“Are you saying the grains might identify who brought them here?”
“They may identify a distribution chain.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Exactly.”
She asked me to send the easement documents and the information Doris had found about Atlas Land Recovery.
By the time we finished speaking, another message had arrived from the unknown number.
The photograph showed my back fence and the words LAST CHANCE.
Beneath them was a picture of the stone wall taken from the wooded side.
I called Officer Larkin and updated the report.
He asked me not to respond to the sender and arranged a visit by a detective who handled stalking and property damage complaints.
Then I called Hannah.
She listened to my account and announced that she would arrive before dinner.
“You can argue when I get there,” she said.
“I’m bringing groceries.”
“You are exactly like your mother.”
“Good. Somebody needs to be.”
I laughed for the first time in two days.
When I hung up, I noticed a folded flyer tucked under my windshield wiper.
It advertised an emergency neighborhood meeting that evening at Meredith’s house.
The subject was written in red capital letters.
POTENTIAL TOXIC WATER INCIDENT AT THE PIERCE PROPERTY.
My last name was printed across the page.
The meeting was scheduled for six.
The deadline on the unsigned easement was also six.
I arrived at Meredith’s house ten minutes early, carrying only the flyer and the copies Doris had printed.
I did not bring the laboratory report because I had not yet received a final one.
The Sloanes’ driveway was full of cars, and neighbors stood in their foyer holding cups of iced tea.
Many looked uncomfortable when they saw me.
Meredith greeted me with a smile that seemed almost painful to maintain.
“I didn’t know you were attending.”
“My name is on the invitation.”
“We’re trying to protect the neighborhood.”
“Then I imagine you’ll welcome accurate information.”
She glanced toward a man standing near the back window.
He wore a tan jacket like the stranger who had photographed Nina’s vehicle.
Grant Sloane introduced him as Lowell Finch, a consultant from Atlas Land Recovery.
Finch was tall and deliberate, with an expensive watch and hands that stayed perfectly still when other people spoke.
He said he was present only to answer technical questions.
I asked what qualifications made him a technical adviser on residential pool chemistry.
“Our company works on environmental redevelopment,” he replied.
