Free Never Say Sty by Linda O. Johnston

because Corbin Hayhurst, bless him, had apparently recommenced scent-trail lessons, most likely as a diversion.

    I suspected that the cops, some of whom stood at the edges of the stage to keep an eye on things, might regret their initial decision to allow the rehearsal to go on even here, in a building beside the actual crime scene. Sure, it might have been a convenient way to corral some suspects and interrogate prospective witnesses, but with the piggies here it stayed prohibitively chaotic.

    A couple of less adept contestants were sniffing stuff to locate later. Ned, Nita, Porker, and Sty Guy stood together near the doorway I entered.

    I watched for a few seconds, then said, “This is a great scenario. I only hope the show can go on without Sebastian. Maybe we can dedicate the rest of the episodes to him.”

    Ned glared, but Nita said, “That would be a nice gesture, even if he was an awful S.O.B. I’ll bet your boyfriend would approve.”

    “What boyfriend?” I’d recently dumped my last one, Jeff Hubbard, for being a jerk. I was fairly certain Ned knew it, too.

    “That handsome Dante,” Nita answered. “You two obviously have something going on between you.”

    “Just this show,” I said. “By the way, where is my so-called boyfriend?”

    “With my buddy Wherlon,” Ned said irritably. “His turn to be interrogated, I guess.”

    “I’m sure he’s enjoying that,” I said with sarcasm. I went back to watching the latest pig scenario as my mind kept flashing to imagined images of Dante’s interrogation.

    Who would get the better of whom?

     
     
    DANTE EMERGED TWENTY minutes later from the office in which Detective Howard Wherlon had ensconced them for their little discussion. He soon stood beside me at the edge of the stage where the piggies were once more absorbing lessons. Other production people milled around, including some wearing Nature Network shirts. No camera folks, though. This was simply a rehearsal—at least as far as we, and not the cops, were concerned.

    I looked at Dante sidelong. He wasn’t smiling.

    “How’d it go?” I asked over the orders being given to the potbellies snuffling the floor in front of us.

    “Well enough,” he replied. “Oh, and by the way, we’re each other’s alibis. You need to confirm that we spent last night together. At your place. Got it?”

    I turned and stared. His demeanor didn’t disclose that he’d just told a huge lie to the cops. Or underhandedly gotten me involved. If I allowed it.

    “Are you nuts?” I whispered angrily, hoping no network reps were eavesdropping. “For one thing, they already asked me a whole bunch of questions, and your name came up only in the context of helping to back the show.”

    “Helping?” he asked wryly.

    “Okay, gang,” called Corbin Hayhurst from the animal congregation area in front of us. “All trainers take your pigs’ leashes and start walking them around the edge of the stage area. Meantime, Shareen will hide small containers of different-smelling items in the boxes in the center. Then we’ll see how they do picking out particular odors.”

    Cute scene, watching those waddling characters in shades of black and white, all leashed and all, fortunately, acting obedient and not shrieking in piggy pandemonium.

    “Well, okay,” I confirmed to Dante as I watched. “I did tell them you’re the money behind everything. But that’s it. I certainly didn’t suggest we had a sexual relationship.” I turned my gaze toward him and glared.

    “Who said anything about sexual?” he said softly, his dark eyes smoldering as they stared into mine. “Although if you’re offering . . .”

    “Forget it,” I said through my teeth, even as Detective Wherlon whisked up beside us. I nodded my greeting. His glance darted between Dante and me and back again.

    “Time for you both to leave,” Howard said. “We’re going to start clearing the whole site.” Which gave credence to my assumption