Bought the Farm Page 6

  “I couldn’t,” Mary explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, a corrupt FBI agent by the name of Agent Green was basically preparing to hold me hostage at Farmer Griffith’s farm. This Suit is still in town and steaming around.” Mary placed her hands down on her lap. “My friend Betty showed up and saved the day. It was after Betty showed up, when I was standing beside my car, that I saw Mitch stick his head around the farmhouse. I pretended I needed to use the little girls’ room and managed to speak to Mitch without Agent Green knowing. After I spoke to him, I told him to run straight home.”

  Dave stared at Mary with worried eyes. “First Farmer Griffith was killed and now my son is missing.”

  “Sheriff Mables told you Farmer Griffith was killed, I assume?” Mary asked.

  Dave nodded. “He asked me to keep a tight lip on the man’s death,” he told Mary. “I didn’t know Farmer Griffith very well.” Dave tried to calm his nerves. “I teach English at the community college, Mrs. Holland. I buy my produce from the local market. I’m afraid I haven’t been out to Farmer Griffith’s farm in many, many years.”

  “But we are very sorry the poor man was killed,” Marla spoke up. “Mrs. Griffith was a member of the Flower Committee before she passed away. She was a warm and caring woman. Everyone on the committee adored her.”

  Dave patted his wife’s hand. “Marla, let’s focus on Mitch,” he said and looked at Mary. “You said Mitch and his friends are in trouble. Do you know what happened to our son, Mrs. Holland?”

  Mary glanced down at her hands, gathered her thoughts, and then looked up. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Mitch told me he went to Farmer Griffith’s farm this morning to apologize to Farmer Griffith.”

  Dave nodded. “Mitch felt guilty about the fire. He’s a good boy, Mrs. Holland.”

  “I believe he is,” Mary agreed. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Mitch is in danger,” she continued in a serious voice. “I don’t know who killed Farmer Griffith or who Agent Green is searching for, but I intend to find out. But right now, I want to talk to you about Mitch and what he told me.”

  Marla squeezed her husband’s hand. “What did Mitch tell you, Mrs. Holland?”

  “Mitch said he and his friends found a briefcase inside Farmer Griffith’s barn. He said the briefcase was full of papers with ‘funny’ writings. Now, I’m sure that that briefcase belongs to the person Agent Green is searching for.” Mary paused and studied Dave’s and Marla’s faces. Both appeared authentically shocked. “You two weren’t aware Mitch found a briefcase?” she asked.

  Dave shook his head. “No,” he said.

  “No,” Marla agreed with her husband. Strong guilt struck her worried eyes. “Mrs. Holland, my husband is away all day teaching. I belong to the Flower Committee and the Ladies’ Financial Board. I’m not always home with Mitch, I’m afraid.”

  “Our son could easily have sneaked a briefcase into his room or hid it in the garage,” Dave told Mary.

  “Mitch said he put the briefcase under his bed,” Mary explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, would it be okay if we went upstairs to his room?”

  “Of course,” Dave said. He jumped to his feet and doused his cigarette in a metal ashtray sitting on a polished coffee table. He led Mary up a flight of soft green carpeted stairs and raced down a short carpeted hallway. He stopped in front of a closed door. “This is Mitch’s room.”

  Marla ran her hands across the door. “Our son,” she said and nearly broke down.

  Dave put his arm around his wife. “Now, now,” he told Marla, “we have to be strong…for Mitch,” he said and choked back his own tears.

  “Maybe I should go in alone?” Mary offered.

  “No, we’ll go into our son’s room with you,” Marla told Mary as she slowly opened the door.

  Mary waited until the door was fully opened and then looked into a room that resembled a baseball park. It was clear that Mitch was a fan of the Boston Red Sox and their famous hitter, Ted Williams. Red Sox pennants were attached to every wall along with photos of Ted Williams and every baseball stadium known to man.

  “Mitch wants to grow up and play outfield for the Boston Red Sox. He’s not much of a hitter but he sure can catch,” Dave told Mary.

