Page 14 of Where the Fields Don’t Reach

“Roland’s harmless. He’s been writing about the Threshing Man for years. Possibly for decades. The man is fifty-some years old, he is unmarried, and his only intellectual occupation is the local boogeyman.” Warren shrugged one shoulder with indifference. “Roland Mercer has always had a fixation on the Threshing Man, Hadley. He grew up with it the way you and I did, except where you and I had the good sense to leave the stories to our grandmothers, Roland decided to make a career of them.”

“And you knew this when you told Reed to drop the citation.”

“I did.”

“Reed didn’t agree with you.”

The certainty in her voice gave him pause. He shifted with unease, slipping his hands into his pockets while observing her body language.

How had she known about Mercer’s trespassing incident in the first place?

He should have posed the question to her earlier.

“Reed agreed with me at the time,” Warren said cautiously, sensing that she was setting a trap for him. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hadley. The conversation went the way I just told you it did. If Langley had reservations after the fact, he never raised them with me.”

The possibility that Langley thought there was more to Mercer’s stroll through Vinton’s cornfields was interesting, but Warren put it aside to consider later. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Mercer killed Langley in such a brutal fashion.

A voice carried across the gravel from the front lot.

“Warren!”

He recognized Patty Beale’s nasally tone. She ran the church’s hospitality committee, and she undoubtedly had questions about the coffee station that would raise money for the church. Money that he would ensure didn’t land in Pastor Beeler’s hands.

“One minute, Patty!” Warren returned his attention to Hadley, confident that there was a way to end this discussion. “Speaking of last year. How is your brother?”

“Mason is fine,” Hadley replied briskly without making eye contact. “How well do you know⁠—”

“No one has seen Mason in town in some weeks, I hear,” Warren said, pushing a little harder. He had nothing more to say on the Mercer subject. “Mason hasn’t even stopped in at the Watering Hole.”

“He’s been busy fixing up the house. It sat empty for so long that many things needed updating,” Hadley replied, even though Warren needed no explanation. He understood the situation quite well. “Getting back to⁠—”

“I hear he’s been making some furniture. Beautiful pieces, from what I’m told.”

“Yes.” Hadley rubbed her sternum before dropping her hand to her side. “He’s been selling them at the farmers’ market over in Bram County on Saturdays.”

“Well, that might be for the best, mightn’t it?” Warren waited a heartbeat for his words to register. After he’d spotted the shift in her stance, he smoothed over his so-called gaffe. He’d known exactly how his question would be taken. “What I mean is, building furniture is a good occupation. So is doing upkeep around the house. Besides, your old childhood home needed the work. Those floorboards at the bottom of the staircase have always squeaked. Anyway, physical labor keeps one’s mind and hands busy. And once the settlement money from the state comes in, Mason won’t need to sell his stuff at a farmers’ market.”

Warren hadn’t meant to include the bit about the floorboards, which was rare for him to slip like that. He glanced at his watch, and he chalked up his mistake to running late for his meeting with the Harvest Festival Planning Committee. He couldn’t abide by tardiness, and this entire conversation about Roland Mercer hadn’t been part of his day’s plans.

“Warren!” Patty called again, this time with more emphasis. “I really need to speak with you before you leave.”

“I am coming, Patty!”

Warren was grateful for the interruption. He didn’t want to give Hadley time to mull over how he knew about the floorboards in her childhood home. He had a perfectly adequate answer if she questioned him, though. He would simply respond that he had visited Greta a number of times over the years when she was alive, in his capacity as a concerned mayor whose constituent was struggling with a difficult situation.

Hadley didn’t need to know the truth.

“Well, dear,” Warren said after flashing Hadley a smile. “I hope I have answered all your questions. Roland Mercer is harmless, so you can cross his name off your list. If there is anything else, my door is, of course, always open.”

He stepped past her, walking toward Patty to answer whatever ridiculous question she could have regarding the beverage table. Something was niggling at his thoughts about his conversation with Hadley, and it had nothing to do with Roland Mercer.

He’d never really given Mason’s settlement money any thought, but that man was about to receive somewhere between three and five million dollars from the state of Arkansas for twenty years of wrongful incarceration.

A man like Mason would not know what to do with that kind of money.

There were, in short, many opportunities available to him.

Perhaps Warren had been a bit hasty in his initial thinking about Mason.