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candidates for the job didn’t even last ten minutes, so maybe he doesn’t have a lot of choice.”
    â€œIt sounds like you’re a shoo-in,” said Sam.

Chapter 4
    I migh t have agreed, except that two whole days passed without any word from Edward March. Maybe he wasn’t in a hurry to get started on his book. Or maybe he’d found a better candidate for the job. Either way, I had plenty of other things to keep me busy; I had no need to go chasing after him.
    On the third day, there was a knock on my front door.
    Sam and I live in a residential neighborhood in North Stamford. There are wide streets, large wooded lots, and spacious houses set well back from the road. Unlike at my former address—a tight-knit block in a fifties-era subdivision where there was always someone playing in a front yard and you could smell what your neighbors were cooking for dinner—we don’t get drop-in visitors here.
    Even cookie-selling Girl Scouts pass us by.
    So someone showing up unexpectedly was cause for surprise, if not a small twinge of alarm. The Poodles agreed with me. They came running from all corners of the house and reached the door before I did.
    Sam was out for the afternoon, seeing a client. Davey was at school. Kevin was in the family room, watching Sesame Street on TV. It was left to me to see what was up.
    The booming sound of Poodles’ deep-throated barking would stop most prudent visitors in their tracks. But when I opened the door, my uninvited guest didn’t look alarmed. Instead, as the pack of Poodles spilled out to join him on the front step, his expression was merely one of annoyance.
    â€œYou’re Andrew March,” I said, surprised. Luckily, I stopped before blurting out the rest of my thought. What are you doing here?
    â€œYes, I am. May I come in?”
    Maybe March and his son didn’t get along because they both shared the same imperious attitude. Without waiting for a response, Andrew simply walked past me and into the house.
    Today he was wearing a suit, English cut with narrow lapels. His shirt was open at the throat. Though the temperature was in the thirties, his only concession to the weather was a cashmere muffler he’d wound around his neck. As I called the Poodles back inside and shut the door, I saw that he’d left a shiny black Escalade parked in the driveway.
    â€œNice house,” he said, looking around with a practiced eye. “How old is it?”
    â€œTen years, give or take. We didn’t buy it new.”
    He walked across the hall to the arched entryway that led to the living room. There was nothing I could do but follow along behind.
    â€œIt looks like it’s in pretty good shape.”
    â€œIt is,” I said. “We take good care of it. Did you come here to discuss my house?”
    â€œNo, just force of habit. Professional interest.”
    Now Andrew was taking a peek at the dining room. This was truly bizarre. If he started to head upstairs, I decided I was going to call 911.
    â€œListen,” he said, finally turning back to me. “We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can sit down?”
    Like he hadn’t noticed during his nosy inspection that we had chairs?
    â€œLiving room. Dining room.” I waved my arm from one side of the house to the other. “Take your pick.”
    It didn’t matter to me which room he chose. If Kevin needed something, I could hear his call from anywhere on the first floor.
    â€œThis’ll do,” he said. Living room it was.
    All five Poodles had been milling around our legs while we talked, but now Eve separated herself out and headed toward the back of the house. Having appointed herself his canine guardian, she took her job very seriously, and I knew that I’d find her later curled up by Kevin’s side. Good dog. Under these decidedly odd circumstances, that gave me one less thing to worry about.
    The remaining four Poodles jostled each other