  “I bet he can,” Mary said. She stepped into the room, walked across the glossy hardwood floor, and stopped at a bed sitting under a window covered with a green curtain. She dropped down onto her knees, pushed a white and green quilt back, and looked under the bed, hoping to spot the briefcase. Instead, all she saw were a bunch of loose baseballs, a couple of baseball bats, a baseball magazine with Johnny Mize and Ernie Lombardi hugging the cover, and a couple of dust bunnies. “No briefcase,” she sighed and crawled back to her feet.

  “Maybe Mitch hid the briefcase in another location?” Marla suggested.

  “It’s very possible.” Mary looked around the bedroom. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, we’re looking at two likely scenarios: Mitch is either hiding because he’s afraid to come home or the person Agent Green is searching for somehow…grabbed Mitch before he managed to get home.” Mary kicked herself. “I shouldn’t have let Mitch leave. I should have figured out a way to take him back to town with me!”

  “You were dealing with your own problems, Mrs. Holland,” Marla tried to comfort Mary. “You did what you felt was right.”

  Mary looked into the faces of two distraught parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my husband—”

  “John Holland,” Dave said.

  “Yes, John Holland,” Mary confirmed, walking over to a wooden writing desk and looking down at a few pieces of papers that had baseball figures scribbled all over them. “My husband and I can’t have any children.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Marla told Mary in a truly sorrowful voice.

  Mary turned and looked at Marla. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “Because my husband and I can’t have any children, there is no way for me to understand what you’re feeling right now…how scared you truly must be…how worried your hearts must be. Your son is missing. A man is dead. An FBI agent is lurking around town…an FBI agent that is far from honest.” Mary looked down at her hands. “I’m very sorry for what you’re going through, but I’m afraid I must add to your worries.”

  Marla grabbed her husband’s hand. Dave took in a deep breath. “Okay, Mrs. Holland, we’re ready.”

  “What I’m about to tell you must stay inside this room,” Mary said.

  “You have our word,” Dave promised.

  Mary knew Dave was speaking the truth. Her words would not leave his son’s room. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, a note was found on Farmer Griffith’s body,” she began. “Farmer Griffith specifically mentioned my name in the note.”

  “What did the note say?” Dave asked.

  Mary walked over to the window, pulled back the green curtain, peered down at her car, and then told Dave and Marla Anderson what message Farmer Griffith had managed to leave her. Marla gasped. Dave closed his eyes and let out a worried moan. “My son finds a strange briefcase in a barn, a man is dead, an FBI agent is in town…what in the world is going on? Pineville is a small, quiet community. The worst that ever happens is a moonshiner might show up every now and then.”

  Marla walked over to her son’s bed and sat down. She put her face down in her hands and began to cry.

  “Oh, honey,” Mary said. She ran over to Marla and wrapped the woman in her arms. “I’m sure Mitch is safe. He’s a very smart kid.”

  “What if the person this Agent Green is searching for has my son?” Marla cried.

  Dave nervously pulled out a Lucky Strike and lit up. “Let’s try and think positive,” he told his wife. “Mitch is a smart boy. He’s not likely to let a stranger flatter him, especially not after Farmer Griffith’s barn burned down. No, Mitch isn’t likely to make friends with just anyone right now. My guess is he’s scared to come home because he knows I’m going to have to take the belt to his backside. I haven’t yet because…I know the fire was an accident. I guess I never will, to be honest,
but Mitch doesn’t know that. I…let my anger speak for me last night and sent him to his room without supper, too.”

  Mary wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t a parent. She didn’t understand the trials and tribulations of parenthood. All she knew was that Mitch Anderson had to be found. But how? Mary didn’t know.

  “It’s okay,” she told Dave and Marla, speaking the only words she knew to speak. “We’ll find Mitch, you just wait and see. Why, he’ll be home in no time.”

  Dave walked Mary downstairs. “I’ll go visit each parent personally,” he told Mary, “and make sure they bring their sons to the house at eight sharp.”

  “I’ll be back then,” Mary told Dave. She stopped at the front door and looked at the staircase. “Will Mrs. Anderson be okay?”

  “My wife will sit in our son’s room for an hour or so and then come downstairs,” Dave explained. “It’s better to leave her alone.”

  Mary nodded. Dave reached past her and opened the front door.

