged down by my frustration. I wanted—I needed—to pull my own weight, to be a good provider instead of relying on Hannah’s family money. But finding new clients had been hard since we moved.

If only I could get one really good case—one to put me on the local radar—I could get my PI business off the ground here. I’d been doing fairly well before moving across the state, but starting over hadn’t been so easy. At least we didn’t have a mortgage to worry about, and I didn’t have to pay rent for an office. Not to mention, it was peaceful working in this town filled with interesting shops, canopy trees, and friendly folks. Though, can you call it work if you do so little of it? I’d joined the Kiwanis Club, hoping to make friends while helping kids, and maybe reeling in some business at the same time. A few friends had come quickly. The work, well, you know.

The phone on my desk rang, a beige-colored landline that came with the house. I immediately felt hopeful but wary. Iʼd run some local ads using that number, but most of the callers were scammers. Considering that I had a cell phone, the landline was a waste of money. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to cut the cord. You could hear a pin drop through that forty-year-old relic. Besides, I liked picking up an actual receiver, feeling like my idols from old black-and-white movies, hoping there might be a dame on the other end, needing my assistance.

“Demsey Investigations,” I said. “Dan Demsey speaking.”

“Mr. Demsey, this is Catherine Richardson. I live next door. We met when you moved in.”

So it was a dame, but this one was short and scrawny and about seventy years old. While she might need my help, it likely would be of the household-chore variety. We might as well be living in the Cotswolds.

“I remember, Mrs. Richardson. It’s nice to hear from you.”

“Catherine, please.”

“All right, Catherine. You can call me Dan. How are you this fine spring day?”

“Not so good. I need your help.”

Here it came. A leaky faucet? A loose gutter? I hoped I wouldn’t have to climb a ladder.

“It’s Brody,” she said, her voice breaking. “My dog. He’s been stolen.”

I sprang up from my chair. “I’ll be right over.”

# # #

I was grabbing my keys from the ceramic bowl by the front door when Hannah called to me from the top of the stairs.

“Oh, Danny,” she said in her most sultry voice.

She was wearing a peek-a-boo nightie, her long brown curls spilling over her shoulders, just barely brushing… I averted my eyes. When we’d started the baby-making process, I had been all in. No pun intended. But after so many…attempts…in such a short period of time, I needed a break to recharge, despite how hot my wife was. She could melt ice by simply glancing its way.

“Sorry, no time,” I said. “I have to see a dame about a dog.” And I dashed out the door.

When Catherine opened her own door, she seemed even shorter than I remembered. Was she even five feet tall? She held a tissue to her pert nose and looked like she’d been crying. I didn’t blame her. I’d grown up with dogs, and thinking one had been stolen would be agony.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

I followed her to a flowered couch in the living room. A laptop lay open on the mahogany coffee table. Its screensaver was of a small black dog. “That’s Brody. He’s a Scottish terrier. I got him three years ago, shortly after my husband, Warren, passed.”

Catherine hit a few keys and a montage of photos began running. Brody had small prick ears and short sturdy legs, but when he smiled, you could tell he had a big personality. “He’s adorable.”

“He is.” She hit another key, and a video began. Brody had a lot of energy and a sharp, high-pitched, raspy bark. A bright blue tag with his name on it hung from the collar around his neck. “He’s a very good boy.”

I had no doubt. I pulled out my notebook and pen. A lot of PIs record their clients, but taping made some people uncomfortable. Besides, I can find things much faster flipping through my notes than repeatedly starting and stopping a recording, trying to land on the right spot. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“At nine o’clock each Saturday morning I take piano lessons.” Catherine nodded toward a baby grand by the picture window, overlooking the front lawn. “Brody loves Myra, my teacher, but he often gets bored and goes into the backyard through the doggie door. He likes to trot along the fence line, smelling things and barking at squirrels. After Myra left, I went out back to check on him, but Brody wasn’t there. The gate was open. I was horrified. I hurried to the front of the house, calling for him, searching up and down the street. But he wasn’t anywhere. That’s when I phoned the police.”

