Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

they might really be gone was starting to hit.

The old tractor wasn’t far away, and I pushed my way through the overgrown brush and leaned back against it.

“Harold! May!” I screamed.

Oink, oink.

I flattened myself to the ground, pushed a bunch of grass to the side, and peered under the tractor.

Two little piglets smiled back at me.

“Guys!”

They wiggled their way out from the shade and into my arms. My eyes started watering. I was a thirty-five year-old man, and the closest relationship I had outside of my sister was with two little piglets.

Good grief.

I picked up the fugitives and marched back to the house.

Caroline was standing out front as we approached. I couldn’t help but notice there was more wine in her glass than previously.

“You found them,” she shrieked. “Oh, thank heavens. I don’t think I would have been able to live with myself.”

I simply stared at her, then made my way inside. I set the piglets down, then headed to the kitchen to mix their formula. Caroline clomped in behind me.

There were two grocery bags sitting on the counter. From behind me, Caroline said, “I came to make you dinner.”

I glared at her.

Should I really be that upset?

I mean, yes, she broke into my house. Yes, she let Harold and May out. And yes, she didn’t really put any effort into helping find them.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked. Her face fell. For just a brief moment, there was a break in whatever facade she’d created over the many years.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked.

Chicken piccata. Lemon butter. Capers.

It was mouthwatering, and I told her so.

She smiled meekly, then took a sip of wine. There was still a touch of tension in the air, but there’s something about good food that makes it hard to hold a grudge and I’d mentally signed a treaty. Plus, to Caroline’s credit, she made a concerted effort to be extra nice to Harold and May, even going as far as to give them each a couple staged pats on the back. And of course, there was the small fact she looked like she was smuggling cabbages in her dress.

I was telling her the story about finding Harold and May in the barn loft when there was a knock at the door.

I excused myself and opened the door.

“Hi,” Wheeler said.

At the sound of her voice, the piglets materialized and attacked her.

“Hi guys,” she said, picking up May, turning her over, and giving her a big kiss on the belly. “Don’t think I’m not gonna give you kisses too,” she said, reaching for Harold.

He turned and ran playfully. Wheeler pushed past me into the house and grabbed him. That’s when she noticed Caroline sitting at the table.

Wheeler turned to me, her face ashen. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Hi, Wheeler,” Caroline said. The words hung in the air, two large dripping icicles.

“Oh, hi, Caroline,” Wheeler managed, setting Harold down. “I didn’t see your car out front.”

“I parked around back.”

“Right,” Wheeler replied. “Well, I just came to check on these little guys.”

“Aren’t they just adorable?” Caroline said with a giant smile.

Wait, hadn’t she called them beasts?

Wheeler looked at me expectantly. I wanted to explain that Caroline had broken into my house uninvited, that she’d sprung dinner on me, and that I didn’t have the heart to decline.

I opted for silence.

“There’s plenty of food,” Caroline said, “if you’d like to join us.”

From the look on Wheeler’s face, it looked as though she’d rather get a pap smear from a crocodile.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

Caroline smiled in response.

The two women were having their own little conversation, one even a seasoned detective such as myself could only grasp the barest of details. More was conveyed in those few quick exchanges than the Gettysburg Address.

Against my better judgment, I took a moment to contrast the two women. Both women were attractive, albeit in their own way. Wheeler in a short, petite, Scarlett Johansson sense. Caroline in a tall, voluptuous, Jessica Rabbit variety. Wheeler was comfortable in a pair of jeans, a ball cap, and maybe a dusting of makeup. Caroline appeared to feel more at home in a dress, heels, and lipstick. Wheeler preferred beer. Caroline, a white wine spritzer.

Wheeler moved past me and out the front door. I followed her down the porch steps. I asked, “Do you two have history?”

She let out a small laugh. Whatever history they had, she was keeping to herself. She did say, “Enjoy the apple pie. Many have.”

Then she got in her truck and drove away.

I headed back to the house and returned to the table. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, heavens. Don’t be sorry.”

“How do you two know each other?” I asked.

“Oh, Thomas, the first thing you need to learn about a small town. Everybody knows everybody. And everybody knows everything.”

“And what is the second lesson?”

“The second lesson is that I make the best apple pie on the planet.”

Wheeler’s departing words came rushing back. Was this Caroline’s MO? Break into a guy’s house and cook him dinner and feed him apple pie? How many men had fallen into her trap?

I made a mental note of this, then changed the subject to something more benign. “Where did you learn to cook?”

She smiled. “My grandma.”

“Did she live in Tarrin?”

“She still does.”

“Your grandma is still alive?”

“Ninety-one and still kicking.”

“Wow.”

“I’m guessing all your grandparents have passed.”

I wanted to answer her, but the words were caught in my throat.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, concerned she may have ruined whatever progress we’d made in the last twenty minutes.

“You’re fine,” I assured her. “It’s just that my grandpa died a little over a week ago.”

“Oh, honey.” She stood up and came behind me. She cradled my head and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Her touch was soft, and she smelled like honeysuckle.

“This is his house,” I told her. “He gave it to me in his will.”

She ran her fingers through my hair. It was the first time a woman