The exhibition center stood beyond a faded billboard advertising a summer livestock fair that had closed years ago. Behind it, a row of corrugated barns sat along a narrow access road. A wire fence enclosed three training yards. Weeds pushed through the concrete around the loading dock. Nothing about the place looked active until Mara noticed fresh wheel marks near the far gate.
A woman in dusty work boots approached from the nearest barn. She introduced herself as Alma Reed, caretaker of the property. When Nisha asked about Rook’s Run, Alma folded her arms.
“You’re the people with the seven dogs,” she said.
“We have legal custody through the surrender,” Nisha answered.
“I’m not interested in your fight. I’m interested in the seven frightened creatures someone turned into a business.”
Mara asked what the business was.
Alma led them into the barn. Inside were a series of low platforms, painted targets, portable ramps, and stacked boxes with small doors cut into their fronts. It resembled an obstacle course, but some obstacles were far too narrow for a greyhound to pass through. There were no trophies, betting machines, or grandstands. Instead a long workbench held canvas pouches, bells with their clappers removed, and bundles of short wooden dowels.
“They trained the dogs to sort objects,” Alma said. “Or that’s what they told me. Different shapes, different sounds, different doors. Visitors paid to watch a demonstration about animal intelligence. At first it was harmless. Then they started asking the dogs to identify objects nobody had shown them before. They called it intuition.”
Nisha picked up a wooden block with a corner missing.
“Like this?”
“Exactly like that.”
Mara thought of Cedar tapping twice beneath the kitchen table.
“The demonstration wasn’t the crime,” Alma continued. “The money was. People were paying for private appointments. They believed these animals could make decisions no machine could make. Some lost more than they could afford.”
“Who ran it?” Mara asked.
“A man named Victor Senn. Never put his name on the signs. He paid a trainer called Beck. Beck used to work with rescue dogs, and he had a way of making an ordinary trick look miraculous.”
The barn door opened behind them. A young man in a canvas jacket stood silhouetted against the sunlight, holding a plastic bucket. He stopped when he saw Mara and Nisha.
“Alma,” he said, “you weren’t supposed to bring anyone here.”
“People are asking questions, Eli. They have a right.”
Eli set the bucket down carefully. “Victor’s buyers are coming Tuesday. If those dogs aren’t here, he says everyone who worked the Annex will be blamed for taking them.”
Mara asked whether the man who entered her garage worked for Victor.
