Up close, the mark looked even less natural. It was narrow, even, and hidden beneath a layer of dirt that the rain had only begun to wash away. Could a tool make that? Clare asked. A handsaw, Marcus said.
Maybe a small pruning saw. Someone cut partway through the post, then covered it. Ethan crouched beside them, careful not to touch the mud with his suit or the wood split and filled with dirt. Old fences do that. Marcus looked at him for a moment.
Splits follow the grain. He pointed to the line. This crosses it. Ethan stood again. You seem very certain for someone who was hired this morning.
Marcus did not answer the insult. He pressed two fingers against the cut, then examined the adjoining rail. A second groove appeared beneath the lower bracket. same width, same direction. He walked 10 ft down the fence and checked another post. Nothing.
Then another. Nothing. At the third, he found a shallow mark beneath the ivy. Clare's phone began vibrating inside her pocket. She ignored it again.
"How many?" she asked. "I do not know yet." Marcus opened his toolbox and removed a tape measure, a carpenter's pencil, and a small flashlight. His movements became slower now, more deliberate.
He measured each damaged post, marked the height of every cut, and wrote the numbers on the back of the estimate sheet. 42 in 41 and 3/4. 42 again, nearly identical. Clare watched him work with the patience of someone assembling an answer he did not want to give too soon. Ethan glanced toward the house.
The board is waiting. They can wait 5 minutes, Clare said. The sentence surprised both men. Marcus reached the corner where the fence bordered the narrow path behind the property. The ivy there was thicker, wrapped around the wood in dark green ropes.
He used the pruning knife to separate it carefully, never cutting more than necessary. Beneath the leaves, the post showed another clean groove. This one was deeper. Marcus leaned closer, then looked toward the path beyond the fence. Tire tracks pressed into the wet ground near a service gate.
Not fresh enough to be from that morning. Not old enough to have softened at the edges. Does anyone use this entrance? He asked. Clare shook her head.
Only the landscaping crew. Sometimes deliveries. Ethan answered too quickly. The gardeners were here Tuesday. Marcus looked at the tracks.
What do they drive? A white utility van. These are narrow tires. Ethan's jaw tightened. Are you repairing a fence or investigating my staff?
Marcus stood and wiped the blade clean with a cloth. I am trying to understand what failed before I rebuild it. Clare looked through the service gate toward the wooded lane behind the property. The path was quiet. Too quiet.
Rainwater gathered in the shallow tire marks and reflected the gray sky. "Could someone have done this as a prank?" she asked. Marcus returned the tools to his box. "Maybe, but you do not think so."
He looked toward the western corner, then toward the back steps where Clare had been standing minutes earlier. A prank is usually meant to be found. Ethan exhaled sharply. This is getting ridiculous. Clare, let him replace the boards and send him home.
Marcus closed the toolbox. That is probably best. Clare turned to him. You are leaving? I need to pick up Lily and the fence.
I can secure it temporarily before I go. He checked his watch. 228. That gives me 20 minutes. Clare studied his face.
He was not trying to frighten her. That made the warning harder to dismiss. What happens if the wind picks up again? She asked. Marcus looked at the damaged posts, then at the long section leaning toward the path.
If those cuts go deeper than they look, this side will not need much wind. Marcus moved quickly after that. Not carelessly. Quickly. He carried two temporary steel braces from the truck, drove them into the soft ground, and secured the weakest section with heavy straps.
The fence stopped leaning, but only barely. Clare stood beneath the maple tree, watching the wind stir the wet leaves above them. Ethan had returned to the house to join the board call, though not before telling her that she was letting a repair man waste company time. Clare had said nothing. She was still looking at the pale cuts hidden beneath the ivy.
Marcus checked his watch again. 247. That will hold for a few hours, he said. Not overnight if the weather turns. Clare looked toward the clouds gathering beyond the trees.
The forecast said the storm was over. Forecast do not have to live beside a damaged fence. He tightened the final strap, then packed the tools with the same order he had used when taking them out. Hammer first. Level next.
Pencil returned to the small leather loop on his belt. Nothing rushed except the clock. Clare followed him toward the truck. You are really leaving this unfinished. Marcus opened the driver's door.
I am picking up my daughter. I can send someone. He looked at her. Not offended. Not grateful.
Simply still. Lily expects me. Clare glanced at the purple backpack on the passenger seat. You said she gets out at 3:00. She does.
It is already almost 3. Her school is 8 minutes away. Marcus started the engine then paused. I will come back after I get her settled. Clare folded her arms against the wind and if I hire someone else before then tell them about the cuts.
He closed the door and drove away, leaving two narrow tracks across the wet gravel. Clare remained beside the service entrance long after the truck disappeared. The temporary braces held the fence upright, but the straps creaked whenever the wind pressed against the cedar. The sound followed her into the house. On the board call, Ethan spoke about projected growth, acquisition costs, and a new housing development outside Baltimore.
Clare heard every word and absorbed none of them. Her eyes kept moving toward the windows. At 3:26, the rain returned. Light at first, then steady. Ethan muted the call and leaned toward her.
You were distracted. Someone cut the fence. Someone may have cut the fence. You saw the marks. I saw old wood and a man who knew how to make it look suspicious.
Clare's gaze sharpened. Why would he do that? Ethan gave a small shrug. Money, attention, a larger contract. People do what they need to do.
The sentence landed badly. Clare turned toward the glass doors. Outside, the western section shifted under the wind, then settled against the braces. He did not ask for more money. Not yet.