“Jaclyn said the doghouse is for boys who interrupt company,” he whispered.

“She said bad boys stay out here till the party’s over.”

I rose up a little to look at the side latch of the kennel gate.

A heavy iron padlock hung through the steel drop pin, its thick shackle snapped down tight into the body.

Up at the kitchen window ten yards off, Jaclyn was leaning against the sink with a half-empty glass of red wine.

A tall man in a dark cap tipped his head back and laughed at something she’d said.