Bloodlines

off food bowls. I probably wouldn’t even have a chance to talk to Gloria alone; Janice Coakley might not trust a new employee to deal with a customer. Even so, I'd already established myself with Janice as a potential puppy buyer—there’d be nothing suspect about a second visit—and Westbrook wasn’t far out of my way.
    When I drove up to Your Local Breeder, the parking lot by the kennel building held three cars, one of which, a charcoal gray Volvo sedan, turned out to have a Cambridge resident parking permit on its dashboard. Adhering to the back bumper of the car was a campaign sticker for a candidate for the Cambridge City Council, a radical feminist lesbian woman whose chances of election were deemed slight. Why? Most observers agreed that, given her conservative views, she didn’t stand a chance. Cambridge: Berkeley with lousy weather. Anyway, maybe my luck had turned. At least Gloria hadn’t quit or been fired.
    Far from it. I found Gloria in Ronald’s old place, perched on the stool behind the counter in the kennel supply shop at the front of Your Local Breeder. Unlike Ronald, Gloria was working. In fact, she was ringing up a sale. Although she looked far from beautiful, the change in her appearance was remarkable. She’d obviously washed her hair, which hung in neat dark braids, and, in place of Sunday’s gloomy drapery, she wore a starched white shirt. Her skin was still an erupted mess of acne, of course, but she’d lost some of her neglected, hapless air.
    On the opposite side of the counter stood a blond, freckle-faced woman and three blond, freckle-faced little girls. In the world of dogs, the ability to produce miniature versions of oneself, as if by parthenogenesis, is called prepotency. This was obviously a prepotent dam. With a vaguely reluctant look on her face, she was paying Gloria for a tiny, adorable Finnish spitz puppy that rested in the arms of the tallest of the three children.
    “Now,” the woman said to Gloria, as if concluding a discussion, “you’re very sure that they don’t bark?”
    You know what a Finnish spitz is? Cutest breed in the world, just like a darling little fox. I’d get one tomorrow, except for one thing: yapping. As if tuned to my thoughts, the puppy launched into a series of ear-shattering yips. The woman’s eyes widened.
    “She’s just nervous now,” Gloria said. “Wait till you get her home. You’ll hardly hear a peep out of her. Practically a silent breed.”
    The child holding the puppy said impatiently, “Mom, who cares ? This is the one we want.”
    The next tallest little girl seconded her sister. “Yeah, Mom. You saw her. She ran right to us. She picked us.”
    The mother conceded. Gloria handed her a receipt and a plastic bag that must have held puppy paraphernalia. The mother gave the bag to the smallest child and hefted a twenty-pound bag of premium chow in her arms. The blond family filed out.
    “For Christ’s sake, Gloria,” I hissed softly, “three days ago ownership was exploitation. Remember? And now, all of a sudden... The Finnish spitz is a totally inappropriate breed for that woman.”
    “They’ll be nice to the puppy,” Gloria said. “They’ll probably have her debarked,” I whispered, “if they keep her at all. And if they sell her or give her away, those’ll be three brokenhearted kids.”
    Gloria looked so crushed that I was sorry I'd spoken. The woman and her daughters had seemed kind and decent. Maybe they’d adapt to the puppy after all.
    “Or maybe it’ll work out,” I added very quietly. “Are you all alone here? Where’s...”
    “At her lawyer’s. Mrs. Coakley’s sister just died, and she wants to know what’s in it for her, or that’s the feeling you get. There’s an old guy around somewhere, but he doesn’t know how to work the cash register.”
    “Do you?”
    “Now I do,” Gloria said. “Anyhow, Mrs. Coakley didn’t have much choice. She was going to close up, but then that woman called and wanted to know if we were open, and I guess Mrs. Coakley didn’t want to lose a sale.”
    We were open? What’s this we ? I thought. Then I had what my friend Rita calls an ah-hah experience. This must be Gloria’s first real job, and, like any other kid her age, she was proud to find herself behind a cash register, taking money and handing out receipts. Even so, Gloria’s rapid identification with her new employer made me uneasy. Also, I remembered Mrs. Appleyard’s warning. On Sunday,