The file was full of them—newspaper clippings, old website printouts, veterinary records, each more crumpled and decrepit than the last. All of them described unexpected tragedies or uncommon lab results. One animal hospital document mentioned hot spots disappearing and reappearing. The news pieces referred to “faulty wiring” over and over again.

All of them mentioned a German shepherd, always named Rover.

Amy saw a printout from a local news site with the headline AREA MAN ACQUITTED OF HIT-AND-RUN—JUDGE CONFIRMS BOY RAN IN ROAD, and her hands began to shake. The blaring horn of the oncoming car and the sight of Rover hunched over her flooded back into her mind, and she had to close the file, shut her eyes, and take a few deep breaths before she could open it again.

He’ll kill us, she thought. Just like he killed all of them. It’ll look like a series of accidents. Faulty wiring, a bad fall, a gas leak. And then, when Katie finally catches on and tells him not to, he’ll kill her, and we’ll all join the other families and sweet old animal lovers who this terrifying creature has gotten rid of over the years …

Amy’s mind raced.

Rover was donated. Someone had known to get rid of him. An old woman, Nurse Becca had said, who’d understood what Rover was. If she’d walked into Robins County Animal Rescue with Rover, she must have survived.

Amy dug back into the file, and sure enough, the last page was Rover’s donation record, complete with a woman’s name and address. Amy recognized the name of the town and used her phone to pull it up.

It was reachable on the bus. The ride would be long, over an hour.

But she needed to know.

Amy watched the rain roll down the bus window, and waited.

Thankfully, the storm had stopped by the time she got off the bus and wandered through the previous owner’s neighborhood. The house sat at the end of a block of old colonial-style homes, all of them flaking and sagging, their yards overgrown. The one she walked to had a black iron fence around the outside that crawled with vines and ivy. Amy peered between the bars of the front gate and saw a yellowing lawn and a porch with flaking paint.

There was a doorbell set in the fence, to the right of the gate. She pressed it and heard a buzz from somewhere inside the house. After a few seconds, the front door opened and an old woman in overalls came out onto the porch. As she got closer, Amy saw that her face was sweet but hard-set and no-nonsense.

“You selling cookies or something?” asked the woman as she crossed the lawn.

“No,” said Amy. “Are you Gina Fuentes?”

“That’s me,” she said. “Why?”

“I have to ask you about something very important,” said Amy. “Can I come in?”