Sawyer did not have time for the mystery garden today. The plan, as always on weekdays, was to work, stay on task, and ignore the cursed square of yard down the street that had turned her brain into an ADHD child. She’d already lost two lunch hours this week doing everything but walking the dogs and actually eating a lunch – including Googling phrases like “buried Civil War box what now” and “can you report a find without getting sued.”
But the Ferguson garden looked even worse today. Someone had definitely been back – one edge was slumped in like a foot had slid, and the hydrangeas were tilted sideways in a way no plant with decent self-respect would allow. Russo had his nose in the air before she even made it to the railing, and Rafa paced at the back door like he expected another emergency pee break that was actually a recon mission.
She told herself she was just checking. Not snooping. Not meddling. Just walking the perimeter like any responsible neighbor might do when they noticed something off.
The earth gave less resistance than she expected. It hadn’t rained, but the ground was soft. The trowel made a crisp metallic “tink!” sound against something small and not quite rock, and when she pulled it free, her stomach filled with butterflies.
A button.
Flat and round, about the size of a quarter, with a faded symbol she couldn’t quite make out. It looked old. Deliberately crafted. Heavy for its size. She wiped it against her shirt, then thought better of that and used a glove.
There was definitely an eagle. Maybe a star. The grooves were worn but not gone. She’d seen enough “Antiques Roadshow” episodes to know the difference between a fashion button and a military one.
Behind her, Riggins let out a sharp yap and darted sideways like something had spooked him. He stood stiff-legged, tail low, staring into the tangled edge of the garden.
When she looked up, the curtain in the Ferguson house fluttered. Just barely.
Sawyer didn’t move. She stayed crouched, the button in her hand, mud on her gloves, brain spinning.
Someone had been watching.
And someone might still be.
She stood there a beat longer, waiting to see if the curtain moved again. Nothing. Just the sound of cicadas and the low hum of her neighbor’s AC unit rattling against its will. She shoved the button into her hoodie pocket, called the boys, and walked back toward the house with purpose she didn’t feel.
Inbox Update
The email was already waiting when she got back inside.
Subject: Update – Calhoun Dogs
Sender: Karen Hale Talent Agency
She clicked it before her coffee even hit the desk.
“Hey Sawyer,
Thanks again for bringing Riggins to the demo shoot at the dealership. The production crew said he was a total pro—great focus, great ears, zero accidents. Unfortunately, the client ended up going in a different direction.
They cast a Bernedoodle for the final cut. The director wanted ‘floppy and oversized’ to match the oversized recliner. It wasn’t about Riggins—it was a brand aesthetic thing.
That said… the assistant producer flagged Russo and Rafa for something else. A holiday-themed spot for a pet treat company. They’re looking for a pair of smaller dogs who can “zoom and vibe” in matching scarves.
Are you interested? They’ll shoot next month at a park in Nolensville. Let me know soon.
— Karen Hale”
Sawyer read it twice. Then once more, just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating the phrase “zoom and vibe.”
She sighed.
She spun in her chair, looking at the three freeloaders lounging in various states of unbothered glory. Riggins was on the floor like a martyr, chin flat on the vent, eyes full of betrayal. Russo was mid-snooze, tail twitching like he was dreaming of field work. Rafa had his head tilted like he already knew he’d booked the gig.
“I guess it’s a floppy world, boys,” she muttered. “We just get to live in it.”
She hit reply before she could think too hard about it.
“Yes. They’re available. Do you need new headshots or should I send the ones from the dealership shoot?”
Next time on DOOL: