Mitch looked around with scared eyes. “Is it true? Is Farmer Griffith really dead?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
Mitch began kicking at the ground with a pair of old shoes. “It’s all my fault he’s dead. I told the guys we should use Farmer Griffith’s barn for our clubhouse.”
Mary gently grabbed Mitch’s shoulder and made him look up at her. “Mitch, did you see anyone on this farm other than Farmer Griffith?” she asked.
Mitch shook his head. “Nah, I ain’t seen nobody but Farmer Griffith,” he said in a guilty voice. “But…me and the guys…we did find something in the barn.”
Mary looked over her shoulder to make sure Agent Green wasn’t anywhere nearby. “Mitch, what did you find?”
“Oh, just this black briefcase with a bunch of funny papers in it,” Mitch said. “Me and the guys wasn’t sure what we found so I took the briefcase home with me and put it under my bed.” Mitch looked down at the ground. “The next day…well, golly, Mrs. Holland, it was an accident. Wayne, he didn’t mean to knock over the candle…boy, that hay sure caught fast. We skedaddled out of Farmer Griffith’s barn like scalded cats, and that’s the truth.”
Mary stared into Mitch’s face. “Okay, Mitch,” she said in a quick and stern tone, “you get on home and stay there until I come and see you. Don’t tell anyone you have that briefcase, not even your folks. I have a very bad feeling Farmer Griffith was killed because of those funny papers inside that briefcase.”
Mitch kicked at the ground again. “I came back this morning…you know, to apologize to Farmer Griffith and tell him how sorry I was…that’s when I seen him laying on the ground and that man out front going through his pockets. I got mighty scared, so I ran.”
Mary looked over her shoulder again. “Well, you run now, do you hear me? Run all the way to your house and stay there.” She spun Mitch around and set him loose. Mitch took off running and didn’t look back. “Run, little guy,” Mary said in a low voice. Then she walked back to her car. “I’m ready,” she told Agent Green. “Betty, hop in.”
Betty climbed into the passenger’s seat and waited for Mary. She watched Agent Green get into the driver’s seat of his car and slam the door shut. “Mary, that awful man scares me.”
Mary closed the driver’s side door and brought her car to life. “Betty,” she answered, “Agent Green is the least of our worries. At least for right now.” Mary got her car moving and raced back into town with a thousand questions flooding her mind as Mitch Anderson ran home as fast as he could.
Chapter 3
Agent Green tossed his fedora down onto the brown chair he had sat in earlier. “I want answers,” he told Mary as he propped his foot up on the chair.
Mary walked past Agent Green, slapped his foot off the chair, and went to her desk. “Don’t put your feet on the furniture,” she warned him. The Suit clearly thought he was in control. Mary was about to show him he had another thing coming.
Agent Green watched Mary sit down. He wasn’t in the mood to be scolded. He wanted—needed—answers. “Mrs. Holland, my patience is wearing very thin.”
Betty stepped into the office. She glanced over at Agent Green with uneasy eyes. “Mary,” she said in a worried voice, “William and Millie are preparing to go home. Is that okay?”
“Oh, sure,” Mary told Betty. “It’s closing time. Tell them to be back at their desk first thing tomorrow morning. We have a major story to chase down.”
Agent Green let out an angry growl. “No, Mrs. Holland, you do not.”
“Freedom of the press is not to be hindered by the government,” Mary informed him. She leaned forward and tapped her typewriter. “The Constitution of the United States gives me the right to have freedom of speech. The Constitution of the United States does not give the government power to bully law-abiding citizens. Of course, with you being a Suit, you should know that, Agent Green. After all, you are a public servant who took an oath to defend our wonderful Constitution, correct?”
Agent Green glared at Mary with murderous eyes. “Lady…Mrs. Holland…the Constitution is cut short when the security of America is endangered and—”
“Oh, pish posh.” Mary waved an annoyed hand at Agent Green. “Don’t feed this gal those ugly lies, Agent Green. My husband met with Old Mr. Hoover personally a few years back. He told me that man is a wart on the side of America’s face.” Mary held her ground and continued. “My husband informed me that Mr. Hoover is a very corrupt man who has begun a silent attack on America to shift its political and national power into a very dark hole. The American people, Agent Green, are not as stupid as you would like to believe. We are aware of many ugly facts. And while it is true that most Americans prefer to keep their heads buried in the sand, some do not.”
