text: Jennifer bit her lip and knocked on the door, acutely aware of the probability that her article hinged on which direction this meeting swung. A lady with a bob of gray hair and a red apron opened the door, and a sweet, buttery smell escaped into the winter air. “Well, come on in, sweetie pie. Don’t want you freezin out there.” She waved her in with a white, flour covered hand. “Thank you, Ms. Brenda.” Jennifer stepped inside, although the fifty-five degree sunshine felt amazing compared to the icy blasts she’d left behind in New York City two days before. “Wow, your house smells amazing. They should make a candle with that scent.” Ms. Brenda chuckled. “Shortbread cookies. I make them every Tuesday. You sit right here while I finish this batch. I’m ready for your questions whenever you are.” “Well, like I said, I’m Jennifer Andrews with The New York Times. I caught wind of the quiet property sales in your neighborhood, all of which sold without ever going on the market. You’re one of the last original owners left in this development along the river, aren’t you?” The wooden rolling pin squeaked as she flattened the yellow dough. She nodded without looking up. “Seven families gone.” “Has anyone approached you about buying your place?” “Oh yeah. I’ve gotten three phone calls, and I told them not a chance. But now my neighbors are gone, and I feel kinda lonely. I’ve been wonderin if I should reconsider.” “Before you do anything like that, hear me out. I believe there is a company using unethical tactics to buy up these properties. Do you know why your neighbors sold? Were they offered a lot of money?” Ms. Brenda scored the dough into rectangles, then popped the pan in the oven. She slowly wiped down the counter and rinsed the sponge. Jennifer bit her lip again and tried to wait patiently. “I’m sorry if this hits a sore spot.” Ms. Brenda shook her head. “It’s just... well, I feel ashamed to admit it, but we all did somethin terrible. On accident of course, but it’s catchin up to us.” Jennifer frowned. “I don’t understand.” “I suppose I don’t mind showin ya.” She moved to the built-in desk at the side of the kitchen and pulled a paper out of the top drawer. “We all got one of these in the mail last summer.” Jennifer studied the paper. “An unpaid riverfront tax from the past thirty years of $130,000 due in full this April?” She looked up in shock. “That’s ridiculous!” “I can’t pay that, and they couldn’t either.” “Have you called the number they provided?” “No, I’ve been tryin to forget about it.” She sniffed and looked out the window. “I know that’s foolish, but I feel downright sick when I think on it.” “Forging a letter from the IRS is a felony. This may be a scam to pressure people into selling. Would it be okay if I called this number right now?” Ms. Brenda smiled broadly and patted her heart. “That would take a load off my chest!” “Awesome. I think there’s a good chance you’ll get a call from another buyer soon after, so be prepared. Also, is it okay if I impersonate you? It might be slightly offensive.” “Go right ahead. I’ll sit here and watch the show.” She handed Jennifer the phone and sat down on a big, flowered armchair, one of two in a bay window overlooking the Red River. Jennifer dialed and waited on speakerphone. A female answered. “IRS accounts receivable department. This is Nancy. With whom am I speaking?” “Hey, there. This is Brenda Myers,” Jennifer said in a gravelly drawl. “I’m in a tizzy cuz I’ve got this letter here sayin I owe the government a lot of money. Can you help me out?” Jennifer glanced over at Ms. Brenda in alarm. She had clamped a hand over her mouth and was bobbing violently in the chair. Please don’t have a stroke in the middle of this. “Of course, Ms. Myers. I’ve got your account pulled up. It looks like you owe $130,000.” “Lord Almighty, that’s a fortune! Whew, lemme take a minute.” She covered the phone and whispered, “Are you okay?” Ms. Brenda’s face was now purple, and tears squeezed out of her eyes. She nodded. Jennifer broke out in a sweat. “Nancy, tell me- do you have financin options? I was thinkin I might take out a loan. Or maybe I could ask my daughter for the money. I don’t know, what do you recommend?” “We, um... y-yes, financing is an option. Would you like me to send you some information on that?” “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you, dear.” “Of course, Ms. Myers. I’ll put a pamphlet in the mail today, and it should be there in a week. Goodbye.” Dial tone. Ms. Brenda exploded. She leaned over and smacked her knees as loud cackles ripped out of her chest, one after another. She dragged in a deep breath and let out another round of trapped laughter. Relief washed over Jennifer, and she started to giggle, too. “Oh my gawd, you sounded just like me!” The oven beeped. “You deserve a snack, young lady!” Jennifer flashed an impish grin. “I was hoping you’d say that. Did you notice how nervous she got when I talked about actually paying?” “Yeah, she had ants in her britches. Coffee?” Jennifer and Ms. Brenda ate and chatted for the next ten minutes as if they were old friends. Then the phone rang. Ms. Brenda answered and hit speakerphone. “Hello, Ms. Myers? This is Elizabeth Pelfrey. My husband and I are looking for a riverfront place in your area. One of my good friends recently bought a property on your street, and I was wondering if there was a chance you might consider selling?” Jennifer wrote on a notepad: Let’s hear their offer. “Well, I suppose we