Bloodlines

Puppy Luv’s sources of dogs, but if I dropped a name, he might show some response.
    Some response? Kevin hollered, swore, apologized, and then turned cold. “What did I tell you, Holly? These aren’t nice people.”
    I rested my back against the Bronco. “No one needed to tell me that. I knew it already. You’re the one who just discovered it, I guess.”
    “Do you know who Rinehart is?”
    “A guy who can’t tell the difference between a dog and a used car,” I said. “He’s a USDA-licensed puppy broker. I even know where he lives. As a matter of fact, I was at his house today. He lives in Burlington.”
    “So you know everything there is to know about him, don’t you?”
    “Maybe,” I said arrogantly. “Everything that counts. Except where he is now and what he’s doing with—”
    Kevin interrupted me. “You know who his wife was?”
    “No,” I said. “I didn’t even know he had one.”
    “Maria Guarini,” Kevin said. “Maria Guarini Rinehart. The late. Died of cancer a couple of years ago.”
    The frigid air suddenly penetrated my parka and gloves. “Guarini,” I repeated flatly.
    “Guarini. Enzio’s son-in-law.”
    “Kevin, I’m freezing,” I said. “Come inside.”
    “Hey, I’m all—”
    “I don’t care if you’re sweaty! Come inside. Kevin, I’m not fooling around. Come in with me. You wanted to scare me, right? Okay, I’m scared. In fact, I’m scared off. I swear, I will never so much as set foot in Burlington again, all right? But you can’t take off now.”
    If you ever share the confines of your kitchen with a large human male who’s cooling down after a long-distance run, you may find yourself remembering, as I did, that dogs sweat principally through their tongues and the pads of their feet.
    “Hey, I’m stinking up your kitchen,” Kevin apologized. “Let me go—”
    “No. I want to know what’s going on. Sit down, would you?” When I’d settled him at the table with a cold Bud I said, “Kevin, I need to know what’s going on. I’m not deep into this, and, believe me, Guarini’s son-in-law? I’m a dog writer, okay? I don’t know anything about people like that, and I’m not exactly eager to meet them. So don’t turn paternal. I just need to know, uh, where I am. First of all, is Rinehart... Is he a sort of slim guy, early twenties, maybe? Good-looking in a kind of greasy way? Drives a dark van, and—”
    “Where’d you run into him?” Kevin plunked the beer can onto the table and eyed me belligerently. “Rinehart Motor Mart. So that’s Joe Rinehart?”
    “Naw,” Kevin said. “Rinehart’s a long drink of water, and he’s probably pushing sixty. Sickly-looking guy, white hair with a lot of yellow in it, combed straight back and kind of, what do you call it, crimped. You know, with these rows of waves across the top like he’s been to the hairdresser.”
    “Well, that’s definitely not... Kevin, tell me something. If Rinehart... Kevin, just how involved is the mob in this stuff? I mean, is this puppy mill and pet shop business one of their, uh, sidelines?”
    Kevin flexed his shoulder muscles, gave a sly little grin, and said, “Course, this is supposed to be a deep dark secret, but the next time there’s an opening for special agent in charge of the organized crime squad, you better keep your ears open, ’cause you’re going to hear the phone ringing next door, and then, if I’m not home, you’re going to hear them beating down my door.”
    “Okay! Yeah, I guess the FBI or whatever doesn’t exactly delegate this stuff, but, Kevin, you do have some idea of what is and isn’t run by the mob. And you obviously have some idea of who these people are. So do they...? I mean, could it be some kind of money-laundering thing? Rinehart is a puppy broker, and if Guarini...”
    Kevin shook his head. “There’s nothing these people won’t touch, but Joe and Enzio aren’t pals. What you hear is that when Joe married Maria, he was expecting Enzio to open up his arms and welcome him into the bosom of the family.” Kevin gave what I took to be a Don Corleone locked-jaw grin, embraced the air in front of him, and swooped it to his chest. “Only Enzio’s no dummy, and he decided Joe was marrying his daughter for her family connections. It might’ve worked out all right if Joe and Maria had given Enzio some grandchildren.” Kevin paused.
    “But they didn’t,” I said.
    “No kids, and according to Enzio, it’s on account of Joe,