“And for those people who refuse to keep their heads in the sand there is a very simple solution created to make them obey,” Agent Green warned Mary.
“Hey…bucko!” Betty yelled and pointed a shaky hand at Agent Green, “don’t you threaten my friend.”
“Or what?” he asked Betty. “Are you going to kick me in my leg and go home crying to your mother?”
Betty narrowed her eyes, strode over to Agent Green, and kicked him square in his right leg. “Take that, you jerk!” she yelled.
Agent Green let out a small yelp of pain and grabbed his leg. “Get away from me, straw for brains!” he barked.
Mary waved her hand at Betty. “Come stand behind me, honey.” Betty stuck her tongue out at Agent Green and walked behind Mary’s desk. “Agent Green, Sheriff Mables is fully aware of the situation. And by now everyone in Pineville is aware of the situation. You can’t bully an entire town. And if you try to harm me or my friend, Sheriff Mables will be forced to show his ugly side. Now, he may seem like a simple backwoods sheriff, but I assure you, he is a man who will stand toe-to-toe with a grizzly bear.”
Agent Green rubbed his leg. He wasn’t getting anywhere. His tough guy routine wasn’t working at all. Sure, he could pull out his gun and force Mary to talk. However, he told himself, the woman might give him false information. He needed direct, honest answers. Time was of the essence and the fuse on the dynamite was growing dangerously short.
“Mrs. Holland,” he said and stopped rubbing his leg, “give me the answers I need, and I’ll leave your town. It’s that simple. If you continue to refuse to cooperate, I will be forced to call for backup.”
“We’ll take all you Suits on,” Betty threatened Agent Green. She balled her hands into fists and waved them around in the air. “Pow, right in the kisser!” she said and swung her fist at an imaginary face. Her fist swung wild, came back around, and she hit herself right in her nose. “Ow! My nose!”
“Oh dear,” Mary exclaimed. She jumped to her feet and checked Betty’s nose. “Oh, honey, your nose is bleeding.” Mary grabbed her purse and yanked out a handkerchief. She placed the handkerchief over Betty’s nose. “Hurry to the bathroom.” Betty tipped back her head, nodded, and wobbled out of the office like a drunk woman, using her left hand to help as a guide stick. “Poor dear.”
Agent Green snatched out a Lucky Strike and lit it. “The grand hope of America. Is it any wonder, Mrs. Holland, that the government retains control over the people?”
“We are a free people, Agent Green. Never forget that we fought for our freedom against tyranny once and we can do it again if challenged. The good men of America who are away fighting in the war will one day return home. Never forget that.”
Agent Green worked on his cigarette. The last thing he wanted to hear was a bunch of patriotic jargon that turned his stomach inside out. He believed that a free people with free thought was a grave danger to mankind. People had to be controlled, taught what to think, implanted with valuable behavioral attributes, instructed on how to perform a task that would benefit a collective cause rather than an independent purpose. Mary Holland was a prime example. The woman was rebellious in her thinking and actions—her mindset was a threat to the
“Cause” created behind closed, hidden doors; a cause that would alter mankind into obedient servants for the greater good.
Agent Green let out a sigh. “This is not the year 1776, Mrs. Holland.”
“I’m sure glad for that, too,” Mary replied. “Now our boys have better guns to fight with.”
Agent Green stared at Mary. The woman was a brick wall. “I shouldn’t have left the farm,” he condemned himself under his breath. “The risk would have been worth it.”
“What did you say?” Mary asked.
“I said…we need to find even ground, Mrs. Holland.” He took a drag off his cigarette and then decided to sit down. “Mrs. Holland—”
Mary held up her right hand. “Before you go allowing your mouth to go yacking away, let me tell you that I don’t know why Farmer Griffith wrote me the note you showed me.”
Agent Green studied Mary’s eyes. Was the woman lying or speaking the truth? For all intents and purposes, it appeared that Mary was speaking the truth, but the agent kept his mind on the side of caution. “Fine. Let’s assume that you’re telling me the truth.”