could talk about it. Tomorrow at 3?” When Ms. Brenda hung up the phone, her eyes were huge. “You can just hear them out without committing to anything. I’ll record it as evidence.” “Will you pretend to be my daughter Hannah? She won’t mind, and I’ll need the support.” “Of course. Texas accent?” “Yeah, sweetie. You got it down pat.” There was a knock at the door. It opened half-way, and a young man with a nicely trimmed beard leaned in through the opening. “You doin okay, Ms. Brenda?” His smile faded when he spotted Jennifer. “Jacob! Oh yeah, Jennifer here has been a huge help to me, and I’ve laughed more today than I have in years. Lemme get you some shortbread.” She bustled over to the kitchen. He stepped inside and eyed Jennifer warily. His plaid shirt, tailored khaki pants, and clean boots created a unique blend of cowboy and businessman. “Jacob’s the son I never had, grew up four houses down thataway.” She handed him a paper bag full of buttery sweets. “Well, I better go.” Jennifer headed to the door, hoping to draw him out with her before he blew their plans. “You be nice to this one, Jacob!” Ms. Brenda called out. “She might look like New York, but she’s got Texas in her heart.” The warmth dissipated as soon as the door shut. He followed her down the steps. “Are you tryin to buy her place?” “No, I’m a journalist from The New York Times.” “Like hell you are.” He narrowed his eyes. “You leave Ms. Brenda alone, you hear?” Jennifer rolled her eyes and hopped in her vehicle. “You’re full of it. Goodbye, Jacob Antonio Bracken.” She smirked at the shock on his face as she reversed. She always did her homework. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?” asked her boss through the phone. “Big lead- I’ll be there tomorrow for an offer. I’ve done three interviews, and I also went to the City Council Office. The land is zoned single-family residential with no pending applications for change.” “Great progress. Make sure you record that.” “Got it.” Time to start typing. *** Jennifer rolled up to Ms. Brenda’s house at 2:30 on Wednesday with adrenaline pumping through her veins. She had abandoned her sleek black boots and leggings in favor of brown work boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt. They set up the video camera in the living room, as well as a small one on Ms. Brenda’s shirt. The meeting went as expected. The couple tried to reschedule when they realized “Hannah” would be attending, but Ms. Brenda told them it was now or never. They seemed uninterested in checking out the house, yet eager to buy, and quickly made a lowball offer that only covered the value of the land. Mrs. Pelfrey had scrunched her nose and whispered, “We heard about your little tax problem. We’d be willing to pay your debt if you gave it to us at this price. You’re digging your own grave, otherwise.” Ms. Brenda fanned her face after they left. “Who would have thought that fake taxes would be so stressful?” Jennifer smiled. “You did great. Thanks for playing along. It could make a huge difference in the future of your neighborhood. Do you think I could leave my car here for a bit while I walk the properties?” “Sure thing, sweetie.” Jennifer decided to walk along the river, just in case she saw anyone and needed to hide out below the banks. She had no idea what was going on behind the locked gates that had been put up at the end of the driveways. Each property consisted of five acres of heavily wooded land that could easily hide something. The river meandered through the flat terrain, with red silt beaches that bumped into steep banks overhung by gnarly tree roots. Jennifer relished the fresh breeze on her face and the smell of the dry grass. She took deep, cleansing breaths and promised herself she would make an effort to get out in nature more often when she returned to New York. Suddenly, she walked into a clearing and found herself surrounded by bulldozers and rubble. An eerie silence hung over the site where a home had stood only days before. Jennifer jumped into action. She whipped out her phone to take pictures of the work site and the tractor license plates. Illinois. Mrs. Pelfrey definitely had a Chicago accent. A half-empty bottle of AtomZ water sat in a cup holder. A gun cocked behind her. Jennifer’s chest constricted. She held out her hands and slowly turned to face the danger. Jacob Bracken and the barrel of a shotgun stared her down. “What are you doin here?” he asked in a low voice. “Investigating,” she answered breathlessly. “Do you work for them?” “Of course not. I’m taking pictures to condemn whatever company is destroying your neighborhood. I promise I’m trying to help!” He tilted his head to the side, and his gaze traveled from her braid to her boots. Then he lowered the gun. “I haven’t had time to explore until today.” Jennifer quietly let out the breath she’d been holding as he took a look around. “They brought in their own equipment and workers. No locals have been hired,” Jacob said. She climbed the steps of a backhoe. “Hey, this one still has keys in it.” She gasped loudly. “What?” “There’s an AtomZ emblem on this keychain! Maybe that’s the company buying the land.” She snapped another photo. Jacob shook his head in disgust. “I saw an ad for AtomZ the other day. Their motto was helping you help the environment. More like helping you right out of your home.” Jennifer glanced over at Jacob. He set the shotgun on the ground and climbed into the tallest tractor. She slunk toward it. “I found a wallet!” he called out. “Take a picture of the ID!” Jennifer grabbed the gun and rapidly unloaded it. She shoved the shells in her pocket right as he looked down. “What the heck!” Jacob leapt out of the tractor with fire in his eyes. She dropped the gun and backed away. “Gimme that ammo, girl,” he warned as he closed the distance. “Don’t you dare stick your hand in my pants.” He grimaced and halted. “I wasn’t gonna do that.” “If you were thinking about grabbing the shotgun shells, then yeah, you were.” “But you made it sound wrong.” “I’m glad you have the decency to rethink it.” The woods began to rumble as a truck approached. Jacob grabbed his gun. “To the river!” They sprinted to the edge and jumped. A tree hung over the bank, half of the roots exposed from erosion. They ducked under the cave it created. A door slammed. