Page 4 of Found Objects

“Mere,” she grumbled at me.

“Sorry. And yes, of course I’m listening to you,” I assured her, turning and making my eyes big. “Always.”

“What did I say?”

“I have no earthly idea.”

Immediate scowl. “I said there are three men here to speak to you about the Rader property down toward the river.”

“It’s a creek,” I reminded her for the five thousandth time.

“How can a creek be that big, that deep, or that wide? My kids go tubing in that thing in the summer.”

“That’s because in the spring, the rains come and make the creek swell so that in the summer, it’s bigger.”

“I really don’t––”

“But,” I said, speaking over her, which was rude, but she seldom allowed me to finish making my point. “It’s designated as a creek. Go argue with the county.”

She growled at me.

“Is that them there?” I asked, tipping my head at three men I could see from where we were. One of them had to be the owner of the Lexus that was new to our lot.

“Yes. And when I asked where they were from, they said New York.”

“Huh.”

“Oh come on, that’s exciting.”

“Is it?”

She shook her head like I was hopeless.

“And why do they want to talk to me? I don’t own the Rader property.”

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to know. All I know is they want to see you.”

My brain kicked on a bit. “Did they buy it?”

“I think so, from how they were talking.”

“You know Bill Rader has been trying to unload those thirty acres for years.”

She nodded. “Yessir, he has.”

“And you know why he couldn’t.”

“Yessir, I do.”

“Why would they buy here? Why not in White Sulphur Springs?”

“Listen, if they’re trying to make Coille a resort destination or something, I say let them try. That would be lovely for the town.”

We had about fifteen hundred people in our small town, so I couldn’t see that happening, but I’d been wrong before. If it were me, I would have bought closer to White Sulphur Springs, or even better, in Lewisburg. Both places had double our population.

Visitors came to the area to go hiking, camping, fishing, boating, kayaking, stargazing, and, when weather permitted, take nice long scenic drives. They also came to hunt in the nearby Monongahela National Forest. I had no problem with hunting as long as they stayed off my land, which all my neighbors did. It was only out-of-town guests who sometimes got turned around and wandered in. Also, in my opinion, if you were going to hunt something, it was only fair that whatever it was you were trying to kill was outfitted the same. That only seemed sporting.

I suspected that the men had taken the survey map, come out here to take a look at the property, and realized that to access the Rader piece, which had several cabins built on it, they needed Desmond Laramie to sell his small parcel as well, which was the two acres that had access to the main road. Without Desmond selling—which he’d told everyone he never would because he hated Bill with the blazing heat of a thousand suns—the only other option was to see if I had any interest in selling a portion of the long drive up to my house. This had happened several times over the years, and each time, everything had crumbled when I said no thank you.