“Yvette’s pretty active on Facebook. Lots of check-ins, daily posts, sharing quiz results that apparently mean she’s 96% like Elsa and 78% like avocado toast, and most importantly, I found hundreds of pictures. Some of them with the dog we saw. Or well, the dog I saw.” I give her a side-eye, checking to see if she’s thinking about where her head was when I saw the dog, and though she fights the smile, her lips tilt up at the edges.

“Rusty,” Zoey says out of nowhere, but then she explains. “When I went to do the initial exam on Richard Horne, the dog out front was fighting with a deputy. He called the dog ‘Rusty’.”

“Yeah, that’s the dog’s name. So there are pictures of the dog and the same guy I saw leaving Yvette’s house, and she’d tagged a location.”

“A tagged location?” Zoey asks, shaking her head. “Nope, she’s not that smart, is she?”

“Not super-smart,” I agree. “But the guy’s name is Sebastian, and he’s a dog trainer. Apparently, he’s got some deal going with social media, like he’s some wannabe Dog Whisperer or something. Says he can train any dog. And it’s big, I guess. Guy’s got a hundred thousand followers! Did you know dog trainers were that in demand?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoey says, turning around to look at Chunky in the back seat. “I only know the most well-behaved, calm, healthy dogs. No needy little sausage rolls that beg for peanut butter.”

Chunky, hearing the word ‘sausage’, squirms wildly, trying to get to Zoey and making me groan. “No, Chunkster, no sausage. Kibble, doctor’s orders . . . kibble!”

Zoey stage-whispers to Chunky, “He is a mean old thing, isn’t he? I’ll see if I can find some peanut butter-flavored dog biscuits that won’t get us in trouble. Would you like that?”

I’m creating a monster. An adorable, sweet, beautiful monster . . . and I’m not talking about Chunky.

“So I basically cyber stalked this Sebastian guy, and based on his videos, figured out that he meets clients at the dog park we’re going to,” I reveal. “I thought we could stop by, maybe set up a conversation. We can’t just confront him and ask about Yvette.”

“Ah, that’s where Chunky comes in, I guess? You’re not just trying to get in my pants.”

“Don’t need Chunky for that,” I boast, and Zoey giggles.

Unaware that’s he’s instrumental in a murder investigation, Chunky lets out a cute growl, and I look in the rear-view mirror to check on him. He’s staring at the back of Zoey’s head with puppy dog eyes, and I think I’ve been replaced in the big guy’s heart. Of course, she did promise him peanut butter-flavored treats, and the way to any guy’s heart is through his stomach.

* * *