Desmond’s eyes settled on the lever-action .30-30 leaned up against the door. Orville kept it there in case a deer wandered near the house. Dale saw him glance at it, tried to act like he hadn’t, tried to make his tone casual.

“Heck of a will he left. Them numbers at the end—sounded like a combination to a safe to me. That what you think, Des?”

Desmond’s mind raced. He needed to get out of this living room. He said nothing.

“Yeah, that’s ’zactly what it is. Let’s see if that combination works. I’ll take what’s owed me, and I’ll be off.”

He stood quickly, shuffled over next to the rifle. “Where’s the safe, Des?”

Desmond didn’t make eye contact. “Under his bed.”

Dale smiled. “Nah, doubt that. Orville’s too smart for that. Somebody robbing you is bound to search the house. Twister could get it too. Bad fire might burn it, melt the lock.”

He stuck his hand in his pocket, the one with the gun.

“Where is it? I ain’t gonna ask again.”

“Shed out back.”

Dale stepped forward, snatched the will from the coffee table.

“Show me.”

He opened the door and stood with his back to the rifle, blocking Des from reaching it. The setting sun flooded into the shabby old farmhouse.

Desmond marched past Dale, onto the porch, and down the few steps. The grass was cut short. Brown dirt patches littered the ground like a coat that had been sewn back together countless times.

The shed was a hundred feet away. It stood there, placid in the fall wind, its oak walls and rusted tin roof silently waiting for an event that would change Desmond’s life forever. The building had been just big enough for a tractor in the sixties. Now it held the broken-down Studebaker truck and a John Deere riding lawnmower Orville had made Desmond cut the grass with.

“How’d he die, Dale?” Desmond walked quickly, trying to put distance between them.

Dale quickened his pace to keep up. “Blowout.”

It was a lie. Desmond could tell by the way he said the word, knew the man would never tell him the truth.

At the door, Desmond paused, acting like he expected the other man to open it.

Behind him, he saw that Dale now held his right arm behind his back. His pocket was empty.

“Open it,” Dale said, nodding to the door.

Desmond flipped the latch and pulled at the door, which caught on the grass around it. He slipped inside quickly.

Startled, Dale rushed forward, through the breach.

Desmond’s eyes didn’t have a chance to adjust, but it didn’t matter; he knew what he needed and exactly where it was.