Ch 20
His
Spring '12
Bow-Wows is still standing and open for business.
It's rundown and smelly, but it's there.
The receptionist informs me that she's new, so I ask to speak to a more seasoned employee of the clinic.
Dr. Franklin is old. Like really old.
He leads me to a tiny office next to the kennels and looks at the picture I offer him.
"Good Lord, son. That picture's got to be eight years old at best," he chuckles. "That dog statue was stolen summer o' '04, if I do recall."
I feign interest in the story of the stolen pug statue before pulling out a second and third picture.
"I think this is the girl that took the picture," I explain, pointing to the tall brunette.
He smiles and tells me a story about a girl that used to bring injured animals in.
Ten minutes later I have a name.
Isabella Swan.