[Cormac29Ru]

As she parked, Samantha noticed that the street was empty except for a copper colored American muscle car parked right at the site. It was the sort of thing her ex-husband would have drooled over. She spent a few minutes primping her hair and checking her make-up in the reflection of the glass outside Baum’s Metalworking shop. Her blond hair was perfect, her pin striped business suit was freshly pressed, and after pulling a loose thread from the bottom of her skirt, she felt like a million bucks, despite the fact that it was all of 4:35 on a Saturday morning.

The voicemail she received yesterday was from a female voice, stating that Rebecca Burke was wondering if she could meet with her assistant to look at a few items, as that Samantha was the new head of the historical society. Ms. Burke had just bought the old metalworking shop and was in the process of having it gutted and turned into an office, and they had found some things that might be historically valuable. A brief google search put Samantha’s heart in her throat. Rebecca Burke was a developer, venture capitalist and businesswoman, all of which had made her preposterously wealthy. She was a noted philanthropist, but also notorious for her dislike of publicity.

For Samantha, this was a no-lose situation. Either she managed to get some interest drummed up for the historical society or she got an interview for the local paper. Both possibilities led to a brighter future for herself. She was startled to find a woman in her mid-thirties in jeans and a muscle t-shirt with her dark brown hair tied back with a bandanna, holding a cordless nail gun in her right hand.

"Hello Samantha, my assistant Wynnie is busy on another project this morning and no one else will be here until 5:15 at the earliest so I thought I should talk to you myself."

“You’re Rebecca?”

"Rebecca Burke, that's correct. I was hoping you could help me with something. I’ve had some experience with reclamation projects and we’ve found some things, well, that I’d like to donate if they are worth anything. Apparently, Mr. Baum was quite the pack rat.”

Samantha spent the tour of the partially-gutted downstairs learning that Rebecca Burke was exceptional at dodging questions. However, Rebecca was serious about historical preservation, more than willing to hand over any item that Samantha so much as blinked at twice.

“You know, Ms. Burke, we can’t afford to buy these items from you, and we really appreciate your charity.”

Rebecca smiled back. “No worries, Samantha. They're all donations. I grew up in the city, but I love these old antiques. It’s like a hands-on history lesson for me. Speaking of which, there’s an item upstairs I was hoping you could help me identify.”

They picked their way up the stairs, with Rebecca offering her free hand to help the high-heeled Samantha over a few spots. They arrived at the storage section of the old shop. “I’m hoping you’ll want the rest of this as well, I know there’s a big market for old oil cans and cash registers.” Rebecca gestured towards the back, pointing with the nail gun. “But there’s something back there, that well, I’m unclear and a bit uncomfortable with.”

Samantha picked her way to the back to find a massive wooden T with a host of nails sticking out of it.

Rebecca stared at it. “When my boys found it, they called me immediately. I don’t want to embarrass myself, but I have no idea what it is. Is it a cross or was he…Baum I mean…some sort of…” her face scrunched before continuing, “some sort of weirdo?”

Samantha smiled indulgently. “You are a city girl, aren’t you? That’s a stand for a scarecrow.”

Rebecca’s face stayed scrunched up. “A scarecrow? I thought those were all-in-one jobs.”

“Not necessarily. Many farmers believed that you should change it out so the crows wouldn’t get comfortable, seeing the same thing.”

“But why are the nails only half-way down the arms of the T?”

“So the arms of the scarecrow would dangle with the wind.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not following you. Could you…could you show me?”

Samantha stepped up on the small block at the base of the T, taking a second to balance herself on her high heels. Rebecca placed a helping hand on her stomach. “Normally this whole thing would be higher, I’m guessing this stand was cut down to fit in here. I’m just five inches higher than you right now; normally it would be closer to two to three feet, so that most of this was above the corn. This block was there so the farmer could climb up there and adjust the scarecrow.”

Rebecca nodded slowly. “That makes sense but I don’t get the part with the arms. Why not nail them at the end?”

Samantha laid her arms straight out against the wood. “Like this they would have been stiff.” She let her arms dangle. “But if the wind was blowing…”

Rebecca moved like a flash. The concussive sound of the nail gun scared Samantha, and she instinctively pressed herself back against the T. Four more loud shots later and the sleeve of Samantha’s suit-coat was nailed tight to the wood.

“WHAT THE HELL?!?” Samantha screamed.

“I didn’t get your skin, did I?” Rebecca asked brightly.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?” Samantha was even louder.

Rebecca looked at Samantha’s sleeve. “No blood. Good. Not my intention.” With that she grabbed Samantha’s other arm and nailed it by the sleeve as well.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!?” Samantha was nearly breathless. She struggled against her coat, trying to wiggle out of it, but the nails pulled it tight against the wood and her bicep.

Rebecca looked at her, all the more frightening for her relative calmness. “So, take me through what happened with Erin.”

“WHAT! I’m not telling you anything, you psycho! Get me down from here.”

Rebecca reached into her back pocket and pulled out a curved blade. She then grabbed the side of Samantha’s skirt, and ripped the blade along the edge in one sharp motion, letting it slide down Samantha’s legs and pool at her feet. Samantha looked down in horror at the display of her bright plaid panties, then over at a smiling Rebecca.

Rebecca picked up the skirt and dangled it from her finger for a second before flicking it across the room. “I don’t think you understand. You’re not in a position to negotiate.”