Bought the Farm Read online

  “I heard he was poisoned. Is that true, Mary?” Natalie Bassington asked in an alarmed voice.

  Mary looked at Bella and Natalie. The two women were sisters. Bella was a schoolteacher and Natalie ran the local salon. Unfortunately, Natalie’s gossiping mouth destroyed her sister’s common sense. “Farmer Griffith is dead,” she told the sisters and moved on.

  “Who killed Farmer Griffith?” a very angry Mr. Taylor asked. The town’s butcher was sitting in a booth with his wife and brother-in-law, chewing on a chicken leg. “Who killed him, Mary, huh?”

  “I don’t know, Alvin,” Mary told the angry butcher and moved on.

  “I bet he had a heart attack because those pesky kids burned down his farm. Isn’t that right, Mary?” Mrs. Zimmer asked.

  Mary looked down into a wrinkled face thinner than Betty’s. It was the face of a woman who had taught school for forty years before finally retiring; a woman who understood children better than anyone, even though she didn’t like children or have any herself, which made Mary wonder why the woman ever decided to become a teacher to begin with. “Farmer Griffith didn’t die of a heart attack, Mrs. Zimmer.”

  “Well, those pesky kids who burned down his barn need to be brought to justice all the same.”

  Mary sighed and finally made her way back to Sheriff Mables. She sat down across from him, put her purse down, and shook her head. “I have a feeling my phone is going to be ringing off the hook tomorrow.”

  Julie Mason, who had been standing at the sheriff’s table talking to him, shook her head. “Old Farmer Griffith is dead,” she said in an unbelievable voice. “Why, I’ve known that man since I was knee-high to a toad frog.”

  Mary looked up into Julie’s face. The woman was in her early sixties but still had plenty of vigor left in her step. She was a fiery redhead—a redhead that was mostly gray—who didn’t take lip off anyone. And on top of that, she was a cook who was even more temperamental than Mary was. But both Julie and Brandon Green were good folk who cared about people. When Thanksgiving rolled around, they were the first to take food to the needy and never blinked an eye when a poor drifter came into the diner in need of a meal.

  “Julie, have you seen a stranger in town?” Mary asked.

  Julie tossed a thumb at Agent Green. “Just that one sitting over there.”

  Mary glanced at the agent. He lowered the menu he was holding and looked at her. “Yeah, that snake is no good,” she said. Agent Green shifted his eyes over to Julie and then slithered them over to Sheriff Mables. “No one else besides that snake, huh?”

  “Well, Frank Norson brought a fella into the diner yesterday,” Julie told Mary. “But we all know Frank is having that big family reunion out there on his land. I reckon that fella Frank brought in with him was some relative or another.”

  Mary leaned chin down onto the palm of her hand. Her mind was focused on Mitch Anderson. The kid had not run home like she ordered him to do. She feared the person Agent Green was searching for might have grabbed Mitch. Or, she thought, clinging onto an ounce of hope, maybe the kid was just hiding because he was afraid his daddy was going to tear up his backside with a belt. “Julie, can I have a cup of coffee and a cheeseburger?”

  “No chicken?” Julie asked. “Mary, you love Brandon’s fried chicken.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not in the mood,” Mary told Julie. “Please tell Brandon to cook me a cheeseburger and burn it a little.”

  Julie nodded her head. “I understand, hon.”

  “Coffee for me,” Sheriff Mables told Julie.

  “Two black coffees and a burned burger coming up,” Julie said. She patted Mary on her shoulder and walked away.

  “Sheriff,” Mary said, keeping her voice low, “Agent Green isn’t going to leave town until he gets the answers he needs…or at least until he finds the person he’s searching for.”

  Sheriff Mables looked over at Agent Green. Agent Green lifted his menu and went back to studying the available food options. “There’s not much I can do, Mary. The worm is here under the shirt of the FBI. The FBI carries a lot of weight. Unless the guy breaks a law or causes some kind of problem, there’s not a whole lot I can do except keep an eye on him.”

