9. Grant
GRANT
The gate on the far paddock of the Baxter farm is rusty at the hinges, and moss grows on the wood, which is splintered with age.
This is the boundary that separates their property from the McLennan place.
A gravel access road runs between the properties.
Weeds grow in thick clumps between the gravel, showing how infrequently vehicles pass through here.
I’ve put a camera here anyway, to cover all access points no matter how unlikely. I’m not risking another break-in.
I’ve been over that bakery a hundred times in my head since Hannah told me what was missing.
Whoever went in wanted it read as spite. Family photographs torn down, the town pictures left hanging to make it look personal, vindictive, a message. I read it that way at first, but I should have known better.
You don’t smash forty frames to send a message. You smash forty frames so nobody counts them.
They took one thing and buried it in the mess, and they took it because from across a room, it looked exactly like what it was pretending to be, which means they didn’t know it was a copy.
Last night, I approached Pops with the idea of moving the deeds to Mark’s office. They have fireproof vaults and a more robust security system than one man and a bunch of cameras. But in true Pops fashion, he wouldn’t budge.
Much like this old gate with weeds growing around it. No one uses it as far as I can tell, probably not since the farm stopped being operational. Even so, I pull out a can of WD-40 and spray the rusted hinges before giving them a tighten.
Anything to avoid going back to the house. I can’t face Hannah today. Not after last night. Being close to her makes me want things I have no right to have.
I put my tools down and squint at the farmhouse. I’ve got security cameras set up around the property. If anyone comes onto the property who isn’t logged in the facial recognition system, it will trigger an alert on my phone.
I pull up the app on my phone and check that the feeds are working. The house appears from five different angles. Rachel hustles the boys outside and into the car, and Abby comes out to put something in the trash, but they aren’t the sister I’m looking for.
A shape moves by an upstairs window, and I zoom into that camera.
It’s the window into Hannah’s room, and I shouldn’t be peeking, but my longing to see her is too strong.
She passes the window and my heart flutters.
Then she’s at the window, pulling it open to let the air in.
Her room is at the front of the house facing the mountain, and she leans on the window frame.
The sadness that creeps into her expression sometimes is there.
I haven’t seen it for a few weeks, and I realize with a jolt that I did that to her.
But it has to be that way. Better a small hurt now than a bigger one later when I can’t love her the way she needs.
I shut down the camera app and instead pull up my banking app.
My monthly payment to Mason’s widow has gone out as scheduled. Money will never bring her husband back or give their boy a father, but it might help to make them comfortable. I wish there was something more I could do. But no amount of money will change what happened that day.
One day I will go north and visit them and tell them about the man Mason was in the field. But I’m not ready for that trip yet. For now, they have an anonymous benefactor.
I double the amount for next month, but it does nothing to ease my guilt over last night. Last night I let myself give in for a while. But I can’t do it again.
My phone vibrates, and it’s Jace. He’s been working with Owen to find out what’s behind the land grab.
“I might have something.”
A breeze ripples the back of my neck, and as we speak I turn a slow circle, checking for movement on the property.
“What is it?”
“I had a beer with Owen last night. You know he’s been investigating the car accident that killed Vaughan.”
Vaughan passed away in a car accident a year or so back. His property borders the Baxter farm, and he had the same pressure to sell. Owen suspects the accident might have been foul play. He wasn’t around at the time of the accident, so he’s been trying to hunt down the car for inspection.
“Did Owen get news on the car?”
“He found the junkyard it was taken to. Took him a while to trace because it was taken out of town. He tracked it to a wrecker on the outskirts of Raleigh.”
That’s over two hundred miles from Hope. “That’s a hell of a way to tow a wrecked car.”
“He took a trip up there. And the car was crushed. Completely wrecked the first day it was brought in.”
The implications of what Jace is saying sink in.
“He can’t do an inspection?”
“Nope. The car’s as flat as a pancake.”
It’s a dead end. But suspicious as hell.
“The car was taken to a yard miles out of town and flattened before anyone could check it. It was tampered with. I’d bet on it.”
I glance toward the farmhouse. From across the fields, it looks silent and peaceful. But if someone was prepared to kill an old man to get the land, what else are they capable of? Suddenly my security system doesn’t feel like enough.
“I got to go. I need to get back to the house.”
Owen’s organizing a residents’ meeting to discuss the situation. He’s hoping there will be more information by then. I’m sure Hannah will want to go. I need to stop brooding and be where she needs me to be. Because whatever is on this land, someone thinks it’s valuable enough to kill for.