She looked like she might be in her late fifties, but the years had taken their toll. Her skin had a yellowish tint. Her eyes were only half open. Winnie could smell cigarette smoke on her wig and skin and clothes. And Charlotte Amper’s breath reeked of alcohol.
She wore faded red sweatpants, bedroom slippers, and a T-shirt celebrating a steak house.
“Who are you?” Charlotte asked them.
“Remember me?” Irma asked, smiling. “I’m Irma Makelski from the Animal Adoption Center, and this is Dr. Parsons.”
Winnie had told Irma to use her formal designation of doctor. It made a useful impression in a situation like this.
“Doctor?” Charlotte repeated.
“Yes,” Winnie said. “We’re here from the Center. Mrs. Bristol instructed us to make home visits every quarter.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. She c
