The children skipped as they crossed the street, at least Dalia did. Mary could hardly keep up with them. She didn’t drop their hands, however, until they were inside. They immediately headed for the puppy pen.
‘Where’s the one who looks like Sampson?’ Dalia turned toward Evan, who approached at almost a trot, followed by two men who couldn’t have looked more unalike. ‘Is he all right?’
‘That puppy sold. He’s going to be a little girl’s Christmas present from her grandma.’
He smiled at her. So did the two men who stood behind him. Mary watched relief flood Dalia’s face. Ronaldo knelt beside the pen and put his hand over the top, ready to scratch the ears of any puppy who came close. They all did.
Mary finally looked closer at the two men. ‘Why, Glen Manning. John Lavorino. I haven’t seen you two in ages. Where have you been and what are you doing here?’
John, short and swarthy, with what Mary thought an unfortunately large nose, looked across at Glen. John fiddled with the gold chain that hung around his neck, clearly seen through his unbuttoned lavender Henley. Today his jeans were black and very tight. John’s jeans were always tight. He glanced back at Mary, then at Evan and back at Glen, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he knelt down beside Ronaldo, reached into the puppy pen, picked one up and handed it to him. The puppy immediately started to lick Ronaldo’s nose. The boy giggled and sat on the floor, Indian style, the puppy wiggling in his lap.
John looked over at Dalia. ‘You’re the Mendosa children, aren’t you?’
Dalia nodded, her eyes glued on the remaining puppies.
‘You want to hold one too?’
She nodded again, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
‘Sit down.’ John reached into the pen and pulled out the smallest puppy, almost equally black and white, with a pink nose. She had white feet and shiny clear toenails.
‘She looks like she had her nails done.’ Dalia laughed and held the puppy close to her face, where she also got a kiss on the nose. She laughed again, lowered the puppy into her arms and started to rock it back and forth, humming under her breath.
‘Starts early, doesn’t it?’ Glen was tall, thin and dressed in well-pressed chinos and a blue button-down collar shirt, cuffs turned back once over the sleeves of his navy blue pullover. Brown leather sandals over white socks completed the picture. Mary blinked at the sight of him. She’d never seen Glen in anything but the carefully tailored suits he wore at the bank. Shouldn’t he be at the bank? Evidently he was starting his weekend early.
He smiled at the picture the girl and dog made. Mary didn’t. It was appealing, but she couldn’t help think the child was growing up too fast and fear for her made her throat close. The fear wasn’t for her growing up but that something might happen so she didn’t. Whoever killed Cliff would have to get by Mary first before he harmed one hair on the head of either of these children. She shifted slightly and saw Evan out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t smiling. Glen saw him as well.
‘Lighten up, Evan. It’s good for the puppies to be held and good for the kids to hold them. They’re not going to hurt them.’
Evan almost wrung his hands and his face was contorted with anguish. Little beads of sweat appeared on the edges of what hair was left on his scalp. He kept glancing at the door as if he expected someone to burst in any minute. What was the matter with him? Almost as if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘Those aren’t my puppies. They’re here for sale. I’m responsible for them. The’ – he paused, as if he’d caught himself just in time – ‘owners might not like them being held.’
Ronaldo looked up, alarm in his eyes. ‘Do we have to put them back?’
‘No.’ John was emphatic. ‘Evan gets nervous. You can hold them for another couple of minutes.’ He looked at the crestfallen faces and knelt down once more between the children. ‘Tell you what. When Glen’s and my next litter of cockapoos are ready for Evan to sell, we’ll let you know and you can come hold them as much as you want.’
Ronaldo grinned but Dalia held her puppy up and examined it closely. ‘Is that what these puppies are? Cockapoos? What does that mean?’
‘It means they have a cocker spaniel for one parent and a poodle for the other. Cockapoos.’ Glen bent down and took the puppy out of her hands. ‘Evan is right. It’s time to put them back.’
The children groaned but handed over the puppies. Evan leaned against the counter and ran a hand over his damp scalp.
