The late-afternoon light sat heavily atop the land, and Ben knew that if he’d been in the city the stratus clouds on the horizon would soon begin thickening to a mottled pink. But the air here was thin and clean. Here there was no single moment at day’s end when a horizon of steel and glass blazed into a dreamscape of color. Only the long purple tendrils of loosestrife and orange thatches of butterfly weeds broke the monotony of the rolling grass.
“Neighbors, huh?” Ted asked after a few minutes, pointing ahead. They’d wandered closer to the road, and there was a small stone house on the other side of a post-and-wire fence, a few hundred yards away. It wasn’t as run down as their grandmother’s, but it was on its way. The low rise behind the house was specked with dozens of cows, the grass there cropped close by their grazing. Two little girls jumped rope not far from the house.
Ben waved at the girls. They stopped what they were doing, stared at him for a moment, and darted inside.
“Friendly kids,” Ted said. He looked along the length of the property divider. “This fence is in good shape.”
“It wasn’t here last time,” Ben told him.
“You know what they say about fences and neighbors.”
“The guy called the cops on us the first time we came here,” Ben told him. “Back before we bought the Crofts.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He thought we were trespassing—reasonable enough, really.”
“Did the cops give you a hard time? Can’t imagine they love out-of-towners up here—unless they’re pulling them over, of course.”
“The deputy’s a prick, but the chief’s okay. He was pretty nice once he figured out who we were. He can’t be much older than forty, but he knew exactly who the Lowells were.”
“Small town, long memory.”
“He liked that I was up here, checking out my roots.” Ben pointed up at the mountains. “He’s actually the one who told us that the Crofts was for sale.”
From this distance, the Crofts was all granite walls, austere towers, and imperial windows. There were no rotten floorboards, loose windows, or cracked foundation. From here the house still appeared as its builders had intended.
Ted shook his head, staring at the house between the mountains. “Just look at that place.”
Ben had had the same reaction when he first saw the Crofts, not far from where they now stood. From this distance, it looked awesome and terrifying, the kind of place where a princess is locked away in the remotest of rooms.
The two girls walked out of the little stone house. They stood side by side just outside the front door, staring at Ben and Ted. Ben waved to them again, but the girls didn’t move.
The girls wore red sundresses with yellow flowers. From a distance the design looked familiar to Ben, and it was a few moments before he remembered the pattern from the boxes of children’s clothes that he’d left with Jake Bishop.
“Company,” Ted said. He laughed as he clapped Ben on the shoulder.
Ben turned to see a police cruiser pulling up onto the shoulder of the road.
“I guess they didn’t recognize me,” Ben said.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
A tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat got out of the cruiser’s driver’s seat.
“At least it’s the chief,” Ben said. He would have been in for an unpleasant time with Deputy Simms if he’d been by himself, but with Ted’s mouth, there would have been an even chance of gun-play.
The chief took his time making his way to them over the windtossed fields.
Ben raised a hand, and the chief reciprocated.
“Howya, Mr. Tierney. I thought it might be you.”
“This is my brother, Ted.”
“The Lord’s given us a right fine day,” the chief said. “Bill Stanton,” he said, shaking Ted’s hand. He had a face made from wood and a smile that turned on a hinge.
“Sure beats the rain,” Ben said.
“Hank Seward gave a call. Said there were some characters picking around the old Lowell place.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ted said.
“Folks aren’t used to seeing people poking around that they don’t know,” the chief said.
“I thought he’d remember from last time.”
“Think it was his missus last time,” the chief said. He plucked the seedpod off a stalk of grass and ran it between his fingers contemplatively. “Here he comes now,” the chief said.
A stout man in cuffed jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt had left the little stone house and was making his way toward them.
“Howya, Bill,” the man said when he reached them. He had a ruddy complexion, the kind that was earned by outdoor work or too much whiskey, and small dark eyes that darted in their sockets.
“Ben and Ted Tierney here, Hank. They’re the Lowells’ kin.”
Hank nodded in their direction. “Didn’t know who they were. Gave my girls a scare,” he said.
“I apologize for that, Mr. Seward. Just showing my brother around.”
“New fence, Hank?” The chief tapped the top of one of the posts that separated Seward from the rest of them. “Hasn’t been a fence dividing these fields since we were kids, has there?”
“Wasn’t no point in building a new one while the Lowells were gone,” Seward said. “But now they’re back.” He jutted his head in the direction of Ben and Ted. “Don’t want my cows wandering someplace they’re not wanted.”
“Suppose not,” the chief said. He flicked the seedpod into the brush. “Remember when we played ball here when we were boys? The stone in front of that old sealed well was home and any hit over the fence was a homer?” The chief smiled and rocked on the balls of his feet as if he were priming for a pitch.
“Sure I do,” Seward said. He matched the chief’s smile and raised him some.
“Hit a couple homers ourselves in our day.”
“Frank Carson hit one or two out a game, I recall. Best batter in the county in his day. Coulda played for the Sox, I still say.”
“All the Carsons were a force to be reckoned with on the diamond,” the chief said. “Saw Molly Carson at Harp’s week past last with little Danny in tow, wearing a ball cap. And him the spitting image of Frank. Takes me back, you know?”
“Sure do,” Seward said.
“Thing is, Hank,” the chief said, moving closer to the fence, “I can see the cap of that old well from here, and it’s a good five hundred feet to the fence.”