“Good grief, are you ever dense.”
“Let’s assume that you’re telling the truth,” Agent Green said again, quickly dodging Mary’s insult. “Can you think of any reason why Farmer Griffith would have called you out?”
“I did visit him earlier this morning,” Mary said. “I drove out to his farm and asked a few questions about the barn that burned down.”
“It’s no secret that a bunch of kids burned down the farm. I asked around.”
“No, it’s no secret,” Mary said. She straightened out her thinking cap and continued. “At the moment no one knows who the kids are. Oh, I suspect Farmer Griffith did, but he never identified them to anyone.”
“Except to the sheriff, perhaps?” Agent Green asked.
“Maybe. Who knows?” Mary clasped her hands together and set them down on her desk. The smoke drifting off Agent Green’s Lucky Strike was beginning to bother her nose. “You’ll need to talk to the sheriff.”
“I already have,” he told Mary. “Sheriff Mables informed me that Farmer Griffith didn’t report any names to him, either.”
Mary held back a grin. Good ol’ Sheriff Mables didn’t trust the FBI either. “Then I guess we’ll never know which group of kids burned down Farmer Griffith’s barn.” Mary kept her hands held firmly tight. “Agent Green, this is a small town and kids will be kids,” she said in a calm voice. “From what I understand, a group of kids were using Farmer Griffith’s barn as a clubhouse. Now, the inside of a barn is dark. The kids most likely brought a candle or a lantern and lit it. The candle or lantern probably fell over on some hay and the hay caught fire. The kids panicked and ran, and the barn burned down. End of story.”
“Then why did Farmer Griffith say the kids who burned down his barn are in danger?” the agent asked.
“Maybe poor Farmer Griffith knew you were in town.”
Agent Green growled at Mary, stood up, and snuffed out his Lucky Strike into the ashtray sitting on her desk. “You’re digging a very deep hole for yourself, Mrs. Holland. The FBI never forgets those who refuse to cooperate.”
“Gee,” Mary said, “does that mean you’re going to take my milk money away? I sure hope not. It’s kinda hard to eat a peanut butter sandwich without milk.”
Agent Green gritted his teeth. Mary’s sarcasm was really starting to annoy him. “The war your husband is away fighting in must seem very peaceful compared to living with you.”
“Oh, my husband seems to think my sharp tongue is delightful.” Mary grinned. It was clear she was hitting a nerve with Agent Green. “Now, do me a favor and scram. I haven’t eaten much today and Charlene down at the diner is serving up fried chicken for supper.”
Before the agent could reply, the telephone on Mary’s desk rang. Mary shooed him away from her desk and answered the call. “Oh yes, Heather, put the sheriff through.” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have let Agent Green know who was calling her.
Agent Green lifted an eyebrow, walked back to the chair, and sat down. Shaking her head, Mary picked the phone up off her desk and turned around in her chair.
“Mary?” Sheriff Mables asked.
“I’m here, Sheriff,” Mary said, keeping her voice low.
Sheriff Mables sat down on the corner of an old wooden desk and looked out across a small, stuffy, hot office filled with dust, time, and old papers. “Mary, have you seen Mitch Anderson? His folks called me and said they haven’t seen Mitch since…oh, I’d say around nine o’clock this morning. Dave and Marla are mighty worried.”
Mary bit down on her lip as worry began streaming through her mind. “Okay, Sheriff, I’ll pull the piece from the paper. I don’t see any sense in writing about a burned down barn now that Farmer Griffith is dead.”
“What?”
“Sure, sure,” Mary said, “we can meet and eat supper together at the diner.”
“Mary, have you been hitting the sauce?” Sheriff Mables asked. And then his old mind caught on. “Oh…oh, yeah, sure. I get it you, Mary.”
“In twenty minutes…give me thirty, okay?”
“Thirty minutes at the diner,” Sheriff Mables told Mary and hung up. “Smart gal,” he said and checked his gun.
Mary hung up the phone, turned back around in her chair, and set the phone down on her desk. Agent Green was staring at her with snake eyes. “What did the sheriff want?”
“None of your business,” Mary told him. She stood up and checked the clock hanging on the wall. “It’s supper time, Agent Green. Time to call it a day, huh? We can resume our game of tit-for-tat tomorrow.”
