TWELVE
James Cantrell’s days and evenings were nothing if not routine. He worked at the diner all day, and when he got home he always took Rigs for a quick walk. When they got home he’d eat a light dinner. If Rigs was calm, he would relax and do some reading. He was making his way through the biographies of the presidents. He had recently started Philip Shriver Klein’s biography on James Buchanan.
Everything changed as soon as James Cantrell grabbed his running clothing, Rigs became excited. The brown brindle pitbull-lab paced, stopping periodically under the hook where her harness and leash were housed.
Wearing wicking fabric pants and a poly-blend shirt, James was prepared for cooler weather. As he sat down and lace up his running shoes, Rigs began whimpering. He knew they were about