I felt terrible. If I’d heard her screaming Brodyʼs name, I would have come out to help. Hannah and I had been trying to conceive little Dahlia or Thor, so Iʼd been…focused on my task. The name Thor, by the way, was still under discussion. Hannah thought a kid named Thor would get beat up, while I knew he’d be the coolest kid in school. But I digress.

“If the gate was open, why do you think Brody was stolen?” I asked. “Couldn’t he just be lost?”

Catherine shook her head vehemently, the ends of her white hair brushing her jawline.

“That’s what the officer who came here said. A part of me had hoped Brody was roaming nearby and would come when called, but as soon as I saw that open gate, I knew deep down that someone took him. The gate was closed this morning, when we were playing fetch in the backyard before my lesson, and it has never blown open. Never. Not once in the thirty years we’ve lived here.”

“Now that I think about it, it’s not windy today.”

“Exactly.”

“Have any workers been here since then who could’ve forgotten to close it? Landscapers, people like that?”

“No.” She huffed out a breath. “That policeman treated me like a child, refusing to believe someone must have opened the gate and taken Brody. He told me to post lost-dog signs in the neighborhood and on social media.”

“Have you?”

“Yes, but as expected, no one has seen him. I know it’s only been a few hours, but I’m afraid…” Her eyes watered. “I’m afraid he’s been stolen to be used as a bait dog.”

Revulsion slammed through me. The very thought of that poor dog being hurt that way made my stomach roil.

Catherine grabbed my arm, her delicate hand surprisingly strong. “Please, you’ve got to find him before it’s too late. I’ll pay anything.” Now she was crying full-out.

Normally I would’ve talked price, gotten a retainer, and had her sign a contract, but she was a neighbor and, as she said, time was of the essence. So I asked Catherine some more questions, assured her I would do my best, and headed out back to inspect the yard.

# # #

Catherine’s backyard was similar to ours, except it had a six-foot wooden fence—no way Brody jumped it. As I walked the fence line, searching for holes or loose boards or anything that might suggest what happened to Brody, I dialed the mobile number on the card the cop had left with Catherine. Officer Floyd Jackson answered after three rings. He didn’t come across as patronizing to me. Then again, I wasn’t a little old lady.

“I understand her concern,” he said, “but we can’t spend our time searching for lost dogs.”

“Could Brody have been grabbed to be used as a bait dog?”

“We haven’t had any reports of dogfighting in our area. No rash of missing dogs that could indicate a ring we don’t know about. She should keep looking. He could be hiding under a bush, or maybe somebody found him and brought him to the shelter.”

“She checked there.”

“Well, he could still turn up—at the shelter or in the neighborhood. I hope he does. Good luck to you both.”

I finished inspecting the yard. I spotted no holes in the fence. No signs of a scuffle. Nothing indicated someone had come inside and grabbed Brody, though that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. I went to examine the gate. It had a black lever-latch handle on both sides. They were stainless steel. Sturdy. Someone would have had to press down on one of the handles for the gate to open. No way it did it on its own or even with a little help from the wind.

“Hey, handsome.” Turning around, I found Hannah standing a few feet away in my tan trench coat. It hit me mid-calf. On her, only her feet were visible. “Whatever your case is, it surely can wait awhile,” she said. “Why don’t you come inside for some fun?”

Slowly she untied the belt, then whipped the coat open. She wore high heels and nothing else. Her legs and…other parts…were so shapely, I became sorely tempted, until I was distracted by her left hand. More specifically, by her diamond engagement ring glinting in the sunlight.

Ring. I should see if Catherine or any neighbors have a Ring camera. They might have footage showing what happened to Brody. Hannah smiled triumphantly as I hurried toward her. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry, honey. But I’m on the trail of a missing dog. Gotta go.”

“Seriously?” she said as I rushed off.

Babies were important, but first things first.

# # #

Catherine didn’t have a doorbell camera. Nor did any of the immediate neighbors, including me. But Judy Sheluk, who lived across the street and three houses down, did. She and her golden retriever, Enzo, greeted me with friendly smiles, and once she heard why Iʼd come by, she was eager to help.

