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are scores of things you don’t know about me.”
    I was certain there were. And equally certain that I was better off not knowing most of them.
    Sam and Peg already had their two Poodles brushed out. I patted the top of my rubber-matted grooming table and hoisted Eve up into place, then opened my tack box, got out a bunch of supplies, and quickly went to work.
    â€œSpeaking of surprises,” I said. “I had a visit from Aunt Rose yesterday, too.”
    â€œDon’t tell me,” said Peg. “She wanted you to take care of that puppy, didn’t she?”
    â€œWhat puppy?” asked Sam.
    â€œA Dachshund. Just like the ones Aunt Peg shooed away so rudely earlier.”
    â€œAha.” Sam nodded knowingly.
    â€œNow listen here, both of you.” She shook a comb in our direction. “For once, you can’t place the blame on me. This problem is all Rose’s doing.”
    â€œWith a little help from Peter and the puppy’s breeder,” I said.
    Peg had finished unwrapping Zeke’s head and ears. Now she picked up a knitting needle and deftly parted the hair, resectioning so that she could put in the tight topknot he would wear into the ring. “I can’t imagine what they were thinking. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know that the very idea of offering a live puppy at a charity auction is perfectly abhorrent.”
    â€œI have to agree,” said Sam. “Where did the puppy come from?”
    â€œI didn’t find out,” I told him. “Though Rose said that he was very well bred. Apparently his sire won the variety at Westminster a couple of months ago. I was still trying to get the rest of the facts when Bob pulled up outside with the pony.”
    â€œHe brought a horse to your house?” Sam asked incredulously.
    â€œI think that’s sweet,” said Peg. “Stupid, mind you, but sweet.”
    Eve was lying flat on the grooming table. I reached down and flipped her over so I could line-brush her other side. “Not a horse, a pony. They’re the smaller version. Her name is Willow.”
    Sam shook his head. “Where are you going to keep this pony, in the garage? The backyard? Maybe you could tie her to Davey’s basketball hoop.”
    â€œActually, she already has a home. Willow’s going to be staying at Long Ridge Pony Farm with a woman named Pam who teaches kids how to ride. They just stopped by for a visit.”
    â€œMuch like Rose,” Peg said disparagingly. “She had no idea who’d bred that puppy when we spoke, so I called Peter and asked him to check the name on the blue slip. It came from Marian Firth.”
    The name meant nothing to me, but Sam looked surprised. “I’ve seen her show in the group,” he said. “She has some very nice dogs.”
    â€œShe does indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. “She’s a second-generation breeder, and her Dachshunds are every bit as lovely as her mother’s were. Marian certainly knows better than to let a puppy of hers be offered as a prize to the highest bidder. Whatever’s going on with that puppy, I can’t imagine she would have agreed to it.”
    â€œExcuse me! Coming through!”
    There was a commotion at the end of the crowded hallway. A young woman holding a microphone, followed by an equally young man toting a video camera on his shoulder, elbowed their way toward us. Her gaze scanned the three of us briefly and came to rest on me.
    â€œAre you Melanie Travis?”
    So help me, I thought about denying it. If I’d had any inkling of what was to come, I’d certainly have done so.
    Instead I nodded.
    â€œWell, it’s about time. Rich, get up here and get a shot of this. We’ve been all over this damn dog show looking for you.”

4
    S tartled by the disturbance, Eve slipped out from beneath my hands and leapt to her feet. Faith was trained to overlook such things, but Eve was just a puppy. If