I sailed across town on C-470 in less than twenty minutes. Even on days when traffic or construction made for slower going, Jack had probably considered the drive reasonable, and he didn’t have to keep office hours. He could have avoided rush hour traffic easily. Susan and Carl both agreed that Jack’s parting with the kennel’s owner, Dorrie Stander, had been ugly. In our phone call, Dorrie had been sympathetic to my situation and more than willing to see me so long as I arrived before the kennel closed at six. The kennel buildings were surrounded with a chainlink fence that would have done a maximum security prison proud. Evidently during business hours the fence had no security purpose because the gates across the paved driveway were wide open. No dogs or dog runs were in sight, and I heard no barking. I parked in a paved tree-lined lot in front of a large white building with bright green trim. Narrow strips of grass and low shrubs set off the entrance. The reception room was clean and cheery with pale yellow walls and beige tile floors.
