Chapter 17: Behind the Board

The hay barn smelled like it always had, like dust and sweet dry grass and forty years of cattle.

Ginny and Travis had gone home in silence.

There were four of us left, and one flashlight between us, and Walt's old gelding hanging his head over a stall door to see what the fuss was.

The north door was the one nobody used.

Colby ran his hand up the wall four feet from the floor.

One board gave under his thumb with a small dry squeak.

He pulled it out, and behind it was a hollow between the studs and a coffee tin with a picture of a pheasant on the lid.

"Casey," he said, and held it out.

"You open it. You've known him longer than I knew him lately."

"That's not true."

"It's a little true."

He gave me a look, and then he gave me the tin anyway.

I pried up the lid with my thumbnail.

Inside lay three things.

On top was a sheet of lined ledger paper, folded in thirds, gone soft at the creases.

Under it was a legal-size envelope, sealed, with my name on it.

At the bottom was a deed, in a clear plastic sleeve, with a recording stamp space that was empty.

I read the deed first, because it was the one that scared me.

"Walter Stiles conveys to the heirs of the Henning who shook on it," I read aloud, "all that part of the creek bottom, eighty acres, more or less."

The flashlight shook.

I realized it was my hand.

"It's dated three years ago in August," I said.

Colby stood very still.

"That's the month he came out to the north fence," he said slowly.