Less than ten seconds later, he called.
“Hey,” he said, low and warm through the speaker.
“Hey.”
“Still here,” he said. “They’re processing paperwork. I talked to the suspect. He’s nervous but not saying much. I’m going to check in with Cooper after. Shouldn’t take long.”
“You think he’s working alone?” I asked.
“No,” Chris said without hesitation. “Something’s off about all of this.”
That matched my instincts.
“I’m heading to the clinic,” I told him. “Thought I’d poke around for a bit. See if any other dogs came in with similar symptoms.”
“The veterinary station?” he clarified.
“Yeah. Pampi’s due for a follow-up anyway. Dr. Mitchell said she wanted to recheck her leg after the semi-finals.”
There was a brief pause.
“You want me to come with you?” he asked. “We could look at the intake records together. See if there’s a pattern.”
I considered it, then shook my head. “I’ll do an initial pass. If anything’s worth digging into, we’ll check it together.”
“You sure?”
I huffed quietly. “I’m capable of asking basic questions, Chris.”
He chuckled softly. “I know you can. Text me if you find out anything.”
“I will.”
“Be careful,” he added.
“You too,” I said, ending the call and slipping my phone into my pocket. I clipped Pampi’s leash more securely and started toward the show’s veterinary station.
The veterinary station had been set up in one of the smaller conference rooms off the main ballroom corridor. A volunteer sat at a folding desk near the entrance with a clipboard.
“Name and dog?” she asked.
“Peter Hill. Follow-up on a hind leg strain. Pampi.”
She scanned the list and nodded. “Dr. Mitchell will be right with you. You can take a seat.”
Pampi leaned against my leg as we waited.
Dr. Mitchell appeared a few minutes later. “Mr. Hill,” she greeted. “How’s our star today?”
She crouched to examine Pampi’s leg. A few gentle presses later, she straightened. “She’s healing well. Keep her activity moderate for another day or two. No sharp pivots.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“Take a seat for a few minutes. I’ll refill her anti-inflammatory before you go.”
I sat back down, hand on Pampi’s back.
The curtain at the other end of the room rustled open. I looked up and immediately winced. Harold stepped out, leash in hand, his poodle close by.
