Gaits of Heaven

the decision to postpone the lunch dilemma by telling myself that it didn’t really feel like one o’clock, as it, in fact, didn’t. Oddly, it felt neither earlier nor later than one, either: the shock of Eumie’s death, compounded by the weirdness and nastiness of the Brainard-Green household and my compassion for Caprice, had jolted me into some out-of-time state. Also, I’d lost track of time as I’d hung around waiting for Kevin to arrange to have Caprice pack the possessions she’d need to stay with us. After being accompanied to her room by a police officer, she’d emerged with nothing but her notebook computer, a small backpack, a large purse, and a small suitcase, all of which were now on the kitchen floor.
    “I should call Steve and Leah, and let them know what’s happened,” I said. “And then we’ll get you settled. Maybe there are people you want to call.”
    “I have my cell,” she said. “I need to call Missy. That’s my therapist. I need to see her. And I can try to call my father.“
    “Let me show you where you’re going to stay. And where things are. And there are a few rules about the dogs,” I finished. A few? There were hundreds, if not thousands, but I decided to let them wait.
    With Rowdy and Kimi companionably accompanying us, we climbed the stairs to the second floor, which used to be Rita’s apartment. We’d ripped out her kitchen but left the bathroom, which was newer and fancier than the one on the first floor because when I’d bought the house, I’d remodeled the rental apartments on the second and third floors, and economized on my own quarters. My office was still on the first floor, but my old first-floor bedroom had become a dining room, and Steve and I had moved to a newly redone version of Rita’s former living room. The guest room was ready for occupancy. My stepmother, Gabrielle, had visited a few weeks earlier, and I’d vacuumed and changed the linens when she’d left. Gabrielle and her bichon frise, Molly, were exceptionally easy houseguests. Not only was Gabrielle a gracious, considerate person, but by my malamute standards, Molly the bichon didn’t shed at all.
    When Caprice put her suitcase and backpack down in her room, Kimi sniffed them with something more than her usual intelligent curiosity about new objects in her environment. “Kimi, leave it,” I said softly. Trying to sound casual and matter-of-fact, I addressed Caprice. “If you have food in your room, be careful because the dogs will filch it. In fact, unless you want company, you should keep your door closed. All the dogs are friendly, and if you want them in here, fine, but keep an eye on them. And don’t let them jump on the bed. They’re allowed on beds, but only if they’re invited.” I supplied Caprice with towels, showed her the bathroom, and said, “It’s very important to keep the bathroom door closed. If you don’t, the dogs will go in and steal things.” That was a lie. The malamutes stole things. India and Lady never did. “They’ll eat soap.” I hesitated to elaborate, but anyone who stays here deserves fair warning. “And Sammy, my other malamute, is, uh, especially fond of makeup brushes.” That was a gross understatement. Sammy was obsessed with the kinds of brushes used to apply blush. Did he have a not-so-secret longing for pink cheeks? Or did he perceive the soft bristles as the fur of small prey? For whatever reason, Sammy not only made off with the brushes but immediately chewed and swallowed so that nothing was left but bare handles. “He’ll run off with paper, too. He looks grown up, but he’s still a puppy.”
    As we were heading back downstairs, the phone rang.
    “That could be my father!" Caprice’s tone was indescribably eager. “Maybe he tried to call and Ted gave him this number.”
    And her cell phone? Her father wouldn’t have tried it? I did not, of course, ask. In any case, the caller was not Monty Brainard but Ted Green, whose usually mellifluous voice was hoarse and strained. “I need this like a loch in kop! This grosse macher says... Caprice has to help me. Holly, put Caprice on. There’s something I need her to do.”
    Having no choice, I handed the phone to Caprice, who, after saying nothing but hello, listened for what seemed like five minutes. Meanwhile, I let the dogs out into the fenced yard and put together a small lunch. I mixed a packet of water-packed tuna with much less mayonnaise than I usually use and put out