“I’m going to tell you a story,” Melody’s father said. “And I want you to let me finish before you ask any questions. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Melody.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Henry?” Bee-Bee asked. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” said Melody’s father.

He began by telling Melody that one day, about a month or so before she was born, her mother had told him she wanted to go for a drive out in the country, to get some fresh air.

“I remember she was wearing a yellow dress that day,” Melody’s father said. “Because her belly was so big by then, instead of trying to squeeze into our little VW bug, we decided to ask your grandfather if we could borrow his car.”

The car was brand-new, right off the lot. Melody’s mother and father had climbed into the shiny white sedan and headed off for what was supposed to have been an impromptu drive in the country.

“I should have known your mother was up to something,” said Melody’s father.

Melody’s mother had read an article in the paper about a puppy mill out near Cloverhitch that had fallen on hard times.

“Your mother loved animals, Mel, especially dogs. And she had this idea that a family wasn’t complete without one. I’d never owned a pet, and did my best to talk her out of it, but she was a force to be reckoned with — just like you.”

The paper had run a picture along with the article, and in it there was a tiny brown-and-white puppy with pointy ears and bowed legs.

“Your mother got her heart set on having that dog and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. A few hours later, when we got back to Royal, he was sitting in the backseat, panting and wagging his curled-up little tail. He was the runt of the litter, all skin and bones, but your mother fattened him up in no time at all. She spoiled him rotten, too.”

Melody had managed to listen quietly up to this point in the story, but she had to ask.

“Did something happen to the puppy?”

“Hang on,” said her father. “We’ll get there, I promise.”

He explained that Melody’s mother had been crazy about the dog. Her eyes lit up every time she saw him, and clearly the feeling was mutual. He followed her everywhere she went.

Melody’s father paused. The next part of the story would be hard for him to tell.

“The day you were born I was so busy trying to take care of you, and your mother, I forgot all about the dog. I didn’t feed him, or walk him, and when he came upstairs looking for your mother, I scolded him and told him to go away.”

“You were overwhelmed,” said Bee-Bee.

“Yes,” said Melody’s father. “You were so tiny, Mel, and your poor mother …” He shook his head. “I couldn’t handle it. So a few days later, when a kind friend stepped in and offered to take care of the dog, just for a little while, I thought it would be best for everyone if I let him go.”

“Just for a little while, though, right?” asked Melody.

“That was the original plan. But then that little while turned into a long while and —”

“You left him there, Dad?”

“He was in good hands. Better hands than mine would have been.”

“But he must have been wondering where you were and what had happened to Mom,” said Melody.

Her father looked at Bee-Bee again.

“I wouldn’t have said anything, Henry,” Bee-Bee told him. “I gave you my word.”

“I know, Bee-Bee, and I truly appreciate everything you’ve done, but I promised Melody I wouldn’t keep any more secrets from her.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Melody. “What secret?”

“A few weeks ago, this same kind friend called me up on the phone and told me she was moving here to Royal,” Melody’s father said.

“Did she bring the dog with her?” asked Melody anxiously.

Her father nodded. “He’s here.”

Melody’s anxiety instantly turned to excitement. “Can we go see him? What’s his name?”

“If it had been up to me, I would have picked something literary, like Tolstoy or Hemingway, but he was your mother’s dog and she wanted to name him after one of her favorite composers.”

“Brahms?” guessed Melody, remembering the name written on the tape.

“No,” said her father. “Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

Melody laughed. “That’s an awfully long name for a little puppy.”

“That’s why we gave him a nickname,” said her father, handing Melody the blue box.

Inside, between two squares of soft cotton, was a tarnished silver chain. Melody lifted it out of the box and read the name inscribed on the little heart-shaped pendant.

“Mo.”