Chapter 4

Audra had been waiting at the cattle guard at six that morning, the carbon copy folded inside a feed-store receipt. “Dad locked the original in his desk last night,” she’d said. “This is what Mom pressed through. He hasn’t thought to count the carbon.” Then she walked back toward the ranch without another word.

Seth sat across from the district secretary at 9:03 with the wooden chair still warm from the sun through the window. He pushed Lenore Venn’s carbon across the desk.

She turned it over. “This is a carbon of the Venn emergency schedule.”

“Her signature pressed through,” Seth said. “The house kept the original. The other copy should have been filed with you.”

“Was it filed?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I brought it.”

The woman typed without looking up. “We’ll pull the record. An unfiled agreement isn’t the same as an authorized delivery. I’ll also have to call the Venn ranch to confirm it with the owner. That’s procedure. The review will take days, maybe longer.”

Seth thought of Audra at the cattle guard. He nodded anyway.

“The gate log shows a release at 4:52 Tuesday.”

“The log shows a gate.” Her eyes met his. “It doesn’t show who opened it. You understand.”

“Yes.”

“Your application for the seasonal crew is still open. Do you want to sit the interview?”

Seth didn’t. But he stayed. He answered questions about creek maintenance, safety, and tractors. When he left, the carbon was in the district’s tray under a paperweight shaped like a blue valve.

At home, the kitchen smelled like coffee and dry dust. Martin stood at the counter, his cap in his hands. Nella sat at the table with the leather ledger open in front of her.

“I gave the district Lenore Venn’s schedule,” Seth said from the doorway. “A carbon. Audra got it to me.”

“Why?” Martin asked.

“Because it might keep the water from being called stolen.”

“It wasn’t all stolen.” Martin sat down. He turned the ledger around. “Your mother kept this. I wrote it because I couldn’t sleep.”

Seth looked. A page in his father’s handwriting, dated June 14. Two a.m. Gate opened two hours. For the young grafts, because the creek was dropping and the district wouldn’t answer.

“You went outside the schedule,” Seth said.

“Once.”

“That’s not once in the log. That’s a separate night.” Seth felt the kitchen heat settle on his neck. “If I hide it, the district sees only Orson’s lie.”

Nella spoke. “And if you don’t hide it, they see ours too.”

Seth pulled out his phone. He had the district intake address from his application. He photographed the ledger page and typed the address into a message. His thumb stopped over the send arrow. Martin said his name once.

The front door swung open. Orson Venn stood on the step, his silver belt buckle catching the light.

“The district secretary called me at ten,” Orson said. “You filed her schedule.”

“I did.”

“Then you’ve already killed us.”

Seth stood. “The gate opened at 4:52. Lenore’s schedule would allow a release at five if we called by nine the night before. Nobody at this house called. So I don’t know who opened it.” He held Orson’s eyes. “But your lock bar is bare, and a handle with something dark on it sits on a shelf in your wife’s room. I’ll let the sheriff say what it is. You told me a log doesn’t show a face. Maybe it doesn’t. That room does.”

Orson didn’t move.

“Tell me you didn’t meet him,” Seth said. “Tell me you didn’t strike him.”

Orson’s jaw worked. “He came up to the house. He said he’d correct the record and name the Venn gate. I told him Lenore’s arrangement was private.”

“You struck him.”

“He wouldn’t see. He turned to the gate with his log under his arm, and I went after him. The handle was in my hand before I knew I’d taken it. I hit him once.” His voice dropped. “I left him there. I carried the handle up to her room.”

Nobody spoke. Orson sat down on the step as if his knees had quit. Nella crossed to the wall phone and dialed. “Sheriff’s office,” she said. “I need a deputy at the Rell orchard. Orson Venn is on our front step, and he just told us what he did to Wes Kersey.”

Martin laid his cap on the ledger and pressed both hands flat on it. They weren’t steady.

“Seth,” he said. “They’ll take the grafts. They’ll take the pump. Whatever’s left. Leave my page out. Orson did this.”

“Martin,” Nella said, the receiver still at her ear.

Seth looked at his father’s hands, then at his mother’s face. On the screen, the photograph of the June 14 page waited under his thumb.