Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (warren buffett book recommendations .txt) 📕

for the burglary. He was paroled in early 2012 and worked at the Save-More for six months. Then he got himself fired. Two weeks later, he would exact his revenge.

Three agencies had been involved in the investigation: the Tarrin Police Department, the Audrain County Sheriff’s Department, and the Missouri Bureau of Investigation.

That being said, there didn’t appear to be much of an investigation. There was no question who did it or why he did it.

According to the article, surveillance footage clearly showed Lowry Barnes entering the store with a gun raised, then rounding up his victims and marching them to the back of the store and into the freezer bay. Lowry Barnes was found an hour after the murders, parked on the side of the road. Overcome with guilt, he’d taken his own life.

I pondered searching the internet for the surveillance video or perhaps photos of the crime scene, but it didn’t seem necessary. The case was what we refer to in the business as “open and shut.”

“I need some baby formula for some piglets,” I told the guy stacking large bags outside the feed and supply store. “Do you guys sell that sort of thing here?”

The man dropped the bag he was holding, put both hands on his back, and said, “Sure do.”

He was wearing a green John Deere hat that I suspected had resided on his shaggy gray hair for the better part of a decade. He waved me to follow him inside the large store and said, “Baby piglets, huh? Where’s the sow?”

“She is currently decomposing in my barn.”

His eyes widened, and I gave him a clipped version.

“Miracle those little guys survived,” he said. “Can’t go more than a day without eating.”

I nodded.

“You thought about finding a surrogate?” he asked, making his way through the store to a refrigerated section.

“A what?”

“Another sow. They’re pretty good about letting other piglets join their litter. Course, every once in a while, they don’t take to it, and it can get ugly.”

I ran a simulation of a big mama pig going crazy when Harold and May tried to suckle on her teats. “I think I’ll stick with the formula for now.”

“Suit yourself, but make sure you’re givin’ those little piglets all the love in the world.” He grabbed me by the shoulder, his thick, callused fingers heavy and strong. “You’re their mama now.”

“Don’t worry,” I said with a laugh. “If anything, they’re getting too much attention.”

The three of us had slept on the floor together. I woke up with May tucked into my side and Harold between my legs.

Once at the refrigerator, the man showed me my two options for piglet formula—sorry, Proprietary Sow’s Milk Replacer. I chose the more expensive one. Only the best for my piglets.

Walking back up front, the man asked, “You the guy who bought the Humphries place?”

“Yeah, though I didn’t exactly buy it. It was willed to me.”

“By Harold?”

I smiled. “You knew him?”

“Not really, but I met him at his dad’s funeral way back when.”

He told a quick anecdote about Harold’s father. How Harold’s father was the best farmer he’d ever known. How, when he was little, Harold’s father would hire him to help with the harvest. “That there is some of the best land in all of Audrain County.”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a glorified landfill.”

“I’ll admit it doesn’t look too good these days, but it’s all about the soil, and that’s the best soil I’ve come across in fifty years.”

I paid him for the formula, and he asked, “You thinking about planting anything this year?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Well, you should.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled on the back of my receipt. “Call this number if you’re thinking about getting that farm back in shape. Guy I try to throw some work.”

I stuffed the receipt in my pocket and told him I would think about it.

Sitting at the last stoplight headed out of town, I rolled up the windows and cranked the A/C.

In the three days I’d been in Tarrin, the air had grown incrementally warmer and stickier each day. If it kept at this rate, by the end of the summer it would be like walking through molasses.

The light turned green, and I gently eased down the gas pedal. There was a hundred dollars’ worth of lumber tied down to the top of the Range Rover—which a guy from the hardware store loaded for me as my ribs and shoulder were still too sore to do any heavy lifting—and it made a soft hum against the headwind.

Main Street turned into County Road 34, and the speed limit changed from thirty-five to fifty. There wasn’t another car on the road, and I sped up to sixty. The humming quickly escalated into a violent rattle, and I slowed back down. But it was too late.

I was so preoccupied with the lumber, I failed to notice the cop car parked on the side of the road.

In my rearview mirror, I watched as the Tarrin Police Department cruiser spit up a cloud of dust, fell in behind me, then flipped its siren. I let out a long exhale and pulled to the side of the road. I rolled the window down, the Missouri afternoon at equilibrium with the cool synthetic atmosphere for half a second before pressing in entirely.

In the side mirror, I watched the door of the cruiser open and a man step out. The officer was small, a head shorter than me, with blond hair curling from beneath a Tarrin PD ball cap.

“Howdy,” he said as he came even with the window. He had two days of stubble and a defined butt chin.

“Howdy,” I returned.

“You know why I pulled you over?”

“Because I’m not driving a Chevy?”

He laughed, revealing flawless teeth, and said, “Naw, we don’t do that here. Unless you’re driving one of those little Minis, then it’s mandatory.”

He seemed like a nice enough guy, and I gave a chuckle.

“You were going a little fast back there.”

“I was trying