  “I’ll be back at eight,” Mary said. “In the meantime, if you see Agent Green lurking about, make sure you avoid him. And please make sure no one follows you when you make your rounds.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Dave assured Mary. He looked outside, spotted the kids playing, and glanced down at his hands. “Mitch didn’t mean for Farmer Griffith’s barn to burn down. He’s a good boy, Mrs. Holland. He’s never been in any trouble before. Well, little stuff such as breaking a lamp or not making his bed, but never anything serious. But ever since that Brian Matlock kid moved to town…” Dave shook his head. “Mitch and his friends seem to be getting into all kinds of trouble. Last month they broke a street light. Now, I know my boy would never do that. Brian Matlock is a bad apple that’s poisoning the barrel.”

  “I’ve seen Brian Matlock around town. I agree he seems like a rotten kid.”

  “Chuck Lawson is Mitch’s best friend,” Dave told Mary. “Chuck is a good kid, and so are Wayne Weber and Nathan Harnnette. That Brian Matlock, he’s the menace.” Dave began to reach for another cigarette and then stopped. “I have to tell you, Mrs. Holland, I’m not anxious to visit the Matlock home and invite Gary Matlock and his wife over here tonight.”

  “I haven’t met Mr. and Mrs. Matlock.”

  “You’re blessed,” Dave told Mary in a sour voice. “Wilma Matlock isn’t as bad as her husband, but she has a mouth on her. Gary, why he could make a sailor blush. He moved his family here from Memphis. I wish he had stayed in Memphis.”

  “Where do the Matlocks live?” Mary inquired. She looked at her car and spotted Betty slowly and methodically eating her supper, chewing the required number of times to ensure healthy digestion.

  Dave pointed west. “On Field Road.”

  “That’s a nice part of town.”

  “Gary Matlock is a rich man,” Dave explained. “I don’t know what the man does for a living, and I have to admit, I don’t care, either.” Dave rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll drive out to Gary’s house and invite him over tonight. I guess I have no other choice.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson.”

  Dave nodded, walked back inside, and closed the front door.

  “Poor man,” Mary sighed and hurried to her car. “Betty, how is supper?” she asked.

  “Oh, fine,” Betty replied. She waited until Mary jumped into the driver’s seat before continuing. “I didn’t spot anyone out of the ordinary. Mrs. Hapsmith walked by with her poodle. Some of the boys teased the dog and Mrs. Hapsmith gave them a lip full.”

  “Dinner and a show, huh?” Mary asked, cranking up her car.

  “Huh?” Betty asked. Then her mind caught on. “Oh…dinner and a show…Mrs. Hapsmith fussing at the boys. Good one, Mary.”

  Mary smiled. Good ol’ Betty. “Okay, my dear friend, now it’s back to the farm.”

  “The farm?” Betty gulped.

  “The farm,” Mary said. She eased past the playing children, reached the end of the street, and took off like lightning. Betty closed her eyes and held on for dear life. “Betty, there’s a few things that are bothering my mind.”

  “What’s bothering you, Mary?” Betty asked in a shaky voice. “Oh, this isn’t good for my digestion.”

  “Sorry, kiddo, we’re on the clock. We have to be back at the Andersons’ at eight sharp,” Mary told Betty, speeding down a street lined with nice homes. She kept her eyes peeled for any kids who might be out playing.

  “I…suppose…speeding does make sense if we’re on the clock,” Betty replied and lifted one eye open.

  Mary gripped the steering wheel. “Why was Agent Green at Farmer Griffith’s farm? Mitch told me he saw Agent Green going through Farmer Griffith’s pockets… How did that snake narrow his search down to the farm?” Mary nibbled on her lip. “Could it be…”

  Betty lifted her other eye, turned her head, and looked at Mary. “Could it be what, Mary?” she dared to ask.

  Mary slid her car onto Brownleaf Avenue and kicked the gas pedal. “Could it be,” she said, feeling her heart racing, “that Agent Green…killed Farmer Griffith?”

  Betty nearly fainted. “Oh, Mary, that’s horrible. I mean, I know the man is a snake, but he is with the FBI.” Betty gulped. “If Agent Green killed Farmer Griffith that would mean—”

  “It would mean the FBI is a lawless organization,” Mary told Betty. “Betty, John spoke with Mr. Hoover once. He said the man is a black hole filled with corruption.” Mary continued to nibble on her lip and forced her mind back to Agent Green. “Okay, Mitch said he saw Agent Green going through Farmer Griffith’s pockets, right?”

