Lester Whittaker returned from a business trip a few days early. As he stepped off the bus he noticed old Mrs. Shackles' scarecrow. Lookin' kinnda scrawny. I could fix that for her. Anything to delay going home to Jaylan, his unfaithful wife. Not that he was any better.
He stepped into the cornfield where Mrs. Shackles worked and examined the stalks. "Hmm, no corn."
Mrs. Shackles wiped the sweat off her brow. "Lazy scarecrow."
"I'll leave you to it then."
That's when Lester Whittaker lost sight of Mrs. Shackles and found a small table set for one-with a glass of purple juice and a slice of blackberry pie. His first bite was sweet. His first sip was quenching. He never had a second.
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