Bought the Farm Page 10

  “Oh, Mary,” Marla exclaimed, hugging her, “what kind of trouble is Mitch in?”

  Dave fished out a Lucky Strike and lit up. He looked at Mary and decided to speak about the briefcase. “Mary, you found Mitch and we’re so grateful to you. But you didn’t find the briefcase. As long as our son has that briefcase his life is in danger.”

  “Mitch buried the briefcase on the farm,” Mary explained and gently wiped Marla’s tears away. “He’s a very smart kid.” Mary lifted her eyes and studied the carpeted staircase. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, your son also saw a strange woman lurking inside Farmer Griffith’s farmhouse…a woman who he said talked funny.” Mary took Marla’s hand and walked her back into the living room. Dave followed. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I’m going to tell you what I know so far so please be patient with me.”

  Mary sat down on the couch and carefully began to explain about Mitch and his friends finding the briefcase on Farmer Griffith’s farm, about Betty spotting Farmer Griffith buying coffee, spotting the strange woman at Farmer Griffith’s farm and then seeing her racing toward town on a motorcycle; every piece of evidence she had in her bag she presented to the Andersons.

  When Mary finished with her presentation, Dave ran his left hand through his hair and then took a long drag off his Lucky Strike. “So…this would mean…Farmer Griffith was…a spy? But that’s crazy.”

  Marla sat silent for a few seconds before speaking. When she did speak, her voice was very thoughtful. “Mary, that awful Agent Green found Farmer Griffith’s body.”

  “Yes, Marla, he did.”

  “And as you pointed out earlier, we’re not sure how or why that awful man went to Farmer Griffith’s farm,” Marla pointed out. “But now that you spilled the beans to us, it makes sense that he went out to Farmer Griffith’s looking for this strange lady.”

  “I believe so, yes,” Mary agreed. She stood up and stretched her back. “He must have caught wind of something that led him to Farmer Griffith’s farm.”

  Dave worked on his cigarette. “Mary, do you honestly believe Agent Green killed Farmer Griffith?”

  Mary searched for her coffee cup, found it, and took a drink of the warm brew. “Mr. Anderson,” she said in a tired voice, “I believe Agent Green is a vicious snake that killed an innocent man. I believe he went out to Farmer Griffith’s farm expecting to find this strange woman but came up empty-handed. Why? Maybe Farmer Griffith became wise to him. We’ll never know.” Mary put down her coffee. “I believe Agent Green began questioning Farmer Griffith and demanding answers, but Farmer Griffith refused to offer free cigars to his aggressor and was shot dead because of his resistance.”

  Dave looked at his wife with worried eyes and then back at Mary. “There’s no room in your mind to consider that this woman my son saw could be the killer?”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “It’s possible the woman your son saw could have killed Farmer Griffith, Mr. Anderson,” she explained. “But if that’s true, why was Farmer Griffith hiding her in his farmhouse?”

  Dave considered Mary’s response. “Goodness,” he said, “who would have ever thought this sort of thing could happen right here in little ol’ Pineville?”

  Marla picked up Mary’s coffee cup. “I’ll go pour you a fresh cup of coffee and—”

  “No,” Mary said, forcing her voice to become urgent. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Agent Green isn’t going to take being kicked in the legs tonight lightly. He’s racing off to figure out a way to force you to stay in town. My guess is he’s going to go wake a judge. Please, you have to get out of town right now.” Mary drew in a deep breath. “If any of these boys slip up and tell Agent Green they found a briefcase with papers inside, we’re doomed.”

  Marla grabbed Dave’s hand. “Dave?”

  Dave put out his cigarette. “Skip the packing, Marla. Go get Mitch. We’re leaving right now. I’ll go turn out all the lights and turn off the coffee pot.”

  Marla let go of her husband’s hands and ran upstairs as fast as her legs would take her. Mary watched Dave hurry away toward the kitchen. She ran her soft hands over her face and closed her eyes. “What a—” Mary’s words were interrupted by a horrible scream.

  “Marla!” Dave yelled, running back to the staircase. He looked up the stairs. “Marla!”

  Marla appeared at the top of the staircase with her hands over her face. Tears were flooding down her cheeks. “Mitch…Mitch isn’t in his room…his…window is open…”

  “What?” Dave asked. He stormed up the stairs.

