Chapter Fourteen
St. SebastianA week or so later, I’m standing in the middle of the lane when a sporty little Ford comes up behind me and rolls to a stop.
A handsome blond head pokes out the window. “This isn’t how hitchhiking works, St. Sebastian.”
“Har har,” I rejoin, looking back down to my phone, where I’d been dialing the Livestock Society. Becket parks his car and hops out to join me.
“Hi, yes,” I say for the Society’s voicemail. “There’s a dead sheep on the road between the village and Thornchapel. Doesn’t look like it’s been dead very long. Hasn’t been hit by a car or anything, seems to be alone.” I rattle off a few other details that I notice—no sign of injury, a smear of green paint on its back, and then I hang up as Becket squats down to look at the sheep.
“Do you rec
