Page 22 of Where the Fields Don’t Reach

“Those are extra fries that came with my order,” Hadley explained, which prompted him to pull out the other container. “You can have them.”

He flipped open the lid on what was left of her dinner. Grabbing two fries, he chowed down on them while keeping his gaze steady on her. She did her best not to shift with unease.

“You know that you don’t have to make a career of corralling dairy cows, Nugget,” Mason said, the childhood nickname physically causing a sharp pain in her chest. “You could go back to the state.”

“And miss out on all the fun?” Hadley replied dismissively. Mason was usually the one who never wanted to talk about their past, but she won the prize for this evening. “I love dairy cows. I almost brought one home with me.”

He didn’t return her smile. Instead, he ate a couple more fries while she turned her attention to what she assumed would be a kitchen table. The base was a trestle, two broad oak verticals at the ends joined down the center by a single long stretcher, the kind of construction that would outlast the person who made it.

“How was your weekend?”

“Typical.” Hadley pulled her focus from the table. “I cleaned the apartment. I’m still sorting through the old files in the basement and scanning them into the system.”

He nodded, eating another fry while she explained how Sheriff Turner had been granted new equipment for his department, and by extension…her. The package she was set to receive would allow an entire traffic stop to take less than three minutes.

“I was thinking,” Hadley said, picking her moment carefully, “maybe you could make me something for the station. I cleared out a desk, and it’s a perfect spot to add a small sitting area. There are two chairs stored in the back, but I think a small table to go between them would be nice.”

“Sure.” Mason made it difficult to read his expression. She wasn’t sure how he’d taken her request until he followed up with an offer that pleased her. “I’ll stop by the station this week and take a look at the space. Get the dimensions right.”

“It was Reed’s desk.” Hadley hadn’t allowed herself to think about what she was about to say until she had already said it. “The one I cleaned out.”

He lifted his gaze, the fry halfway to his mouth. He then slowly set it back inside the container. Reaching inside the bag, he pulled out one of the napkins and began to wipe his fingers.

“I found a folder stuck behind one of the drawers,” Hadley explained as she glanced down at a small piece of wood. She bent to pick it up, wanting something to do with her hands. “It was a trespassing citation that was never filed. Someone from Holloway was caught walking Earl Vinton’s east field last October. A folklore professor by the name of Roland Mercer.”

“A folklore professor,” Mason repeated, the caution in his voice evident.

“From my understanding, he’s writing a book on our local legend,” Hadley explained, monitoring her brother’s expression for any reaction. He didn’t respond to the additional information. “I guess he’s been at it for years, which tells me that it’s probably just a hobby.”

Mason picked up his beer, his appetite clearly gone.

“Warren asked Reed at the time not to issue the citation,” Hadley continued when it was obvious Mason wasn’t going to ask her to elaborate. “Warren didn’t want the press finding a fresh Threshing Man angle three weeks before the anniversary of Missy Claymont’s disappearance. So, Reed wrote the citation, but he never filed it.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me this, Hadley?”

She wasn’t sure which was harder to hear, her nickname or her given name.

“One of the local teens spotted someone in Earl’s east field again this weekend.”

“And?”

“And Warren isn’t the chief of police. I am. And it’s my job to uphold the law, which means I’m going to speak with Roland Mercer tomorrow at the Emberwood campus. I would have gone today, but the afternoon got away from me.” Hadley stared down at the chunk of wood, turning it over and over in her fingers. “There was a sticky note on the folder, Mason, with my name on it. Reed wanted me to see it, and since it was around the time of his death, I think it’s best I check it out for myself.”

When she glanced back up, the tables had turned. Mason was now studying her expressions, and she honestly had no idea what he perceived from her.

“Be careful, Nugget,” Mason finally warned before tossing the empty bottle in a bucket. The sharp sound of glass hitting glass resonated throughout the shed. “In case it slipped your mind, Reed was a former Marine. He didn’t go down easy on that back road. Whoever killed him knew what they were doing, and they got the better of him.”

Hadley tightened her grip on the piece of wood, wincing when a sliver made its way underneath the pad of her index finger. He still worried about her, even after she’d destroyed his life. It took a few attempts to swallow in order to clear her throat. She often wondered if it was instinctual, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

As a matter of fact, it was probably time for her to leave.

“I should get going.” Hadley tossed the small chunk of lumber into a trash bin just inside the corner of the entrance. She’d take care of the splinter when she got home. “I have an early morning, and you should probably head into the house to heat up that burger. I’ll see you later this week?”

Before she could turn and walk through the backyard, Mason spoke in a tone that had her go completely still. There was something in his voice that she’d only ever heard when revisiting the past, and she braced herself to be dragged back there.

“Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Hadley responded, doing her best not to display concern.