Cowsheads (1/1)
by Lynn S.M.

This story beginning is in response to Queen of the Cape's No Context Challenge Be warned: It is just the beginning of a story and unless someone else takes up the mantle (hint, hint), it likely will not ever be finished.





I live in Cowsheads. Go ahead and laugh -- Everyone else does. And yes, it is a small town. I love it here. But the thing about small towns is that everyone knows everybody else’s business, so I know that what is happening here ought to be impossible.

“People are starting to sell off their land, for reasons that would seem plausible only if you didn’t know the folks. Take Old Tom, for instance. He claims that he wants to retire to Metropolis. That might sound reasonable to a stranger, but to us as know him, it is preposterous. Tom grew up in the city and hated it with a passion. He would tell anyone who’d listen about all the horrors of city life. No way would he ever go back there.

“Or take Cindy-Anne. She has just been getting the hang of farming on her own after the tragic deaths of her parents. And now she up and says that she’s fallen for a beau she met online and she’s fixing to move to Nebraska to be with him. Never mind that she never met him before or that she won’t even tell anyone his name. The fact that it is a “beau” and not a “belle” would tip off anyone who knows Cindy-Anne that something is not on the level. She never showed an interest in boys.

“Some of the other stories are more believable than these, at least individually. But collectively, they, too, raise a red flag. People who live here don’t move out if they don’t have to. Families hereabouts have owned their land for generations, and selling it is not something they would do lightly. In fact, I can only think of three parcels of land that were sold during my lifetime for a reason other than the last family member dying or becoming too infirm to work the land or because the family couldn’t afford to keep it. At least, there were only three until two months or so ago. That’s when this massive sell-off began.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I suspect something sinister and quite possibly illegal. As the town sheriff, I consider it my duty to try to determine what is happening, but, quite frankly, I feel out of my league. I’ve spoken with the individuals who are selling their land, but although their explanations for selling don’t seem to hold water in my view, they do not appear to feel threatened. They don’t act as if they are being coerced into selling. Still, they don’t seem quite themselves, either. I don’t know how to put it more specifically than that; it’s just a feeling that something is a bit ‘off’ with them. But since they claim to be selling their property of their own free will, there’s nothing more that I can see to do. I did find out that they are selling their property to different individuals or real estate investment companies; no one person is buying all of the land.

“I realize that this situation may seem rather trivial to city folk, but I implore you to look into it nevertheless. As I said, ours is a small town that has remained relatively unchanged for generations. If many more people decide to sell their land, the entire character of our town could change practically overnight. If ever you have held a place dear, if ever you have had a circle of friends whom you wished would always stay together, if ever you have loved anyone or anything enough to dread its changing, then I beg of you to help me.

Sincerely,
George Brennen
98 Maple Street
Cowsheads, OH
(740) 555-2946



Lois put down the letter and her husband asked her, “So, what do you make of it?” She rolled her eyes at the phrasing of his question. Clark had been in a Sherlock Holmes mood the night before, and had spent a few leisure minutes reading through Conan Doyle’s entire canon of the great detective. Obviously, that hadn’t done anything to get it out of his system.

Lois looked around the bullpen to make sure no one was within hearing distance, and then asked, with a twinkle in her eye, “Isn’t it enough to be Superman? Now you want to be Holmes, as well?”

When Clark just gave her an abashed smile in return, Lois continued, “I refuse to play the role of his bumbling sidekick.”

“Hey, Nigel Bruce’s portrayal aside, Watson was far from bumbling. He really was quite intelligent; he was a doctor, after all. He just downplayed it to better act as a foil to Holmes. He was employing a good literary technique; he was, just like you, a consummate writer.”

Lois smiled at Clark’s obvious attempt to work his way out of the hole he had dug himself. She decided not to let him off quite that easily, “But he still wasn’t as smart as Holmes.”

Clark threw his hands up in mock surrender. “OK, so the analogy between them and us isn’t perfect. What do you think about the letter?”

Lois put the bantering aside and became serious. “Small town sheriff. Perceptive. Realizes when he’s out of his element and is calling in the big guns. I agree with him. Something’s fishy here.” Lois realized how much she had grown in the past few years. Before she had gotten to know Clark, she would have dismissed the sheriff as just a bumpkin who, either out of boredom or ignorance, was making up intrigue where none existed. But through Clark and his parents, she had come to realize that ‘rural resident’ didn’t mean ‘dumb’.”

Clark agreed with her. “I think it’s worth flying out to investigate. “


***

Well, that's as far as I got. If you know what happens next, by all means feel free to post a continuation of the story. (Round robin, anyone?) And if you are so incline, I would be most appreciative if you were to leave some feedback.