It had to be you | Page 5

the best of circumstances. Further
hampered by her tight skirt, she couldn't reach the dog in time to prevent disaster. The
flowers teetered and toppled backward, knocking into the wreath jammed next to them,
which, in turn, upset a massive spray of dahlias. The arrangements were packed so
closely together that it was impossible for one to fall without knocking into another, and
flowers and water began to fly. The mourners who were standing nearby jumped away in
an effort to protect their clothing and knocked into more of the floral tributes. Like
dominoes, one basket tipped against another, until the ground began to look like Merlin
Olsen's worst nightmare.


Phoebe whipped off her sunglasses to reveal her exotically tilted amber eyes. "Stay,
Pooh! Stay, dammit! Viktor!"

Viktor had already rushed to the opposite side of the casket in an effort to head off the
rampaging poodle, but in his haste he knocked over several chairs, which, in turn, flew
into another group of floral arrangements, setting off a separate chain reaction.

A Gold Coast socialite, who fancied herself an expert on small dogs since she owned a
shiatsu, made a leap for the frenzied poodle only to draw up short when Pooh dropped
her tail, bared her teeth,, and snapped at her like a canine Terminator. Although Pooh was
generally the most congenial of dogs, the socialite had the misfortune to be wearing
Calvin Klein's Eternity, a fragrance Pooh had detested ever since one of Phoebe's friends,
who had been drenched in it, had called her a mutt and kicked her under the table.

Phoebe, whose side-slit skirt was showing far too much of her thigh for respectability,
shot between two defensive linemen. They watched with open amusement as she
gestured toward the poodle. "Pooh! Here, Pooh!"

Molly Somerville, mortified by the spectacle her half sister was making, tried to hide
herself in the crowd.

As Phoebe dodged a chair, the heavy gold fig leaf dangling from the links of her belt
bumped against the part of her that fig leaves had been designed to shield. She began to
grab for it before she was permanently bruised, only to have the slippery leather soles of
her pumps hit a batch of wet lilies. Her feet shot out from under her, and, with a whoosh
of expelled breath, she fell.

At the sight of her mistress sliding across the ground on her rear, Pooh forgot about the
menacingly perfumed socialite. Incorrectly interpreting Phoebe's actions as an invitation
to play, the dog's yips grew delirious with excitement.

Phoebe tried unsuccessfully to scramble to her feet, giving both the Mayor of Chicago
and several members of the rival Bears' organization a generous view of the top of her
thigh. Pooh dashed between the legs of a pompous network sportscaster and shot under
the graveside chairs just as Viktor came toward her from the other side. The dog loved to
play with Viktor, and her yips grew more fervent.

Pooh made a quick jog, but braked sharply as she realized she was blocked by overturned
flower baskets and a large patch of sodden grass�a formidable barrier for an animal who
hated getting her paws wet. Cornered, she leapt up onto one of the folding chairs. When it
began to teeter, she gave a nervous yip and jumped to another and from there up onto a
smooth, hard surface.

The crowd gave a collective gasp as white roses and streamers of sky blue and gold
ribbon went flying. Everyone fell silent.


Phoebe, who had just managed to get to her feet, froze. Viktor cursed softly in
Hungarian.

Pooh, always sensitive to the humans she loved, cocked her head to the side as if she
were trying to understand why everybody was looking at her. Sensing that she had done
something very wrong, she began to tremble.

Phoebe caught her breath. It wasn't good for Pooh to get nervous. She remembered the
last time it had happened and took a quick step forward. "No, Pooh!"

But her warning came too late. The trembling dog was already squatting. With an
apologetic expression on her small, furry face, she began to pee on the lid of Bert
Somerville's casket.

Bert Somerville's estate had been built in the 1950s on ten acres of land in the affluent
Chicago suburb of Hinsdale, located in the heart of DuPage County. In the early
twentieth century the county had been rural, but as the decades slipped by, its small
towns had grown together until they formed a giant bedroom for the executives who
boarded the Burlington Northern commuter trains that took them into the Loop each day,
and also for the engineers who worked in the high-tech industries that sprang up along
the East West Tollway. Gradually, the brick wall that