CHAPTER TWELVE
The Jag stopped in front of the not-so-shabby shack where Harry Sontag lived with his three cats, his one goldfish and his hunting dog. He never went hunting because he could never kill an animal – at least a nonhuman one. Although Dak did bark away the riffraff, Harry once explained to her.
Dak knew Jessica by smell, so that once she got out of the car, the anxious pup quieted and spent a minute licking her hand.
“Good boy, your master home?” she purred.
…only to have Harry answer for him. “What you want?”
She stood up, turned around and shielded the sun with her hand, making out Harry’s lanky form on the old wood porch.
“Some time with you,” she called back.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m bored.” She moved from the car to the careworn steps of Harry’s house.
Harry shrugg
