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Maddock pulled the rented SUV halfway off the narrow county road just before a culvert bridge, allowing the oncoming semi hauling a good-sized backhoe room to pass. A white work truck followed close behind. Block letters painted on the truck’s door said it belonged to Lakeside Star Excavation, based in Cleveland, Ohio.
Staring ahead, Bones said, “Looks like that crew just left our farm.”
Maddock waited while a white van pulled out of the farm’s gravel driveway and turned left, opposite the direction of the truck.
“Couldn’t read the side of the van,” Maddock said.
“One word looked like ‘Graphic.’” Bones shrugged. “How do they expect to drum up business if people can’t read what’s on their van?”
“Graphic,” Maddock said with a grin. “Bet it belongs to our friend Johnny Harshbinner.”
“Follow him?”
Maddock shook his head as he pulled back onto the road. It was already late afternoon. “I’m more interested in Mrs. Harshbinner’s farm.”
He took the long gravel driveway leading up to the old brick farmhouse. It was two stories, with tall, narrow windows and a porch that encompassed all but the house’s west-facing side, opposite the drive. A handful of towering oaks offered shade and a line of white spruce stood to break western winds that might blow across the soybean fields surrounding the house. Two large red barns stood fifty yards behind the home, and about a quarter mile away, atop a sloping rise with a lane running up to it, stood what had to be the Hilltop Barn. It was red as well, but appeared larger than the other two.
Bones pointed to the gray vehicle parked in front of the detached garage next to the farmhouse. Lights, a yellow star, and lettering identified it as belonging to the county sheriff.
“Might explain why Johnny and his excavation crew left,” Maddock said, remembering Johnny complaining about his mother changing the locks. He and Bones had permission to be on the property. Might be good to let that fact be known to local law enforcement. If they ran off Johnny’s crew, they weren’t collaborating with Trident. Or, at least this particular deputy sheriff wasn’t.
As it stood, if Trident was involved, odds were they only suspected there might be something of value on the farm property. They wouldn’t be fully mobilized. With any luck, he and Bones could get in, find any crystals, videotape for Ruth Harshbinner along the way, and everybody would win. Everybody defined as the good guys. Maddock approached the farmhouse at five miles per hour, allowing the deputy sheriff sitting inside his Ford Crown Victoria to determine he and Bones weren’t a threat, despite the fact that they were outsiders to the local community, as evidenced by their rented SUV’s plates.
Bones scoffed. “Dude’s doing his paperwork.”
Maddock shook his head. “Looks like he’s on the radio, probably with Dispatch.” He pulled their white SUV to a stop about thirty feet away. “Paperwork or radio, it’s part of the job.”
The deputy stepped out of his vehicle and donned his hat before approaching. Maddock lowered his driver-side window. “Good afternoon, Deputy.”
The tall deputy, whose name tag read N. Connors, stopped far enough away that he could observe both Maddock and Bones. Suspicion, more than curiosity or concern, filled the deputy’s eyes. “Are you gentlemen lost? Or part of that work crew that just departed?”
“Neither, Deputy,” Maddock said with a disarming grin. “We’re actually here at Ruth Harshbinner’s request.”
Despite the brim of the deputy’s hat, Maddock spotted the arch of the law officer’s left eyebrow. “At Mrs. Harshbinner’s request, huh?” Skepticism hung in the question. “Might I ask, what for?”
Maddock sensed his longtime partner’s annoyance rising. Nevertheless, being as honest as possible, without revealing Ruth Harshbinner’s family secret, seemed the best way to go. “Some video recordings of the property.”
“Professional videographers?”
“Not exactly,” Maddock replied. The timing of his and Bone’s arrival, on the heels of the deputy having to deal with Ruth Harshbinner’s son and the excavation crew, was playing against them. “Mrs. Harshbinner had us pick up a set of keys to the new locks at the hardware store. You can call the owner, Rick, to verify.” He didn’t want the deputy to call Mrs. Harshbinner, not at the nursing home, routing the call through their phone system.
Deputy Collins rubbed his chin. “Gentlemen, please shut off your vehicle and show me your IDs.”
Bones frowned. He leaned toward Maddock to speak through the driver’s side window. “Ruth got us a set of keys, Bro.” He held up the set of house keys. “These say we have permission to be here.”
Deputy Collins stood, straight-faced, obviously unfazed by Bones.
Maddock sighed and reached for his wallet. Bones followed suit. The deputy tensed, focused on their movements. Maddock proffered their driver’s licenses.
Deputy Collins scrutinized the licenses, comparing the pictures to Maddock and Bones. “Please step out of your vehicle.” He gestured over toward the two car detached garage. “Wait over there while I call Mrs. Harshbinner, and verify your story.”
While climbing out of the SUV, Maddock said, “Deputy, we picked up the keys from Rick at Lawn Tree Hardware. Wouldn’t it be easier to verify through him than trying to track Mrs. Harshbinner down at Mallard Creek?” Using the names of the local establishments couldn’t hurt.
The deputy pulled out his cell phone. “Mr. Maddock, Rick doesn’t own this property. Ruth Harshbinner does.”
Bones grumbled and kicked a few stones in the gravel drive. Both he and Maddock listened to the brief conversation, the entire time the deputy kept his eyes focused on them.
“Yes, it’s me again, Mrs. Harshbinner...yes, they’re gone...I have two men here, a Dane Maddock and Uriah Bonebrake, from Florida here. They say you want them to do some videotaping of the property...Yes, ma’am, that’s the tall fellow’s name...”
Bones cursed under his breath, while Maddock grinned up at his friend. Bones hated his first name.
“Understood, Mrs. Harshbinner...Agreed, I hope I don’t have to call you again.”
The deputy slid his cell into his pocket. “Don’t do anything that’ll give me or any of my colleagues reason to come back here. And if Mrs. Harshbinner’s son, John, shows up, don’t get into a confrontation with him, or his lawyer.” He pulled a business card from his uniform’s shirt pocket and handed it to Bones. “Call us.”
Bones grinned. “If Johnny shows up, we’ll—”
Maddock cut in, finishing Bone’s statement. “—avoid conflict and contact the sheriff’s department.”
Bones reached over and shoved the card in Maddock’s jacket pocket. “Deputy Collins,” he said as the law officer turned toward his vehicle.
“Yes, Mr. Bonebrake?”
Bones nodded, indicating the eight-foot-high pile of freshly dug dirt and the associated hole between a pair of white oaks that had to be at least five decades old, maybe more. “What were they doing, digging there?”
The deputy shrugged. “That’s where the old outhouse stood.”
That explained the pile of broken boards next to the mounds of dirt.
“Holy crap,” Bones said. “One big out-of-town backhoe for that?”
Deputy Collins shrugged.
“Why didn’t you have them at least fill in the hole before they left?”
“If I ordered them to do that,” the deputy explained to Bones, “it would be within their right to bill the sheriff’s department for the time and labor. That would vex my boss, and potentially damage any criminal or civil case Mrs. Harshbinner might have against her son.”
Bones nodded. “That would be a shit show.”