The New Locks Put My Harvest Behind Someone Else's Key

I parked well clear of the locksmith's truck and took a photo of the door.

"That's my rented space," I said.

The man lifted his drill away.

"Owner ordered a lock change."

"Did she show you a lease?"

"She showed me a deed copy."

He was about my age. His work shirt said Owen. He looked from me to the new brass cylinder and stopped smiling.

"I don't settle rent disputes," he said.

"I'm not asking you to. Please write down that I objected."

He called his office. I called Brigitte.

"I told you to clear out," she said.

"You changed the locks while we were eating."

"Because I knew you would be difficult."

"My foggers lost power."

"Those mist things made the floor damp. I unplugged them for the workers."

The air stayed cool enough, but cool air could still dry the caps. My sensor showed eighty-two. I wrote it beneath the old readings on my strap.

"Give me access," I said.

"At five, you can collect your things."

She hung up.

Owen had lowered his drill. He told me his office had ordered him to leave the finished locks in place. He handed me a card and left.

I stayed outside until ten, making calls. A grower I knew had room for sixty blocks, if I could get them out. A restaurant agreed to move its Thursday order to another farm. I logged every call.

At home, Lila sat beside the blue folder.

"She said she was fixing the loading door," she told me.

"When?"

"This afternoon."

I wanted to ask why she had not said that at supper. Instead, I plugged in my phone. The sensor read seventy-nine.

At four forty the next morning, we went back together.

A woman in a flour-marked apron waited beside a rental van. She held a ring of new keys.

"Dana?" I asked.

"You're the mushroom fellow?"

I showed her the lease, the rent receipt, and a photo of the full racks.

She read the first page. Then she closed her van door.

"Brigitte said you had agreed to move."

"I didn't."

Dana called her. I could hear Brigitte's voice through the phone, though not her words.

"I won't unload into occupied rooms," Dana said. "Refund my $1,200."

She ended the call and held out the keys.

"She told me not to give these to you. That's between you two. I'm leaving them on that crate."

I opened the loading door. Both grow-room doors also had new locks. Dana's ring opened those too.

The foggers were unplugged. The backup water tubs had been moved into the hall. On the upper racks, oyster caps had curled at the edges like dry leaves.

I checked the rack tags. Room One held blue oysters due to cut that morning. Room Two held lion's mane, still small enough that some might recover. I marked the hurt clusters with orange clips. Wetting a dry cap would not turn it back into a sound one.

"Can we still sell them?" Lila asked.

"Only what passes the same check as any other day."

I brought out the scale and two clean harvest tubs. One was for good food. One was for waste. I would weigh both before I asked anyone for a dollar.

Lila reached for a plug.

"Photo first," I said, then hated how cold I sounded.

She took three pictures and restored the power.

We moved the weakest blocks to my friend's van when he arrived. I paid him $180 for the trip and temporary space. Then I drove straight to the office of Mara Ellis, the lawyer who had reviewed my lease.

"You prepaid to get certainty," she said. "Now we use the terms you paid for."

She read the messages before she read my notes.

"What can you prove you lost?"

"I don't know yet."

"Good answer. Keep it that way until you do."

Her initial fee deposit was $1,800. I paid it from the account meant for a new steamer.

She prepared a written demand and papers asking the court to protect my access while the dispute went forward. I signed a statement about what I had seen, not what I guessed.

Brigitte received the demand before lunch.

She called me at twelve eleven.

"A lawyer? After everything I've done?"

"You can sign the access agreement Mara sent."

"I can sell that building."

"Please talk to her."

That afternoon, the locksmith's office sent its invoice and work order after I asked for records about my rented doors.

The job cost $460.

Under REQUESTED BY, someone had typed LILA REED.

Under INSTRUCTIONS, it said: Replace loading door and both interior cylinders. Tenant to receive no keys.

I turned my phone toward my wife.

"Mara will need to know exactly what you said."

Lila read the page twice.

Then her phone rang, and MOM filled the screen.