“His company tag inside the lamb.”
“His plate blocking the water.”
“His oil can at the fire.”
“Yes.”
“You think that clears him?”
“No.”
“I think somebody wants us to stop asking after we find the obvious answer.”
Ethan stared at the can.
Magdalena continued.
“If Arthur is doing this, he is either stupid enough to leave his name everywhere or confident enough that nobody can prove he personally touched anything.”
“Which?”
“I don't know.”
Jacob approached.
“Sheriff’s coming.”
Magdalena looked at him.
“Who sent?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“During the fire.”
“Good.”
Jacob hesitated.
Then:
“You think Vale?”
Ethan began to answer.
Magdalena interrupted.
“We think someone wanted the barn gone.”
Jacob looked at her strangely.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He walked away.
Ethan noticed too.
“That was odd.”
“Yes.”
“Jacob?”
“I don't know.”
That afternoon, the sheriff examined the ruins.
Arthur arrived before he finished.
Also odd.
Very odd.
“How did you hear?”
Magdalena asked.
Arthur looked at her.
“Town talks.”
“The fire ended six hours ago.”
“My driver passed the ranch.”
“There hasn't been a Vale wagon on this road today.”
Arthur’s eyes sharpened.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Answer her.”
Arthur smiled coldly.
“Careful, Casteel.”
“No.”
“You're the one who should be careful.”
The sheriff separated them verbally.
No evidence enough for arrest.
Oil cans were common.
Vale Supply sold hundreds.
The tag in the lamb could prove contamination, not perpetrator.
They needed more.
Magdalena hated how correct that was.
That night, she could not sleep.
She went to the kitchen.
Ethan was there.
Shirt open at the throat.
Hands around coffee.
He looked exhausted.
“You too?”
she asked.
“Yes.”
She sat.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then Ethan said:
“My father built that barn.”
“I know.”
“I helped.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen.”
“He let you work?”
“He made me redo every bad joint.”
“Sounds like him.”
“You never met him.”
“No.”
“You complain exactly like he did.”
Magdalena smiled.
Ethan looked into his cup.
“When he died, I thought keeping everything exactly the same meant honoring him.”
She waited.
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“I should've changed things sooner.”
“You were surviving.”
“So was the ranch.”
He looked at her.
“You changed more in three weeks than I did in three years.”
“That isn't fair.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You inherited debt.”
“Drought.”
“Bad contracts.”
“People leaving.”
“You aren't responsible for everything that happened before you understood it.”
Ethan looked away.