“Where?”
June looked toward the street.
Then back at Clara.
“In your garage.”
Clara's mouth opened.
She remembered.
A roll of blue tape had been sitting on a shelf beside her gardening supplies for years.
But that did not mean anything.
“Lots of people have blue tape.”
“They do.”
June stood.
“But yours had a black diagonal mark printed every few inches.”
Clara stared at her.
The roll in her garage did.
Ethan looked between them.
“Why would my bucket have her tape?”
“I don't know yet,” June said.
And that was the first moment Clara realized something terrifying.
Maybe the question was not whether Ethan had poisoned his dog.
Maybe the question was why someone wanted everyone to believe he had.
By noon, Milo was at the emergency veterinary clinic.
Ethan sat beside his daughter, Sophie, in the waiting room.
Sophie was twenty-two.
She had driven two hours from college after Ethan called.
“Is he going to make it?”
“We don't know.”
“You said he was stable.”
“He is.”
“That means he could still die.”
Ethan looked down.
He had no answer.
Milo had been part of their family for eleven years.
He had slept beside Sophie when she was sick.
He had waited by the door when Ethan worked late.
After Ethan's wife died three years earlier, Milo had become the one living thing in the house that seemed to understand when silence was necessary.
Sophie squeezed her father's hand.
“Who would do this?”
Ethan thought of Clara.
Then he thought of the man in the gray jacket.
“I don't know.”
The veterinarian, Dr. Lena Park, eventually came out.
“Milo is responding to treatment.”
Ethan stood.
“Is he poisoned?”
“I wouldn't use that word yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't know what he consumed.”
She explained that Milo's symptoms could have been caused by contaminated food, spoiled material, certain household substances, or a number of other things.
Samples had been sent for testing.
Ethan nodded.
Then Dr. Park asked:
“Did he normally eat raw meat?”
“No.”
“Supplements?”
“No.”
“Anything different recently?”
Ethan thought.
“No.”
Then he remembered something.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Someone gave him treats last week.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor.”
Dr. Park looked up.
“Which neighbor?”
“Clara.”
The veterinarian wrote it down.
Ethan immediately regretted mentioning it.
Clara had given Milo homemade biscuits several days earlier.
Nothing unusual.
At least, he had assumed they were harmless.
Meanwhile, June Reyes returned to the neighborhood.
She knocked on Clara's door.
Clara opened it reluctantly.
“Can I see your garage?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to look at the tape.”
Clara let her in.
The garage was messy.
Gardening equipment.
Old boxes.
Paint cans.
Christmas decorations.
June walked to a shelf.
There was the tape.
She picked it up.
Then noticed something else.
A plastic storage bin sat underneath the shelf.
Inside were several small food containers.
Clara frowned.
“I use those for leftovers.”
June lifted one.
It smelled faintly of meat.
“Dog treats?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you make treats for Milo?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“What did you put in them?”
“Chicken, oats, carrots. Nothing dangerous.”
June placed the container down.
“I believe you.”
Clara was surprised.
“You do?”
“I said I believe you. That's different from saying I know.”