One of Maine kennel owner Jack Field's favorite pastimes is spending quality time with a fun-loving pooch -- which is why he's playing fetch with a corgi named Tipper instead of mingling at a July 4th shindig. But when Tipper returns with a bloodstained boating cap in her teeth, the ex-New York cop decides to investigate ... and finds an anonymous dead man clutching Tipper's tennis ball. The local law thinks Jack's the killer, since he had the opportunity and, as it turns out, a motive. Even his loyal and lovely fiancée, assistant state medical examiner Dr. Jamie Cutter, is troubled by evidence that seems to contradict Jack's tale. Someone's trying awfully hard to frame the dog-savvy ex-detective, and he's determined to find out why -- even though everyone, from a billionaire inventor to a San Diego drug lord to a whole passel of professional killers, is equally determined to stop him and his doggie pals dead in their tracks.

Excerpt

Chapter One

I was bored out of my skull but couldn't go anywhere until Jamie came back with the boat, so I was sitting in a wooden lawn chair at the far end of Zita Earl's backyard, drinking a Sam Adams, and playing a game of fetch with a red-and-white Welsh Pembroke corgi named Tipper. I didn't hold the dog's name against her; she'd been named by our hostess -- Jamie's aunt Zita (I suspect after an invisible childhood friend) -- and there was nothing either the dog or I could do about it now.

I did blame myself, however, for having no one to relate to but a four-legged critter. Jamie had asked me earlier -- after we'd finished our grilled lobster and corn on the cob, and after we'd beat everyone else there at badminton for the sixth time -- if I wanted to go with her to pick up her father, Jonas, and his wife, Laurie, so they could come watch the fireworks with us from the comfort of Aunt Zita's private island; supposedly the best spot in the State of Maine to spend the Fourth of July. But I'd gotten myself embroiled -- as usual -- in a heated discussion about dogs; this time with Dale Summerhays, the crazy old bird who runs the Mid-Coast Animal Rescue League.

"We're sponsoring a mandatory spay/neuter bill in the state legislature again this year, Jack," Dale said, swirling the ice in her gin and tonic. "I hope you'll help get it passed."

I tilted my head and was about tell her what she could do with her damn bill when Jamie read my mind and stopped me.

"Jack?" She put a hand on my knee. "Did I tell you that Aunt Zita has offered to let us get married here? On her island?"

She had a glass of Perrier and lime in one hand. She was wearing white short-shorts -- which nicely accented the tan of her legs -- and a faded denim cowboy shirt with pearl buttons, over one of my old navy blue NYPD T-shirts. Her long, dark chestnut hair was held back by a turquoise bandeau, which heightened the loveliness of her brown eyes. It also matched her earrings.

"I think it would be a wonderful place for the ceremony." She twirled the Tiffany engagement ring on her finger and gazed out at the harbor and the far-off lighthouse at Pemaquid Point. Then she sighed, looked down, and stabbed at her drink with a plastic straw. "If we ever do get married, that is."

I looked at Dale. "We haven't set the date yet." Then I put my hand on the back of Jamie's long, lovely neck and said, "It would be wonderful, honey. In the summer. Just perfect. But what if we want to get married in February?"

"In February? Why would we get married in February?"

"I think he means on Valentine's Day," Dale said. "Don't you, Jack?" She brushed a few wisps of gray hair away from her sharp, aquiline face. Her watery blue eyes sparkled.

Jamie ahhed and said, "Jack Field, that is so romantic."

I agreed with her; it was romantic. "Plus, your divorce was fi- nalized in February and I proposed to you in February. It just seems to me that one year is the perfect amount of time to wait, all things considered." I didn't tell her it would also give me another seven months or so to adjust to the idea of being married. Not just to Jamie, to anyone.

Dale took a sip of gin and tonic. She wore a beige linen shift and a straw hat with a coral ribbon. She kept her dark glasses on even though the sun had gone behind some clouds, causing the wind to kick up a little. The green canvas umbrella over our table flapped noisily, and the loose folds of my Hawaiian-style summer shirt -- decorated with the old red and brown Schlitz beer logo -- fluttered around my torso.

Jamie put down her drink and said, "Well, I think I'd better go pick up Dad and Laurie now. Want to come along?"

"Sure," I said.

"At any rate, Jack, about that bill," Dale looked at me, shading her eyes as I stood up, "I hope you'll have everyone who comes to your kennel sign one of our petitions."

"Well, the problem is, I don't actually believe in -- "

"Of course he will," Jamie said, putting an arm around my shoulder, and a hand over my mouth. She gave me a warning look. "Won't you, Jack?"

I took her hand away. "No, I won't. Frankly, I think the whole practice of spaying and neutering dogs is barbaric and inhumane."

"How can you say that?" Dale was outraged. "Surely, as a dog trainer you know that dogs are much easier to control, not to mention healthier, when they've been -- "

"What, castrated? Surgically mutilated?"

"Oh, I see. It's a male macho thing."

"The hell it is." I sat down. "And in my experience -- "

"Jack -- " Jamie tugged at the back of my shirt.

" -- dogs have fewer behavioral problems -- honey, let me finish-- and live happier, healthier, and longer lives -- "

"How can you say that?" Dale said.

" -- when their healthy sex organs are left intact!"

"Jack, we really should get going."

"Nonsense! What about ovarian and prostate cancer?"

"What about cancer of the liver? You want to cut out a dog's liver on the off chance he might get cancer one day?" Jamie walked a few steps away. "Jack? I'm leaving?"

"Oh, you're impossible. The shelters are full of unwanted animals and all you can think about is your own damn testicles."

"You know, if you're so worried about overpopulation -- and who isn't -- then why not call for mandatory vasectomies?"

"Vasec -- "

"It doesn't interfere with the dog's natural hormonal development and it's much less invasive."

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