CHAPTER 7 — THE LOWER PASTURE
The original video cleared my father’s name by noon.
It did not clear the deed.
That was the problem with truth. It can prove one lie and still leave a dozen others standing with stamped papers in their hands.
The full video showed Dad laughing, younger and stronger, telling me to pass my exams and come home because “Junebug misses you, and Clay don’t count.”
The county room laughed at that part.
Clay did not.
His edited clip had been carved from a family message, stripped of warmth, and turned into a weapon. Even Preston Hale looked disgusted.
Commissioner Malloy ordered a temporary freeze on closing until further review.
Clay’s attorney called it outrageous.
I called it oxygen.
But Clay’s hallway threat stayed in my head.
You won’t like what gets dug up.
That evening, I drove to the lower pasture.
Not onto Willow Creek land. The restraining order Clay filed had not been granted yet, but I was not giving him an easy arrest.
I parked on Emmett’s side of the fence and walked along the creek line where our properties met. The sun was low. The grass was winter-brown. Crows moved in the sycamores like scraps of burned paper.
Willow Creek looked neglected.
Fence sagging near the old gate.
Hay stacked wrong.
Tractor ruts through wet ground.
Dad would have risen from the grave just to cuss.
Junebug stood near the far shed, head low.
I whistled.
She lifted her head.
For a moment, I was sixteen again and everything important could still be called home.
Then I saw the fresh dirt.
Lower pasture.
Near the black walnut tree.
A rectangle of ground had been turned, tamped down, covered badly with straw.
Not a grave-sized rectangle.
Too long.
Too straight.
Like someone had buried pipe.
Or something they wanted mistaken for pipe.
Emmett came up beside me with binoculars.
“Been wondering when you’d notice.”
I took them.
The dirt line ran from the old equipment shed toward the creek.
“What is that?”
“Clay said drainage.”
“There’s no slope.”
“Exactly.”
My phone buzzed.
Hank.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At Emmett’s fence.”
“Stay there.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“We got a hit on Walt’s signature from the deed transfer. Notary stamp belongs to Lisa Gant.”
“I don’t know her.”
“You do. She was Clay’s girlfriend before he married Renee.”
The wind moved through the grass.
Hank continued.
“And she’s missing.”
I looked at the fresh dirt again.
“Hank.”
“What?”
“Clay said I wouldn’t like what gets dug up.”
Silence.
Then Hank said, “Do not move.”
But across the pasture, Junebug began walking toward the black walnut tree.
Slow.
Limping.
Purposeful.
She stopped at the fresh dirt and pawed once.
May you like
Then again.
Then she lowered her head and screamed.
