Chapter 16
Don’t screw this up.
Or be dead.
And honestly, if I let The Witch attack this event and get killed in the process, Cressida will probably fire me posthumously anyway.
Dead and unemployed. Sounds about right for me.
So I have two choices. I can stand there in the slowly warming morning air, staring at the slice of barn I can see over the trees, or I can get back to work.
Obviously, it’s an easy decision.
Do I make it immediately?
No. It may be an easy decision, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to make myself walk back to the barn.
Eventually, though, I do. More people have shown up, and there are more pigs in what were previously empty pens.
There are clearly regulars on the pig show circuit, calling each other’s names and hugging and standing around looking at pigs, most of whom are asleep or otherwise sprawled out, doing very little.
Petunia, though, is on his feet, pacing anxiously in his pen.
I crouch down, wrapping my hands around the red metal bars of his pen, while the pig presses his face against the other side of the bars.
His eyes find mine, and I am shocked at how Grayson he is at this moment.
I know I’m looking at a pig, but all I see is my partner.
“The other barn is a logistical nightmare,” I whisper. “But we’re not allowed to call off the show. We have to figure out who The Witch is and stop her from doing whatever she plans to do to the show, but I have no idea how we’re going to do it.”
Grayson grunts softly in what I take as a show of support. “I just—” I begin.
“Aw, that’s cute. I talk to my pig, but I never get down on his level. Does it help?”
I glance up to see Dani standing nearby, her pink-and-white checked shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal a lacy white cami and a good amount of cleavage.
“Oh, definitely,” I say. “Really helps with our bond.” Not that I’m about to keep talking to Grayson while she looks on. I get to my feet, dusting off the knees of my jeans.
“I’ll have to try it with Milton. Maybe it will be what gets through to him finally. I swear, I’ve been working with him and working with him, and he still just does not want to listen.”
There is, I notice, a bit of straw poking out from her long blond braid, so I’m not sure I believe that all the hours she’s spent around here have been devoted to working with her pig—at least, not Milton.
But she looks happy, and considering we may all die tomorrow due to my ineptitude, it feels silly to judge her.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Hope so.” She stretches her arms up, arching her back as though to work out a kink. “You going to the shindig tonight?”
“What shindig?”
“At Marcy’s.” When I just look at her blankly, she adds, “The bar? There’s a little meetup for show participants tonight.
It’ll be fun. There’s going to be appetizers, and a signature cocktail, and, you know, you’d enjoy it.
” She looks me up and down as though just now assessing me. “I mean, probably?”
I decide not to take that as an insult. I’m just going to assume the clothes I’m wearing as Sally are doing their thing. I was going for boring.
More importantly, this sounds like a great opportunity to do some recon. I can observe everyone, maybe chat up anyone who looks suspicious. In other words, a good chance to get some work in.
“I’ll be there,” I say.