I waited behind the old grain silo, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and stale feed. Carl Higgins, Arthur’s long-time handyman, emerged from the shadow of a stacked lumber pile, his face a pale oval in the twilight.
He clutched a worn notebook.
“Clara,” he whispered, his eyes darting. “This is from Arthur’s own maintenance logs.”
He flipped to a page, finger trembling as he pointed to entries spanning the last year. Detailed notes described repeated, heavy vehicle traffic on my property, specifically mentioning Pendelton Lumber’s largest timber trucks.
The logs recorded cracks appearing in the cottage’s foundation *after* these deliveries, not before.
“He had them park on your lawn for easier access to the main road,” Carl said, his voice barely audible. “Said it saved him five minutes a trip. The vibrations… they shook the whole house.”
My breath hitched. All this time, I had blamed Thomas, imagining his neglect, his carelessness. The official eviction notice had solidified that belief. But these logs proved the structural damage wasn’t from Thomas’s oversight; it was from Arthur’s convenience.
This wasn’t neglect. This was deliberate damage.
Carl pressed a folded paper into my hand. It was a single, photocopied ledger page.
“And then there’s this,” he said, his voice dropping further. “Found it tucked away in an old filing cabinet. Didn’t make sense.”
My eyes scanned the paper. A transaction. Dated two years ago. An outflow of $120,000 from Pendelton Lumber & Properties. An inflow into Thomas Finch’s personal account.
A cold dread coiled in my stomach.
“He… he paid Thomas?” I managed, my voice thin. “For what? Did Thomas sell the house behind my back?”
Carl shook his head, looking as bewildered as I felt. “No record of a sale, Clara. Just the money. Like a… a payoff.”
The implications hit me like a physical blow. Thomas, the man I’d loved, had dealings with Arthur that went far beyond landlord-tenant. And this sum… it made the cottage feel like a pawn in a game I hadn’t even known was being played.
I folded the page carefully, my hands shaking. This was more than just fabricated repair bills. This was a tangled web.
“I’m going to Magistrate Holloway,” I declared, a new resolve hardening my voice. “I’m filing an emergency injunction.”
Carl swallowed hard, his gaze falling to the ground. “Be careful, Clara. Arthur… he doesn’t like loose ends.”
+ There are no comments
Add yours