I looked back at Trish.
“I’m not destroying anything.”
“Good.”
“I’m harvesting.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Corn’s ready.”
“You can’t.”
That was the first time all afternoon I smiled.
“I can’t harvest my corn?”
“The maze is scheduled to open Saturday.”
“Today is Thursday.”
“We have guests coming.”
“I have a combine.”
Her face went pale.
“You wouldn’t.”
I slid my phone into my pocket.
“Watch me.”
I didn’t yell.
I didn’t threaten.
I didn’t shove anyone off my property.
I didn’t touch her fake contract.
I didn’t call Facebook.
I didn’t call the television station.
I called three people.
First, Rachel Collins.
My lawyer.
Second, Deputy Sheriff Ben Holloway, whom I had known since high school.
Third, Tyler Grant.
Tyler answered on the second ring.
“You back?”
“Yep.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Mean enough to complain about hospital coffee, so she’ll survive.”
