Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

“An easement to do what?”

“Actually . . .” A rush of relief flooded over him. “You’ll have to speak with Bill Whatling about that. He should still be over at the bank. He can give you the actual language; probably give you a copy of the deed." He shrugged. "I know Kidro had a copy.” He looked down at the rolled rug. “Why? What happened?”

“Some kind of animal tried to get into the house last night. If it hadn’t been for our dog . . .”

“What happened to the calf?”

“We managed to save this one. It’s in our barn.”

“WHAT?”

Jesus!

She has no idea.

“Didn’t you bar your door?”

“Not at first, no. Then, after, we put the bar into place and it went away.”

“After what?”

“Barnabas got a hold of its front leg.” She pointed with pride at the rolled up rug.

A cold chill spread across Nason’s shoulders. He lifted the top flap of the rug, not enough to see what was in there. He slowly unrolled the rug across his desk. “Jesus!”

A human hand had been chewed off above the wrist. The blood had not dried.

Carolyn gasped and backed up to the door. Her wide eyes went blank and she turned away. She stared blankly at the door like some switch had turned off  her brain. “I’ll just go over to speak with Mr. Whatling now.”

IN THE WORKINGS OF Carolyn Potter’s subconscious mind there were things that happen and, well, things that just did not happen. By the time she climbed the steps at the bank the image of the severed human hand had been completely washed from her conscious memory. She'd never seen it.

Impossible!

When she passed through the vestibule and entered the bank, the wall clock read, 4:22. This small piece of the real world somehow settled her and her ire returned.

“Hi, Carolyn.” Bell Whatling’s always friendly voice sounded like a musical chime. “What can we do for you?”

“I need to speak with your husband.”

Bell jumped to her feet, probably sensing Carolyn’s dark mood. “Sure. He’s been wanting to go over the estate since before you arrived.” She led Carolyn into a deep, stone framed doorway behind her desk. She smiled at Carolyn, knocked softly, opened the door a crack and said, “Mrs. Potter needs to speak with you.”

“Bring her in.” Bill Whatling’s voice boomed with the same sham cheeriness as his dopey wife. Bell swung the door wide and ushered Carolyn into a large stone and oak paneled office with expensive looking antique furnishings. Leather bound books lined the shelves on both sides of the door, a nice office.

Bill turned off his computer monitor and jumped to his feet, adjusted and tugged at his wrinkled suit and rounded his desk. His eyes narrowed into slits that matched his thin lipped smile.

Carolyn shook his clammy hand as he guided her backward into one of two leather armchairs facing his desk. “Thank you for coming in. I’ve wanted to go over your accounts since Kidro . . . Well . . .”

The door closed behind Carolyn.

Good.

She didn't need Bell for this.

I’ll show him who’s in charge.

She stood and leaned over his desk. “Mr. Whatling . . .!”

Oops.

She hadn't intended to shout.

Mr. Watling’s eyes popped wide open, startled or frightened. He forced a thin smile and took advantage of her awkward pause. “Please, call me Bill. After all, we work for you. Bell and me, that is. You all but own this bank. Or, actually, your son owns this bank.” The shock of her outburst had faded. He leaned back in his chair and waved his fat hand at the chair behind her. “Please, Mrs. Potter, have a seat. Whatever it is that's bothering you, I’m sure we can work it out, whatever it is.”

A flash of light at the high windows caused her to turn, sun reflecting from a passing car. She returned to her chair, forcing calm. She leveled her best stare. “I need some answers.”

“Whatever it is, I’m here to help. Can we get you some coffee or something?” His fat hand hovered over his intercom, eager for an affirmative answer.

“No, thank you.” She waited a moment.

He leaned forward and folded his hands over his desk. His expression went flat, ready to listen.

“Mr. Whatling, there are people taking liberties on our property. I was told you can explain all of this.”

“Sure.” His head sank between his shoulders. He spread his hands and forced a smile, eyes blinking, ready for more.

She leaned forward, ready to jump into his face if he dared give her the wrong answer. “Sheriff Nason tells me there’s an easement of some kind allowing him access to my upper meadow.”

His forced smile disappeared. He leaned back in his chair and looked over her head, thinking how to answer. “Actually, it’s an irrevocable trust deed.” He'd become the professional banker now, all business, so confident.

“That’s stupid. Who would do that? How can they have the right to put poor, defenseless animals out there as bait for dangerous animals? Why would anyone allow their property to be used like that, to bring this thing into this valley? It’s just stupid.”

Whatling crossed his fingers over his round belly, looking at the bookshelves behind her, eyes moving like he was reading from a blackboard. “Yes, well, it actually gives the Village Committee, or their appointees, the use of a small portion of your land.” He looked directly at her, all business, no nonsense. “It’s like a small flag lot, the gravel road being the flag pole, you see.” He nodded and smiled, obviously thinking he'd handled the situation.

What a run-around.

“You’re not answering my questions.” She didn’t believe his apparent lack of understanding. “Who would do such a thing and why would they do it?”

“Oh.” He actually looked relieved. “That would be Kidro Potter.” He leaned onto his desk again and spread his hands, asking what else.

“Why? With permission to do what?”

“Whatever the committee deems necessary, until such a time as they may deem it to no longer be necessary.”

Carolyn