We were almost to the archway when Mr. Benton’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then at me.
“Sir, the gate camera just notified me. There’s a vehicle stopped outside. Same truck that’s been circling the last few days. They appear to be filming,” he informed us.
Kyleigh froze. My jaw clenched.
“Let me see,” I ordered.
We went to the small security monitor off the hall. Sure enough, a lifted pickup sat just outside the gate at the bottom of the hill. A couple of young dudes in the bed held up their phones,panning up toward the house. Someone in the front seat honked twice, long and obnoxious.
The microphones picked it up faint.
“Look up here, y’all! Grinch Hill finally got a tree!” one of them yelled.
Another voice joined in. “Hey, Ms. Grindley! Is it free to the public or do we gotta buy tickets?” Laughter followed.
I felt heat snake through me, slow and dangerous. My vision narrowed a little.
Kyleigh’s hand tightened on the back of a chair. “See?” she said, voice soft. “This is why I stayed up here. They act like I shot Santa.”
The honk came again, longer. Whoever was in the driver’s seat revved the engine like this was cute.
I slid a look at her. “Stay inside. I got it,” I told her.
“Jabali—” she started.
“I said, stay inside,” I repeated, softer but no less firm. “You did the hard part. You let them put up a tree. Let me handle the rest.”
She stared at me, weighing it. Then she nodded once. I looked at Mr. Benton. My research had shown there was more to Mr. Benton than met the eye.
“You coming?”
“Yes, sir,” he said without hesitation.
We hopped in my truck. The drive down the hill was short, just long enough for my anger to get more focused. I parked on our side of the gate, got out, and walked up slow. The boys on the other side went quiet when they saw me. I recognized two of them from around town, the kind who always had opinions and nothing else.
“You lost?” I asked through the bars.
“Nah, we good,” the one in front said. “We just out here documenting history. Folks need to know she finally caved.”
I smiled. It was not nice. “Caved how?”
“To the people. We been saying for weeks it’s bigger than her. Christmas belong to?—”
“Stop. Don’t finish that sentence.”
He looked confused.
“You feel some type of way about the trees, you go talk to the mayor. Or go buy your own land and put lights on it. What you not gon’ do is sit outside this woman’s house and treat it like a zoo exhibit. Y’all can cut that shit out today.”
One of them scoffed. “Man, you really caping for her like she ain’t the one?—”
“Like she ain’t the one who what?” I stepped closer. “Who own this hill? Who pay them property taxes? Who gon’ have to deal with shit if somebody gets hurt or dies on her property?”
“Damn, we just playing,” he muttered.
“I’m not. Understand something. That gate is not here for you. It’s here for her peace. It’s here for my daughter’s safety. If you got jokes, keep them where she can’t hear you. You pull up here again to entertain your followers, you gon’ deal with my sister and some paperwork. And then you gon’ deal with me.”
“I find that I would be rather happy to take part in such activity, also,” Mr. Benton said, looking calm but sinister.
