Smoke by Kaye George Page A

inside to see a pig carcass smoking. “Some people are sick, you know. People that ate jerky yesterday.”
    “Shit. It’s probably from that blade. That could do it.” She gave Immy a look of alarm. “You think we’ll get sued?”
    Immy shrugged. “Not by us. Can’t speak for anyone else.”
    “Shit.” Tinnie rose to her unsteady feet. “I’ll go get a duffel ready for Zack.” She turned at the door. “I appreciate this, Immy. I really do.”
    “I’ll go close the smokehouse door.”
    Tinnie nodded and left for Zack’s room.
    The smokehouse door, still ajar, creaked in a slight breeze. Immy started to pull the door shut, but changed her mind. First, she’d see what it looked like. She’d never seen inside one. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She put a tentative hand on the rough wooden door and pushed. It was surprisingly heavy. The light crept into the dark room, fragrant with mesquite smoke. Immy followed it in and let her eyes adjust.
    The carcass of a pig lay against the side wall, the back half in a plastic garbage bag. Immy gasped. It wasn’t butchered, it was whole. She pushed it away from the wall to see it better. Something shiny and pink lay under the pig. Immy started to reach for it, then she realized that the animal was pure white, just like Marshmallow. Was this Gretchen? Was Rusty going to smoke Gretchen into jerky?
    The door fell open wide enough that daylight illuminated the whole room. Sturdy hooks, screwed into the ceiling, held slabs of meat. All but one. That one held the owner of the establishment, Rusty Bucket. He looked smoky. He looked naked. And he looked dead.

Chapter 5
    Drew’s party was merry for the children, Immy hoped. Zack was subdued until the kids were brought outside to the backyard. When he saw the piñata he broke into a grin. After Drew’s turn, since she was the birthday girl, Immy had Zack go next. Although she tied a bandana around his eyes, he could see perfectly fine when he tipped his head up. He gripped the broom handle and whacked the pig hard enough to split it in the exact spot of the dent Drew had made. The children squealed and dove for the candy, under a shower of metallic-pink pig confetti, miniature candy bars, and gum.
    “Whew! It’s fortuitous she only celebrates her birth annually,” said Hortense later that evening, rocking in her rocker-recliner, sipping iced tea, and fanning herself. She turned the television on to a prime-time hospital drama. She liked those almost as much as daytime soaps. Hortense still looked ill and hadn’t eaten any birthday cake, but wouldn’t let Immy call the doctor. Being sick was a moral failure for Hortense.
    The air conditioning was cranking out all the cool air it could, but it was hard to battle the triple-digit Texas heat of late June. After sunset, the temperature dipped into the nineties, but not that far into them, and not for long.
    Immy surveyed the happy wreckage of ribbons, toys, and pig confetti tracked everywhere and decided to do cleanup later. Drew and Zack had been bathed, separately—Immy wasn’t quite sure at what age it was appropriate or inappropriate to bathe together—and tucked into bed. Drew took her youth bed in Immy’s room, as always, and Zack was bedded down in Immy’s single bed. Immy planned to sleep on the couch until Zack returned home.
    He had said a disturbing thing to Immy as she tucked him in. “That lady that works in the shop, that Poppy lady, told Mommy she gonna eat—” His soft chin quivered. “—eat Gwetchen. Soon as she’s smoked, she said.”
    “Oh, darlin’.” Immy sat on the edge of the bed and gathered him in her arms. The child shook with sobs for a good five minutes. Immy dried his tears with a tissue. “We might find Gretchen somewhere,” she lied. “Or we might be able to get you another pig. Would you like that?”
    “I want Gwetchen.”
    “But if we can’t find Gretchen?”
    He nodded. “‘Nother pig would be awright. Mommy said Gwetchen