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Hans sputters and pounds his chest. “Don’t kill an old man with jokes.”
Hans doesn’t look me in the eye for the rest of the day. My imagination has taken a dark turn. I refuse to believe that the man I’ve known since birth would sell me out, but he’s lying to me. After dinner, I plug my phone in and wait for it to turn on.
I have to check the social media sites for stories that no one else would know. He knows I’m not online, so it would be easy to make money off my name when I’m not monitoring it.
There is still speculation, but only the recent articles know my current location. Those date back to before Alec arrived. Shane didn’t have to be a genius to find me. He just had to check the gossip sites. There are a bunch of articles pretending to have inside information on the farm, my role here, and my new investor. They’re making things up now. But there are no articles with any relevant or personal information. I do a few more searches. Nothing.
I’m paranoid.
Tomorrow I’m meeting the farmhand. He’s been working for me for almost a week and I don’t know his name. I don’t care if Hans hasn’t sold me out. This is not normal.
The day has beenskitsince I woke up to thunder and lightning and had to get the animals in the barn but couldn’t find the new farmhand. I have no right to complain, buthelvete,something has to go right.
Hans says he sent him on an errand, but this is ridiculous. The man cannot work for me if I don’t know who he is. I stop by the barn and see one tractor is missing. It’s old and will die in the rain. If the farmhand had checked with me, he would’ve known. I try to get Hans on the two-way radio and only hear static.
That sets off alarm bells in my head. I should’ve been able to hear the new farmhand check in on the radio this past week. Another fact that points to Hans hiding something from me. I change the frequency of the radio and catch Hans speaking, but the farmhand doesn’t need to reply.
There’s no good reason for Hans to put them on a different frequency. My life is becoming a TV show. It’s either a drama or a psychological thriller. I’m a terrible judge. I fell in love with a man who was willing to sell my love for him. I could be inventing danger or ignoring it.
Hans wanders into the barn and looks surprised to see me. “I was looking for you.”
It’s hard to believe him, but I don’t call him out yet. “What do you need?”
“There are a few messages on the answering machine in the farmhouse. The same guy keeps calling. I think he’s a reporter, but he mentioned international financial transfers and contracts. He might be someone you know.”
The guy has to be a fake, but I pause. Madyson’s accountant might try to confirm the money from the gallery sales. I should check. “I’ll go in after I make sure the farmhand isn’t stranded with a broken-down tractor.”
Hans flinches. “I’ll find him and bring him back if he needs it. I’ll probably send him home. Too much rain.”
I’m torn between following Hans and listening to the messages. I walk toward the farmhouse with my radio on to hear the new radio frequency, listening for the farmhand. No sense following Hans until he locates the guy.
The farmhouse is welcoming, warm, and dry. I forget where the answering machine is in the house and search for it. It’s over twenty years old, and I’m surprised it works.
I push play, and my stomach turns when I hear the voice.
“Hello, I’m trying to reach Von Blixt. This is Shane Reynolds. I hope I have the right number. Please call me back at 555-555-5555.”
My heart speeds up, wondering if something happened to Alec. But Shane sounds fine—not upset. The next message starts.
“Hello, this is Shane Reynolds, again. If I’m reaching Von, I really need to speak to you. I assume you’ll want to transfer the assets as soon as the sale happens, but I don’t know how you want the funds sent. There are rules and regulations for international transfers we must discuss. I also don’t have a signed contract for the transfer. Please call me as soon as possible.”
Shane repeats his number, but I press the button for the next message. There are three more similar messages.
According to my back account, I’ve been paid for the sale of my art. Shane’s request doesn’t make sense. It would be insane to think it has something to do with my new farmhand, but I’ve lived my entire life without any mystery and now there are two strange occurrences. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Needing answers, I tramp back out into the rain to get an ATV to find my soon-to-be-fired farmhand. I will not tolerate deception. A light catches my eye from my workshop. It should not be on. I’m furious with Hans for going in or allowing someone else into my private space. It ignites my fury and within minutes, I’m flying through the field, rain pelting my body.
The radio crackles and I slow to hear the voice. Hans is giving instructions to restart the tractor, but I only hear grunts from the farmhand. I spot the tractor off in the distance and speedtoward it. Three things happen in rapid succession. I hear a distinctly loud American voice speaking terrible Swedish, the shout of joy as the tractor starts, but a strangled yell as the tractor jolts and slides over an embankment. It must be in reverse and I don’t know if it ran Alec over or…
Grace by Lewis Capaldi
I can’t finish that thought. The rain blurs my vision, but the tractor isn’t in sight and I can’t hear Alec on the radio. I’m screaming into it, trying to get to him while all the other unanswered questions become insignificant.
It feels like hours later by the time I get to the tipped over machine. I’m yelling Alec’s name, but the wind carries my voice away. I don’t see him. Jumping off the ATV, I slide down the mud to the tractor. Alec’s legs are sticking out, trying to gain purchase, kicking out and wiggling around.
He’s alive. I’m frantic to get him out from under the beast.
“Alec!” My voice is high and panicked.