  Mary kept her chin low and disguised her mouth with her hands. She debated whether to tell Sheriff Mables about finding Mitch Anderson at Farmer Griffith’s farm. However, she warned herself, certain information could place Sheriff Mables’ life in danger. Mary wasn’t certain what measures Agent Green might deploy in forcing people to talk to him. What she did know clear as day was that Agent Green was a snake that was poised to strike.

  “Sheriff, did you find out any information on Farmer Griffith’s brother?”

  “Not yet,” Sheriff Mables replied. “I’ve been busier than a bee ever since I got into town. Millie at the paper told Heather that Farmer Griffith was dead, and well, it’s been one headache after another since then.”

  Mary shook her head. “Millie, you klutz,” she fussed under her breath and then felt bad. “Oh, Millie is just a kid. She doesn’t stand a chance against an experienced gossiper like Heather. Why, that woman could pick information out of an empty turtle shell. Besides, it’s not like the news of Farmer Griffith’s death was going to remain a secret forever.”

  Sheriff Mables nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Now tell me, Mary, why did you want to meet me here?”

  Mary nervously bit down on her lower lip and decided to confess the truth about Mitch Anderson. “Sheriff, after you left the farm, Agent Green showed up. He tried to get tough with me, but Betty arrived.”

  “Did he try to hurt you?” Sheriff Mables grabbed his gun.

  “No, no,” Mary assured Sheriff Mables. “He tossed on the tough cop routine and tried to intimidate me,” she explained and carefully continued, speaking so low that Sheriff Mables had to strain his ears to hear. The jukebox was too loud, but the music was helping disguise the conversation. Count Basie sure was blasting out some swinging jazz. “Sheriff, before we left, I spotted Mitch Anderson hiding behind Farmer Griffith’s house.”

  “You what?” Sheriff Mables exclaimed. “Mary, why didn’t you—”

  “Keep your voice down,” Mary begged, forcing her chin to remain seated on the palm of her hand. “Yes, I spotted Mitch. I managed to get in a few words with him, too.”

  Sheriff Mables glanced over at Agent Green, who lowered his menu and looked at him with suspicious eyes. “Okay, Mary,” he said in a loud enough voice for the agent to hear, “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions for now. I have to get back to my office.”

  Mary nodded her head and took her chin off her hand. “That’s fine, Sheriff. I’ll be by later to finish our interview. This story is really going to set the paper on fire.” Mary reached forward and grabbed a menu and whispered, “Mitch said he and the other boys found a briefcase with some funny writing in it.”

  Sheriff Mables stared at Mary and then stood up. “Come by my office in about…oh, say two hours and we’ll finish this interview.”

  Agent Green watched Sheriff Mables hike up his pants, walk up to the front counter, get his coffee to go, and vanish outside. Instead of remaining seated and watching Mary, he stood up and left the diner.

  “Perfect,” Mary whispered. She jumped to her feet, ran up to Betty, and said, “Okay, honey, time to eat and run. Julie, please make our orders to go.”

  Julie stopped cutting a piece of apple pie and looked at Mary. The woman looked like a hound dog getting ready to chase after a fox. “Okay, hon,” she said without causing any attention. “Make the burned burger and chicken plate to go, Brandon,” she called through a rectangle window.

  “Yeah, yeah, burned burger and chicken plate to go,” Brandon Green repeated, standing over a hot, greasy grill.

  Julie mumbled something under her breath, poured Mary and Betty a cup of coffee to go, and then waited for their food.

  “Where are we going?” Betty asked Mary.

  Mary h
elped Betty climb down off her stool. “Oh, I thought we could eat supper back at the paper. I have a few items that we need to discuss,” Mary said, knowing full well every ear was tuned in.

  “Oh, okay.” Betty smiled. “Kinda like a picnic.”

  “Kinda, honey.”

  “I like picnics,” Betty told Mary.

  “I know you do, honey,” Mary said, becoming impatient. She looked at the rectangle window and waited for Brandon to shove her burned burger through along with Betty’s chicken plate.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve been on a picnic,” Betty told Mary and dived into an old story. “Remember when we were ten years old and we walked out to Snow Dove Field for a picnic?”

  “I remember,” Mary told Betty, switching from one foot to the other. “Come on, Brandon, hurry up,” she whispered.

