“Is that … is that Barbara?” “Umm, yeah,” Rose says through a pinched smile. She blushes when I raise my brows in a wordless question. “When I left Hartford, I drove past your clinic and saw her trying to break in. She fell from the vent by the roof. She hurt her paw. I couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself.” “So you took her …?” “Pretty much.” “A wild, rabid raccoon.” Barbara hisses, but Rose doesn’t seem to take that as proof of my point. “She’s not rabid. She’s pretty talented, actually. Cheryl’s been training her with the poodles. She had her debut show last week.”
