Читать книгу Madhouse Fog - Sean Carswell - Страница 15

9

A week and a day later, my wife appeared.

I returned from work on Friday night, unlocked the door, and dropped my keys on the newspaper rack/table. Clint Dempsey greeted me. I squatted in the foyer, in front of the surveillance camera, and tried to pet him. Clint Dempsey jumped up and down, twisting, wagging his tail, trying to lick my face but missing, looking for affection but unable to settle himself long enough for me to give it to him. I did my best. I said, “Wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.”