As I looked into Jake's earnest young face, he melted in tears. With my arms around him, I soothed him and rubbed his back softly.  His shaking began to subside, and I gave him a hug. Then I put my arms on his shoulders, trying to keep my expression open and relaxed.

"Jake?" I asked him, softly. "Why do you think I'll be dead in two days?"

The boy dropped his head down, looking at the floor. I waited patiently for him to speak. Having done this so many times before, the gentle extraction of information from children, I knew that Jake wanted to talk. It helped that I was posing as a teacher again. Children trust their teachers, usually more than their parents, which is why I preferred this guise when infiltrating a town.

"Mrs. B., I...I'm not s'posed to know anything. Daddy thought I was sleeping, I was s'posed to be sleeping, but I wasn't." Daddy. Bill Daltrey, owner of Daltrey's Goods off the town square, and he gave a hell of a foot massage. Not too many knew about that last part.

Jake was still looking down. With practiced finesse, I put my hand under his chin and gently lifted his face back up to look at me.  "Jake, whatever you tell me, you are not going to be in any trouble, I promise." I put him at ease with a small smile. "Tell me what it is you aren't supposed to know."

Jake paused for a moment, as if making up his mind.

"Last night, after Daddy put us to bed, somebody rang the doorbell. I guess it must of woke me, not Suzy - my sister can sleep through hell and highwater - so my mommy used to say - but I heard it ring again. Then Daddy opens the door, and he starts yelling at Tommy's dad, who was at the door, he's yelling 'what the ****, Harry...' Sorry, maam." Jake looked at me sheepishly, but I grinned and waved him to continue. "So my dad's like 'whatcha doing ringing a bell when I got my kids asleep?' Tommy's dad is all 'sorry, sorry', then I can't hear what they're saying anymore. So I lie in bed for like hours, or maybe an hour or something, and I hear the door open and close a bunch of times, and lots of people are coming into the house. I needed to go to the bathroom then, so I climbed down off my bunk and went out to the hall, and that's when I hear lots of voices coming from downstairs..." Jake was starting to look a little anxious.

"It's okay, Jake. What happened next?"

"Well, when my dad has grown-up parties, there's usually some goodies in the kitchen, and sometimes me and Suzy can slip down and get some, and he pretends to get mad, but he really isn't mad. So I slipped down the stairs to see if there was some cake or chocolates, and I hear my dad talking, saying something about being on the road by Sunday afternoon, because the rest of the town will be...dead on Monday." Tommy looked away again.

I waited, then prompted him gently. "Did you hear anything else?"

"There were lots more arguing, and I heard Tommy's dad say 'it must be done', then people were getting up so I ran back to bed. I didn't even go out to pee."

"They were all in the den?" Jake's house had the same layout as mine. The den was a large room off to the side of the stairs, that opened up on a screened-in porch in the back. It was popular for gatherings and parties because it was easy for smokers to come in and out.

Jake nodded.

"Who was in there?"

"Well, I didn't see nobody, but I heard Tommy's dad and Richie's, and old man Edwards. Maybe Lucy's aunt Missy was there, she has that screamy voice and I thought I heard it." Hmm. Richie Tate's dad was the town sheriff, and Jonah Edwards owned the local bank. Whatever this was, it ran deep into the town's business and political leaders.

"Could you tell how many people were there in total?" Jake shook his head. "Well maybe you misunderstood. Grownups play some strange games sometimes." I know Bill did.

"Wasn't no game, Mrs. B. This morning my dad told us to pack our things, and that we'd be leaving for a few days. I asked him why, and he just said one of mom's relatives was sick and we were driving down to take care of her. Since mom died, my daddy is always running out to help her folks out. But he looked real serious. I think something's bad gonna happen." His eyes started to well up again, so I took his hand.

"Jake, I want you to know that you have nothing to worry about. I'm not dying on Monday, nobody is." I meant that.  Nobody was dying on my watch, at least nobody innocent.

I could see that he wanted to believe me because I was his teacher. I pushed a little harder.

"Jake, I know what I'm talking about. Nothing is going to happen. But listen carefully, you must not repeat what you heard to anyone, just pack your things and leave with your dad tomorrow." I was lying. Jake's dad wasn't going anywhere. "Now grab your things, I'll walk you home."

************

I returned Jake to his dad, but Bill hadn't seemed to notice Jake was gone. The level of comfort and naivete in these small towns, well, it would shock some of my fellow agents at the FBI.  Took me awhile to get used to as well, back when I first moved to that small town with Ted.

I had met Ted at the state university, more specifically at "The Trough", our local watering hole. By my senior year I had found that happy balance between getting good grades and having a good time. That night, surrounded by my usual crew of friends, I was focused on the good time. Several drinks in, we were having one of those typical non-serious college arguments about capital punishment and whether killing folks for killing folks was the right thing to do.

"I've seen it, and it's not," opined a voice from the table behind us. We turned around. He was sitting alone, nursing a draft like it was the last one he could afford, one hand aimlessly running through his sandy-brown hair. He had on hospital scrubs, which I found out later were from his 3rd-year med school rounds.

"You've seen an execution?" I asked him, the rest of the gang staring with morbid fascination.

