Best of all, the smoke drowned all other smells. Last night Sean had built an outdoor fire pit behind the house. He'd drawn a wide circle on the concrete, then built a wall of concrete blocks around it, leaving space to add wood. Next he lined the inside with fireproof bricks, leaving vent spaces, and installed the grill. We set the pots up, filled them with water from a hose, and let them cook through the night. The hickory chips in the fire pit drowned most of the stench, but if you stood right by the pot, you could smell an acrid, toxic odor. But to get to the back, any visitors would have to first pass by Sean's grill at the front of the house, and once they smelled the aroma of that barbecue, they wouldn't go any farther.
Sean raised the grill lid and checked the meat. He wore jeans and a plain green T-shirt. The T-shirt molded to his muscular shoulders. Sean had a peculiar kind of strength, powerful but lean, quick and supple, but without weakness. Like flexible steel.
And I've been looking at him entirely too long.
I finished with the bread, took a bowl with egg mixture out of the refrigerator, and started spreading it on the bread, arranging the slices on a pretty green platter as I went.
The screen door banged open and Sean sauntered into the kitchen. "What smells so good?"
How could he even smell it over the smoke? "Here, have one."
Sean snagged a sandwich off the platter and bit into it with a crunch. "Mmm. What's in this?"
"Egg, Miracle Whip, garlic, and French bread."
"So it's like an egg salad. It doesn't taste like an egg salad."
"That's because of the garlic and bread." I chopped green onion and sprinkled it on the sandwiches. "How are the ribs?"
"Good. We're about ready."
Sean reached for another sandwich. I raised my knife.
"Don't threaten me unless you mean to use it," he said.
"Don't steal food until it's served and I won't have to."
He laughed and went to wash his hands.
I took the lemonade and iced-tea pitchers to the table outside. Sean helped me bring out sandwiches, corn on the cob, napkins, and paper plates. Kayley Henderson and her boyfriend, Robbie, came down the sidewalk and stopped by the hedge.
"Are you the barbecue people?" Kayley asked.
"We are," I confirmed.
"We could smell it all the way from the bus stop." Robbie eyed the grill.
Sean emerged from inside. Kayley's eyebrows crept up.
"Why don't you join us," I said. "There's plenty to go around."
"Thank you!" Kayley chirped.
They came around and pulled up the chairs. A moment later Caldenia joined us.
Sean pulled the first rack of ribs off the grill and onto a wooden block. "Have to let them rest a bit."
Caldenia gifted Kayley with an inviting smile. "How are your studies going?"
For the next ten minutes we were entertained with stories of Cedar Creek High. Someone stole someone else's boyfriend, someone was selling their ADHD medication, and three boys were busted stealing the school flag. I wasn't that much older and things I'd been through would turn their hair white, but after hearing all that, I was really glad I was done with high school.
Sean carved the ribs and started passing them around the table. I cut a small piece from mine. It was delicious, just right, sweet and tangy with a hint of heat.
"Hey, you!" Margaret came up the street, her Pomeranian bouncing by her feet like a small fluff of fur. "Kayley, your mother is looking for you."
Kayley got up. "Can we take the food with us?"
I waved at them. "Please do."
"Thank you, Dina. The sandwiches are awesome."
The kids fled with their plates.
Misha ran around the hedge and Beast chased her, the two little dogs running in circles in the yard.
"Join us," Sean invited.
"Are you cooking for Dina?" Margaret opened her eyes wide. "Oooh."
"Don't they make a cute couple?" Caldenia said.
I resisted the urge to stab her with my fork. "We're not a couple. Sean fixed my smoker, so we decided to try it out."
"You're not cooking a dead body in there, are you?" Margaret asked.
I almost dropped my plate on my lap. "What? Eeew!"
Sean raised his eyebrows. "Why would you ask that?"
Margaret came around and sat in the chair. "You haven't seen the news? Turn on channel five."
Suddenly I got a cold nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong. I got up. "Excuse me a moment."
Sean followed me inside, into the front room.
"Screen," I said. "Channel five."
The wall opened, revealing the monitor. It came to life, showing footage of a rural house shot from above, likely from a helicopter.
"...Scene of a terrible tragedy," a male anchor's voice said. "What's the death count now, Amy?"
The footage switched to a blond reporter standing in front of a driveway. Behind her in the distance, the house loomed, flanked by police cars.
"Police officials confirmed that all forty-two cows were killed and partially eaten, Ryan. There is no official word on the condition of John Rook's body; however, sources close to the investigation tell us that he suffered the same fate as his livestock."
"Are you saying someone fed on his body?"
Amy looked like she was about to vomit. "It appears so, Ryan. He was dismembered postmortem and part of him and the cows has been... cooked."
I almost gagged.
"Nobody had seen John Rook for several days; he could've been dead for quite a while. We'll have to wait for the coroner's official..."
Below the footage a news update flashed: local farmer found dead, his livestock mutilated.
It had to be the dahaka. How horrible. It killed the farmer, cooked him, and fed him to its dogs. I had to stop it.
Sean pulled out his phone and typed in it. "It's less than ten miles north of here."