  Betty looked around the diner. “After we ate, you wanted to go for a swim in the river. But I was worried. Mother always said you were supposed to wait a full half hour after you eat before going swimming.” Betty let out a sweet giggle and quickly covered her mouth. “You convinced me to go into the shallow part of the river with you. We both got cramps in our toes.”

  Mary looked at Betty. She found it strange how her best friend managed to remember the silliest of memories in the midst of strange situations. “I remember, honey. We were up to our knees in water and thought we were going to drown.”

  Betty let another sweet giggle slip from her mouth. “That was really funny.”

  “I suppose it was,” Mary agreed. “Maybe we can go on a real picnic sometime and get cramps in our toes again.”

  “Oh no,” Betty told Mary, “once was enough. Besides, I still haven’t learned to swim.” Betty stopped smiling and her face became very, very serious. “I could drown this time, Mary. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Betty’s sweet but serious face was priceless. “No, honey, I wouldn’t want my best friend in the entire world to drown. Why, if that happened, I would be the saddest person alive. Besides, I don’t have a fishing pole. Who would I get to fish you out of the river?”

  Betty didn’t catch the joke at first. When she did she let out a loud laugh and began snorting. “Fish me out…oh, I get it…funny, Mary.”

  Mary felt a smile touch her lips. She sure loved Betty more than she could put into words. “Yeah, I guess it is funny, huh,” she said and then spotted Brandon sliding her burger and Betty’s chicken through the rectangle window. Julie grabbed the orders, tossed them into a brown paper bag, and handed the bag to Mary.

  “Put the meals on my tab, okay?”

  “You got it, hon,” Julie told Mary.

  Mary grabbed Betty’s hand and walked her outside into a soft, warm evening.

  “The paper is this way,” Betty said, feeling Mary tugging her in the opposite direction.

  Mary walked Betty to her car. “Honey, we’re not going back to the paper. We’re going to Mitch Anderson’s house.” Mary yanked open the passenger’s door. “Get in, you clever little rascal. We’re going to do a little investigating.”

  Betty took the brown bag from Mary and climbed into the car. “Oh dear,” she said in a worried voice, “when Mary wants to do a little investigating, we end up getting into a whole lot of trouble.”

  Mary jumped into the driver’s seat and got her car moving. “Hold on!” she yelled. She drove away from the diner and took a right onto Maple Avenue and zoomed toward Mitch Anderson’s house. “We have to find Mitch, Betty. He has something very important in his possession. If we can find Mitch, we might have a chance at finding the answers we need. But something tells me there’s a lot of hidden rooms in this case that we’re going to have to explore before we uncover the entire truth.”

  Betty held on for dear life. Mary’s driving was sometimes very scary. “Mary, shouldn’t we…perhaps…let Sheriff Mables search for the truth?”

  “We’re newspaper women,” Mary told Betty, gripping the steering wheel and leaning forward. “Our job is to uncover the truth. A close and dear friend of this community was killed and we’re going to find out who killed him and why.” Mary stepped on the gas pedal and glanced over at Betty. “Honey, are you absolutely certain Farmer Griffith was buying coffee?”

  Betty squeezed her eyes shut and nodded her head up and down, up and down. “Yes, I’m certain,” she told Mary, expecting to crash at any second. Mary focused her eyes back on the road and grew silent as her mind studied the thoughts racing around in her mind.

  As she sped away from the diner, a strange figure stepped out of an alley across the street and walked away. “This is not good,” the person said in a thick French accent, “this is not good at all.”

  Chapter 4

  Mary swung her car onto a cozy street lined with comfortable two-story homes sitting in lush, green, clean-cut yards. Kids of all ages were out in the yards playing, throwing footballs and baseballs, jumping rope, and swinging in tire swings hanging from their favorite trees. The sight of the kids warmed Mary’s heart—and broke her heart, as well. When Mary had first married, and she and John had begun to try to have children, she became very ill. After she recovered from the illness Mary was informed that she would not be able to have children, ever. The horrible news sent a stick of wild dynamite into her soul and exploded within her heart. The words No Children echoed through long and tearful nights like a tormenting scream locked in her throat. Eventually, time passed, and she adapted to being a childless mother who found joy in the sight of innocent kids playing outside in their warm front yards, safe and secure.

