The Death of Etta Calloway: Walking the Dog

Alison Griffin was walking her dog, a year-old, tri-colored beagle, Oliver, when she saw an ambulance leaving one section of her neighborhood. Otherwise, the area was quiet. If there had been a big hullabaloo over whatever happened here, she’d missed it.

Alison lived three streets over, or just along one street if you looked at a map of the neighborhood a little different. There was a large green island of grass just in front of her house that Oliver liked to run around in and a patch of trees the developers had left alone when they’d started constructing this section of the development fifteen years ago.

Alison had been lucky to get this house when she did. She’d barely made the cut for tax breaks for first time home buyers. If she’d closed only a week later, she would have missed the date. But she’d managed to pull it together in time.

She’d lived in the townhouse for just under a year and a half, and she still loved it. It had taken a while to settle in. She just didn’t have that much stuff. So, when she emptied her boxes from her apartment, it only filled up about half a room. But that worked for her. Not having a lot meant she was open to endless possibilities.

She painstakingly cleaned everything off and down – who knew what the previous owners did with the place – and she painted. Pale green with darker trims and a yellow accent wall in the master bedroom. The living room had red half walls with a white ceiling. The kitchen was a dark blue with a white contrast. She loved the solid colors, but of course they needed lighter areas to reflect the light and make the space look bigger.

Alison had gotten a number of her male friends from college to help move her furniture. There were only a few things from her apartment – a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a table and four chairs, a couch, a small cabinet for the T.V, a coffee table and two bookshelves. Enough to fill an apartment, but certainly not enough for a three-level town home.

Alison had gone back to her parents’ home, where she’d raided her old bedroom. They’d been in the process of emptying out their basement and getting rid of items they’d accumulated over the years, so Alison was able to leave with a lot more than she came with.

The entire house didn’t match together, but she was able to create a unique feel to each room. The basement was cozy. The living room had a lot of floor space. The guest room had a twin bed. The second guest room was now a library and office. It was hers, and it was home.

Oliver, with his cute puppy nose, scented something along the street and started straining against his leash.

Alison was able to restrain him, but quickened her pace to allow him to run forward a little faster. When the pair got a little closer, Oliver’s nose to the ground and Alison’s concentration on the road, Alison noticed a woman leaving one of the end units with a cat carrier.

The woman was talking into the carrier and moving cautiously down the front steps of the home. She walked down to the other end unit of the group of townhouses, went up the steps, opened the door and disappeared inside.

A few minutes later, as Alison was headed around the cul-de-sac and away from that particular group of houses, she saw the woman rush out of her house again, still carrying the cat carrier, but this time with a lot less care, and head back for the town home she’d initially exited.

While somewhat curious what all that was about, Alison decided not to pry into the strange doings of her neighbors. She shrugged off the entire incident and kept going with her walk, Oliver again tugging at his leash so he could go explore.

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