Agent Green got to his feet. “I think I’m hungry myself, Mrs. Holland. A plate of fried chicken sounds good.”
“Be my guest.” Mary pointed to the office door.
“I’ll see you at the diner,” he told Mary. He snatched up his fedora, planted it on his head, and walked out of the office.
“What a snake…makes my skin crawl,” Mary whispered, shaking her arms in an attempt to get rid of the FBI agent’s filthy stench. As she did, Betty wandered back into the office.
“Is everything okay?” Betty asked, holding Mary’s handkerchief over her nose and speaking in a stuffy-nose voice.
“I don’t think so, honey,” Mary told her best friend. “How is your nose?”
“Oh, only a little blood this time. Definitely not as bad as last time.”
“Honey, you should really watch your temper,” Mary teased even though her heart was full of worry.
“I didn’t like that guy trying to push you around.”
“I know, honey, I know.” Mary smiled. She gently hugged Betty’s shoulders, walked her to a chair, and helped her sit down. “Betty, Agent Green is a snake. We both know that…and he’s not in Pineville because he has the best interests of our country at heart, either. No, that Suit is here because he’s searching for someone.”
“The person who killed poor Farmer Griffith?” Betty asked. Her eyes welled with tears. “That poor, poor, poor sweet man.” She sniffed.
Mary put her hands down on Betty’s shoulders. “Betty, I’m not sure who killed Farmer Griffith, but I’m sure going to find out. I’m sure going to need your help, too.”
“My help?” Betty wiped a tear away. It was hard for her to accept that Farmer Griffith was dead. The sweet old man had always been very close to her heart, even though she rarely saw him. As a matter of fact, Betty asked herself, when was the last time she had seen Farmer Griffith? “Over a year ago.”
“What, honey?”
“The last time I saw Farmer Griffith was over a year ago. I met him at Mr. Whitfield’s. Farmer Griffith was buying flour and sugar…some coffee—”
“Coffee?” Mary asked, startled.
Betty nodded her head up and down, up and down. “Coffee,” she told Mary. “I remember that I distinctly saw him buying coffee.” Betty frowned. “I only stopped to say hello to him f
or a minute. I feel so guilty.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” Mary told Betty. She began slowly pacing around the office. “Betty, Farmer Griffith didn’t drink coffee. Mrs. Griffith drank coffee before the Lord called her home, but Farmer Griffith didn’t care for the taste. I remember him telling John that the last time we went out to his farm. I’m not exactly sure how those two got on the subject of coffee.” Mary continued to pace. “John can drink coffee from the moment he wakes up until the moment he goes to bed…Farmer Griffith told him he didn’t care for the taste…I know I heard him say those exact words.”
Betty removed the handkerchief from her nose. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”
“Oh, honey,” Mary promised Betty, “you didn’t cause an ounce of trouble. But you might have opened a whole can of worms.”
Betty’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Oh dear,” she said and nearly fainted.
The diner smelled delicious. The air was thick with the odor of fried chicken and coffee. Red and white-striped booths were filled with hungry patrons, a 1941 Wurlitzer jukebox was dishing out the sounds of some swinging jazz, and except for the war and the death of a sweet old farmer, the times were good.
“There,” Mary told Betty. She pointed to Sheriff Mables sitting in a back booth talking to a short, plump woman wearing a red and white dress. Mary rotated her eyes around, studied many familiar faces, and then found Agent Green sitting at the booth across from Sheriff Mables. The agent was studying a menu—or at least pretending to.
“I’ll sit up at the front counter,” Betty told Mary. “I never eat in a booth anyway.”
“Okay, honey,” Mary told Betty and patted her hand. Mary watched Betty walk up to the front counter and climb up onto a red and white stool. She almost fell off but Mr. Hanson, the local barber, caught her arm and pulled her to safety. “Poor thing,” Mary sighed and walked back to the booth Sheriff Mables was sitting in. As she passed the other tables, a flood of questions was fired at her.
“Mary, is it true that Farmer Griffith was murdered?” Bella Munton asked. “Heather said the poor man was stabbed to death.”
Bought the Farm Page 4
