Lovecraft sat next to him, his snout resting on Chris’s lap. Scratching the dog’s forehead soothed Chris more than it did the dog, so he continued the motion even after Lovecraft started snoring. One of the cops was jabbering into a radio, and another was pacing beside his cruiser. He wished they’d hurry things up.
A breeze brought the aroma of hotdogs. Chris’s stomach grumbled in response. He hadn’t eaten yet today. He glanced at the officers nearby, mortified that his body would betray him so loudly. The sour smell from Carolyn’s body would haunt him forever, but right now, all he wanted to do was eat a couple of hotdogs and take Lovecraft home.
He turned, searching for the food cart, and located it a short distance up the path, its red-striped awning fluttering. Several people were in