I followed her and Enzo to her home office, noticing how Judy’s salt-and-pepper hair was more salty in back than in front. She pulled up the footage from the fifty-minute period during which Brody had gone missing, and I sat down to review it. We lived on a quiet side street, so I was able to fast-forward a lot. Not much traffic on the road. There were some walkers and runners. Judy didn’t know any of them, and no one appeared suspicious. I couldn’t see Catherine’s house, so the footage was of limited use. Still, I asked if I could copy it onto a flash drive. I always kept a spare one on my key ring for this type of situation.

“Of course.” She clicked a few buttons and copied the whole day onto my drive. “I wish I could be of more help. I simply don’t remember anyone hanging around who seemed out of place or hinky.”

Hinky? Not a word I typically heard from middle-aged women not living on the mean streets.

“I loved when they used that word in The Fugitive,” she said. “Do you ever do that, search for wanted criminals, I mean?”

“Not really. That’s more of a police matter.” People often expected my work to resemble what cops and PIs do on TV or in the movies. But in this town, I probably would have more missing-dog cases in my future than ones involving convicts, especially ones on the run, though hope sprang eternal. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome. I pray you find Brody soon. I won’t be letting Enzo out of my sight outdoors until you do.”

“Good idea.” I gave her my card, in case she thought of anything relevant. After patting Enzoʼs dark-blond head and receiving a kiss in return, I went on my way.

I hadn’t reached the sidewalk when my phone buzzed. Hannah’s face popped up on the screen. She wore deep red lipstick and heavy mascara.

“Hey, sweetie,” I said.

She slowly licked her lips, and when she spoke, her words came out at the same leisurely pace. “Hey, yourself. I’m here all by myself. So lonely. You sure you can’t put your job on hold for a little while?” She moved the phone sideways and away from her body. Her nude body. She was standing with her back to the full-length mirror in our bedroom, so I had a complete view of her perfect derriere. So round yet firm. I groaned. Hannah knew I was a butt man.

“Butts,” I said, widening my eyes. Iʼd staked out a lot of folks over the years who had been smokers, and they often stood under streetlamps while puffing away, leaving cigarette butts behind. Occasionally I saw people, mostly dog walkers, smoking beneath the streetlamp under the tall oak tree that shaded the sidewalk between Catherine’s house and my own. They left their butts behind, too. Granted, I had no reason to think the person who snatched Brody—at this point, I did believe he had been snatched—was a smoker, but he could be. Or she. And the thief likely had staked out Catherine’s house, trying to determine when Brody would be alone in the yard. The hour Catherine sat beside her picture window each Saturday morning learning piano would have offered the perfect opportunity.

“I only have one butt,” Hannah said, “and it’s spectacular. Why don’t you come on home and—”

“No time. You’ve given me a great idea. Thanks, darling.”

“But—”

“Not but. Butts. The solution to this case could be right outside our front door.”

“Are you kidding—”

I punched the off button. I shouldn’t have hung up in the middle like that—never a good idea to stop in the middle with Hannah—but I was too excited. Iʼd make it up to her later.

# # #

Five cigarette butts were lying beneath the streetlamp. A couple of them littered the sidewalk. The rest lay in the grass or in the soil beneath the tree. Until this week, Iʼd found one or two discarded butts each time I wheeled our trash bin to the road on Tuesday evenings. I always cleaned them up, which is why Iʼd noticed when the number doubled. Now five butts had been discarded here in the last four days. That was interesting, but something also was strange. Three of the cigarettes hadn’t been smoked all the way down to the filter—the normal way of things. Instead, about three quarters of each cigarette remained, just like with most of the butts I had picked up on Tuesday. Could this smoker be trying to quit?

I hurried to my car in our driveway and pulled latex gloves and a baggie from the center console. The gloves might have been overkill. But if I found Brody at someone’s home, and if the butts had that person’s DNA on them, they might help put the baddie behind bars. They’d be proof that the dog snatcher had stood here, watching Catherine’s house, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sneak into the backyard.

