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camera, narrowing his eyes. I fully expected a growl out of him, like one of those WWE wrestlers.
    "Kit, this is Roxie and Nels, the Hitched or Ditched people."
    "Pleasure," he mumbled.
    Roxie took another step back. Kit usually had a way with women, but today he seemed grumpy. Not his normal self at all.
    I took a good look at him. "What's wrong with you?"
    My peripheral vision caught Nels circling, his large camera perched on his shoulder. There were no state of the art cameras for HoD, no fancy fluffy booms, no frills.
    "Nothing," he growled.
    "Pale. Dark circles. Looks like you lost some weight." I stood on tiptoes and pressed my palm to his forehead. "No fever."
    "He's lost weight?" Roxie whispered in shock.
    Kit glared some more, and she took another step back. He lowered my hand. "I'm not sick."
    "What's wrong, then?"
    Shaking his head, he scowled. The skull tattoo on his bald head glistened.
    All right. I'd let it go.
    "Tam called my cell," he said. "She's not coming in. Baby's got the sniffl es."
    Why hadn't Tam called me? I made a mental note to call her, to check on baby Nic, my somewhat namesake. Her "Nicolette" was derived from my middle name, Colette. After a rocky final trimester, Nic had been born a healthy seven pounds, six ounces, and was now seven weeks old. I wondered if Tam knew about the party my mother was planning. I figured she did. There was little Tam didn't know about around here.
    "I should probably call Ursula to fill in." Oddly, I felt no dread about it.
    Was I getting used to having Brickhouse around?
    What was the world coming to?
    Kit leaned on the edge of the desk, eyeing Roxie. "I already spoke to her."
    Roxie frantically pointed at me, trying to redirect his attention away from the camera.
    "You're supposed to look natural," I told him.
    Kit grinned, which made him look somewhat healthier. Somewhat.
    The chimes on the front door clanged as it slammed open. A big black four-legged drooling blur barreled down on me.
    I braced myself; Roxie screamed and jumped on Tam's desk; Nels cursed; and Kit just kept on grinning.
    I was glad to see he was feeling better—just in time for me to kill him.
    BeBe, Kit's English mastiff, jumped into my arms, crushed me against the water cooler, and slurped my face with her big drool-covered doggy tongue.
    "Gross," Nels said from where he'd taken cover beside the water cooler.
    "That's disgusting," Roxie echoed.
    Kit whistled sharply, and BeBe abandoned me. She dropped to his feet, her tail thrashing against his leg. Anyone else would have been on their ass.
    Ursula "Brickhouse" Krauss stood in the doorway, leash in hand, smiling like a short, white-haired, brick-shaped German Wicked Witch of the West. Only with a cluck instead of a cackle.
    I looked between her and Kit, wiped the slime from my face and said, "Do I want to know why BeBe's here? Haven't we already gone through this?"
    BeBe was a great dog, but she wasn't supposed to be there. At work.
    Drooling on me.
    "Ach," Brickhouse said. "She's a good girl. Aren't you, my good little schnitzel?"
    BeBe wagged her tail so hard, I was sure Kit would be bruised tomorrow.
    "See?" Brickhouse said to me.
    I glared at Kit.
    "Ursula dogsits for me a couple times a week." He bent over, like a giant sequoia toppling, and flopped BeBe's ears back and forth. "Since she's filling in for Tam—"
    "You dogsit?" How come I didn't know about this?
    "Three days a week." Brickhouse wagged a finger, much like BeBe wagged her tail. "Today is one of those days. So, if you want me to fill in for Tam, you must take BeBe also."
    "Is that a dog?" Roxie asked, climbing down from the desk. Good thing Tam wasn't there. Claws would've flown for sure—Tam is highly territorial about her space. I checked to make sure Sassy, Tam's prized African violet, was okay. She was, basking under a heat lamp set to go on and off throughout the day so Sassy received the proper amount of light.
    Kit grinned. "She bites."
    Roxie darted behind