"My father used to be a doctor at the penitentiary upstate. They would call him in to check on the ‘patient’ after the ‘procedure’ was through." I could hear the quote marks in his tone. "He wanted me to see what’s done to ‘bad folk’, so he brought me to an execution when I was 8 years old."

"Jesus, that's twisted." I heard my roommate, Jill, mutter sympathetically.

"My dad was a bit of a freak, I guess. So they bring me in to the viewing room where we can see the execution room. There's this old man, maybe 60's or so, sitting on a cot and clutching his bible. They ask him if he has any last words, and he says he seeks forgiveness from those he made suffer, by giving forgiveness for those who are about to make him suffer. He turns to each person in the execution room and says 'I forgive you.' Then he turns to us in the viewing room, one-way glass be damned, because I could have sworn he was looking me straight in the eye, and says 'I'm sorry'. Then he lays on the cot and closes his eyes waiting for the needles."

"At least it was painless." I remarked.

"Painless? Man, you college girls are ignorant. Lethal injection involves an anesthetic, a muscle relaxant and potassium chloride. Those prison hacks had no idea how to administer the first two, so the guy felt like he was choking while his whole body burned and cramped up for ten minutes or longer until the drug kicked in. Yeah, totally painless." He snorted.

"Hey, **** you, ****." Jill fired back, indignantly. "Cammie was just trying to be nice. Jerk."

I think he was about to say something snide back to her, when his piercing blue eyes looked directly at me, probably for the first time. Then he put out his hand. "I'm Ted Gardner, and I'm a sorry sack of ****."

I took his hand. "I'm Camilla, and I'll be Cammie to you when you bring me another beer." He smiled broadly, and I was hooked.

I found out later, he had to beg the bartender for a draft on credit, poor med student that he was.

We were married the summer we both graduated, he with his M.D. and me with a B.A. in Musical Theory.  More like a BS degree for all the good it did me. He wanted a residency at his hometown hospital, so we moved to his small town. The local high school, desperate for college grads, hired me to teach Science and Math, and I gave music lessons on the side.

Bill thanked me for bringing Jake home and invited me to stay for dinner. I didn't want to spook Jake with my presence, so I declined. Instead, I offered to let Bill buy me a drink later on at "Frankie's" if he could find a sitter on short notice. My tone was subtle, but my wink was not. He said he'd try, but I knew the effect I had on men.  He'd be there.

************

Murray's face was choppy with occasional flickers and freezes, but his voice was crystal clear. "Agent Gardner, those people you mentioned have come up pretty clean. If they're involved in anything, it's not on the radar of the intelligence community."

I was disappointed, but not surprised. "Okay Murray, thanks for checking." I got ready to close up the laptop.

"There is one thing. Aaron Edwards, Jonah's youngest son, has had several criminal complaints filed against him by his wife, Anita, for assault. But she's dropped the charges each time before trial. Also, one complaint by a young lady two towns over, Florence Lichtman, charges also dropped. I don't know if that helps you at all."

"It's more than I had, and that ain't bad."

Murray chuckled. "Over and out."  We disconnected the video conference.

*************

Frank's Tavern was sparsely filled with the usual Friday night yokels. I liked that familiar smell of stale peanuts and cigarettes, universal to bars like this in every small town. It was only 9 p.m., but within the hour I knew the jukebox would be blaring Keith or Shaniah, and the place would be packed with screaming young folk.  That's when I liked to be elsewhere.

"MOLLY!" Gus shouted from the jukebox and raised his bottle to me.  In this bar, nobody called me Mrs. B., and with my sassy red top and tight jeans, I certainly didn't dress like her. I ignored him, then signaled Frank's pretty daughter, Arlene, to bring me something fried in oil and cheese to make up for the dinner I'd skipped. I'd save the alcohol for later. I sat down at my usual booth.

Gus came over, all bulging forearms and hair, and planted himself across from me. "Hey Molly, how ya doing, tonight?"

"Doing fine, Gustav."  We'd done this dance before.

"How about giving me a special lesson tonight, teach?" Gus leered, and I heard some of his boys hooting in the background.

"You want a lesson? Stick to deaf women, Gus. If they can't hear you, you just might have a shot at getting them to sleep with you." The hooting got louder, and Gus stood up, red-faced.

"Molly, you're an ice-cold bitch, you know that?"

"Actually Gus, I can be quite warm. Too bad you'll never find that out." More laughter, and he stormed away angrily.

Arlene gave me a thumbs up as she handed me my dinner. Like most of the single women in this town, she was no fan of Gus. I sat for awhile eating my meal, and lit up a cigarette afterward. Then I ordered a gin and tonic, and lit up a second cigarette. By the fourth cigarette, it appeared that Bill would be a no show. Dammit.

The bar was getting pretty rowdy by then, and I started to get up. I saw Gus sneering at me, as he bent over some girl who was probably underage, and was whispering in her ear. Sickening, but she'd either end up smacking him, or regretting him in the morning. I turned to leave, and almost knocked over Deputy Johnson who was coming up from behind. He was looking for me.

"Molly, Sheriff Tate needs to see you right away. Can you come with me?"

"Why, Warren. What's going on?"

"It's Bill, Molly. Bill Daltrey."

"Yes, Warren, Bill was supposed to meet me here for drinks. Has something happened?"

I could have read it from his ashen face but didn't have to.

"That's why the sheriff asked for you, Molly. You were the last one to see him alive."