  “Oh dear,” Mary whispered and ran up the stairs behind Dave. She followed the terrified man into his son’s room. The bedroom window was open. The curtains were flapping in the late night wind. “Oh no,” Mary gasped. She looked around the bedroom, hoping the missing boy would somehow materialize out of thin air. Instead, she spotted a note lying on the bed. “A note!” she yelled.

  Dave looked at his son’s bed, spotted the piece of paper, and snatched it up. “‘The briefcase for your son. Wait,’” he read aloud. Dave handed the note to Mary and collapsed onto the bed. “My son…” he said in a weak voice as tears began streaming from his eyes.

  Mary studied the note. “‘Wait…’” she whispered.

  “Dave?” Marla asked in a shaky voice.

  Dave held up his hand. Marla ran to him and hugged him. “Mitch has been taken,” he said, pulling his wife close.

  Mary walked over to the window and looked out into the night. She studied the carefully manicured backyard and then focused her eyes on a tall tree standing just an arm’s reach away. “Don’t worry, Mitch,” she promised, “I’m going to get you back.”

  As Mary stared out into the night, Mitch was zooming back toward Farmer Griffith’s farm on a motorcycle with Emma Charron, secret agent for the French Underground Military Movement that was currently fighting the Germans. Emma’s job was to find out why the American government—or certain individuals within the government—was sneaking German scientists into the country. The movement she belonged to was worried the Americans would end up supporting the Germans instead of fighting to free Europe.

  “Don’t be scared,” Emma yelled over her shoulder, “I will not hurt you.”

  Mitch held on for dear life. He sure was scared—but goodness, he thought, watching the night race by, was he ever having a grand adventure. Chuck Lawson sure was going to be jealous.

  “This is—” Mitch began to say but stopped when a night bug splattered into his mouth. Maybe Chuck Lawson wouldn’t be jealous after all.

  Chapter 7

  “Should we call the sheriff?” Marla asked Mary.

  Mary walked over to a lovely circular kitchen table and handed Marla a cup of coffee. She adored Marla’s cozy kitchen, but now wasn’t the time to talk house. “No,” she said in a careful voice. “I believe Mitch has been taken back to Farmer Griffith’s farm.” Mary pulled out a chair and sat down. “We were instructed to wait, Mrs. Anderson, and I’m afraid that’s what we’re going to have to do.”

  Dave slowly paced from the kitchen sink to the back door and back. “Mrs. Holland, if you believe our son has been taken back to Farmer Griffith’s farm, we should contact Sheriff Mables and go—”

  “No, Mr. Anderson,” Mary warned. “The woman who took your son is very clever and could be very dangerous. If we push her into a corner she might lash out like a tiger.” Mary pointed up at the ceiling. “She took your son without any of us hearing and she used a tree as her entry and exit route, Mr. Anderson. That takes a lot of skill.” Mary lowered her hand. “I’m pretty sure this woman isn’t going to go back to Farmer Griffith’s farm and prop up her feet. She’s going to be watching the night with the eyes and ears of an owl.”

  “I think Mary is right, dear,” Marla told her husband. She reluctantly took a sip of coffee. “I just find it hard to believe that Mitch didn’t scream. I can’t believe Mitch wouldn’t put up a fight.”

  Dave nodded his head. “Mitch was upstairs when the other boys lef
t…he was taken in a matter of minutes.”

  “Which means the woman who has him was watching the house,” Mary pointed out. She shook her head. “Betty was supposed to be keeping watch and—” Mary stopped talking. “Oh my goodness…Betty!” she exclaimed. Mary jumped to her feet, dashed out the back door, and ran to her car. “Betty!” she yelled. The car was empty. Betty was missing. “Betty!”

  Mary looked all around in the dimness of the night and searched for any sign of Betty. Then she heard a thump come from the trunk. A muffled voice followed the thump.

  “Betty!” Mary hollered. She burst toward the trunk of her car and yanked it open. And there, shoved into the small space, lay Betty with her hands and legs tied together and a handkerchief tied around her mouth. “Oh, Betty!”

