This is the twentyfirst part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, and Part XX before continuing.
“Well, look who’s up? I was about to call the morgue to come collect your body,” said Uncle Phil as I stumbled into the kitchen.
“Hardy har har.”
“Just tell me you didn’t drink half a bottle of bourbon by yourself.”
“What? No. There’s no way I…” I trailed off as I saw the half-empty bottle sitting on the kitchen sink. Mike had only taken one swig from the bottle before I stormed off, which meant…
Uncle Phil sighed as he read the answer on my face.
I hurried to say, “Technically, Mike helped.”
“Oh? Did you two patch up whatever’s going on between you?”
“No. Hence the half-empty bottle of bourbon.”
“I guess this is a bad time to tell you he’s coming over to help me solve the mystery of the missing cattle.”
“It’s not great timing. Just tell me you don’t need my help today.”
He looked me up and down as I cradled my coffee mug in both hands and took a long sip. I was still in the sweatpants and T-shirt I used as pajamas, and I hadn’t even bothered to brush my hair. I probably smelled like a distillery, too, if I had had that much bourbon on my own.
“You look pretty useless.”
“Thank you.” I had meant it to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding genuine. That, more than anything else, told me what bad shape I was in.
“I suppose you’re going to spend the day in bed?”
I shook my head, regretting it immediately. “Nope. If I’m not helping you, I need to be applying to jobs.”
“Are you still making dinner?”
I smiled. “I thought you didn’t like my cooking.” He had always preferred my grandma’s cooking, which involved boiling vegetables to death, burning meat, and incorporating a shocking amount of butter and sugar.
He shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”
“Uh huh,” I said in a tone that indicated I wasn’t buying it. “Yes, I was still planning on making dinner. I bought groceries yesterday, so I have everything I need.”
He nodded, then looked out the kitchen window as the sound of a truck pulling up reached us. “That’s Michael. I guess I’d better meet him outside so you don’t have to see him.”
“You don’t have to do that. We can be cordial,” I said in a tone that was less than convincing.
Uncle Phil gave me a look showed how unconvincing I had been. “Uh huh. I’ll just make him a breakfast sandwich and a thermos of coffee. You can help yourself to what’s left and clean up when you’re done.”
I raised my coffee cup in acknowledgment and sat down to eat while he put on his boots and headed out the door.
To be continued…