Page 21 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Preschool puppy investigators? That’s very specific. You’re not writing children’s books now, are you?” I take a bite of my scrambled eggs and wash them down with orange juice.
“Never.” He takes another sip of his tea. “Kids are life-ending career blockers. I hung out with my nephew the other day, and he made me read fifteen Paw Patrol books. I’ll never be the same.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.” I laugh.
“I’m not like you, buddy. I don’t daydream about getting hitched to one woman and filling her with my bacon bits.”
“One dream! I had one dream where I had kids and called them my ‘Bacon Bits” and you’re never going to let me live it down, are you?”
“No, I will not. I will bring it up often. In public and at full volume.” Trent waves to a sweet old lady at the table next to us whose mouth is open in apparent shock.
Our server places a ham and cheddar omelet down in front of Trent. We come here so often that they don’t even ask for our order anymore.
“Thanks, Carol,” we say in unison before she nods and hurries to her next table.
Trent proceeds to shovel food into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “So. You wanna know the information I have on your girl or what?”
My girl.
God, I love the sound of that. I know it’s crazy, but for one night, that’s really how it felt. She was my girl.
“Yes. Please. Tell me everything. See? I knew you’d find her! You were all, ‘Bacon, dude, I only play a private investigator in my books. I can’t do it in real life.’ But you did it. You found her!”
“First, that was a terrible impression of me. And second, I didn’t find her. But I do believe I found her grandma.
“Her grandma?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, her grandma. After all our internet searches and phone calls trying to track down a ‘female New Yorker named Cookie who works in publishing’ came up short, I decided to return to Exhibit A.”
Trent whips the merino wool bra from his briefcase and slaps it on the table.
“Right! She said the bra was hand knit by her grandma!” I say way too loudly.
The older lady at the table next to us huffs in our direction, dumps a pile of coins on her table, and shuffles out of the diner. The gentleman in me wants to follow and apologize to her for our inappropriateness, but the part of me who’s desperate to find Cookie stays glued to Trent’s every word.
“Exactly. The embroidered letters on this tag were too tattered to read at first. I brought it to my tailor. He’s a genius with a suit, so I figured what the hell, maybe he could help. He studied the pattern of the embroidery holes and determined that the original lettering must have been ‘With Love, From Baabara.”
“Barbara? Her grandmother’s name is Barbara?” I ask.
“No,” Trent says. “Her grandmother’s name is Ethel. The sheep is Baabara.”
“Okay, I’m lost. Who was talking about a sheep?”
“I searched for Baabara and… here.” Trent slides his phone across the table. “Look at this article I found from 2019.”
I read the title out loud. “Rambunctious Sheep Disturbs Flower Festival.”
“Go on,” Trent says. “Keep reading.”
“‘Fork Lick residents are up in arms after an incident yesterday afternoon when a local sheep named Baabara Streisand crashed through the town’s annual flower festival. The sheep bound through the small outdoor arena, grabbing flowers in her muzzle and spitting them back out at fairgoers continually and with rapid-fire precision, leaving local florists angry and without merchandise. One local resident said, “Screw that sheep! Someone needs to get a handle on - ‘“ I cut myself off. “This is fascinating. But what does this have to do with Cookie?”
“Maybe nothing,” Trent says. “But scroll down farther. It says the sheep’s owner is named Ethel B. Doesn’t give her full last name. This girl of yours said her grandma hand knit the merino wool bra for her, right?” He holds it up and unfurls the faded tag. “This one with a tag that used to say With Love, From Baabara?”
“Right,” I say.
“So it wouldn’t be completely illogical to assume this Ethel B woman who owns a merino sheep named Baabara could be your girl’s grandma.”
“Trent, buddy. You’re amazing. Now all I need to do is find the grandma, and she can help me find the girl!”
