Her logical side dismissed it—just a stray making do with trash. But another thought gnawed at her. Why would a dog cling so tightly to fabric, dragging it under his chest like treasure? She shook her head, turned the corner, and kept driving.
At work, numbers and emails filled her screen, but concentration proved slippery. Her mind wandered inexplicably back, again and again, to the scrappy figure in the ditch. The folds of the blanket had seemed too neat, too deliberate. It looked like the work of human hands.