Mary looked at her watch. ‘It’s after four. I told your mother I’d have you out at the winery before five. We’d better get going.’ She looked at them. ‘If she sees you looking like that she’ll never trust me with you again. You need to wash, and Dalia, you have to comb your hair. Do you have one?’
Dalia cheerfully shook her head.
‘You’re in luck. I do. Evan, do you have a bathroom where the children can wash up?’
Evan pointed toward the back of the store. Mary handed Dalia the small brush she always carried and the two dejectedly walked in the direction of the bathroom.
‘Don’t dawdle, either. We have to get going.’
She dived into her carryall and pulled out the receipt for the donations Evan had made and handed it to him. ‘This is why I came in. You’ll need this for your taxes, and I want you to know the entire can tree committee thanks you.’
Evan smiled a weak smile and took the paper. Mary didn’t smile back. Two questions had occurred to her and she wanted answers before the children came back.
‘Evan, where do you get the puppies you sell?’
‘What do you mean?’ Evan’s eyes shifted and he ducked his head. She’d seen that look on every seventh-grader she’d ever taught when they were trying to avoid answering a question.
‘Where do the puppies come from? Who owns them? What do you know about them?’
‘Why?’ The reptile tank suddenly seemed of supreme importance. Evan walked over, put his hand in and moved a fake green tree a little to the left, much to the annoyance of the lizard asleep under it.
‘She wants to know if you buy puppies from a puppy mill.’ John propped himself up by leaning on the counter next to Evan. He lounged back against the counter, letting his elbows hold him, and looked at Evan over the top of his sunglasses, which he let fall from the top of his head where he’d pushed them.
‘Straighten up, John.’ It sounded like something Glen said often.
John grinned but straightened up. When he looked at Mary, all trace of a smile was gone. ‘He doesn’t, you know. He knows every breeder who brings dogs, cats or anything else in here to sell. He makes sure every animal has its shots, or whatever they need, and demands a vet certificate to prove it. I think he’d shoot anyone who tried to bring an endangered animal in the door. Our Evan is a good man. We wouldn’t bring our puppies to him if he wasn’t. We wouldn’t keep bugging him to sell us part ownership in the shop, either.’ He looked over at Glen, who stood, not moving, smiling or talking, next to a tank that held small turtles. ‘Would we?’
Glen shook his head. ‘No, we wouldn’t.’
Mary glanced toward the bathroom, but there was no sign of the children. No screams came from that direction, either, so she decided it was safe to ask her next question.
‘I haven’t seen any of you in church for, oh, several weeks. I heard – I haven’t talked to Reverend McIntyre but … I hope I’m wrong.’
Glen, John and Evan exchanged glances. Evan left the lizard alone and turned back toward the puppies. Tension was evident in his back muscles, even through his blue long-sleeved polo. John’s face seemed to turn black. His eyes snapped and his nostrils flared. He appeared about to say something when Glen laid a hand on his arm. ‘You’re not wrong. There was a little … unpleasantness. We didn’t want it to get out of hand and didn’t want the congregation to start choosing up sides, so we thought – we decided – to start attending services at a church in San Luis Obispo. We’re going down there tonight. They’re having a potluck, with music and dancing after.’ He paused and glanced at the other two men before going on. ‘Attending the dances at St Mark’s is a little awkward.’
Mary couldn’t remember when she’d felt as sick, as humiliated for her friends. Where had Les – Reverend McIntyre – been in all this? How much did he know? Should she do something? Say something? She should, and would. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how appalled. What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing, Mary.’ Evan tried to smile but it didn’t work very well. ‘Some things are just the way they are.’
‘Surely we can do something. Who is it that’s acting this way? I’ll talk to them; I’ll get Les, Reverend McIntyre, to talk to them also. You must know that most of us don’t … What is it?’
The three of them looked at her with almost identical expressions of wry amusement, sorrow and fury.
Finally, it was Glen who spoke. ‘You want to know who stirred up some of the congregation against us.’
Mary nodded, a feeling of dread creeping up her throat.
‘Cliff.’