"She's the best, Reg." He heard the astonishment in his own voice. "The best thing that's ever happened to me."

About an hour later, Thomas stood in the living room of unit 64 of the Smyma Spring Trailer Court, realizing why Slick's Baltimore apartment had seemed a bit empty. He'd apparently used this trailer as a life-sized junk drawer.

A huge display case took up most of the paneled living room wall, filled with mementos of Slick's dog-dancing days-trophies, photographs, and framed medals from ceiling to floor. Closets were crammed with every conceivable type of dog collar, lead, or accessory in addition to costumes of both the canine and human variety. In a small file cabinet were Hairy's veterinary records.

A quick look revealed that Hairy was six years old, had been neutered at the age of nine months, and was purchased from a breeder for $2,500.

Un-fucking-believable.

The rest of the place indicated that Slick hadn't been concerned about much else. A red velveteen sofa was spilling its stuffing to the floor. Dirty dishes covered every available surface in the minuscule step-up kitchen. The floor was stacked with magazines, newspapers, and used paper plates.

But their best find was an elaborate computer system in the back bedroom that held the details of his bookie trade, and Regina instantly had about a thousand new leads in Slick's homicide.

"I haven't been in here since Vernelle died two years ago, so's I didn't know Simon let things go like this."

Maxine Barnhardt was the park's rental agent and the Slickowskis' next-door neighbor. In the ten minutes since she'd opened up the trailer for Regina and Thomas, she'd gone through two unfiltered Marlboros and a Diet Coke.

"You say you've got the little dog down in Baltimore with you?" she asked Thomas.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'll take him off your hands if you wanna."

Thomas couldn't help but laugh. Just two weeks ago, he would have fallen to his knees and kissed this woman's slipper-encased feet in a fit of gratitude. But that was two weeks ago. A lot had happened in two weeks.

"No, ma'am. I think I've already found a home for him. Someplace where he has another dog to play with and lots of land. He seems very happy there."

She took a long suck off her cigarette and shrugged. "Too bad. I always thought Hairy was sorta cute. Especially in his leprechaun outfit."

Emma was quite proud of herself. She'd been sitting on the sidelines for well over an hour and hadn't yet begun to pant or drool. She was carrying on a nice, friendly conversation with Pam-a lovely person-while Leelee played with Petey, Jack, and Hairy, and Beckett chatted up the coaches and players.

Emma prayed that no one could see that she was in agony sitting there in a folding chair in the sunshine, that she was fighting off a nonstop flow of X-rated thoughts, words, images, and sensations. She prayed that no one could tell that she was so sexually frustrated that her eyes were crossing.

The day hadn't started out that way. At first, the spectacle of the game made her laugh. To her uninitiated eye, rugby looked like nothing but a moving ball of chaos powered by naked male thighs and calves, all put to a soundtrack of grunting and yelling and cussing.

Then it amazed her-the sheer force of it, the grind and slam of bodies, the elegant violence, the raw emotion.

It was like football, only wickedly carnal.

She must have asked Pam a hundred questions: Why had Thomas wrapped black masking tape around his head? To protect his ears from rubbing into players' hips and thighs in the scrum. What was the scrum? A kind of huddle that starts every play. Aren't you afraid Rollo will get hurt? He's already been hurt. They all have, it's part of the game.

And then Thomas exploded down the field, yelling and pointing as he ran, the number five on the back of his black cotton jersey stuck to his sweat-soaked back, his big, muscular body eating up the ground.

"Oh, yeah, Rollo!" Pam stood and screamed when her husband dived over the goal line to score.

The action paused briefly, and Thomas turned toward the sidelines, taped hands on hips, gulping for air, sweat pouring down his throat. He caught Emma's eyes and smiled.

And that's when the X-rated thoughts began. Starting with the particularly potent idea of licking the sweat from his entire naked body.

A year was an awfully long time to go without a man. Leelee seemed to like him. Right then, she decided to go for it.

Emma wiggled her fingers at him, and he waved back awkwardly, then shook his head as if he'd embarrassed himself.

When the play resumed, she felt Pam staring at her. Emma smiled politely.

"Thomas said you really helped him with his investigation."

"I didn't do much. I just figured out who the victim really was and things started falling into place."

"Have they arrested anyone yet?"

"Not yet, I don't think. But the computer records from his house in Delaware gave the detective lots of new leads."

"That's great."

Pam was a statuesque woman, with smooth tanned skin and the same arresting gray eyes as her brother. Her blond waves were streaked with the barest hint of silver and pulled back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband.

"Hairy seems to be doing better," Pam said.

Emma followed Pam's gaze to the dog running in circles in the grass, the knotted boxers in his mouth, all three kids chasing him.

"I can't tell you how happy I am with his progress." Emma looked back at Pam and nodded. "He's really losening up, getting less anxious every day. I think it was just a matter of convincing him he's safe and loved. Underneath it all, he's a real special guy."

Pam began to choke, and reached for the can of soda by her feet. She took a sip, then let loose with a huge smile and touched Emma's forearm. "I'm sorry, but we are talking about Hairy, right? Not my brother?"

The two women sat in silence for a moment, evaluating each other as the rugby game exploded in grunts and referee whistles in front of them. Emma was the first to start giggling, then Pam joined her, and pretty soon they were laughing so hard Emma thought she'd fall out of the folding chair.

Steaks had seemed the easiest, and Thomas was glad he had extra, because somewhere between the car and the front door, Beckett met Mrs. Quatrocci and invited her to join them for dinner.

Thomas really couldn't say he minded. Since the night Pam hauled the old lady over his threshold, she'd stopped by quite a few times with food. Her tuna casserole tasted like a scoop of ocean bottom, but he had to admit he was getting addicted to her brown, bubbling fruit cobblers. They were delicious with ice cream.

Watching Mrs. Q flirt shamelessly with Beckett tonight, Thomas realized the old lady was probably just lonely. He didn't wish loneliness on anyone. God knew he'd had his share of it.

Thomas flipped the steaks, amazed at the way his house and yard literally thumped with life around him. Leelee had brought along some of Slick's disco CDs, and the kids and Hairy were dancing in the living room. He listened to the roars of adult laughter pouring out the kitchen window and smiled wistfully-damned if his own loneliness hadn't ended the day he'd acquired a six-pound mutant dog.

"Hey, Rugby Boy."

He spun around, the grill tongs snapping in the air in surprise.

"Hey-watch those things!" Emma's entire face lit up when she laughed. And Thomas corrected himself-his loneliness had ended the day he'd met this woman.

"Thanks for having us today-it's been so much fun."