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corn-colored shirt, and a long, flowing scarf, was towed outside by the sizable Akita whose collar she held.
    Intelligent Lexie cringed. Odin looked ready to attack his larger and belligerent breedmate, whose coat was darker and fuzzier than his. Not a comforting situation.
    But then the woman barked, “Ezekiel, sit!” and damned if the territorial and confrontational canine didn’t obey. “Welcome, Kendra,” she continued, “and Lexie. And especially Odin.” She all but crooned the last as she proffered her palm. Odin obediently approached, and although Ezekiel eyed him suspiciously, neither male made as if he was about to attack. Instead, Odin sniffed the human’s hand and started wagging all over, like one big puppy. Which, despite his Akita assertiveness, he was.
    The lady knelt and grinned and hugged Odin, then looked up at me. “I’m Lois,” she said. “Let’s all go inside, shall we?”
    She seemed to have a slight limp as I followed her, as if one leg might be slightly shorter than the other. She walked fast nevertheless, the length of her scarf trailing after her. Ezekiel, ignoring us, stayed by her side.
    From behind, seeing only her long, blond curls, I’d have assumed she was a whole lot younger than she looked head-on.
    I’d gotten only a glimpse of her face, but I had a hint of a once-lovely woman with shining green eyes. But age hadn’t been amiable to her, resulting in skin folds and pouches beneath beautifully high cheekbones. If she’d resorted to Botox, surgery, or other artifice, they’d been ineffective.
    Her front door led directly into a quaint living room with an overstuffed sofa in an orange print and matching, disorganized chairs on a paler orange braided rag rug resting on a gleaming wood floor. The large chimney I’d noted outside backed an enormous hearth piled high with apparently fake logs. The walls were covered with doggy photos. All appeared to be Akitas, though not every one was Ezekiel. Some had lighter fur and were smaller. Others were darker and larger. One looked like mostly Akita with a blunter face and floppy ears instead of the usual erect and alert ones.
    “Please have a seat,” she said. “You can let Lexie’s and Odin’s leashes go. They can roam. Ezekiel’s a good host, I promise.”
    Feeling a bit uneasy, I nevertheless obeyed. Akitas often tend to be territorial, although Odin had accepted perky little Lexie as a friend first thing. Maybe it was because she was clearly no threat to his bigger and more assertive alphaness. But could I count on that here, on Ezekiel’s turf?
    Amazingly, Ezekiel immediately sat down beside a chair, probably Lois’s favorite, since that was where she lit. But only for a second.
    “Now you get comfortable,” she said, standing again. “I’ve got home-baked cookies in the kitchen. Do you prefer coffee, tea, soda, water—?”
    “Coffee sounds great,” I said. “If you already have it made, that is. Don’t go to any trouble.”
    She grinned, lifting some skin folds and displaying large, white teeth. “Jeff said you were one polite lady, most of the time. And a handful if you got peeved, which he claimed happens a lot. So, I’ll try not to peeve you. I anticipated coffee, and that’s what I want, too. It’s already made.” With that, she exited into the kitchen.
    Not Ezekiel, though. He stayed where he was, keeping an eye on Odin, who stood by me as I sat on the sofa, Lexie on my lap. The host Akita might be polite, but he still hounded us like . . . well, a male dog on his home turf.
    I studied the other Akita photos. They were cute and soulful and entrancing.
    “Do you breed Akitas?” I asked when Lois returned to the room. She put our cups of coffee on the low, roughwood—what else?—coffee table. She’d also juggled a plate of cookies, but after letting me choose one, she set it on the mantel, beyond the reach of the dogs.
    Her pouchy face sagged into additional wrinkles as she again took her seat. “I