  “Stand back,” Mary heard Dave order. Mary turned, saw Dave standing right behind her, and stepped back. Dave reached down and swooped Betty up into his arms and pulled her out of the trunk. He gently sat her down and began untying her. “Are you okay?”

  “Betty, speak to me!” Mary begged.

  As soon as Dave untied the handkerchief Betty yelled: “Please…scratch my nose…my nose…”

  Mary bent down and quickly scratched Betty’s nose. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Betty let out a happy sigh of relief. “Ah, that’s better,” she sighed. Then she looked up at Mary. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “The woman who tied me up was very nice. She didn’t hurt me at all.” Betty gave Mary a strange look. “Mary, she even apologized to me.” Betty shook her head. “She kept saying in this real heavy French accent that she wasn’t a bad person. I could barely understand her.”

  Mary stared at Betty. “French accent?” she asked.

  Dave untied Betty and helped her stand up. “That’s right,” Betty replied and nodded her head up and down, up and down.

  Mary looked at Betty with apologetic eyes. “Honey, I should have checked on you when the meeting ended. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…well, my mind was on the problem at hand. Will you forgive me?”

  “I’m the klutz who let myself get captured,” Betty told Mary. “You should be upset with me.”

  “No, honey, I shouldn’t,” Mary replied. She reached out and hugged Betty. “I’m so relieved that you’re okay.”

  “I was worried the woman who tied me up might have harmed you,” Betty confessed. She made a strange face again. “But you know what?”

  “What, honey?”

  “I don’t think the woman who tied me up is a bad person.” Betty struggled to explain. “Mary, she was so pretty but her sweet face was covered with fear. Why, I don’t think she would hurt anyone unless she was forced to.”

  Dave shoved his hands down into the pockets of his pants. “Ma’am, that woman took my son,” he told Betty. “I sure hope you’re right.”

  Mary bit down on her lower lip. “Mr. Anderson, I think I’m going to change my plans,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Mary folded her arms and studied the night. “I think I might take another drive out to Farmer Griffith’s farm,” she explained. “Alone.”

  “Alone?” Betty asked, alarmed. “Oh, Mary, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

  “I know, honey,” Mary told Betty and gently patted her arm. “Betty, I need you to stay here with the Andersons. Mrs. Anderson is very upset right now and she could use a friend. Can you do that for me?”

  Betty nodded her head up and down, up and down, until it nearly fell off. “I can be a friend. I like Marla Anderson. She’s a very nice lady.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Mary said in a relieved voice. She focused on Dave. “I’m going to bring Mitch home to you tonight, Mr. Anderson. While I’m gone, please go pack a few suitcases.”

  “Mrs. Holland—”

  Mary tossed a worried eye at Dave. “Mr. Anderson, this woman isn’t our enemy. The real enemy is Agent Green. I’m fully convinced he killed Farmer Griffith. I don’t know how I’m going to prove that or even if I can.” Mary opened the driver’s side door to her car. “My only chance of capturing the truth is having this French woman help me. I have to get her on my side.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Dave asked.

  “By making her a deal she can’t refuse,” Mary replied and slid into the driver’s seat. “Mr. Anderson, please tell Mrs. Anderson to pack. When I bring Mitch back, you’re going to need to get out of town as quickly as possible.”

  Dave nodded. “You brought my son home once. I’m sure you can do it again.”

  Mary looked at Betty. “If Agent Green shows back up, hide the Andersons and pretend that you’re house-sitting for them.”

  “Won’t he see my car?” Dave asked.

  Mary bit down on her lip again. “Mr. Anderson, drive your car down the street and park it.”

  “That might work,” Dave agreed. “The Tintons are out of town visiting their grandchildren. I can park my car in their driveway.”

  “Good,” Mary said. She turned the key in the ignition, drew in a brave breath, and drove away. “Okay,” she told herself, “it’s time to think…really think. Mary, you have to put this puzzle together.”

  Mary drove out of town in silence as her mind began to form a plan. The first part of her plan was to form a coalition with the strange French woman. After that, they would go after Agent Green and prove he killed Farmer Griffith. Of course, Mary thought, watching the headlights on her car splash light on the lonely two-lane back road, forming a coalition with a strange foreigner might prove to be impossible. Mary didn’t have a clue what the French woman’s plans were. She didn’t have a clue how Farmer Griffith fit into the picture. And she wasn’t even sure if Farmer Griffith’s brother played some kind of role. So far, Farmer Griffith’s brother remained in the shadows with a big question mark hanging over his head. Still, Mary thought, she had to try to befriend the French woman.

