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THE BELLS AT ST. ANDREWS church were ringing in the distance as Traci walked up the path to the shed surrounded by the three hungry cats. Rowena Garrett’s memorial service drew only a few attendees. Father Kearn had claimed her remains from the county coroner, who happened to be his brother-in-law, and gathered an offering to cover expenses for the cremation and a simple urn. Traci sat alone at the service while each person stood and shared a tribute. Sarah was inconsolable during the recitation of the eulogy and prayer. Milo sat in the last pew near the door. No one approached him, not even Traci. It was all too much. She kept silent through everything. Was Miss Rowena in a better place? Who could know for sure and what did it matter now? Moe took custody of the ashes intending to sprinkle them over Bent Willow after the final harvest.
She left the gathering ahead of the others and spotted Randall’s squad car parked near the rear of the church, but neither of them spoke. What was there to say? How could she talk to him without shattering into a million pieces inside? She patted each cat in turn as she filled the tins with kibble and sealed up the bin.
“Gardens and cats go together,” she remembered hearing one of the women say. She wondered if the new owner of Hazelton House would agree. And, if there would still be any memory left of Miss Rowena after the county settled her estate.
Suddenly, she heard buzzing and thundering coming from the direction of Bent Willow. She rushed around the shed and down the path to see what was happening. There was a crew of men standing on commercial mowers steering them over the open fields, slicing down everything in their path. Dust, weeds and sticks were flying several feet into the air. Traci watched in horror as rabbits and birds tried to escape the destruction, darting and scurrying in every direction. She saw a man with a clipboard standing by watching the workers. She choked back the acrid smell of diesel fumes and walked over to the crew foreman.
“What’s going on?” she shouted.
The man did not notice her. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the scene, “I said, what’s going on?”
He pulled out his orange earplugs and said, “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Miss.”
“I think it does,” Traci said placing her palms against her ears. “Tell me, or I’m calling the police.”
“Well, if you want to get the police involved you probably should talk to my boss.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“That’s him over there,” the man said and pointed over her shoulder.
Traci walked toward the Glacier White Audi sedan gleaming in the sun.
“What’s this all about?” she said to Ray Winston.
“I’m just being a responsible neighbor and taking care of my property. You can understand that, right?” he said with a smirk. “Besides, I’ve got a buyer in mind and it needs to look worth what I’m asking for it.”
“Well, you don’t own Bent Willow!” she shouted and balled her hands into fists. “You know where the property line is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he said nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother your little garden.”
Traci’s chest tightened with anger as she constrained herself from slapping his face. How did she ever consider him handsome for even one second? She felt her fingernails cutting into her palms.
“What’s in it for you?” she shouted. “This little farm out here on the edge of a God-awful neighborhood like this. Why do you want it so bad?” She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She hated that. “Why harass these people when all they’re trying to do is feed their families and live in peace? How much land do you need to control to make yourself feel important?”
“We have a mandate from the governor to move forward with development here in Keeferton.” He turned and pointed his finger in her face. “Do you know how long I’ve been fighting to get these funds approved? To see these changes happen? To create jobs and change the face of this community.”
He turned away. “The plan is already approved. There’s no point in you crying about it. And if you and your band of misfits try to block it, you know what you can expect.” He pointed to the man operating the backhoe, pushing debris into large piles. Another took a chainsaw to a trio of thin birch trees. “So, please stay out of my way.”
Traci stepped back but not before he opened the car door and bumped her side. He put on his sunglasses and adjusted his tie.
“By the way,” he said settling down into the driver’s seat, “if you really want to do some good, I mean, if you are determined to be a part of something and make a difference for those people, stop by my office and see what this is all about. Maybe then you’ll get on board instead of chasing ghosts of how it used to be.” He handed her his business card, then slammed the door and drove away. She tore up the card and tossed it into the wind.
By the time Traci got home she was seething with anger so much her hands trembled as she wrote in her journal. She needed to figure things out, fast.
The meeting with Earl Garrett had gotten her nowhere. Ray Winston was inching closer toward destroying everything that Miss Rowena had built. What was the idea of Randall snooping around her all the time? And what did Earl Garrett mean about his wife not caring about anyone? No one would work that hard for nothing. And she was afraid that Milo was in danger now. If someone at Bent Willow killed Rowena Garrett, could he be next?
She stretched out on the wrought iron chaise on her back porch and glanced up at the loose gutter and peeling paint. There was so much work to do and, now that she was feeding Milo and herself, there was less money to do it. She thought about the property forfeiture letter tucked away in her backpack. Ray Winston was right. She had involved herself in a fight that had nothing to do with her life, and she was not prepared to do what it took to win. But what was she trying to win? Miss Rowena was dead. Her husband didn’t want anything to do with her memory or to continue the work she left behind. And, Milo. What was it about him? Why did she think she could be responsible for a boy when she could barely keep her own life together? Did she even have a life? Those dreams of Randall were becoming more frequent. But she was not ready to face him, not at all. She closed her eyes. Sleep, she just needed sleep and time.