“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.
CHAPTER 17
As it turns out, the signature cocktail is called the Pig’s Tail and is a sickeningly sweet mélange of liquors and fruit juices in a shade of pink I normally associate only with upset stomachs. I take a single sip of the one Dani hands me and instantly regret all of my life choices.
“Oh,” I say, still feeling the viscous liquid coating my tongue. “Wow, that’s…”
“It’s awful,” Dani says, surveying the crowd. “But it gets the job done.”
“The job being…?” The only job the Pig’s Tail seems capable of doing is ensuring no one actually keeps down any of the appetizers—pigs in a blanket, obviously, as well as sausage rolls, maple-glazed pork lollipops, and bacon-wrapped scallops that look like they were pulled from the ocean when the mountains of West Virginia were formed and kept on ice ever since.
Dani laughs and taps my arm playfully. “You’re hilarious,” she says, and I’m pretty sure she has no idea what I just said.
I consider giving the Pig’s Tail another chance, but when I bring it closer to my face, I’m almost overwhelmed by the alcohol fumes and have to set it down on the bar by my elbow.
Marcy’s is packed, people crammed around the handful of tables and lined up along the bar. It’s not a big place, which doesn’t help, and it kind of has those dark, seedy bar vibes. There’s a small TV installed near the ceiling over one end of the bar. It’s playing some NASCAR race that can’t possibly be live because it’s still daytime there. The décor is all pretty much various shades of brown—dusty brown wood floors, a sticky dark brown bar, peeling gold, orange, and brown wallpaper that I suspect looks familiar because my grandmother had the same wallpaper in her bathroom. Behind the bar, where two bartenders move at a leisurely pace despite the crowd, there’s a red neon sign that reads, “Gilts, Grunts, Guns,” which I assume was custom-made just for this place.
At the moment, the crowd noise is loud enough that the only person I’m able to really hear is Dani, and that’s because she’s raising her voice. Less than ideal, obviously, but maybe I just need to use what I have. “So,” I say. “Having a good week?”
“Definitely. It’ll be even better if Milton shows well tomorrow. I’d love to get a good price for him.”
I wince. After last night’s conversation with Grayson, I’m not ready to think about all the boars going up for auction after the show. “Well, good luck.” I try to think of a casual way to steer the conversation to the other participants. “So, um…have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?”
Wow, Jensen. Nailed it.
Dani snags one of the pork lollipops. “Suspicious how?”
“I don’t know.” They look like they’re considering flattening the barn and crushing everyone in it? “Like maybe they don’t quite belong?”
“Hmmm.” Her gaze slides past me, and she gets what I’m starting to think of as her Reg smile on her face. “I’ll tell you what—that guy’s suspicious. Suspiciously hot.”
I turn and am startled to see Grayson leaning back against the bar several feet away, a dark bottle of beer in one hand. When he sees me looking, his face lights up and my insides squeeze.
He’s happy to see me.
Me.
Dani doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d like to have that guy churn my buttermilk,” she says.
“I don’t…I don’t even know what that means.”
But once again, she’s not paying attention. This time she’s deeply invested in eating her meat lollipop as lasciviously as possible, all the while staring at Grayson like he’s a pig show judge and she desperately wants a belt buckle.
