29
That evening, to my surprise, there was nothing about the alleged murder on the local news. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, I started to wonder whether Dana had fabricated the murder story, hoping to rile me into revealing a snippet of information previously hidden from her. She knew my dog had discovered the body of the drowned woman, and she had been eager to prise details of the scene out of me. She had obviously been frustrated by her failure to wheedle from me a gruesome description of a dripping corpse, but I remained firmly convinced of my good sense in sharing as little as possible with her. It was not hard to imagine how she might have exaggerated anything I told her, twisting it into a scene far more ghoulish than the reality, horrible though that had been.
Th
