By the time she arrived at the dog park she was dripping sweat. Satan called and wanted his weather back. She took a swig from her water bottle, the ice cubes melted already. If she listened hard enough she might hear her thigh fat frying. Taking another gulp, her gaze connected with a dog—specifically, a brass statue of a one-eyed dog peeing on a fire hydrant. The plaque mounted to the base readDAVY JONES: WHO KNEW WHEN TO GO.
Now there’s something you didn’t see every day. Then again, Everland, Georgia, wasn’t your everyday sort of place.
The park was busy. Every bone-shaped bench was occupied by chatting duos or trios, while a dozen dogs frolicked on the off-leash grass area. Wolfgang hurled himself at the melee, either frantic to play or into autoerotic asphyxiation. The latter was not entirely out of the question.
She bent to unclip the leash and he nearly tugged her arm from its socket. “Sit,” she hissed. “Sit down already! Help me to help you.”
At last she maneuvered him free and he took off like a shot, bolting to the middle of the pack. He barked a few times and half a dozen furry heads turned in her direction. Wolfgang was no doubt telling a few tales. And the dogs weren’t the only ones staring. The park vibrated with a strange tension, the same phenomenon that occurred at Smuggler’s Cove a few days ago. No one directly stared, but there was a disorienting sensation of having all eyes fixed on her. The faces weren’t unfriendly, but it must be similar to being a new kid at school, standing in front of the class and hoping everyone liked you—or at least didn’t actively dislike you on sight.
There was something to be said for the anonymity of a big city. Growing up in Moose Bottom, everyone knew everyone. The bank teller remembered how she’d spent the summer before first grade speaking duck (quack once for yes and twice for no). And it was impossible to take the swaggering deputy sheriff seriously knowing that he had once been kicked offstage for playing “Jingle Bells” with his armpit during the high school talent night. Plus, you always knew who was up or down on life’s teeter-totter on any given week.
Right now, Pepper was down. Way down. If there was rock bottom, not only had she hit it but she also was digging to see if she could strike the water table.
Turning toward a shady patch under a wide oak, she recoiled. A hulking razorback boar blocked her path. Maybe it was a statue, an incredibly lifelike statue able to simulate breathing.
Nope.
That was an actual boar sizing her up, snuffling closer as if searching for truffles. A prominent ridge ran down the back of his thick, brown coat, bristly as a wire brush.
No one said a word. Everland’s suspicion of outsiders hadn’t translated into feeding them to swamp dwellers, right? The boar’s tail swished, and she took a step backward, colliding into a wall that hadn’t been there before.
“Looks like Dude has taken a shine to you,” a voice boomed.
She glanced over her shoulder. The so-called wall was a middle-aged man clocking in at around six-foot-five. A Santa Claus doppelganger, if Saint Nick sported a ginger beard, freckles, and matching thick gold-hoop earrings.
“Who do we call?” she stammered. “The police? Animal control?”
The man cocked his head. “Why’d we do that?”
Was he on something? “There is a giant pig five feet away,” she hissed.
“Dude? Oh, that troublemaker’s all mine.” The man tipped back his leather hat with a friendly chuckle. “And I’m the General.” He didn’t look the military type, but maybe had been in undercover special ops. Deep, deep undercover. “A semi-professional reenactor, among other pursuits.”
She tilted her head to the side. “War reenactment?” Where grown men donned costumes and pretended to shoot each other?
“Revolutionary mainly. The Second South Carolina Regiment is a particular passion of mine, and I make a point of going to Colonial Williamsburg every—”
“That’s enough, dear. Unless you want to put her to sleep before you’ve introduced me.” A stocky man with a buzz cut and well-defined brown biceps covered in geometric tattoos came from behind, patting the General on the lower back. “Please forgive my handsome husband. He does go on.” He made atalk-talk-talksign with his hand.
“Allow me to present Colonel Jim.” Pride tinged the General’s voice. “Not your fast-food fried chicken kind either. We’re talking actual bona fide military service to this great nation. United States Marine corps, two tours overseas.”
“Lieutenant colonel.” The man smiled. “Happily retired.”
“Hey, does Dude seem hungry to you? I think he looks hungry.” The General answered his own question. He reached into his shoulder satchel and removed a plastic bag of peaches. Colonel Jim didn’t bat an eye.
“Here, Dude, fetch.” He removed a couple peaches and tossed them over the boar’s snout. The beast ambled after its prize. “I’ve had him for near going on seven, no, eight years. Rescued him as a piglet from being roadkill on a backwoods stretch of Florida highway. He was easier to domesticate than this handsome cat.” He inclined his head toward his partner.
“You bring a wild animal to the dog park?” Had she forgotten to take her crazy pill this morning? No one else appeared unsettled in the slightest. The creature had tusks, for Pete’s sake. Long and pointy ones.
“Don’t get him started, darlin’,” Colonel Jim muttered.
“How else is he supposed to get his exercise?” the General blustered, glancing between them.
Pepper wrinkled her brow. Maybe it would be best to speak slowly. Use short sentences. “That animal is not your run-of-the-mill pink farm pig.”
“Pink?” the General blustered. “Dude’s a razorback boar, through and through. But don’t worry about him hurting more than a flea. Why he thinks he’s a dog himself. Although, to be on the safe side, better not let Wolfgang wander too close. Keep an eye to the sky, too. A red-tailed hawk could swoop in and carry the lil’ fella off without so much as a please and thank you.”
Pepper’s polite smile faded. She’d been so wrapped up in protecting herself from dogs—and boars—that she hadn’t considered protecting her clients, especially from being eaten. Add that to her job responsibilities, right below poop scooping.
