Chapter 106

“Okay, who wants more sausages?”

I don’t remember how we ended up having lunch outdoors at Sheriff McCord and his wife’s place. My intention was to meet them briefly and thank them for their help during the difficult situation that had led me to meet them (and talk a little privately with Luke, about “that” matter), but I ended up in their yard, with my nose vilely seduced by the smell of grilled meat and my children hogging Johanna’s attention.

“It’s too much meat,” I commented, looking at everything Luke had just grilled.

“Southern hospitality, wolf. Enjoy it.”

“We’re not that far south.”

“I was born in Dallas,” he replied, and took a drink of his beer. Mirko approached us with a green china plate in his hands and a look full of anxiety: those sausages would make anyone’s mouth water, even if they didn’t have a nose. “Do you want one, puppy? They are good. Do you eat venison?”

“Yes, please!” Mirko pleaded, with a yelp from the back of his throat