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“Watch out for the screen door — ”
A thunderous slam and the splintering of wood interrupted her.
“I think you were about to tell me the closer on the door is broken,” Van said, “and if the wind catches the door — ”
“It’ll swing free and crash against the wall. Like it just did. I haven’t had a chance to get it fixed yet, and now I’ll have to replace it altogether. It wouldn’t have broken if you’d kept half a hand on it.”
Van decided not to explain he’d been too busy trying to make sure her shoulder remained in its socket despite her determined grip on him. He would stay silent, regardless of the provocation. He felt guilty enough already about whatever Lancelot had done on top of showing up here.
His resolve lasted until he tripped on a loose patio stone and almost took Mary down with him.
“Arrgghhh!”
“Watchwhereyou’regoing,”Marygroused.“Some of the pavers aren’t level, and I haven’t — ”
“ — Had a chance to get them fixed yet,” Van growled. “Lady, this place of yours is a death trap waiting to snap.”
“Never mind the warts and wrinkles in my house. That’s not what I brought you here to see. So, now that you’re here, what do you see?”
“You mean aside from the sag in your fence that you — ”
“ — No, not that.”
“Uhh.”
Mary used her whole arm and his attached arm to point at Lancelot. The Basset Hound detached himself from Guinevere’s side and strolled over to say hello to the humans with what could only be describedasabig-boyswaggerinhisstumpy-legged trot.
“Look at what your canine Casanova has done.”
“Uhh.”
Guinevere sat where she was. Her tail lolled from sidetosideinslow,luxurianthappiness,andalookof supreme contentment shone from her face. Blissed out. That’s how she looked. Blissed out.
“She’s in heat.”
“Uhh.”
“I bet Guinevere is enceinte. Buns in the oven. Expecting. Preggers. And your Basset Hound is the one who did the dirty deed.”
Van gathered his wits to survey Mary Samuel’s verdant back yard, fenced against encroachment by apartment dwellers and people enjoying Toronado’s Central Park. Her fence looked a good six feet high. Lancelot stood not much more than a foot high, and most of that was neck and head.
“He couldn’t have jumped that fence.”
“Factsarefacts,Mr.BusinessGenius.Whatdoyour eyes tell you?”
His eyes were telling him the impossible. “How — ”
“At first, I didn’t think it was possible either, but the word can'tjust isn’t in that canine’s vocabulary. Look. Over there.”
Van looked, but not over there. He couldn’t help looking at Mary, cornflower-blue eyes flashing, enticing curves vibrating with her anger.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she growled. “Come on with me.” Mary dragged Van over to a hole half dug under the fence. “Here’s where I first thought he got in.”
“Oh. Now I see — ”
“No,youdon’t.There’sanenormouschunkofsolid rock straight under the fence. You can see it right there, at the bottom of the hole he started to dig. He gave up on that. I just wanted you to see this was a deliberate, flagrant crime committed by that determined dog of yours.”
“Not mine. That dog of my aunt.”