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.” “You leave your wallet everywhere, man.” Jacob stowed his gun on two loops made by the tree roots in the dark recess behind them. “Nice gun rack,” he whispered. Jennifer covered his lips with her fingers, desperate to go unnoticed. The warmth of his skin spread through her fingers, and she pulled them away, embarrassed. Particles of dirt remained on his lips. “Sorry,” she mouthed. He smiled in amusement. “Dude, you left the keys in this one! We’ll get fired if AtomZ finds out about this.” The men bickered their way back to the truck. The engine rumbled again and sat idling. Jennifer looked out at the river as they waited, aware of how her arm, hip, and leg pressed against Jacob’s in their tight hideaway. The sky had transformed during their investigation; pink and orange now streaked from the horizon upward until it faded into a soft purple. Jacob rotated to look at her. “This is an interesting way to watch the sunset.” “Mm-hmm.” She didn’t dare face him again. He continued to study her profile. There was a twig caught in her braid and a smudge on her cheek. “You look like you’ve done this before. How’d you learn to work a gun like that?” “My dad taught me. What made you trust me?” “Ms. Brenda trusts you, so I will too. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like a farm girl today.” Her lips twitched at the corners, and she twisted to peek over the bank. “All clear.” They crawled out and brushed off their clothes. Jennifer gave the shotgun shells back to Jacob. “Wanna walk down to see our old place? My truck is parked in the woods, and I can drive you back to Ms. Brenda’s.” “Sure. Hey, I’m sorry about your Dad passing in November.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Thanks. I forgot you already know everything about me.” She threw up her hands. “I’m not claiming that.” “Mom took it really hard. Then three days after the funeral, she told me she sold the place. Just like that. So she moved in with me, which is fine, but I hate that our land is gone. My grandfather developed this neighborhood.” “I didn’t know that.” “You weren’t very thorough with your stalking,” he teased. “Then I’ve found my New Year’s resolution: Be a better stalker.” He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re too pretty to be a stalker.” He cleared his throat. “How’d you find out about this debacle, anyways?” “A tip from a friend.” She wasn’t willing to admit she’d been wistfully perusing real estate in the area for the past year. “There’s a place in Pennsylvania where this is happening as well.” “Why’d you come here when that one was closer? Do you have family in town?” “No.” She reached into her leather backpack and pulled out a map. “But I grew up right there.” “That’s right across town!” he said in surprise. “No, we would have gone to school together. I would have known you.” She pointed to the map again and shook her head. “That’s the school zoning line. I was in another district.” “Can you start a fire?” “Yes.” “Do you hunt?” “I shot a water moccasin when I was ten.” She laughed. “Did I pass the Texas Verification Test?” “Why’d you leave?” “My parents died in a car wreck when I was fifteen, and I was in the foster system until I graduated. I got a scholarship from NYU, so I took it. I figured what better place to be lonely than New York City where everyone’s too busy to notice?” “Are you lonely?” She smiled softly. “No, I have a lot of friends now. New York’s been good to me.” “Next question. What’s going to happen when you write this article?” “Well, AtomZ’s business practices will be exposed to the world. There will be an investigation, and I think there’s a good chance the land will be returned to its rightful owners.” “Damn. Your plan is a lot better than mine. I think I’ll get rid of the dynamite in my closet.” “Please tell me you’re joking.” He grinned and shrugged. “You’ll never know.” “Will you rebuild if you get the land back?” He nodded. “There it is.” The river swung wide around a big piece of land that rose above it, the only hill for miles. A giant oak towered over the water with a wooden swing. He glanced at Jennifer. Her eyebrows had pinched together, and she pursed her lips as she fought back tears. “What is it?” he asked. “My dad pushed me on that swing once. We went tubing, and I begged to stop there to try it. I’m sorry for trespassing.” “We let the neighbors use it, and it sounds like you were our neighbor, Jennifer.” She turned to face him. “Jennifer Andrews is actually my pen name.” She held out her hand. “I’m Bonnie.” “Bonnie...” He smiled warmly and took her hand in both of his. “A girl with Texas in her heart.”