Sun is out. Dogwoods in bloom. Dogs out. Everywhere. And Pollen. At least when you're dead you don't get allergies (#paranormalpositivity).
I loved dogs but I didn't have one. Too busy at work, and living in a midtown condo wouldn't have been fair to the dog. So, even though I grew up with one, I thought I'd wait awhile longer before I got one of my own. A Boston Terrier definitely would have been on my short list.
Max was a Boston. He lived down on 10th Street. He was in his yard a lot and I learned his name when I heard his owner call out to him one day. I'd see Max and say hi. I think he had one of those invisible fence things. He'd come running out, and just stop in his tracks a few feet from the edge of his lawn. I was with Joe a few times when we walked by Max's house.
One tiny problem though: Joe didn't really like dogs. He especially didn't like "yappy" ones. I think that mostly meant he didn't like the small ones. As a real estate agent, of course he came across a lot of dogs: big ones, small ones. And, yes, "yappy" ones. I think they're cute.
I've done a little night work lately - nothing else to do really. And I've seen Max hanging around the Piedmont Dog Park. He's a vampire - of course I know that now - so you don't need to tell me what he's been up to. His old house on 10th Street got sold. I heard that Max's owners moved to Ohio or something.
One thing I found out about Max: He didn't like strangers on his lawn. Did Joe stop by Max's house? Did the two of them get into it?
One thing I know, I didn't kill Joe Evers. But Max? Possible I guess.
Carrie Rose
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