When the loudspeakers announced the next pig race, Bree joined the crowd, heading over to the “track.” The collapsible bleachers were already packed, and there was a long line at the stand selling pig-themed novelties. The racers were separated into divisions, ranging from tiny teacup pigs to MINI Cooper–sized hogs, many of which were cleverly named after celebrities: The Notorious P.I.G., Albert Einswine, Jason Hammoa. And her personal favorites: Hammibal Lecter and Spamela Hamderson.
Bystanders were encouraged to support their favorites by waving plastic pennants. She accepted a bright yellow spirit flag from one of the volunteers, then moved up toward the front when a spot opened up, and waited for the first race to begin.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Lenny’s voice sounded behind her.
She turned around to find him freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. The scent of a popular men’s body spray assaulted her nostrils. It didn’t smell half as good as Nick’s soap.
“Sure is. I’ve never seen people get so excited over pigs before. What’s the appeal?”
He grinned. “Just watch.”
With a buildup worthy of a grand prix event, the final “race” began. Bree couldn’t help laughing as the pigs, draped with colorful cloaks, ambled around the track, snuffling up the trail of treats to the witty banter of the MC.
“Cute,” she agreed as the winner was declared and someone used a T-shirt cannon to shoot pig shirts into the crowd.
Lenny shrugged. “It’s clean, wholesome fun. Are you hungry? The pork barbecue stand is just on the other side.”
She gaped at him. “Pork barbecue?”
“Well, what do you think happens to the losers?”
Bree was horrified. In fact, it might be several months before she could even look at a piece of bacon again. “You’re not serious!”
He laughed. “No, I’m not. Come on. Let’s grab something to eat and find a quiet place to talk.”
With cups of fresh-squeezed lemonade and boats of fries swimming in malt vinegar in hand, Lenny led Bree into the trees, away from the lights and crowds and sounds.
She waved her hand toward the shiny badge he wore on his hip. She’d interviewed enough men and women in blue to know that cops typically kept their badges out of sight when not on duty. “I thought your shift ended.”
“It did,” he agreed, puffing out his chest slightly. “But my job never stops, not really.”
As if to prove his point, Lenny raised his voice and called out a warning into the semi-darkness, “If anyone were out here, doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing, now would be a good time to skedaddle.”
The sounds of hushed whispers and hurried feet had Bree chuckling. “I wish we’d had policemen like you when I was a teenager.”
He shrugged but smiled. “They’re just doing what kids do. Besides, I wanted to ensure we had some privacy.”
“You mean, you asked me out here for something other than pig races and lemonade, Officer Petraski?”
Lenny sat down atop a picnic table, his feet on the bench seat. “How’s your research coming?”
It seemed like an abrupt change of subject, but there was little doubt in Bree’s mind that they’d finally come to the real reason behind Lenny’s invitation.
She sat down beside him, giving her eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness. Through the trees, she could see the lights and hear the music and crowds, but it was quiet where they were.
“It’s coming along well. I think I have everything I need. Unless, of course, there’s something you’d like to add.”
“Was Sanctuary what you expected?”
“Yes, and no,” she answered honestly, wondering where this was going. “I’d seen the pictures on the website, so I had known it was once a mountain resort at one time, but I’d expected it to be more ... I don’t know ... institutional, I suppose.”
Seconds ticked by in silence. Lenny’s pause felt deliberate. Calculated.
“And the people?”
“Also not what I’d pictured,” she admitted.
“Appearances can be deceiving, you know.”
Bree was growing frustrated with his continued cloaked aspersions. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? It’s clear to me that some locals have issues either with Sanctuary or with the men who run it. What’s not clear is why they feel that way. I’ve heard rumors, but no one, including you, has been willing to give me anything specific. All I have are these vague insinuations without substance. For all I know, your dislike might be based in nothing more than an old grudge that goes back generations.”
“It’s more than that,” he assured her grimly.
“Great. Prove it. Give me something to work with here. Something solid I can investigate and corroborate.”
She pulled her leather journal out, opened to a blank page, and waited expectantly.
* * *
Two hours later, Bree was back at the B & B. Her fingers flew over the laptop keyboard, translating her notes and typing in as much as she could remember while it was fresh in her mind. Lenny’s revelations had been stunning.
First, there had been the fires. As it turned out, the tragedy at the Winston resort wasn’t the only one to rock the area; there had been others as well. A mom-and-pop bakery had gone up in flames not too long after the resort, leveling the business and killing the elderly couple who lived above it. More recently, a popular coffee shop on Main Street had been destroyed in a suspicious blaze, followed by an apartment fire that had, thankfully, been caught in time to avoid widespread damage.
What was most shocking, however, was that all of those fires had one common person of interest: Samantha Applehoff, the woman Bree had spoken with in the Sanctuary parking lot while waiting for Nick. Sam had mentioned the coffee shop and the fact that it was no longer around, but she’d failed
