Mara remained in the veterinary office long after the phone call ended.
The old record sat open on the screen.
Otis Mercer.
Male basset hound.
Owner or presenter: Rebecca Mercer.
The examination had been routine.
Weight.
Teeth.
Eyes.
Joint pain.
No major illness.
But one sentence in the notes had been highlighted by the veterinarian years earlier.
“Dog becomes distressed when separated from shepherd companion.”
Mara read it again.
Then a third time.
She looked through the window toward the kennel corridor.
Sunny was asleep now.
Walter was awake.
He had his nose tucked beneath his paw, but his eyes were open.
Watching.
Always watching.
“Six months after Daniel disappeared,” Mara whispered.
Luis stood beside her.
“So Rebecca did have Walter.”
“At least once.”
“And she lied about it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mara shook her head.
“That is what we need to find out.”
She called the veterinarian back.
“Can you send me the full record?”
“I already have it open.”
“Anything else?”
“There was an address.”
Mara's attention sharpened.
“What address?”
“The same property where the dogs were found.”
Her stomach dropped.
“So Rebecca took Walter there?”
“Apparently.”
“And Sunny?”
“No record under Sunny's chip number.”
Mara leaned back.
That did not make sense.
If Rebecca had taken Walter to a veterinarian, why had Sunny disappeared from the record?
She searched the shelter database again.
Nothing.
Then she searched the county licensing system.
Sunny had been registered to Daniel.
Walter had never been registered.
The two dogs had apparently traveled together for years without appearing in any official paperwork as a pair.
Except for one veterinary note.
Mara printed the document.
The sentence sat at the bottom of the page like a warning nobody had understood at the time.
*Do not separate from shepherd companion if avoidable.**
She carried the paper back to the kennel.
Rebecca's behavior suddenly looked different.
She had not come asking for both dogs.
She had come for Sunny.
Why?
Mara stopped outside the kennel.
Sunny lifted his head.
“Do you know something I don't?”
He stared at her.
Walter slowly stood.
Mara opened the gate.
Neither dog approached.
She sat on the floor.
After several seconds, Sunny came forward.
He rested his chin on her knee.
Walter followed.
His injured paw moved carefully across the floor.
Mara stroked the shepherd's neck.
“You're protecting him.”
Sunny looked at Walter.
Mara followed his gaze.
Walter was sniffing the edge of the blanket.
He suddenly stopped.
His ears lifted.
Then he walked toward the back of the kennel.
Mara watched.
Walter sniffed the wall.
He scratched once.
Then again.
Not frantically.
Purposefully.
Mara moved closer.
“What is it?”
Walter scratched the same spot.
Sunny stood behind him.
Mara pulled the blanket aside.
Nothing.
She checked the floor.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a faint dark mark on the concrete.
A rectangle.
Something had once been taped there.
She ran her fingers across it.
There was a tiny metal object wedged beneath the edge of the kennel flooring.
Luis fetched a pair of pliers.
They carefully lifted it.
It was a small brass key.
Mara stared at it.
“Where did that come from?”
Luis looked toward Walter.
The basset was staring at the key.
Not frightened.
Recognizing it.
Mara's skin prickled.
She held it closer.
A number was stamped into the metal.
17.
She looked at the kennel.
“There's no lock here numbered seventeen.”
Luis shook his head.
“Maybe it belongs to the old property.”
Mara immediately called animal control.
The officer who had handled the original case remembered the house.
“There was a detached shed,” he said.
“Was it searched?”
“Yes.”
“Locked?”
“Not when we arrived.”
“Could there have been another lock?”
A pause.
“Maybe.”
Mara asked for the original photographs.
They arrived by email minutes later.
She opened the first.
The abandoned house.
Second.
The kitchen.
Third.
The storage room.
Fourth.
The backyard.
Mara zoomed in.
There.
Behind the shed.
A small metal door.
Half hidden by weeds.
She stared.
“That's it.”
Luis leaned closer.
“What's inside?”
“We're going to find out.”
They couldn't legally enter the property without authorization.
But the county still owned the abandoned parcel after a foreclosure proceeding.
The next morning, an officer agreed to accompany them.
Mara barely slept.
Before leaving, she checked on the dogs.
Walter was curled beside Sunny.
For the first time, Sunny was not positioned between Walter and the kennel door.
He was sleeping.
Mara smiled.
“Stay here,” she whispered.
Walter opened one eye.
Mara almost laughed.
“I know. You don't trust anyone.”
She closed the kennel.
At the property, the grass had grown waist high.
The house looked smaller than Mara remembered.
Empty windows.
Peeling paint.
A porch sagging toward the yard.
The shed stood behind the house.
The metal door was still there.
