3

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I gave Fuzzball a suspicious look, wondering if he could tell I was having a difficult time believing him. He was too busy looking around to notice my reaction, the franticness of his actions also made me look about uneasily. It was best if Becker and I parted with Fuzzball here and now, but the level of concern on his face was disconcerting.  

“We have to get inside. I can answer your questions then.”

Becker growled. As I raised my hand to signal that he should settle down, I noticed he wasn’t looking at Fuzzball. He was focused on my neighbor’s corn field.

What had gotten into him?

Fuzzball bounced up and down, his child-like face torn in fear. I inhaled, my insides turning to ice. I couldn’t leave Fuzzball out here, not like this. Every instinct in my body prevented me from doing it. Yet, I knew full well that unless I was in a courtroom, having previously spent hours reviewing depositions and evidence, that I was susceptible to deception.

Marjorie always said I couldn’t tell the difference between a thief and a priest. Unfortunately, she was right, so I’d learned to be careful of situations that required I make immediate decisions. I had just learned the hard way too many times.

That was part of why I’d become a litigator. My job had rarely required fast decisions. There was almost always time to think and reflect on a particular issue.

Fuzzball quaked, still looking around like a scared rabbit as if he were about to dash off in any direction at the slightest provocation.

Whether it was based on something real or not, his fear looked genuine. 

“Answer them now,” I said, trying to keep my agitation from showing in my voice.

“They’re after me, and they’ll get you too. We are running out of time. I’ll only answer your questions once we’re inside.”

I shook my head and was about to tell him to leave when Becker started barking.

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