Chapter 3 - THE VET SAID IT COULD HAVE BEEN WORSE
Buddy’s injury wasn’t fatal.
That was the first blessing.
The vet, Dr. Melissa Vaughn, took X-rays, checked his breathing, and finally told Emily the front leg was badly bruised with a small fracture near the shoulder. No blood. No internal rupture. He would heal.
“He’s frightened more than anything,” Dr. Vaughn said gently. “And in pain.”
Emily sat on the floor beside the exam table while Buddy dozed under mild sedation, his tiny body wrapped in a blanket. Every few minutes she touched his paw, just to reassure herself he was there.
When Dr. Vaughn asked what had happened, Emily gave the short version.
“My neighbor hit him with her car.”
“Accidentally?”
Emily thought of Margaret’s smirk.
“No.”
That answer hung in the room.
The vet exhaled slowly. “Then you need the footage.”
Emily hurried home after leaving Buddy for observation.
The upload had completed.
Hands unsteady, she opened the clip.
At first, it showed what she had already seen: Buddy at the curb, Margaret’s car turning in, the surge forward, the impact.
But when Emily rewound and watched from the beginning, her breath caught.
The clip started earlier than she thought.
It showed Margaret standing beside Emily’s side gate.
And in her hand was Buddy’s red chew toy.
Margaret crouched, jiggled the toy through the fence, waited until Buddy bounded toward her, then unlatched the gate.
Buddy trotted out, wagging.
Margaret tossed the toy toward the road.
Then she walked back to her car.
Emily stared at the screen in total silence.
This was no careless driver.
Margaret had lured him out.
Emily forwarded the clip to herself, backed it up twice, then called the non-emergency police line.
The responding officer, Daniel Reed, arrived within the hour. He watched the video three times without speaking.
Finally he asked, “Do you have any previous issues with this neighbor?”
“Constant complaints. Harassment. She hates my dog.”
Officer Reed nodded slowly. “This is better than most cases I see.”
“Is it enough?”
“For an investigation?” he said. “Absolutely.”
Emily’s heart hammered.
“For an arrest?”
He hesitated.
“That depends how the DA reads intent, motive, and what your neighbor claims.”
Margaret, Emily thought, would claim anything.
And right on cue, a black sedan pulled into Margaret’s driveway across the street.
A man in a navy suit stepped out carrying a leather briefcase.
Ten minutes later, someone knocked on Emily’s front door.
It was not the police.
May you like
It was a process server.
And the envelope in his hand was addressed to Emily Carter.
