Chapter 8: The Notice

I didn't call the county.

The vet did, that same afternoon, and she attached the teenager's photo.

Two days later, a white county van and a deputy's SUV pulled up in front of PupPalace at nine in the morning.

I watched from our front window with a box of dog biscuits in my hands.

I had been about to restock the shelf, and then I forgot to move.

Two officers in gray jackets went inside.

Ten minutes later, they came out carrying crates.

One crate at a time, they set them on the sidewalk in the sun.

Tyler stood in the doorway with his phone up, filming, with tears running down his face.

"This is a witch hunt," he told his three hundred viewers.

"They're taking my babies. A competitor made a false report."

His voice cracked.

"I want everyone to know who did this."

Then he turned the phone around on the sidewalk, toward our store.

I put the box down.

Ben came up beside me.

"Don't go out there."

"I'm not."

"You're holding your keys."

I put the keys on the counter and left them there.

The officers took a long time.

They loaded ten crates into the van.

A woman from the county kneeled on the pavement beside the last four and checked each puppy with gentle hands.

She stood up and spoke to the deputy, who looked toward our store.

A minute later, the woman came across Wilmington Pike with her clipboard.

"Are you Vicky Kreutzer?" she asked.

"Yes."

"The vet gave me your number and said you were the one who kept the first puppy alive."

"The vet kept her alive. I drove."

"The shelter's full," she said, with no hello.

"These are all underweight, and four are sick."

She looked at the crates on the sidewalk.

"They can't go back to a store, and I have nowhere to put them tonight."

I looked at Ben.

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