TEST KNELT BESIDE Sally the same way she’d knelt beside her own dog just hours prior. Gregory Sergeant knelt on the other side, stroking his dog’s head.
Scott Goodale stood with a hand on Gregory’s shoulder.
Sally lay in vomit that appeared to consist mostly of raw hamburger.
“She’s been poisoned, hasn’t she?” Gregory said.
Test nodded. Her assurances to Claude now seemed misplaced. He’d be angry with her, accuse her of patronizing him, and he wouldn’t be that far off base. Sally being poisoned in the same way indicated more calculation and premeditation than just an asshole bigot behaving in a knee-jerk fashion.
“Who does such a thing?” Gregory said.
“Homophobic bastard,” Scott said. “I’ll kill him.”
Test shook her head, looked at Gregory. “King knocked you down yesterday?”
“Slammed into me. I scalded myself with hot coffee, coming out of Ha Ha’s.” Gregory showed Test the back of his left hand, along the thumb. It was red and blistered. “King said, ‘Be careful.’ The man is a menace.”
“A menace?” Scott said. “He’s a fucking asshole.”
Or a murderer, Test thought.
“I told Greg,” Scott said, his face red with anger, “let me pay that fucker a visit and get a hold of him myself and—.”
“Do not do that,” Test said. “Do not antagonize him.”
“Me antagonize him? There’s one way, one way, to handle a fucking bully.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Test said.
“I hope you do more than that,” Scott said.
“I’d like to. But without proof.”
“Get proof,” Scott said. “You get some goddamned proof. It may be just a dog to you, but Greg’s had her since—” his voice tailed off.
“Believe me,” Test said. “I know how you feel.”
Goodale and Scott eyed her, puzzled.
Test would get proof. And figure out how King fit into this whole mess.
“Get that hand looked at,” Test said. “And contact your attorney.”