"She did. A son, but he died with his father. Apparently, Wilbur had him on the tractor when he drove it into a ditch and tipped it over. Right on to himself and the boy."
"Shit," said Chris.
"I know, right? It's awful. But Ms. Hatty turned her tragedy into triumph. I've always admired her." Her lips puckered into a frown. "But I trust your instincts. And you seem to think something at the farm ain't right."
"I do," admitted Chris. He glanced at Laura. "And my itches are rarely wrong."
* * *
Hatty Stockwell watched the deputies get into the cruiser, and swing it around, driving down the gravel drive until the police car disappeared around the curve.
Soon as they were out of sight, she turned and headed toward the side of the house. She removed a key from her pocket and inserted it into the deadbolt. She turned it then lifted one door. "Barney Smith Stockwell," she called down sternly. "You been outta your room?"