I returned to the sidewalk to collect all the butts. Other than the length of some of them, there was nothing distinctive about them. They didn’t even have lipstick stains, which might have indicated the thief’s gender. But now that I crouched close to the ground, I noticed shoe prints in the soil beneath the tree. They didn’t have a distinctive pattern or logo, but they were large—larger than my own size twelves, probably a size fourteen. So they likely belonged to a guy who was taller than me, and I stood six-one. You so often hear about the supposed correlation between a man’s shoe size and his, um, baby maker, which isn’t true. But there is a real correlation between shoe size and height. One of these smokers was a tall guy.

A noise from above caught my attention. Hannah was leering down at me from our bedroom window, fluffing her hair. She was still nude, at least from the waist up, which was all I could see. How I loved her headlights.

Headlights! A memory popped into my mind of a Jeep Wrangler. They have distinctive headlights. I knew this guy from Kiwanis who drove one. What was his name? We’d chatted a couple of months ago while returning to our cars after a meeting. He was taller than me, six-foot-three or maybe six-four. White. Lean. Bald. He didn’t smell like smoke, but he had the husky voice of a smoker, and his breath had a metallic odor. He drove an older-model dark-orange Jeep, not a common color.

I couldn’t imagine why this dude would have stolen Catherine’s dog. It seemed hard to believe anyone who was a member of a charitable organization devoted to helping children would be involved in something horrible like dogfighting. Though, considering what Officer Jackson said, there probably was another reason Brody was taken, no matter who did it. Could there be a market for stolen Scottish terriers? Iʼd heard about French bulldogs being snatched in big cities, sometimes resold for big bucks. But here in our small town? Besides, Scotties weren’t one of those ultra-popular breeds.

Thinking about why the thief snatched Brody wasn’t getting me anywhere. I needed to focus on the evidence Iʼd gathered. Since few people smoked these days, knowing someone local who had a smoker’s voice and was even taller than me—someone who could’ve left some of those cigarette butts and the large shoe prints—was too good a lead to overlook. I had to run it down.

I dashed to my office. I wanted to review Judy Sheluk’s doorbell camera footage to see if I spotted an orange Jeep driving by, ideally one slowing down to park or zooming off around the time Brody was taken.

As I plugged the flash drive in, Hannah’s sultry voice called from upstairs.

“Danny, where are you? I saw you running into the house. I’m waiting for you. I put your favorite sheets on our big bed—the extra-soft ones.”

Too tempting. Be strong. Be strong for Brody. “Sorry,” I shouted. “Still working.” 

I super-fast-forwarded until about a half hour before the piano lesson began and then watched carefully. Some sedans drove by, most not adhering to the speed limit. A couple of kids carrying baseball gear walked past. A tuxedo cat chased a squirrel up a tree. And then—bingo! Iʼd been right. Ten minutes before the piano lesson began, a dark-orange Jeep Wrangler crept past, going slow enough that the driver appeared ready to park.

I enlarged the image, trying to get a better look at the driver. Instinct told me it was a man, but I had to be sure—not think it just because it fit my theory. I craned my neck. That was definitely a guy, a white guy. He wore a ball cap that brushed the ceiling. I couldn’t see his hair. Did he have hair? I rewound for a few seconds, then let it play again. I still couldn’t tell.

Focus on the car. The Jeep had no dents or other distinctive features on the driver’s side. I couldn’t see the license plates either. I picked up the phone to call the Kiwanis office. Someone there might be able to ID him for me. I hoped they were open now.

The sound of throat-clearing lured my attention to my office doorway. Hannah sauntered in, wearing a red lace teddy and red thigh-high stockings, held up by garters. Hubba-hubba.

“That chair looks awfully comfortable,” she said while she approached me, swaying her hips.

My mouth watered as I set down the handset.

She climbed onto my lap. Brody, I reminded myself, as she rubbed my cheek, then slipped her hand down my neck and under my shirt. You have to find Brody. Her mouth pressed against mine, so soft and warm. Sorry, Brody. I pulled her closer, my hand sliding over the back of her teddy—

Teddy! My eyes flew open as I lifted Hannah off my lap and onto my desk.

