Free Kernel of Truth by Kristi Abbott Page A

the corner of the kitchen and wailing started in the shop.
    Poodles have notoriously soft mouths. It comes from backwhen they were hunting dogs. Sprocket apparently likes to show this off by stealing toys from babies or items out of purses or, really, whatever he thinks he can get away with. It’s not nearly as useful as carrying a duck without leaving any teeth marks, but he was still darned proud of it. Right now he was carrying the woolly sheep toy that I’d just seen in the hands of the sleeping Lucas.
    I stood in front of Sprocket, hands on hips, and looked directly into his eyes. He sat.
    â€œDrop it,” I said.
    He did.
    Lucas was wide-awake and screaming. Janet was trying to console him.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” I said as I handed the toy back to Janet after rubbing the dog slobber off on my jeans.
    She took it from me between her thumb and index finger like it had been dipped in Ebola rather than a little dog spit.
    â€œThe popcorn’s on me.” I turned to go back to the kitchen.
    â€œNever mind,” Janet said. “I’ll come back later.” She trundled her way out of the shop, Lucas still screaming and Jack still banging with his teether and yelling, “Bow wow wow wow wow.”
    I turned to give Sprocket a dirty look. “You keep losing me customers and I’m going to start buying the generic dog food for you.”
    He lay down and put one paw over his eyes.
    The door jingled and Susanna came in. “What’d the beast do this time?” she asked, going to get her apron.
    â€œStole a toy from a baby.” I shook my head in disgust.
    â€œAgain?” She shook her head at Sprocket. He sunk lower and put his other paw over his eyes as well. “Well, at least he feels bad.”
    â€œHe’s faking it. Don’t be taken in by those big browneyes.” I headed into the kitchen to finish getting the caramel cashew popcorn ready in case Janet Barry actually did come back.
    When I came back out, Sam Vander sat with his ridiculously long legs stretched out and propped on the chair opposite him. “Sam, get your shoes off the furniture.”
    â€œYes, Ms. Rebecca.” There was something about Sam’s tone of voice. I was never sure if he was being sincere or being so incredibly sarcastic that it sounded sincere. He gave me his full smile now and I decided it didn’t matter as long as he got his feet off the chair, which he did.
    â€œAnd you have to get up if we get real customers,” I added.
    â€œI’m not a real customer?” Sam scratched Sprocket under the chin. Sprocket’s back leg thumped the floor in appreciation.
    â€œNo. You’re not.” What Sam was was Susanna’s boyfriend. Maybe. They certainly spent a lot of time together for two kids who didn’t have a lot of spare time. Susanna had lacrosse and youth group at the church and, of course, her job at POPS. Sam, who had a wingspan that could almost rival Michael Phelps’s, could stand in the goal and block soccer balls all day while barely moving his feet. Plus he went to the church youth group meetings, too, and, come to think of it, spent an awful lot of time at POPS as well.
    I went back into the kitchen and got two popcorn balls that had come out more like popcorn amoebas and gave them to Sam. He ate the first one in two bites. Honestly, it was like watching a snake unhinge its jaw to swallow a goat. “I think you might be the shop garbage disposal.”
    He laughed. “That’s what my mom says about me, too. And coach. And Miss Jessica sometimes.”
    â€œPoor Miss Jessica,” Susanna said. “She’s not doing so hot.”
    â€œGrief is hard.” I knew that all too well. “What’s going on with Miss Jessica? Something in particular?”
    â€œShe feels so guilty about not checking on Ms. Coco. She kind of collapsed at church this morning. Mr. Meyer had to drive her home,” Susanna