Chapter 11: Sunday, 3:41

Silvan set his laptop on my kitchen table.

We both sat down very close, because neither of us was thinking about chairs.

My mouth still felt kissed.

I tried not to look at his, and failed, twice.

"My assistant found the manufacturer's backup," he said.

"Camille deleted Sunday from our account, but she couldn't touch theirs."

"She deleted it?"

"And she took the memory card out of the collar on Sunday night."

"Silvan."

"I know."

"Why would she do that?"

"I think we're about to find out."

He pressed play.

The picture jumped, and then it was a sunny street from two feet off the ground.

It was Gerald's view.

A black shadow moved along the sidewalk in front of him.

Above the frame, I could hear Silvan's voice.

"Yes, two containers. Tell them Tuesday. I don't care if it's a holiday."

The time stamp in the corner said 3:41:07.

"You were on a call," I said.

"About containers."

"For the whole walk?"

"For the whole walk," he said, wincing.

Gerald trotted at heel, off leash, perfectly even, past a hedge and a mailbox.

Then the white picket fence came into view, and the gate beside it.

It was my gate.

The latch was stuck halfway down, as it had been since spring.

A small brown nose pushed up under the latch from the inside.

I sat very still.

The nose lifted the latch bar, with a click I could hear through the laptop speaker.

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