Arlen stood near the kitchen door, holding his old felt hat. His expression had changed completely.
“Karen,” he finally said, “I think you need to know something about your brother-in-law.”
My heart began to pound.
“What do you mean?”
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through several messages before turning the screen toward me.
“I received a call from Gene last night. He told me something that didn’t sit right with him, either.”
I leaned forward.
Apparently, Dwayne hadn’t simply sold the hay cheaply. He had been telling different people different stories about what was happening on our farm.
And according to Arlen, those stories might have had something to do with the land itself.
“Tom mentioned something to me a few months ago,” Arlen continued. “He was worried Dwayne had been asking too many questions about your property.”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“What kind of questions?”
“Whether Tom had a will. Whether the farm was paid off. Whether you planned to keep the cattle if something happened to him.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Tom had never mentioned any of this to me.
Arlen put on his hat.
“I’m going to call Gene. Then we’re going to visit that young couple. If Dwayne thinks he can take advantage of you while you’re grieving, he has another thing coming.”
I looked at the untouched pie on the table, suddenly realizing that my quiet visit had become something much bigger.
For the first time since Tom’s funeral, I felt a small flicker of hope.
Dwayne had assumed nobody would question his actions.
He had assumed the buyers would keep the hay, the money would disappear, and I would eventually surrender the farm.
But he had overlooked one important thing.
Our neighbors knew Tom.
And they knew me.
By the time Arlen reached for the doorknob, I was already standing.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Because if Dwayne had a bigger plan for our farm, I intended to find out exactly what it was.