“Used to be my parents’ farmhouse,” she told me as I joined her on the sidewalk. “Now I've only got a few acres left.”

“It's lovely,” I said, admiring the turret, the stained-glass windows, and the big front porch that circled around one side of the building. As we climbed the steps, I heard dogs barking inside.

“After my divorce, I took in a boarder,” Moonbeam explained. “It's awfully expensive keeping up an old house like this. She's an animal cruelty prevention officer, so I never know what I'm going to find when I come home.”

When she opened the door, an animal the size of a wolf leaped at me. In the resulting commotion, while more than one person tried to pull it away, I realized it hadn't ripped my throat out. In fact, the beast was doing its best to drown me with its huge pink tongue.

“I'm so sorry,” a woman said, pulling him off me. She had him under control now, his black collar tightly gripped in her hand. “He's half coyote, but he's really lovable.”

“Tori, this is my housemate, Gloria Zimmerman.”

Gloria was a beautiful woman with short light brown hair, who stood only a little taller than me. And probably weighed a lot less. Even though she was wearing a tan unisex uniform, she struck me as looking far too glamorous to be an animal cruelty prevention officer.

After I had shaken her hand, the one that wasn't restraining the coyote, Moonbeam took me into the living room.

“This is my daughter, Tamsin,” she said.

The girl sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV didn't look up. “What's for dinner?” she asked. The first thing I noticed was her hair, for it hung to her waist, straight and shiny like her mother's, but whereas Moonbeam's hair was silvery blond, Tamsin's could be described as black as a raven's wing. “Can we have pizza?”

Moonbeam looked at me. “What do you think?”

“I'm a pizza addict.”

“Good. I'll call.” She went out of the room, leaving me with the teenager, who had never turned her eyes away from the television set.

“What an unusual name,” I said, thinking it my duty to make conversation.

“I hate it. My grandfather picked it.” She pointed the remote at the TV and changed channels. “I hate watching news. Who cares about all that dumb stuff.”

She wasn't paying any attention to me, so I sat down across from her and studied her. With her flawless ivory skin, dark almond-shaped eyes, and high cheekbones, she could have been beautiful. But the permanent sulk on her face ruined the effect. I could understand how she gave her mother migraines.

While she watched cartoons, I looked around the living room, noticing the many knickknacks and family photos that made it feel quite homey. An oaken cabinet with glass doors displayed small ceramic figures, and one in particular caught my eye-a tiny carousel horse mounted on a wooden base. It reminded me of Dari-ous's carousel, and I was walking over to take a closer look at the figurine when Gloria came in with her arms full of adorable kittens. She handed two to me, and I sat down to pet them. One was orange and white, just like Fred, and he purred as I scratched his little chin. The mother cat, a large black-and-white tabby, jumped onto the arm of my chair to make sure I wasn't hurting her babies.

“Would you like to have one?” Gloria asked. “I rescued them this morning from a trailer. Their owner died a couple of days ago and nobody thought about the cats. They probably wouldn't have survived another day without food or water.”

I reluctantly passed the kittens back to her. “I already have two cats.”

“How about a homeless llama?”

I laughed. “I'm kind of homeless myself.”

“An emu, then?”

“No thank you. My cats are quite enough.”

The door bell chimed, and Moonbeam called from the back, “Can you get that, Tamsin?”

Tamsin made no move to get anything, and Gloria's arms were full of cats, so I went to the front door. A delivery man stood on the porch, and I was glad to see he held two large boxes. I'd be able to eat all I wanted instead of pretending one slice of medium pizza was all I ever had. Moonbeam paid him, refusing to take any contribution from me.

The four of us-Moonbeam, Tamsin, Gloria, and I- were soon sitting in the dining room at an enormous mahogany table, dividing the first pizza. Tamsin complained about the pepperoni, claiming to be a vegetarian, but I noticed she only picked off a few pieces before gobbling down several slices.

“Now,” Moonbeam said, after we had eased our hunger, “what is it you wanted to know about my father-in-law?”

“I heard a rumor that he had some sort of grudge against Macmillan. More than a grudge really, because it was enough to make him resign rather than work with the man. Do you know anything about it?”

“Not much,” Moonbeam said. “I remember when he wrote his letter resigning effective the end of this semester, I tried to talk him out of it. But he said he had no respect for the man and didn't want to work with him. When I asked him why, he seemed reluctant to talk. Finally, he said it had something to do with Mac-millan's war record. He said it happened a long time ago, and it was something he didn't want to talk about. When Ken talks about the war, Tori, he means World War II.”

“Was he in the service?”

“Oh yes. He's very proud of having served in the 442nd Regiment in Italy and France.”

“I've heard of it-the Go for Broke regiment-all Japanese Americans.”

“Right. But after the war, he became a Quaker. So now he's a pacifist. Since the Korean War, he's been actively involved in antiwar protests.”

“And other good causes, too, I gather.” I didn't mention his secretary had called him a tree-hugger.

“Gramps is a do-gooder,” Tamsin said. “I think he's dumb.”

“Has anyone seen my Tylenol?” Moonbeam asked. “Tamsin, why don't you get started on your homework?”

The girl grabbed a wedge of pizza and slammed out of the room.

“Teenagers.” Moonbeam sighed plaintively. “I don't understand why I have so much trouble… Well, never mind. I haven't been much help to you so far, Tori. I know you're trying to find out why Macmillan was killed, but I am sure my sweet father-in-law had nothing to do with it.”

“You seem very close to your father-in-law even though you're divorced,” I remarked. “That's kind of unusual.”

“Dad's a wonderful man,” Moonbeam said, spearing a piece of pepperoni from the pizza. “I don't know how he raised such a dumb-ass son.”

“Where is your ex living?” I asked.

“About six blocks from here. He teaches math and coaches football at Gettysburg High School. Had a midlife crisis which only a former, much younger, student could help him through.”

“Oooh. Nasty stuff. Sorry to have brought it up.”

“Don't feel bad. I'm better off without him. And he does make a point of seeing Tamsin regularly.”

“I'm not sorry to see him gone,” Gloria said. It was the first comment she'd made since we sat down to eat, and it caught me by surprise.

“Who? Moonbeam's husband?”

“No, Mack Macmillan.”

“Did you know Mack?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. After his retirement, he became a lobbyist for the Pennsylvania dog breeding industry.”

“For years I've tried to get a law passed in Harris-burg outlawing puppy mills. I've testified at the state capitol a dozen times, but it never got anywhere because of him.”

“What's wrong with selling dogs?” I asked. “Isn't dog breeding a legitimate business?”

She shuddered. “Sure, if it's done humanely. But many farms here in Pennsylvania, especially ones in rural areas, are puppy mills where hundreds of dogs are penned up under the worst conditions imaginable. The bitches are bred immediately after having a litter, so they never get a chance to get their strength back. The puppies are shipped off to pet stores before they should leave their mothers. They're often sick or have congenital defects and need to be destroyed. It's just awful. The poor things live their whole lives packed together like… like animals.”