The first sound Ethan Cole heard that morning was a metallic crack against the side of his house.
The second was the furious hiss of water under pressure.
He sat up in bed and listened as something struck the siding again.
A blue-white line of dawn showed above the curtains.
He had been awake late preparing the pastry shells for Saturday’s town baking final, and his hands still smelled faintly of orange peel.
Then a third blow rang out, followed by a shout from the yard.
Ethan pulled on jeans and ran barefoot through the kitchen.
He opened the back door and stopped when cold water splashed across his feet.
A stream was shooting from the pipe beside the foundation and breaking against the fence six feet away.
The flower beds were already disappearing beneath muddy water.
Carol Mercer stood beside the shattered coupling with a short axe in her hand.
She was seventy-one, broad-shouldered, and dressed in the same purple raincoat she wore to every neighborhood meeting.
The axe looked absurd in her small backyard shoes.
The expression on her face did not.
“What did you do?” Ethan shouted.
Carol stepped away from the pipe.
“You should have fixed this weeks ago.”
“You broke it with an axe.”
“Your water has been running at night.”
“You could have knocked on my door.”
“I did knock on your door.”
Ethan remembered her angry visit on Wednesday, when she accused his irrigation timer of ruining the soil under her rose bushes.
He had promised to inspect the sprinkler valves after the competition.
He had not promised to let her destroy a supply line.
Water struck the fence again, and a loose board rattled.
He sprinted around the side path, found the main shutoff beneath its green cover, and turned the wheel until the roar faded.
By the time he returned, muddy water was trickling down the patio steps.
Carol had moved closer to the broken pipe.
Her left hand hovered over the coupling as if she meant to take something.
Ethan noticed a thin band of fresh red soil around the exposed section.
The rest of the pipe was old gray material, stained by years of weather, but one short section was bright and new.
He had not installed that coupling.
He took a flashlight from the kitchen and knelt beside the break.
The shattered end revealed a hollow plastic sleeve wedged inside the pipe.
It was too large to have traveled there with the water, and the surrounding joint had been fitted around it.
Ethan gripped the sleeve with two fingers and pulled.
It came free with a wet sucking sound.
Inside was a transparent sealed cylinder no longer than his thumb.
A red ribbon, tightly coiled around a brass token, filled its center.
Carol lunged toward him.
“Put that down.”
Ethan rose and held the cylinder behind his back.
“What is this?”
“It belongs to somebody who needs it.”
“And somebody put it in my water line?”
Carol looked at the back door and then at the neighboring rooflines.
“You have to give it to me before he comes looking.”
“Who?”
She opened her mouth, but a vehicle slowed on the street beyond the fence.
Her face went pale.
Ethan heard a car door close.
Carol grabbed his sleeve.
“If a man asks whether I found anything, say you threw the broken piece away.”
“Carol, you just attacked my house.”
“I know what I did.”
The voice came from the front yard before Ethan could answer.
“Good morning, Mr. Cole.”
A man wearing a gray apron over a pressed shirt appeared at the corner of the house.
He carried a white bakery box tied with green string.
Ethan recognized him from the newspaper photograph announcing the finalists for the Amberbrook Golden Oven competition.
He was Vincent Rusk, owner of the Magnolia Hearth chain and chairman of the event’s judging committee.
Vincent looked from Ethan’s wet jeans to Carol’s axe.
His smile barely changed.
“Trouble with the plumbing?”
“There has been an incident,” Ethan said.
“That sounds expensive.”
Vincent raised the bakery box as if making a friendly delivery.
“I brought you a sample of the competition’s new signature ingredient.”
Carol made a tiny sound in her throat.
Ethan slipped the cylinder into his back pocket.
“My kitchen is closed right now.”
Vincent’s eyes rested on the broken pipe.
“Of course it is.”
He set the box on the dry patio table.
“One other thing, Mrs. Mercer.”
Carol stood motionless.
“Did you locate the little item we discussed?”
Ethan felt the brass token press against his hip.
He looked at Carol and realized she was frightened of a man who was smiling at them.
