“Yes.”
“You shot a pig?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re afraid someone will find out.”
“Yes. I need this to go away.”
Julianne grimaced. “So you said. Who’s going to care that you shot a pig? Aside from the owner of the pig, I suppose.”
“Well, that’s the thing.”
“The owner is the thing.”
“Yes.”
Julianne sighed, looking to Will for more help.
“Rand shot Dean and Maureen’s granddaughter’s pig,” he told her.
“Pastor Dean has a great-grandpig?” Turning in her chair, she asked Rand, “Why did you shoot Emily’s pig?”
“I didn’t know it was her pig. I heard a ruckus outside the back door, and I thought it was one of the neighborhood dogs getting into the trash cans again.”
“And you intended to shoot the neighborhood
dog
, Rand!”
“No, of course not. But when I opened the door and saw that thing…. Well, it came charging at me like a wild boar or something….”
“How big is this pig?” Julianne asked Will, and he only shook his head and pulled a face. “Is it one of those giant hogs or something?”
“I remember Pastor Dean talking about it. His son got it for Emily at Christmas last year. It’s one of those pot-bellied pigs.”
“How big can a year-old pot-bellied pig be?”
“Excuse me.” Rand interrupted their exchange, and he rose to his feet, waving one hand between them. “Can we focus? Does it really matter how big it is? I think we’re running off the road and into the ditch here. The fact is …
I shot it
.”
“It does matter how big it is,” Julianne corrected him, circling Will’s desk and opening his laptop. “If it’s a cute little ten-pound domesticated pet, that’s going to be a whole other kettle of pigs than if you had two hundred pounds of bacon charging at you.”
Will moved out of the way, and Julianne lowered into his chair without looking up from the laptop.
“What are you doing?” Rand asked nervously.
“I’m searching for Emily’s Facebook page. She may have pictures.”
When she finally found it, her heart dropped a little at Emily’s profile picture: A cute little wide-eyed pink piglet.
“Oh no,” she said. “This thing couldn’t be any cuter if it was lounging in a laundry basket like that snuggly bear on television. How could you shoot this little guy, Rand?”
He leaned across the desk and turned the laptop to look at the screen. “This isn’t the pig I shot, Julianne! It’s not. No way.”
Julianne took control of the screen again and clicked on the photo section. Fortunately, eleven-year-old Emily had documented the entire first year of her pig’s life. Adorable little ten-pound Wilbur, with the cute pink snout and round peach-fuzz body, had morphed into an eighty-seven-pound one-year-old stunner who apparently enjoyed a good carrot cake. Julianne groaned at the picture of the pig donning a pointed birthday hat as he made short history of one decorated like an actual carrot!
“This pig was part of the family,” Julianne commented as she clicked through more photos of Wilbur and the Alden clan. “That’s going to complicate matters considerably.”
“L-look,” Rand stammered. “You two know this pastor, right? Maybe you can get him to help us make this go away, huh?”
“Well, has anyone contacted you? Is there a threat that this will go public in some way?”
Once again, Rand glanced at Will before he replied. “That little girl is going to be the end of my career!”
“What don’t I know?” she asked him.
Will turned over a pink flyer and slid it across the desk.
A close-up photograph of Rand’s contorted and shocked face angled against another picture, this one far more sobering—the bloody corpse of Emily’s treasured pig-friend—both photos sandwiched between two lines of giant block letters.
RANDALL WINTERS
MURDERER
“Oh. Well, that’s effective, isn’t it?”
“Davis, you should come to my Movin’ & Groovin’ class with me next time,” Amanda said as
“You shot a pig?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re afraid someone will find out.”
“Yes. I need this to go away.”
Julianne grimaced. “So you said. Who’s going to care that you shot a pig? Aside from the owner of the pig, I suppose.”
“Well, that’s the thing.”
“The owner is the thing.”
“Yes.”
Julianne sighed, looking to Will for more help.
“Rand shot Dean and Maureen’s granddaughter’s pig,” he told her.
“Pastor Dean has a great-grandpig?” Turning in her chair, she asked Rand, “Why did you shoot Emily’s pig?”
“I didn’t know it was her pig. I heard a ruckus outside the back door, and I thought it was one of the neighborhood dogs getting into the trash cans again.”
“And you intended to shoot the neighborhood
dog
, Rand!”
“No, of course not. But when I opened the door and saw that thing…. Well, it came charging at me like a wild boar or something….”
“How big is this pig?” Julianne asked Will, and he only shook his head and pulled a face. “Is it one of those giant hogs or something?”
“I remember Pastor Dean talking about it. His son got it for Emily at Christmas last year. It’s one of those pot-bellied pigs.”
“How big can a year-old pot-bellied pig be?”
“Excuse me.” Rand interrupted their exchange, and he rose to his feet, waving one hand between them. “Can we focus? Does it really matter how big it is? I think we’re running off the road and into the ditch here. The fact is …
I shot it
.”
“It does matter how big it is,” Julianne corrected him, circling Will’s desk and opening his laptop. “If it’s a cute little ten-pound domesticated pet, that’s going to be a whole other kettle of pigs than if you had two hundred pounds of bacon charging at you.”
Will moved out of the way, and Julianne lowered into his chair without looking up from the laptop.
“What are you doing?” Rand asked nervously.
“I’m searching for Emily’s Facebook page. She may have pictures.”
When she finally found it, her heart dropped a little at Emily’s profile picture: A cute little wide-eyed pink piglet.
“Oh no,” she said. “This thing couldn’t be any cuter if it was lounging in a laundry basket like that snuggly bear on television. How could you shoot this little guy, Rand?”
He leaned across the desk and turned the laptop to look at the screen. “This isn’t the pig I shot, Julianne! It’s not. No way.”
Julianne took control of the screen again and clicked on the photo section. Fortunately, eleven-year-old Emily had documented the entire first year of her pig’s life. Adorable little ten-pound Wilbur, with the cute pink snout and round peach-fuzz body, had morphed into an eighty-seven-pound one-year-old stunner who apparently enjoyed a good carrot cake. Julianne groaned at the picture of the pig donning a pointed birthday hat as he made short history of one decorated like an actual carrot!
“This pig was part of the family,” Julianne commented as she clicked through more photos of Wilbur and the Alden clan. “That’s going to complicate matters considerably.”
“L-look,” Rand stammered. “You two know this pastor, right? Maybe you can get him to help us make this go away, huh?”
“Well, has anyone contacted you? Is there a threat that this will go public in some way?”
Once again, Rand glanced at Will before he replied. “That little girl is going to be the end of my career!”
“What don’t I know?” she asked him.
Will turned over a pink flyer and slid it across the desk.
A close-up photograph of Rand’s contorted and shocked face angled against another picture, this one far more sobering—the bloody corpse of Emily’s treasured pig-friend—both photos sandwiched between two lines of giant block letters.
RANDALL WINTERS
MURDERER
“Oh. Well, that’s effective, isn’t it?”
“Davis, you should come to my Movin’ & Groovin’ class with me next time,” Amanda said as
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