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Authors: Heather Webber
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bend to his will. That if you don't, you're in the wrong."
"Do you think he has something to do with what's been happening here?" I dropped the gleaming golden corn on her teetering pile.
"Hard to say. He has a lot of money behind him, and he lives over there in that Vista View, so he has a stake in what happens too. I just don't know." She inhaled deeply. "He came armed with an offer of four point five million— money from a group of investors from Vista View, himself included. I said no and told him never to come back. So far, he hasn't."
She bandied about the huge sums as though they were pocket change. M illions. I couldn't imagine it.
"Demming came back and upped his offer," she said as calm as can be. "He doesn't understand about this being a home, a legacy. He thinks money can buy anything."
Glancing at the entryway, I thought it could certainly buy a new screen door, but I kept my mouth shut.
"I tried explaining to him that money wasn't everything, that it didn't buy happiness. That's when Demming offered five million."
Five million! "And you turned it down?" I said incredulously.
She shrugged, half smiled. "This house makes us happy. This is what's important to us, not padding our bank account." Swiping her hand across the table, she gathered all the corn silk into a paper bag at her feet.
She kept saying "our" and "us" as if Farmer Joe would come strolling in from the fields at any moment. It broke my heart and at the same time made me uneasy.
She glanced at me. "It was after that last refusal when the calls started."
"What were they like? Just hang-ups?"
Wiping her hands down her apron, she said, "No. Heavy breathing, then hanging up."
"Nothing was ever said?"
"No. It was always the same."
I bit my lip. "Did you try Star 69 or Caller ID?"
She shifted in her seat and began twisting her wedding ring. I looked down at my own hands, at the diamond band that seemed heavier each day.
"I tried that Star 69, but the number was unavailable."
"What about Caller ID?"
"Too expensive."
Frustrated, I picked at my nails. I had a niggling suspicion that she was holding something back from me, that she still wasn't entirely comfortable talking about her family's problems to an outsider. "Do you still get calls?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. The calls stopped about a week after they started, and we were so relieved, but then the letters started showing up."
"Bridget mentioned them. What were they like?"
"They looked phony," she said, her voice a bit tight. "Like something copied right out of a movie. The letters were cut out of newspapers and magazines and glued onto a piece of paper, then the page was photocopied. That's what we got," she said with a frown. "The photocopied version."
"What did the notes say?"
"They always said the same thing."
"Which was?" I prompted, almost out of patience.
" 'Sell the land or face the consequences,' " she said, monotone.
Pretty blunt. "Consequences" was a fairly fancy word, so I figured whoever was sending the letters was educated, although I'd been wrong before.
I leaned in, hating the concern that wrinkled her brow. "And the police?"
"Were no help whatsoever. We let it be, figuring it would blow over once whoever this was figured out we weren't going nowhere." She paused a moment. "Bridget tell you about the sheep and the fire?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"At first we didn't want to involve Timmy and Bridget in our troubles, but with the sheep we knew we needed help. Unfortunately there wasn't much they could do either. Especially after they went to the police and nothing was done. The sheep were the first real sign that we were in for the long haul. We're afraid to drink our water. We still have well water. Who knows what someone may have dumped in there?"
That explained the bottled spring water. My blood pressure rose. This was why I'd volunteered to look into this. Whoever was terrorizing this family needed to be caught. And I just hoped I could be of some
"Do you think he has something to do with what's been happening here?" I dropped the gleaming golden corn on her teetering pile.
"Hard to say. He has a lot of money behind him, and he lives over there in that Vista View, so he has a stake in what happens too. I just don't know." She inhaled deeply. "He came armed with an offer of four point five million— money from a group of investors from Vista View, himself included. I said no and told him never to come back. So far, he hasn't."
She bandied about the huge sums as though they were pocket change. M illions. I couldn't imagine it.
"Demming came back and upped his offer," she said as calm as can be. "He doesn't understand about this being a home, a legacy. He thinks money can buy anything."
Glancing at the entryway, I thought it could certainly buy a new screen door, but I kept my mouth shut.
"I tried explaining to him that money wasn't everything, that it didn't buy happiness. That's when Demming offered five million."
Five million! "And you turned it down?" I said incredulously.
She shrugged, half smiled. "This house makes us happy. This is what's important to us, not padding our bank account." Swiping her hand across the table, she gathered all the corn silk into a paper bag at her feet.
She kept saying "our" and "us" as if Farmer Joe would come strolling in from the fields at any moment. It broke my heart and at the same time made me uneasy.
She glanced at me. "It was after that last refusal when the calls started."
"What were they like? Just hang-ups?"
Wiping her hands down her apron, she said, "No. Heavy breathing, then hanging up."
"Nothing was ever said?"
"No. It was always the same."
I bit my lip. "Did you try Star 69 or Caller ID?"
She shifted in her seat and began twisting her wedding ring. I looked down at my own hands, at the diamond band that seemed heavier each day.
"I tried that Star 69, but the number was unavailable."
"What about Caller ID?"
"Too expensive."
Frustrated, I picked at my nails. I had a niggling suspicion that she was holding something back from me, that she still wasn't entirely comfortable talking about her family's problems to an outsider. "Do you still get calls?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. The calls stopped about a week after they started, and we were so relieved, but then the letters started showing up."
"Bridget mentioned them. What were they like?"
"They looked phony," she said, her voice a bit tight. "Like something copied right out of a movie. The letters were cut out of newspapers and magazines and glued onto a piece of paper, then the page was photocopied. That's what we got," she said with a frown. "The photocopied version."
"What did the notes say?"
"They always said the same thing."
"Which was?" I prompted, almost out of patience.
" 'Sell the land or face the consequences,' " she said, monotone.
Pretty blunt. "Consequences" was a fairly fancy word, so I figured whoever was sending the letters was educated, although I'd been wrong before.
I leaned in, hating the concern that wrinkled her brow. "And the police?"
"Were no help whatsoever. We let it be, figuring it would blow over once whoever this was figured out we weren't going nowhere." She paused a moment. "Bridget tell you about the sheep and the fire?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"At first we didn't want to involve Timmy and Bridget in our troubles, but with the sheep we knew we needed help. Unfortunately there wasn't much they could do either. Especially after they went to the police and nothing was done. The sheep were the first real sign that we were in for the long haul. We're afraid to drink our water. We still have well water. Who knows what someone may have dumped in there?"
That explained the bottled spring water. My blood pressure rose. This was why I'd volunteered to look into this. Whoever was terrorizing this family needed to be caught. And I just hoped I could be of some
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