“On the desk, huh?” she said. “Well, I’m game if—”

“His name is Ted. Ted Mulgrew.”

“What?”

“The guy. The one I think stole the dog. I don’t know why yet, but I feel it in my gut.”

Hannah snuggled toward me. “I think that’s something else you’re feeling down there.”

I kissed her hard but only for a moment. “Honey, I promise, when this job is done, we can get busy making a baby all over this house. But for now, I have work to do.”

She let out a deep, defeated sigh. Hannah slid off the desk and left the room as I logged into our state’s DMV database. Seconds later, I found him. Ted Mulgrew, thirty-six years old, six-foot-four, two hundred pounds, sandy blond hair. He owned an orange Jeep Wrangler. Definitely the Kiwanis guy, though now he was bald and a bit thinner. He lived a few blocks away. Close enough that he could have walked by, maybe saw Brody through the window. He easily could’ve driven home with Brody long before the dog was even missed.

I logged out of there and into another database, checking if Ted had a police record. He didn’t, at least not in this state. Then I turned to my favorite search engine to see what else I could learn about him. Always best to be prepared.

The first few results weren’t useful, but the top one on the second page of results was. A news article. As I read it, the pieces fell into place.

# # #

I parked under the maple tree beside Ted’s driveway. His slate-gray colonial had seen better days. One of the second-story black shutters was partially detached. The aluminum siding needed a good power wash. The lawn was mowed, though, and the fence looked solid, so he was keeping up with some things—or at least someone was.

Ted’s car wasn’t visible. Either he wasn’t home or it was in the garage. I retrieved a folding step-stool from my trunk, then wandered around the side of the house toward the backyard. I knew Brody was there. His bark in real life was just as distinctive as it had been on Catherine’s video. Sharp, high-pitched, and raspy. Still, I needed to be absolutely certain. So I climbed onto the step-stool and peered over the six-foot-tall fence. A pigtailed blond girl, about eight years old, was playing with a dog that matched Brodyʼs description to a T, though his tag was gone. The girl’s happy squeals filled the air. I hated that I would have to break her heart. But this was the job.

I took video of Brody and the girl with my phone, just in case Ted gave me any problems. Then I returned the step-stool to my trunk and made a call. A few minutes later, I rang Ted’s bell.

He appeared to recognize me when he opened the door. Worry settled onto his features, his brows forming a V. Then he forced himself to smile. His pale face was thinner than when we’d met two months before. He’d lost fifteen, maybe twenty pounds. He hadn’t needed to lose a one of them. His clothes hung so loosely on him, he could’ve been a scarecrow that lost its stuffing.

“Dan, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “From Kiwanis.”

“This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” He didn’t welcome me inside, just stood there blocking the entry, like I was a door-to-door salesman and he didn’t want my wares but was too polite to shut the door in my face.

“I’m here about Brody.” I was certain Ted knew the dog’s name, even if he had thrown out his tag. His wince confirmed it. There were a lot of ways I could have approached this, but I hoped straightforward would work. He knew I was a PI, so he would be able to piece things together, just as I had.

His smile fell away, and for a moment, I feared he might fall, too. He let out a deep sigh before he stepped aside. “Come on in.”

He lumbered wearily to the kitchen. His lung cancer was killing him, and he seemed far more fragile than when we had first met. Back then, I hadn’t realized he was sick. Maybe I wouldn’t have guessed now if I hadn’t known he’d lost so much weight so quickly—and if I hadn’t read about his illness in the newspaper. Last year, some Kiwanis members had participated in a run to raise money for Ted’s family. He was drowning in medical bills. His little girl had been quoted in the article, saying she hoped that they would be able to get a new dog. Their old one had recently died.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, as if this were a social call. “We don’t have much right now. Water. Tea. My wife is at the market, but she probably won’t be home for at least a half hour.”

