“I heard someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
Lena leaned in.
“Inside the house?”
Michael stared at her.
“No.”
“Where?”
“Behind me.”
The monitor began speeding up.
“What did he say?”
Michael’s eyes widened.
“He said, ‘You came home early.’”
Within twenty minutes, the farmhouse was treated as a crime scene.
Deputies found tire impressions near the barn that did not belong to Michael’s truck.
They found the smashed phone near the kitchen door.
They found a muddy boot print beneath Sarah and Michael’s bedroom window.
And in the kitchen trash, they found something far more disturbing.
A partially burned envelope.
Only the upper corner remained readable.
It contained a logo.
Weston Creek Development Group.
Lena had heard the name before.
Anyone living in the county had.
Weston Creek was attempting to purchase hundreds of acres along the new interstate bypass project.
Most owners had sold.
A handful had refused.
Sarah and Michael Carter owned thirty-eight acres.
Lena drove back to the hospital.
“Mr. Carter, has anyone been trying to buy your property?”
Michael stared at her.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Weston Creek.”
“How persistent?”
“Annoying.”
“Threatening?”
He hesitated.
“Not exactly.”
“That means yes.”
Michael looked toward the door.
“Sarah handled most of it while I was away.”
“Why?”
“The land belonged to her grandparents.”
“How much did Weston offer?”
“First, four hundred thousand.”
“For thirty-eight acres?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Seven hundred.”
“And most recently?”
Michael said nothing.
“How much?”
“Two million.”
Lena’s eyebrows lifted.
“You refused two million dollars?”
“It wasn’t about the money.”
“What was it about?”
Michael swallowed.
“Sarah’s grandmother raised her there.”
Lena waited.
Michael continued.
“And there’s an old cemetery on the northern edge.”
