The crew arrived the next morning right at 9, a white truck with “City of Willow Creek Public Works” painted on the side pulling up to the curb. Two men got out—Jake, a young guy with a beard and a baseball cap, and Mike, an older man with a belly and a tool belt slung over his shoulder. They looked at Max, who was sitting a few feet away, watching them, and then at Dave.
“So this is the famous dog?” Jake said, grinning. “He’s pretty serious, huh?”
Dave nodded. “He’s been here weeks. Won’t leave. The ring’s supposed to be silver, with a blue stone. Small—about the size of a dime.”
Mike grunted, grabbing a crowbar from the truck. “Let’s just get this grate off. If there’s nothing there, we’re outta here. Got a clog on Maple Street that’s actually urgent.”
Max stood up when Mike approached the drain, his body tensing. He let out a low growl, not aggressive, but warning—don’t hurt it. don’t break it. Dave stepped forward, putting a hand on Max’s shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. They’re here to help. To find the ring.” Max looked up at Dave, his amber eyes searching, then sat back down, but his tail twitched with tension, like he was holding his breath.
Mike knelt down, positioning the crowbar under the edge of the grate. He pushed down, grunting, and there was a loud, scraping sound as the metal lifted. Jake leaned in, shining a flashlight inside the drain. It was dark and damp, the walls lined with moss and dirt. Leaves and small sticks had collected at the bottom, along with a few plastic bags and a soda can.
Jake moved the flashlight around, the beam cutting through the darkness. “Nothin’ but garbage down here,” he said, sighing. “Sorry, man. Looks like your dog’s just—”
He stopped mid-sentence, frowning. “Wait. Hey, there’s something glinting down here. By the back wall.”