“You sit,” I said. “I’ll get it.” I took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and two glasses from the cabinet Ted directed me to. After I filled our glasses, we sat quietly at his kitchen table, Ted adjusting to the reality that I had found him out, while I took in the room. Crayoned artwork hung on the refrigerator, a smiling girl holding hands with a man and woman, a dog by their side. A nearly full water bowl inscribed with the name Luna sat in a corner. The sweet vanilla scent of Play-Doh filled the air. I hadn’t smelled it in decades, but I recognized it instantly. This was a home filled with happiness and love, despite their sorrows.

Ted stared at me and heaved another sigh. “I assume you know about my situation.” I nodded. “I have six months left—a year if I’m lucky. The chemo has delayed the inevitable, but I can’t stop it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” He laughed, then coughed, a deep hacking, crackling sound. When he finally stopped, he said, “My doc recommended I take regular walks. Said it would be good exercise. Not too strenuous for my condition. That’s how I met Brody. He sure is a cute little thing. Quinn—my daughter—has begged for a Scottie for years, ever since my wife read these books to her about one named Angus. After our dachshund died, I looked into getting Quinn a Scottie, but the puppies are so expensive. And they never show up in the county shelter or nearby rescues.” He shook his head, seemingly disgusted, though whether by the situation or himself, I couldn’t tell. “I just wanted to get my little girl the dog she’s dreamed of before I die.”

I understood, even if he had gone about it in the wrong way.

“How’d you find me anyway?” he asked.

“Your car is memorable. And you left footprints in the soil under the tree you stood beneath, as well as cigarette butts.”

His jaw hung open. “You’re good. I used to stop under that tree while walking Luna. She’d sniff to her heart’s content, then search for the perfect spot before leaving her calling card. Iʼd smoke a cigarette while waiting. I got used to stopping there. That’s when I figured out that Brodyʼs mom had piano lessons every Saturday morning. Her teacher has bumper stickers on her car. One says: Bach off! If you can read this, you’re too close.”

“Clever,” I said with a laugh. “No disrespect, but I’m surprised you still smoke.”

“I don’t. But I miss ʼem. Sometimes when I’m outside and have time to kill I light one so I can smell it. It makes me feel like the old me, before everything changed. Then, when the breeze burns it out, I light another. I went through three this morning, waiting to get my nerve up. Last week, I chickened out… So what now? You calling the cops?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, considering the circumstances. Brodyʼs mom wants her dog back, of course, but she says Quinn is welcome to come to her house most anytime to play with him.”

A sad smile crossed Ted’s face. “That’s real generous of her.”

“There’s more. Catherine, the owner, would like to give Quinn a Scottie puppy.”

After Iʼd called Catherine about finding Brody and explained the situation, she’d immediately come up with this idea. She wanted Ted’s daughter to have a furry friend to get her through the hard times that were waiting in the wings. It felt fitting, considering that even after Ted knew he was dying, he’d still gone to Kiwanis meetings and activities, giving his time to help other people’s children. Catherine and Ted, they both were good at heart.

Still, even good people had pride. As expected, Ted held his hands up in a stop motion. “No, we couldn’t accept something like that.”

“Listen to your daughter out there, how happy she is.” Quinn’s giggles and Brodyʼs barks had mixed into a sweet melody. “Catherine can afford this. She wants to do it. Let her.”

Ted stared out the window. The light of his life flopped onto her back in the grass. Brody jumped on her chest and licked her face. Quinn couldn’t keep Brody, but she could love another dog just as much. I prayed Ted wouldn’t let his pride stand in the way of that child’s happiness. I vowed to be as mindful when my own child came along.

He swallowed hard. “Okay.” He rose and knocked on the sliding glass door, then waved the girl inside. Quinn and Brody came running. While Ted introduced Quinn to me, Brody hightailed it to the water bowl, drinking heartily. The dog had adjusted quickly to this family, but I bet he would be as thrilled to get home to his mom as she would be to hold him in her arms.

“Princess,” Ted said to Quinn, “you know how I told you I found Angus this morning. Well, it turns out he wasn’t homeless. Just lost.” Ted glanced my way, and I nodded my approval of his white lie. “He belongs to a lady who lives a few blocks from here. Mr. Demsey has come to bring him home.”