  “Well, here we are,” Mary told Betty, pulling up in front of a cream-colored two-story house with a large oak standing in the front yard. Chuck Lawson, Wayne Weber, Nathan Harnnette, and Brian Matlock were nowhere in sight. Mary didn’t expect to see the boys Mitch played with. What she did see was Marla Anderson’s green 1938 Oldsmobile Series F and Dave Anderson’s 1940 gray Packard 180 parked in the driveway. “The Andersons are home.”

  “Mary, can I please sit in the car? I get so nervous around people I don’t know,” Betty begged.

  “I was hoping you would ask that,” Mary told Betty. “I need you to sit here and stand…uh…sit…watch for me. Keep an eye out for any suspicious cars or people. And if you see Agent Green, honk the horn three times.”

  “Would it be okay if I ate my supper while I watch?” Betty asked in a hopeful voice.

  “Sure, honey.” Mary smiled. She tucked her purse down at Betty’s feet and looked at the house. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  “That’s okay,” Betty promised and patted the brown paper bag she was holding. “I eat very slow. Eating fast is horrible for your digestion system. I like to chew each bite of my food at least twenty times before swallowing. Sometimes I accidentally swallow at sixteen chews, but don’t tell my mother that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mary told Betty in a secretive voice. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Oh good,” Betty said in a relieved voice.

  Mary smiled, patted Betty’s hands, and climbed out of the car. She looked to her left and saw three boys tossing a baseball in the next yard. In the yard to her right, she saw four girls. One of the girls was jumping rope, two were sitting under a tree playing with their dolls, and the fourth girl was playing on a tire swing. A football was being tossed around out on the street by a group of boys who seemed very content staying close to home.

  A heavy sigh struck Mary’s heart. “Children,” she whispered and hurried up a front walk made of stone and lined with beautiful multicolor tulips. She stopped at the white front door, reached out, pushed a white button, and waited. Inside the house, a cozy set of doorbell chimes came to life and began to sing. “Be smart,” Mary warned herself, hearing footsteps.

  A few seconds later a tall, thin woman wearing a dark flower-patterned dress opened the front door. “Oh, Mrs. Holland,” Marla Anderson said in a shocked voice. She quickly wiped tears out of her eyes and straighte
ned out her long brown hair. “I thought you were Sheriff Mables.”

  The sight of the teary-eyed mother broke Mary’s heart. “Marla, may I come inside?” she asked in an urgent voice. She looked over her shoulder and pointed at Betty. “This is urgent. Betty is keeping watch for me.”

  “Keeping watch? I don’t understand,” Marla said.

  “Is that the sheriff?” a worried voice asked. A man wearing a desperate expression appeared. “Oh, Mrs. Holland,” he said and ran his hands through thin brown hair that was quickly graying. “My wife and I were expecting the sheriff.”

  Mary watched Dave Anderson shove his hands down into the pockets of the gray slacks he was wearing and yank out a pack of Lucky Strikes. “Mitch hasn’t come home. He’s been missing since this morning,” he told Mary as he fished out a pack of matches and lit up. “What can we do for you?”

  Mary studied the white shirt Dave was wearing. Part of the shirt was untucked in places. It was obvious Dave had been pacing the floors, sitting down, standing up, pacing, sitting down, standing up and pacing all over again. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I saw Mitch at Farmer Griffith’s farm.”

  “What?” Dave exclaimed.

  “Please,” Mary pleaded, “may I come inside?”

  “Of course,” Marla said and practically pulled Mary inside and rushed her into a clean, crisp living room full of flower-patterned furnishings, a piano, a polished bookshelf, and a lovely fireplace. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, perhaps?”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” Mary assured Mrs. Anderson. She sat down on a soft couch facing a large bay window peeking out at the front yard. She waited for Dave to sit down in a chair. Marla quickly hurried to his side. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I think Mitch, along with his friends, are in trouble.”

  “Oh my,” Marla gasped. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Dave, what are we going to do?”

  Dave took a draw off his cigarette. “Mrs. Holland, if you saw my son, why didn’t you bring him home?” he demanded in an upset voice.