“Wait, do you do pole?” I asked, hoping she’d say no. The last thing I needed was Miranda horning in on my forced hobby.
But she crinkled her face as if I’d suggested she lick my garbage can.“No way. Like, don’t strippers teach some of their classes? That’s what I heard.”
Heavenforbida professional pole dancer should teach people trying to learn how to dance on a pole, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t afford to get on the bad side of a CPS worker. So instead I said, “Miranda, it’s interesting to catch up. But can I ask why you stopped by?”
She glanced at me nervously—maybe shewashere to make a ninth-step amends! Little Sister let out a happy bark from the living room, which was followed by a rush of whispers and giggles.
“What happened to your dog’s ear?” Miranda said, clearly stalling.
Well, Miranda, the thing is: I have a dead white supremacist in my kids’ playhouse, and I went to his house to find clues as to whoactually murderedhim. When I was there, I stole his dog.“I’m not sure. He belonged to a friend of a friend of a friend who couldn’t keep him.” I leaned in and whispered, “We’re not keeping him either.”
Phoebe and Alice and the dog collapsed into a pile in the kitchen doorway, all of them panting and smiling from exertion and the comfort of being part of a pack.
Miranda glanced from them to me. “Good luck with that.”
“Can we let Little Sister out into the backyard, Mommy?” Alice asked.
“No!” I said. Visions of the dog dragging the corpse out of the playhouse danced through my head. “The fence isn’t secure enough. We can’t have the dog in the backyard. At all!”
Disappointed, the twins wandered back to the living room, trailing the dog.
“What I need to say is,” Miranda began, “people make mistakes.”
The rooster doorbell crowed.
The sight of Emmylou on my doorstep brought a wave of intense relief. Little Sister stared at her curiously, sniffing and backing slowly away. The dog didn’t have an instant crush on her, like it had with Miranda. But at least Little Sister wasn’t jumping on a senior citizen.
“Whose adorable puppy is this?” Emmylou demanded, bending down to pet the dog.
“Long story,” I said, suddenly worried Emmylou was going to lose track of the assignment.
“I’m having an emergency!” she cried, sounding so convincing for a moment I believed her. “Can you and the girls take me to Rite Aid? I’m out of insulin and not feeling so great.” She spotted Miranda. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll go home and slip into a diabetic coma alone.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Miranda was just leaving.” I felt the slightest twinge. If Miranda had come to apologize for her twenty-five-year-old misdeeds, I was almost sorry to miss it.
But Emmylou was already handing Miranda her purse and hustling her toward the door. “My blood sugar. It’s a mess,” she said. “You understand, dear.”
With the front door shut tightly behind Miranda, I collapsed onto the couch, feeling unsettled. “Thanks so much for saving my life,” I said. “Again.”
“I saw your text and came right over,” Emmylou said. “Who was that anyway?”
“A mean girl I went to high school with.”
“She’s got that look.” Emmylou waved her hand around her head to indicate Miranda’s flawless hair and makeup.
The dog flipped onto its back in hopes of a tummy rub and Emmylou obliged.
“Her name is Little Sister,” Phoebe said.
“Should be called Little Brother by the looks of it,” Emmylou said.
“We hope Mom lets us keep her,” Alice said.
“Otherwise, our hearts will break,” Phoebe chimed in.
“No one can emotionally blackmail like a child can emotionally blackmail,” I murmured.
“Having a dog would be good for these girls,” Emmylou said.