Mara tried the brass key.
It fit.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a narrow storage room.
Dust covered everything.
There was an overturned chair.
A broken plastic container.
A stack of cardboard boxes.
And on the far wall, several deep scratches.
Mara crouched.
Dog scratches.
The officer looked around.
“Could they have been trapped here?”
“Maybe.”
Mara noticed something else.
A strip of yellow fabric caught beneath the bottom edge of a wooden shelf.
She pulled it free.
A towel.
Bright yellow.
She remembered the kennel.
Walter had been sleeping on a yellow towel when they first arrived.
But shelter towels were not unique.
Still, Mara examined it.
There was something sewn into one corner.
A name.
Not Walter.
Not Sunny.
A child's initials.
Mara turned the fabric over.
A small photograph slipped from the fold.
It showed Daniel.
He was sitting on the floor.
Sunny was beside him.
Walter rested against his leg.
Behind them stood a little girl.
Mara stared at the girl.
She looked familiar.
Then she remembered Mrs. Alvarez.
“The woman said Rebecca took boxes from the house.”
Mara examined the photograph.
On the back was a handwritten message.
*For when they need to remember where home was.**
The officer frowned.
“Who is the girl?”
“I don't know.”
Mara turned the photograph over again.
There was another detail.
The little girl wore a necklace.
A silver pendant shaped like a star.
Mara had seen that pendant before.
On Rebecca.
The realization came slowly.
Rebecca had not simply been Daniel's sister.
She had a daughter.
And that daughter had apparently been in Daniel's house.
Mara looked around the storage room.
“Why would a child be here?”
The officer pointed toward the floor.
“There.”
A small wooden box was partly hidden beneath the shelf.
Mara opened it.
Inside were veterinary receipts.
Photographs.
A leash.
Two old collars.
And a handwritten envelope.
The envelope had one name on it.
*Rebecca.**
Mara's hands went cold.
She opened it.
There was only one page.
She read the first line.
Then stopped.
The handwriting was unmistakably the same as the note hidden inside Walter's collar.
*Rebecca, if you're reading this, it means I didn't get the chance to explain.**
Mara continued.
Daniel had written that he was leaving because someone had threatened to take the dogs.
He did not say who.
He wrote that Walter had witnessed something.
He wrote that Sunny would not leave Walter.
He wrote that if anything happened, Rebecca was supposed to keep them together.
Mara's eyes moved down the page.
Then she reached the final paragraph.
It changed everything.
Daniel had not abandoned the dogs.
He had deliberately hidden them.
And Rebecca had known.
But the letter ended before explaining why.
Mara turned the page over.
Blank.
“There's more,” Luis said.
He pointed toward the box.
Beneath the letter was a second envelope.
It had no name.
Only a date.
Six months after Daniel disappeared.
Mara opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Walter standing beside Sunny.
Both dogs were older.
Both looked frightened.
On the back, someone had written:
*I tried to take them somewhere safe. They escaped and came back. I couldn't keep them hidden forever.**
Mara stared at the words.
Rebecca.
The handwriting was not Daniel's.
It was hers.
So Rebecca had not lied because she had forgotten Walter.
She had lied because she had been hiding something.
Mara looked at the date.
Six months after Daniel disappeared.
The same date as the veterinary record.
Rebecca had taken Walter to the veterinarian.
She had tried to move the dogs.
And they had escaped.
But why had she waited years before coming for Sunny?
The answer might have been in the final line.
Mara unfolded the photograph again.
There was one sentence written beneath the others.
*If anyone finds them, don't let Rebecca take Samson alone.**
Mara's breath caught.
Luis read over her shoulder.
The officer frowned.
“Why would Daniel write that?”
Mara didn't answer.
Because she suddenly understood the real danger.
Rebecca hadn't come to rescue Sunny.
She had come to separate him from Walter.
And whatever Daniel had been protecting years ago might still matter now.
Mara reached for her phone.
There were three missed calls.
All from the shelter.
The kennel attendant's voice shook when he answered.
“Mara, you need to come back.”
“What happened?”
“Rebecca is here.”
Mara's heart dropped.
“Is she alone?”
“No.”
A pause.
“There's a man with her.”
Mara looked at the photograph in her hand.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Then she heard barking through the phone.
Sunny.
Loud.
Desperate.
And beneath it, Walter was making a sound Mara had never heard from him before.
He was crying.
Click Here to continue read next: PART5: The Man Beside Rebecca Was Not There by Accident, and the Dogs Reacted Before Mara Could Learn What He Had Come to Claim
He Had Spent Three Days Facing the Wall, Until the Dog Next Door Did Something No One at the Shelter Expected
Part 4 of 16
