The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Somewhere up there, somebody is laughing their ass off at my dilemma.

How the hell does this crap happen to me?

My pig can be friends with her, but I can’t. It leaves me wondering what exactly I did to deserve being jealous of a pig.

Clearly, I’ve lost the game of life and might as well throw in the towel now.

While Faye jabbers away with Thelma about the break-in, I collect her luggage and haul it inside, bringing it upstairs to one of the guestrooms.

Thelma refuses payment from either me or Faye for their hospitality again. In no time, the two old gals are settled in Thelma’s private wing, laughing their butts off at all the times when Hercules was supposedly the world’s cutest pig.

I have yet to see it.

“So what’s the plan?” Marty asks. “You want me to check out that shifty oil guy Faye mentioned?”

“Yeah, I’d love a follow-up. You’ve got access to the records as a field supervisor, though it’s pretty damn stupid if a guy here for seasonal help did this—especially with a company still owned by the sheriff’s family.”

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Marty says in this exaggerated Alabama accent like he’s auditioning for Forrest Gump. “Sorry, man. You know how much I love that movie. Also, if he’s new to Dallas, maybe he didn’t know who Drake married.”

I roll my eyes.

“While you’re busy torturing us with movie quotes, I’m gonna have Faulk install a new security system at her place ASAP. This doesn’t seem like an amateur, spur of the moment break-in. Whoever went in knew exactly what they were doing. They picked her door and the lock on the gun’s case without making a sound to wake her up. The locks still felt solid when I checked, but they’re old. I’ll have to replace those, too.”

“Need help?” Marty asks. “I finished everything around here the boss lady left for the day. No matter how demanding she gets, she forgets how fast I work.”

He nods at Shelly with a grin.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

That reminds me of the old days so much I fight back a grin of my own.

“No, but thanks. I left a message for Faulk to call me as soon as he gets a chance.”

“All right then, I’m going home to mow my lawn before the neighbors complain, but if you and Faulk need help, just holler.” He frowns slightly as he looks at Shel again. “Speaking of Faulk...how late were you up roaming around last night?”

I flinch slightly, thinking of our late-night phone call.

“Pretty late. Why?” Shel stiffens as she shrugs, rejoining us.

“That security app pinged me sometime after midnight. I knew it was probably you because it was in the private area.”

Her reaction turns me to stone.

It’s subtle, barely visible, but she fidgets anxiously. Her green eyes widen too much.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“It notifies me every time the motion sensors pick up something, especially in the old room next to the back office,” Marty says. “I had a few extra sensors put in Gram’s sitting room. They only turn on at night, usually after ten o’clock. Easiest way for me to make sure she’s safe and all, living there with strangers.”

“Just sensors? Not cameras?” she asks.

“Yep, sensors,” Marty replies. “Besides the office, we can’t risk trampling on anybody’s privacy and getting ourselves sued. Why?”

“No reason,” she replies quickly. “Just curious.”

There’s a reason, all right, and I sincerely want to know what it is.

“You sure? Why’d you call the landline in the middle of the night?” Marty asks, scratching his neck. “That was your number in the records.”