“If a loaf of mush had been hanging on the forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden, I don’t think Adam and Eve would have sinned.”
Hodges smiled. “Years ago I started to write a story about the history of liver mush. I didn’t go back to Genesis, but like many regional dishes, I discovered it was created by poor folks who couldn’t afford to get rid of anything remotely edible. I finished the prep work but couldn’t get past the third paragraph of the article. I dreamed about pig livers for weeks.”
Mike took a large bite from his burger. The combination of onions and chili with the slightly crispy meat was superb.
“Have you had any dreams worth reporting lately?” Hodges asked.
Mike looked sideways as he chewed his food. “What kind of newspaper reporter question is that?”
“If you’re hanging around Sam Miller, I figure you’ve been talking to him about dreams.”
Mike wiped his mouth with a thin napkin. “Until I started representing him, I didn’t realize how famous the old guy is around here.”
“Who else mentioned him to you?”
“Can’t say. It’s an ongoing case.”
Hodges shrugged. “You probably couldn’t tell me much I haven’t heard. He’s been writing letters to the paper for years. Most of them land on my desk then transition to the round metal file I keep on the floor.”
“What does he write about?”
“Nothing for the editorial page. Mostly about his dreams mixed in with Bible verses. For a man who cuts grass for a living, he has a very vivid imagination. I guess that’s what happens when you walk behind a lawn mower for thirty years. If I could come up with some of the stuff he writes, I’d quit reporting the facts and start writing the world’s greatest science fiction novel.
In the meantime, I’m waiting on his prediction for the end of the world. Once that’s in, I’m running a full story on him.”
“Do you always throw away the letters?”
“All except one.”
“Why?”
Hodges turned toward Mike. “Because he wrote it to me.”
“Tell me.”
Hodges dipped a french fry in ketchup. “Now you’re the one in confidential territory. The only thing I’ll say is, whether from looking in a crystal ball or reading his Bible, Sam Miller knew a few things about me that no one else knows. It got my attention.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to guess your sins,” Mike said.
“It wasn’t like that,” Hodges answered seriously. “It was encouraging—in a religious sort of way. And ever since, I’ve always had a soft spot for him. I was sorry when he got into trouble.”
“He’s worried the report of his arrest in the paper is going to hurt his business.”
“I buried the crime blotter for that issue at the bottom of the fourth page.
As a felony, I couldn’t keep it out; however, the negative publicity could have been worse. The publisher in Asheville got a call from Jack Hatcher asking us to write an investigative piece. I put him off and haven’t heard anything since.”
Mike stopped unwrapping his second burger and put it down.
“Jack Hatcher called the owner of the paper?”
“Yes, which I found strange. Hatcher should want to keep the situation quiet, not publicize it. The bank wasn’t at fault, but no one likes to think their money is going to end up in the wrong account.”
“How do you know the bank wasn’t in the wrong?” Mike asked. “That was the first possibility I considered when I met with Sam.”
“A bank error that made it all the way to a criminal prosecution? That’s a stretch. Even a sloppy investigation would uncover that type of problem.”
“You’ve got more faith in the criminal justice system than I do.” Mike shrugged. “A few wrong keystrokes, and anyone could be a millionaire. The more I’ve talked with Sam, the less I think he would embezzle a hundred thousand dollars.”
Hodges shrugged. “I’ve seen him around town but never met him. He could be a wife-beater who grows marijuana in an abandoned chicken house.”
“I’ve been to his place and met his wife a couple of times. That’s not happening. Do you know if he writes letters to anyone else?”
“No one has ever mentioned it to me, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Mike paused and decided to make a calculated gamble.
“Last year he wrote a letter to Jack Hatcher.”
Hodges looked up. “Really? What did it say?”
“I haven’t seen it, but I believe it was inflammatory and would like to find out more about it. It could definitely shed light on Hatcher’s personal interest in the case.” Mike took another bite of hamburger and chewed it thoughtfully. “Could you revisit the idea of an investigative article about Sam and see if you could uncover anything?”