Page 47 of Salty Pickle

“Lucy, are you okay?”

“Come get me.” Her voice is high and squeaky. “Please come back and get me.”

I signal to change lanes so I can turn around. “What’s going on?”

“They killed the goats. They sell them!”

Jesus. Did they do something to her goat?

“When?”

“Just now. I saw a meat truck, and I saw them hanging from hooks.” The last word dissolves into a sob.

“Did they mix up your goat?”

“Matilda? No. She’s here with me.”

I let out a sigh of relief. That would have been the worst. “So you saw the dead goats?”

“Those poor babies! They strung them up, like meat!”

I decide not to point out that the goats are, in fact, meat. Devin clearly didn’t check into this farm well enough. I had no idea there was a butchery operation out there as well. But it was a lot of land. I should have known there was more to it.

“Where are you?” I ask her.

“By the Goat Yoga sign.”

“Where they do the yoga in the yard?” It’s pushing ninety degrees. She should go inside.

“No, the one by the main road.”

“Lucy! That’s not safe. Get away from the road.”

“I can’t go back there.”

I grip the steering wheel hard. “It’s not safe for you or the baby or the goat to be that close to traffic. Please back away. Get in some shade at least.”

I hear a rustling sound.

“Are you moving?”

“There’s a tree by the fence.”

I glance at the clock. I left her forty-five minutes ago. I’ll try to make it back in thirty. “Just sit tight, Lucy. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

“If you get thirsty, please go back to your tiny house and get a drink. You can’t see the—” What do I even call it? “The other goats from there, right?”

“No. They were down a dirt road I hadn’t been on before.”

“Please tell me you’ll head back if you feel sick or hot.”

“Okay.”

She ends the call. Damn it. I put through a call to Devin.

“Yeah, boss. You about back? Your next meeting is in a half hour.”

---