Sarah smiled faintly.
“About what?”
“Machines.”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“He told your grandmother his chili wasn't too spicy for thirty years.”
Noah almost laughed.
Then became serious again.
“He told me about something at the Ransom farm.”
Sarah listened.
Noah explained.
She did not interrupt.
When he finished, she said:
“And now?”
“Nothing.”
But that was not true.
Because three months later, Clyde Ransom died.
And the estate-auction announcement appeared in the Benton County Gazette.
Noah read the notice three times.
RANSOM ESTATE AUCTION
Household goods.
Shop equipment.
Farm machinery.
Scrap.
Barn salvage.
Tools.
Vehicles.
No guarantees.
Everything as-is.
Then one line:
LOT 81 — WEST MACHINERY BARN STRUCTURE AND ALL REMAINING CONTENTS. BUYER RESPONSIBLE FOR REMOVAL.
No individual tractors were listed.
No models.
No photographs.
No serial numbers.
Noah ran into the kitchen carrying the newspaper.
“Mom.”
Sarah looked up.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“You have the auction face.”
“What auction face?”
“The same face your grandfather had whenever somebody said the word ‘parts tractor.’”
Noah put the paper down.
She read it.
Then looked at him.
“No.”
“Grandpa told me—”
“I know what Grandpa told you.”
“There could be something there.”
“There could also be six broken tractors and a barn roof waiting to fall on somebody.”
“I want to look.”
“That’s different from buying.”
Noah nodded.
“Okay.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes.
“You agreed too fast.”
“I just want to look.”
That part was technically true.
Two days before the auction, prospective buyers were allowed to inspect the property.
Noah and Sarah went together.
The west barn looked worse than Noah remembered.
One side leaned several inches.
Sunlight entered through holes in the roof.
The doors resisted opening until two men pulled together.
Inside sat dust.
Bird nests.
Broken boards.
And six tractors under heavy canvas.
Auction staff had been instructed not to uncover machinery because parts of the roof were unstable and no one wanted visitors climbing around equipment.
Noah stood at the rope line.
Six shapes.
His heart accelerated.
One was small.
Two looked like ordinary row-crop machines.
Another appeared to have no rear wheels.
Then he saw the machine in the far-left corner.
Largest canvas.
Odd rear-fender shape.
He moved sideways.
“Sir,” an auction worker said. “Stay behind the line.”
Noah stopped.
He looked toward the steering area.
Nothing visible.
But near the base of the canvas he could see two bolts.
Not factory-neat.
Extra bolts.
Exactly where Eli had described them.
Noah whispered:
“Mom.”
Sarah had seen his expression.
“What?”