  “I can do this,” Mary whispered as she pulled her car over to the side of the road and doused the headlights. She eased out of the car and listened for the river. The sound of rushing water was close by. Mary nodded her head and carefully pushed her way into the woods, one cautious step at a time, stepping through tall grass and over fallen branches. “Oh, John, I sure wish you were home,” she said, becoming snagged in a patch of briars. “Oh, my dress.”

  Mary worked the briars out of her dress and continued on. Her feet ached, and her belly growled from hunger. “What a day,” she whispered, finally reaching the river. “Now I have to follow the river onto the edge of the farm,” Mary told herself. She closed her eyes and created a mental image of a map. “Mitch said he buried the briefcase next to the fallen tree right when the river clears the woods and starts running through the far field.”

  Without wasting another second, Mary got her feet moving again. She followed the river until it cleared the woods and began flowing through a large backfield. The backfield sat under a beautiful canopy of glittering stars. Mary paused, stared up at the stars, and began wondering what her husband might be doing at the same moment. Loneliness gripped her heart.

  “Oh, John, I miss you so much,” she said as tears began falling from her eyes. “Every day I wait…wondering…worrying…fearing the worst. I know I’m supposed to wear a brave face, and I do in front of the others, but when I’m all alone…” Mary wiped at her tears. “Come home to me, honey,” she begged.

  Unable to stand staring at the stars any longer and thinking about her husband, Mary lowered her eyes and searched the backfield. In the distance, standing like a dark bony finger, she spotted a fallen tree. She began to walk when a shadowy figure jumped out in front of her. Mary stumbled backward and fell down, expecting the worst. Then she saw a rascally little jackrabbit spring away on quick legs. “Oh,” Mary fussed. She crawled to her legs and wiped at the back of her dress. “John would laugh at me for being so silly.”

  Mary shook her head and made her way over to the tree. She took off her brown Oxford he
els and began feeling the ground with her feet, searching for fresh dirt. The ground was wet with night dew, but Mary didn’t care. “Where did you bury the briefcase?” Mary slid her right foot across a sharp twig. The twig stabbed her big toe. “Ouchie.” Mary winced in pain. She bent down and grabbed her toe and began to rub it. “You never read about this kind of trouble in a detective magazine.”

  After the pain in her toe subsided, Mary continued her search. She carefully moved her feet over the damp ground. “Where could Mitch have buried that briefcase?” she asked and ran her left foot over an ant hill. Sleepy, angry ants stormed out of the hill and covered Mary’s foot. Mary let out a painful cry and began slapping at her foot. She began hopping around in a circle, lost her balance, and then fell backward directly on the ant hill. Ants stormed onto the back of her dress. Mary shot to her feet and began dancing.

  “Off…get off…off…” she cried, slapping at the ants. The ants held on for dear life and began biting Mary. Mary cried out, dashed back to the river, skidded down a bank, snagged her dress on a fallen tree limb, ripped it, and tumbled into shallow water. She bowed her head, sat in the water, and started to cry. “Oh, John, this is so horrible.”

  Mary closed her eyes and prayed for her husband to appear. Instead, Mary knew, she would have to crawl out of the river herself, shake the mud off, and continue on with her mission. No one was going to help her or save her. She was on her own. “Okay, John.” Mary wiped away her tears. “I’ll be a big girl.”

  Mary crawled out of the river and made her way back to the tree. “At least the ants are gone,” she said in a relieved voice. She began searching for the briefcase again, carefully avoiding the ant hill. A few minutes later, her feet struck a pile of dirt that felt out of place.

  “Bingo!” Mary bent down and examined the ground. The dirt was fresh. “I found the briefcase. I can’t believe it,” she whispered. She looked around, found a stick on the ground, and began digging. The digging was tough, and her arms cried out in pain, but Mary eventually managed to unearth a black briefcase. She wiped dirt off the briefcase, stood up, found her shoes, put them back on, and aimed her body toward Farmer Griffith’s farmhouse.