Emily had been inspecting the west row when she heard truck tires crunching over gravel.
Harold’s blue Ford stopped along the fence.
He climbed out.
Behind him came Walter Briggs and Samuel Pike.
Both men were past sixty.
Both had known Emily’s father.
Both looked uncomfortable.
Harold did not.
“You got a minute?”
Emily removed her gloves.
“Depends.”
Harold walked toward the irrigation junction.
“That line's running again.”
“Scheduled cycle.”
“Your scheduled cycle.”
“Yes.”
“Meanwhile everybody else's pressure drops.”
Emily followed him.
“No.”
Harold turned.
“What?”
“My pressure rises.”
He laughed.
“That supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“It's supposed to make you think.”
Walter looked toward the gauge.
“What’s it reading?”
“Seventy-one.”
He whistled.
Harold pointed toward the soybeans.
“You expect us to believe that's coincidence?”
“I expect you to look at my meter.”
“We did.”
“Then you know I'm within allocation.”
Harold stepped closer.
“Meters can be manipulated.”
Emily stared.
“You accusing me of tampering now?”
“You tell me.”
“No.”
“You tell me.”
Harold pointed toward her field.
“Because my corn is dying.”
“Walter’s north field is dying.”
“Samuel lost twenty acres already.”
“And somehow yours looks like June.”
Emily’s jaw tightened.
“You think I like that?”
Harold laughed bitterly.
“Must be terrible.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“I don't.”
Emily took a breath.
Then walked to the gauge.
“Look.”
She tapped the glass.
“Pressure coming toward me is higher than pressure entering upstream.”
Harold folded his arms.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves water's entering somewhere between.”
“Or you changed something.”
“I can't increase county pressure from downstream without a pump tied backward into the network.”
“Maybe that's what you did.”
Emily stared.
Walter shifted.
“Harold.”
But Harold continued.
“Your father knew these lines.”
Emily’s expression changed.
“Don't.”
“He worked county maintenance twenty years.”
“Don't use my father.”
“Maybe he knew connections nobody else did.”
Emily stepped toward him.
Her voice went quiet.
“My father has been dead six years.”
Harold met her eyes.
“That doesn't mean he didn't leave you something.”
Walter spoke firmly.
“Enough.”
Harold looked at him.
Walter shook his head.
“You came to ask about water.”
“Ask.”
“Don't drag Tom into it.”
Harold’s face hardened.
He turned back to Emily.
“Fine.”
“Show us your pump house.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“You don't have authority to inspect my property.”