Page 117 of Show Me

“Fine.” Her response comes out sounding more relieved than I expected.

I move toward Samson, keeping my steps even, not pushing him. “Hey,” I say, low. “Easy.”

He shifts his weight when I get close, not aggressive but alert. He watches me, then flicks his attention back toward the trees.

“Yeah,” I mutter. The hair along his spine is raised. “I know. I don’t like it either.”

I crouch, scanning the ground before I get to him. What is that? My gaze narrows to the scuffed leaves and grass. There, near his front hooves, are small, scattered bits. Feed. Different from what’s in the trough.

Drier. Lighter. Spread unevenly like it was dropped, not poured. The piglets are tucked farther along the tree line, half-hidden in brush, pressed close together.

My shoulders go tight. “Ruby….” I don’t take my eyes off the ground. “Don’t come closer yet.”

“Why?”

“Just…. Hold on.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. It’s not a straight line, but it leads, faint, broken, toward the trees. Led and not wandered.

I straighten, scanning over Samson. He appears fine—no foaming of the mouth. No disorientation. Alert. Feed, not poison. “Come here.”

She’s beside me in seconds anyway, ignoring the distance I asked for. “What is it? Did you find them?”

“Look.” I point to the spot near Samson’s front hooves.

She squints. “That’s just–”

“Feed,” I finish. “Not from your bin.”

Her expression shifts. “Shit. He didn’t wander off. Someone lured them out here.” Her arms wrap around herself. “While we were….”

I don’t let that thought finish. “Let’s get them back in first.”

She nods, tight. It takes a few minutes to retrieve them, but once we have them, Samson falls in behind us, not taking his attention off the yard until we’re back inside the pen.

The gate hangs wrong when I reach it. “You didn’t move this when you came outside?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t move anything.” Her hands rub up and down her arms as if she can replace the chill that’s gone through her by scrubbing.

I fix it, securing it tighter than it was before. “Count them again.”

She does, voice quieter now. “They’re all here.”

“Good.” I step back, scanning the ground outside the pen this time.

There. Indentations. Faint. Pressed into the softened earth from the storm. Then, nothing. The line cuts off where the dirt’s been disturbed, scuffed over just enough to blur the shape. Not erased but altered so they can’t be made out.

“There are the marks.”

She’s still watching the piglets. “What?”

I point. “In the grass. I’m assuming those aren’t yours?”

She steps closer, following where I’m indicating. “I didn’t come through there.”

I straighten, giving the fence one last look before stepping back. “They wanted you to know they could get in.”

“Fucking asshole. It’s one thing to mess with me, but another to put my animals in jeopardy.” Her arms tighten around herself again. Her head jerks up. “The cameras. We should’ve caught them on camera.”

“Let’s go inside.”