Page 7 of A Matter of Pedigree (A Carole and Poopsie Mystery #1)

Carole was just putting the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher when there was a tap on the apartment door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she peeked through the peephole, surprised to see Connie standing in the hall.

“Come on in,” she said, greeting her daughter with a hug. “What brings you here?”

“The case, Mom. I’ve been worried about Pop. I came right over after work.”

“You just got done with work now?” asked Carole, noticing that Connie was still dressed in her business suit but had pulled her shirt out of the waistband and had swapped her heels for a pair of running shoes. “It’s almost eight! That’s ridiculous. How are you supposed to have a life?”

It was a shame what this job was doing to her, thought Carole, studying her daughter.

Connie had always been a pretty girl, with a heart-shaped face, big hazel eyes, and a head of abundant brunette hair that she wore long.

Only you couldn’t tell how beautiful she was because that gorgeous, naturally wavy hair was pulled back into a bun, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she was developing a worry line from furrowing her lovely arched eyebrows.

At least she’d managed to keep her figure, although that suit was looking as if it was a size too large.

“My life is just fine,” said Connie, firmly. “It’s Pop I’m worried about. How’s he holding up?”

Poopsie, seeing her adored Connie, had jumped down from her favorite spot on the couch and greeted Connie by rolling on her back and baring her tummy. Connie bent down and politely gave her a couple of rubs, after which Poopsie rolled over and sat on her feet, taking possession.

“See for yourself,” said Carole, tilting her head toward the big leather recliner, where Frank was dozing, snoring gently, after eating most of a pizza for dinner.

Carole had begged off cooking, saying they’d had such a big lunch, and ordered delivery.

She’d had one slice, and Frank ate the rest of the pie.

“I guess he’s not too stressed, then,” said Connie, scratching the dog behind her ear. “That’s a relief. Right, Poopsie?”

Poopsie lifted her snout, inviting Connie to scratch her chin.

“Come on into the bedroom,” invited Carole. “We can talk there, and I’ve got a new pair of shoes to show you.”

Connie and Poopsie obediently followed Carole down the short hallway to the master bedroom, where Connie sat herself on the king-size bed.

Poopsie leaped up and sat beside her, placing her chin on Connie’s thigh.

Carole disappeared into her enormous closet and returned with a pair of Ferragamo sneakers.

“They’re real nice, Mom. Are you taking up jogging?”

“Me? What, are you crazy? They’re for walking Poopsie.”

“Your mommy will be the most stylish dog mommy at the dog park,” crooned Connie, allowing the dog to give her a doggy kiss.

“I can’t take her to the dog park; she fights with all the other dogs,” admitted Carole, sitting alongside Connie on her free side, holding the shoe in her hand. “Tell me what you really think?”

“The shoes are really cute.”

“I don’t mean the shoes! Tell me the truth. Is your father in trouble?”

“Well, yeah, Mom. He’s been indicted for murder.”

“But he didn’t do it. He’s innocent.”

“Vince Houlihan’s a good lawyer; he’ll put up a good defense.”

“So Frank will get off?”

“I’d say probably; I’d put the odds at something like sixty-forty,” said Connie.

Carole was right on it. “Sixty he’ll get off, right?”

Connie laughed. “Yeah, Mom.”

“Not great odds,” said Carole, studying her daughter and noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she was holding the dog, almost as if Poopsie were a stuffed toy.

Poopsie loved that sort of attention, but Carole wondered if Connie was making so much of the dog because she wasn’t getting enough human affection.

“Your birthday’s coming,” she said, thinking of a couple of eligible men she could invite. “Let’s have a party.”

“Mom, you know I hate parties, and besides. …”

Carole was quick to change course. “Just family.”

“I was gonna say, I won’t be here. I’ll be in Buffalo then, for work.”

“Like in Canada?”

“No, Mom.” Connie was laughing and shaking her head. “It’s in New York state, near Niagara Falls.”

“Never been,” admitted Carole, who had no plans of remedying the situation. “What are you going to do there?”

“It’s for a case. The firm is representing the Oneida nation, who claim they were cheated out of their hunting grounds about two hundred years ago and want it back.”

Carole shrugged. “Fat chance. I don’t like the odds on that one.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Connie. “There’s an entire subdivision built on it, but maybe we can get them some compensation.

I’m going to be researching the old treaties and agreements, and I might have to go to Ottawa, too, which is in Canada.

It’s pretty exciting,” she continued, growing animated.

“It’s my first company trip, and it’s actually a pretty big case, if we win. A lot of money. Millions.”

Poopsie had fallen asleep in Connie’s lap and was twitching a bit, dreaming of chasing rabbits.

“You know, Mom, I’ve been talking to this archivist; she’s fabulous,” said Connie, who was growing more animated.

“You’d think something like government archives would be dusty and boring, but she makes it all sound so interesting.

Like a trip into the past. I’m really looking forward to digging into this stuff. ”

“You better wear a mask,” advised Carole. “Those old treaties are probably dusty, and you have allergies.”

“Thanks for the advice, Mom, but I think you’re missing the point.

This is an exciting time for me. Like doors are opening, and my job is getting more fascinating every day, and I kind of feel like I’m getting more attention and opportunities than the other associates.

” She paused. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I’m beginning to think they’re eyeing me for the partnership track.

Like maybe this trip is a sort of test.”

“You’ll do fine,” said Carole, automatically patting her daughter’s hand. “But what are we going to do about your birthday?”