The Pigman's Legacy (The Sequel to The Pigman) Read Online Free PDF

suggested.
    “John, I'm not kidding. I mean a present. Something to eat maybe.” We ended up going to the nearest place, which was a dumpy drugstore that carried a line of Fanny Farmer candy at the intersection of Clove and Victory. The place was filled with the aroma of fudge near the candy counter. And a sour-looking saleslady came hot on our trail as though we were about to pick up a few things with five-finger discount.
    “Can I help you?” she demanded more than asked.
    “We'd like a pound of marble pecan fudge,” Lorraine said. “And I hope it's fresh.”
    “Of course it is,” the woman snapped, causing her hair to wiggle like an inverted mold of lemon Jell-O.
    “Can we have a free sample of anything?” I inquired. “If it's good, maybe we'll buy that too.”
    “What are you, crazy?” the saleslady asked.
    “Yes, I am,” I told her. “Actually I'm the famous Grymes Hill Strangler just escaped from Bellevue.”
    The saleslady just snorted and didn't say another word. Not even “good-bye.” I made a few grunts as I went out the door, and spun around a couple of times. That lady looked so mean she must have been raised on marble cake, brick ice cream, and rock candy.
    By ten thirty we made it up to the house on Howard Avenue and knocked on the door. Nobody answered, but that didn't come as a surprise, knowing that the old guy might be in a stupor. Lorraine thought maybe he was sleeping, and I suggested we'd better look around first. We ended up going around the side of the house stepping over a herd of wild snails and checked out a few of the windows. Near the back of the house we found the kitchen window, and could see the old guy sitting at a table with a glass of acidophilus milk in front of him. He seemed completely absorbed in misery, and so thin I couldn't help patting Lorraine on the back and telling her that the fudge was just the thing to bring him. It was obvious that he had no real food.
    Right then something furry ran over my feet, and I screamed, and when I screamed Lorraine screamed, and then we saw it was only a black cat. The old guy's head jerked around, and he started to get up. There was no time to think about an alternate plan of action, so we charged straight for the front porch. This time we scared the cat so much it shrieked as though it had just been sold to a Hong Kong Chinese restaurant. When we finally got our breathing under control, we advanced toward the front door and knocked. There was still no response.
    “Perhaps he went for a cat nap,” Lorraine whispered.
    “Or to load a rifle,” I suggested. I began to change my mind about the whole thing. “I think we should get out of here completely,” I said, and I could see by the expression on Lorraine's face she was in no position to argue. I could hear her heart tap-dancing on the buttons on her sweater. As we turned to gracefully exit, a creak shot through the air. We whirled around and saw that the old guy had opened the front door. He had his beady little eyes fixed on us.
    “I was waiting for you to come back,” he growled.

six
     
    I looked at John, waiting for him to offer an explanation to the old man, but the expression on his face simply told me he was feeling sick again. He was probably having another rush of guilt about denying the fact that this old man was in trouble. He kept trying to say that the old guy was some kind of Jack the Ripper or something, but that was just avoiding the fact that he was an old man who needed us. “ Look beyond the words ,” I kept telling him. “ Look beyond his words .”
    “I could have you both arrested for trespassing,” the old man grumbled.
    “We didn't mean to scare you,” I said.
    “No.” John finally spoke up. “We were just checking out things because we thought something might be wrong when you didn't answer the door.”
    The old guy stood there staring. I noticed a brief twinkle in his eye. It was almost as if he was laughing at us, but that look