The girl’s lip wobbled.

I kneeled before her. “Mrs. Richardson says you can come over to her house whenever you like to play with Brody.”

Upon hearing his name, the dog barked and scampered over. Quinn petted his wiry coat. “His name’s Brody? That’s a good name.”

“Angus is a good one, too,” I said. “Maybe you can save it for your own Scottie puppy.”

Her eyes lit up, and she gazed hopefully at her dad. He cupped her chin. “Mrs. Richardson wants to give you a puppy to thank you for taking such good care of Brody today,” he said.

She grinned. “Really?” 

“Really,” he said.

“It may take a few months,” I added, “but the puppy will have the same mother as Brody.”

“They’ll be brothers,” she yelled.

I laughed at her exuberance. “They will at that.”

Brody wagged his tail like crazy. He definitely approved.

# # #

A little while later, I returned Brody to his mom, and their joy at being reunited was infectious. After he zoomed around the living room several times, we all sat on the couch. Brody crawled into Catherine’s lap as I filled her in on the details Iʼd learned from Ted.

She shook her head. “Cancer is a terrible thing. It’s what took Warren from me way too soon. And this poor man, to be dying so young. Sometimes, I don’t know what the good Lord is thinking. I have to assume he has his reasons.”

I handed her a sheet of paper from my notebook. It had Ted’s, his wife’s, and Quinn’s names on it, as well as their phone numbers. “You’re going to love Quinn. She’s so excited to get her own Scottie puppy. It was such a kind offer.”

“I’m happy to do it. I talked to the breeder, and she has a litter already on the way, due in about three weeks. Once the pup is eight weeks old, it will be ready to leave its furry mama and get a human one.”

Thinking about how Hannah couldn’t wait to become a mama herself, I rose. “I should be going.”

Catherine stood, Brody in her arms. “Don’t forget to send me a bill. Whatever the charge is, I’ll be adding a nice tip for such fast and wonderful service. And I happen to know a lot of people in this town, so you can expect to find more business heading your way.”

I smiled. Now that Iʼd vowed not to be so focused on building my business, my business prospects were on the upswing. Life sure could be funny sometimes.

# # #

I texted the good news to Judy Sheluk and thanked her again. Then I went inside my house. “Honey, I’m home.”

“I’m in the kitchen,” Hannah called.

I found her chopping vegetables behind the counter, wearing a halter dress. I finally was ready to resume our baby-making attempts, and she was dressed—and not in lingerie either. She looked up.

“Did you solve your case?”

“I did. It was all thanks to you.”

She crooked her neck and set down the knife. “How did I do that exactly?”

Should I tell her how helpful her amorous advances were? That I focused on her diamond ring, and then Ring cameras, instead of her nude body? That her butt led me to think about cigarette butts and her headlights reminded me of a Jeep Wrangler? That her silky teddy helped me remember the name of a living one? Probably not. “Let’s just say you pointed me to some clues.”

“Does that mean you’re ready to give me what I want?”

As if I hadn’t done so three times yesterday, once in the middle of last night, and twice this morning. “Ready and willing. But one thing first. Since you’re not sold on the name Thor, what do you think of Teddy?”

“Is that the man who stole the dog?”

Iʼd forgotten I had mentioned that to her. “Yeah, but it turns out he’s not a bad guy. Just a guy in a bad situation. I’ll tell you the details later. The important thing is he reminded me of the value of putting family first.”

“He sounds wise… Teddy. I like it.”

He had been wise when he prioritized his daughter over his pride. Sure, he’d made a big mistake taking Brody. But in the grand scheme of things, Ted seemed like a decent guy, worthy of being remembered for the good he had done.

Hannah stepped out from behind the counter, and I realized she wasn’t wearing a halter dress. She was wearing a full apron. Only an apron. One I hadn’t seen before. It read: Is it hot in here or is it just me?

The apron fell to the floor, and suddenly I was feeling hot myself. “Baby, it definitely isn’t just you.”

“Baby.” She pressed against me, her kiss long and delicious. “That’s the magic word.”

I kissed her back. “It most certainly is.”