Free The Wild Hog Murders by Bill Crider

has to do with the treatment of animals.”
    Bruce lost interest in the discussion. He trotted away to examine something he’d seen crawling in the grass. Whatever it was, Rhodes hoped Bruce would treat it humanely.
    “What kind of animals?” Benton asked.
    “Wild hogs.”
    “People don’t like wild hogs.”
    “The Chandlers do.”
    “They’re fine folks,” Benton said. “I’ve given them a little advice about caring for animals from time to time. I wasn’t talking about them. I should have said that most people don’t like wild hogs. They hunt them and kill them.”
    “That’s right, and two of the people who do that are Bruce’s former owners.”
    “Lance and Hugh. They like Bruce. They stop to check on him now and then, to make sure I’m doing the right thing by him. They seem happy to let me take care of him.”
    “Good,” Rhodes said. “I’m glad you’re their friend. I think you might be able to help me when I pay them a little visit.”
    “I knew it,” Benton said. “You’ve uncovered an atrocious crime, and you need my detecting skills.”
    “Not exactly,” Rhodes said. “Do you ever listen to Milton Munday?”
    “That goober?” Benton asked, giving Rhodes the impression that he was a good judge of character. “You must be kidding.”
    “I’m not kidding,” Rhodes said. “Munday was going on this morning about a man who was killed last night. I think Lance and Hugh might know something about it.”
    “They might not be exactly civilized,” Benton said, “and they don’t always treat animals the way they should, but they’re not murderers.”
    “I don’t think so, either, but I’m pretty sure they were hunting hogs last night around where the murder happened. They might have seen something that could help me find the killer.”
    “So you need me to use my incredible powers of persuasion to get them to talk,” Benton said. “I can do that.”
    “Good,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go see them.”
    “Just let me get my hat,” Benton said.
    *   *   *
    The Eccles cousins lived on up the county road from Benton, off on a little hill. Their double-wide trailer sat on top of the hill, and their two big Chevy Silverados, one red, one black, sat out in front. Not far away was the big Mack tractor rig that the cousins used for hauling. It was painted red and had a sleeper cab in back. The words ECCLES TRUCKING were written on the doors in italic script with silver paint outlined in black.
    “Very classy logo,” Benton said, when he and Rhodes got out of the county car. “I wonder if they came up with the design all by themselves.”
    “They probably told Herman Johnson to do whatever he wanted to,” Rhodes said. Johnson was a local sign painter with an artistic bent.
    “I could do better,” Benton said.
    The door of the double-wide opened, and Lance and Hugh came outside. They were tall and wide, and they both wore Houston Astros baseball caps over their red hair, which was long enough to stick out all around the bottoms of the caps. They had broad, freckled faces and smiling eyes, but their mouths weren’t smiling, and they didn’t look happy to see their visitors.
    “I told your deputy to tell you we didn’t have nothin’ to say to you,” Hugh said. Rhodes knew it was Hugh because of the gap between his front teeth. Lance’s teeth didn’t have a gap. “You can just turn on around and go back to town.”
    “That’s no way to talk to an officer of the law,” Benton said.
    “Hey, Seepy,” Hugh said. “What you doin’ with the sheriff?”
    “Helping out,” Benton said. “He tells me you’ve been hunting hogs.”
    “That’s right,” Lance said. “Nothin’ wrong with that, is there?”
    “Not legally speaking,” Benton said. “Morally, it’s a different story.”
    “Morally?” Lance asked, as if he’d never heard the word before.
    “The Lord’s tender mercies are over all his works,” Benton said, “and that includes hogs.”
    “You