I took it and shook politely, but not before noticing a very large Golden Retriever by his side. As I've said before, I'm not much of an animal person. The dog came forward and intently smelled my legs, which were encased in cotton leggings. I must have seemed nervous because Greg pulled him back. "Wainwright, down," he commanded. The dog immediately sank to the pavement next to his master. I was impressed. "Sorry, but he loves new people," he said, apologizing. "He must smell my cat." "Then that explains it," Greg said with a big grin. "Wainwright loves cats. Though most of them have heart attacks when they see him galloping up to play. What's its name?" "Huh? Oh. You mean my cat. His name is Seamus." Greg and I smiled at each other. It was plain to see he was trying to put me at ease. After I had called him, I invested some time doing research on Greg Stevens. Being a paralegal has its rewards, not to mention access to and knowledge of public records.
