“Does Patricia still work here?” I asked. “She helped us with his adoption several months ago. I’d prefer to meet with her if she’s free.”
The attendant checked her computer screen. “Looks like she just got in. Let me put you and Arnold in a room where you can wait for her.”
The attendant buzzed us through a heavy steel door and escorted us into the room of cages behind the counter. Arnold and Iwere met by a cacophony of barking dogs, and his ears perked, alert and anxious as I tucked him inside my jacket to help him feel safe. Cam would murder me and Venmo my entire life savings to himself in revenge if I let anything happen to his beloved dog.
The attendant showed us into a tiny sterile meeting room with a small table and two chairs and a large plexiglass window. I had been hoping for something more private (and less like a police interrogation room), but it was better than having this conversation out in the open. She gave me a full-color glossy brochure to read about the shelter’s services while we waited for Patricia.
I sat down with Arnold in my lap, studying the pamphlet: adoption, rehoming, vaccinations and emergency care, end-of-life assistance… My eye snagged on a photo of a pale blue gift bag with a paw print embossed on the side.Your pet’s cremains will be returned to you in decorative casket bag—
“Who do we have here?” I dropped the brochure at the sound of Patricia’s voice. She came in holding a clipboard. She gave my form a quick skim, then knelt in front of Arnold and scratched his tiny head. “Aren’t you just a handsome little guy?”
I cleared my throat as she inspected his eyes and ears then moved on to his paws. “Hello, Patricia.”
Startled, she looked up at my face. Her cheeks paled and she dropped her clipboard. She straightened slowly, taking a skittish step back from me as her eyes darted to the door. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed never to see each other again.”
“Believe me. I never wanted to see you again either.” It felt like walking back into a nightmare, right back to the moment my unwitting life of crime had begun. I had that same sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I need to talk to you.”
“It’s over,” she said, reaching clumsily for her clipboard. “Harrisis dead, the case is closed, and you and I have nothing more to say to each other.”
“I need to ask you about Elizabeth Chen.”
She kept her eyes on the floor as she searched for her pen. “Birdie doesn’t work here anymore.”
“But you know her,” I concluded, noting her use of a nickname.
Patricia gritted her teeth. “Not well,” she said curtly.
“How about Margaret Haggerty?”
Patricia froze on one knee. Her gaze slowly lifted to mine. She glanced past me, through the plexiglass window into the kennels. Then she bolted.
Patricia strode fast toward the nearest exit. I scooped up Arnold and followed her, matching her brisk but cautious pace, neither one of us wanting to attract attention. She pushed open a fire exit. Arnold bounced and yapped in my arms as I picked up speed to catch up to her.
She cut through the grass, groping in her coat pocket for her car keys as she made a beeline toward the parking lot. I heard my van cough and rattle as Vero started the engine. The tires squealed, but I was too busy racing after Patricia to turn to see where Vero was going.
Dogs barked, chasing us along the fence and climbing up on the chain link to snap and growl at us. Patricia reached the employee lot on the far side of the building and stepped over the curb. She lost her balance when my van skidded suddenly into her path and jerked to a stop. Patricia whirled at the sound of my sneakers on the pavement behind her. She held up both arms in an effort to keep me and Arnold back.
“We only want to talk to you,” I said, darting left then right, blocking her path. Arnold barked as Patricia tried to get past me.
“I have nothing to say to you!” she said, reaching for her phone.
Vero slid the van door open behind her. “I figured you might say that.”
Vero grabbed Patricia around the shoulders and threw herself backward, using all her weight to leverage them both into the van. I slammed the door shut. Then I sprinted around the hood and climbed into the driver’s seat. The whole van rocked as Patricia and Vero wrestled in the back.
I set Arnold in the passenger seat and put the van in gear. He barked, releasing a stream of urine as I peeled out of the parking lot. I didn’t know where I was going, only that my plans for the day had not included kidnapping when I woke up that morning.
I jerked the wheel, taking the entrance into the parking garage of the mall. Vero and Patricia flew like pinballs across the floor in the back seat, thrown apart by the force of my turns as the van spiraled up the ramp. Vero sat up, her face triumphant in the rearview mirror as she brandished Patricia’s cell phone. Patricia scrambled for an exit. Her face twisted as she attempted to wrench the sliding door open, only to find it locked.
“Childproof,” Vero pointed out as she caught her breath.
Patricia smacked the door in frustration. She sat down hard with her back pressed to the door as she glared at me, red-faced in the rearview mirror. “What do you want?”
I skidded the van to a stop in an empty corner of the garage and turned in my seat to face her. “Who is Margaret Haggerty to you?”
“I told you, I’ve never heard of her.”
“Then why did you run?”