  “Right,” Betty said, gripping her supper plate.

  “So the question we need to ask ourselves is how Agent Green ended up at Farmer Griffith’s farm, and why and when?”

  “Don’t forget the who and what,” Betty added.

  “Exactly,” Mary replied. She stopped nibbling her lip. “Agent Green either went to Farmer Griffith’s farm because he believed the person he is searching for was there…or that Farmer Griffith possessed information he wanted.” Mary glanced at Betty. “Farmer Griffith was buying coffee.”

  “Yes, I saw him,” Betty told Mary. “Mary, I’m not sure what the poor man buying coffee has to do with what’s happening.”

  “Everything,” Mary explained, speeding out toward the country. “Farmer Griffith might have been buying coffee for someone who was staying with him on his farm.” Mary narrowed her eyes. “Was Farmer Griffith hiding the person Agent Green is searching for? If that’s the case, that would mean the man was working for some shadow organization.”

  “Farmer Griffith?” Betty exclaimed.

  “I’m simply tossing possibilities into the air,” Mary told her best friend and zoomed down a back road at a high speed.

  Betty turned her head and viewed the beautiful countryside. In the distance, through a group of tall, lush trees, she spotted the river flowing lazily through the evening without a care in the world.

  “Betty, it does make sense. Mitch said he found a briefcase with papers in it. He said the papers had funny writings on them.”

  “You told me that, Mary,” Betty said. She grabbed her stomach. “Uh, Mary…dear…please stop the car.”

  Mary looked at Betty. The woman’s face was pale and sickly. “Oh my,” she said and hit the brakes. The car skidded to a stop. Betty threw the passenger’s door open, jumped out, ran to the side of the road, and lost her supper. “Oh, the poor dear.”

  Betty kept her head bowed as she threw up. When all was said and done and cleaned up, she turned around and looked at Mary with sad eyes. “I guess I didn’t chew enough,” she said in a pitiful voice.

  “Oh, Betty,” Mary cried. She jumped out of her car, ran to Betty, and checked on her. “Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to see Doc McLeod?”

  “Oh no,” Betty assured Mary. “Once I vomit I’m usually okay.” Betty drew in a few deep breaths. “The air smells like honeysuckle. I like that.”

 
“Oh, Betty.” Mary laughed and hugged her friend. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  Betty stared at the car. “Mary, can I have a couple of minutes, please?”

  “Of course,” Mary said. She leaned against the passenger door and watched Betty begin smelling the air like a hummingbird sipping sweet nectar. “Betty, let’s pretend Agent Green didn’t kill Farmer Griffith. Let’s pretend that some undercover spy killed him and Agent Green is actually trying to catch a real-life bad guy.”

  “Okay, let’s pretend that,” Betty agreed.

  Mary folded her arms and kicked at the road. “Okay, let’s pretend that,” she said and let her mind walk around. “If we’re pretending that scenario is true, we have to ask ourselves a whole bunch of questions.”

  “Like what, Mary?”

  “Like how a real-life bad guy ended up on Farmer Griffith’s farm, to begin with,” Mary explained. Her gut gnawed at the question. “Betty, it doesn’t make sense that the person Agent Green is after accidentally ran across Farmer Griffith’s farm. It seems to me that—and I hate to admit this—Farmer Griffith might have been harboring a foreign spy.”

  “A foreign spy?” Betty asked. She grabbed the hood of the car and steadied herself.

  “Easy does it, girl,” Mary said and ran to Betty. “Are you going to faint?”

  “A foreign spy…my goodness,” Betty whispered. She looked at Mary with panic-stricken eyes. “Mary, how do you know a foreign spy is among us?”

  “Mitch said the papers he found in the briefcase had funny writing on it,” Mary explained. “I’m assuming those papers were written in a foreign language.”

  “Golly.”

  Mary studied Betty’s eyes. When she was confident her best friend wasn’t going to faint, she leaned back against the hood and folded her arms again. “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s focus on Farmer Griffith. You said you saw him buying coffee. Farmer Griffith told my husband he didn’t care for the taste of coffee.”

  “Maybe he acquired a new taste?” Betty suggested.