Author: Charles Wells
Category: Nonfiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/charles-wells/page,17,11504-the-beginning-(whispering-pines-book-1).html
***
Chuck’s voice said over the cell phone, “Hey Gail? I’m on the way back right now. So tell Blake when he gets there to …”
“He’s here right now.” Gail cut in. “He was about to leave and meet you.”
“Just tell him to wait. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Okay, will do.”
Gail clicked off her cell and looked at Blake. He sat in a porch chair next to her in the swing. Her feet lightly pushed off the floor, rocking the swing slightly. She could see beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “That was Chuck on the phone. He’ll be here in five minutes and asked you to wait.”
“No problem, thanks. How long have you two been together?”
Gail shrugged. “We’re not together, I mean, not together like that. He’s my boss at the newspaper in Gastonia and I’ve worked with him for about six months.”
Blake raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Gail blushed, “No, I’m not down here scoring points with the boss. We’re just friends and nothing more yet.”
Blake raised his eyebrows higher and said, “Yet? Is it getting to be more than friends …yet?”
The remark stunned her and she searched for words. Blake apologized. “I’m sorry, Gail. That’s none of my business.”
She smiled. “You’re an observant listener, Mr. Squires. I did say the word “yet” but it popped out before I realized how it might sound. I’m sorry too.”
“Don’t apologize to me. I was the one sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. I guess I’m so worried about what might have happened to Matt I pried into affairs that were none of my business. I guess I was in protective mode with Chuck. I’ve been that way with Matt for a long time.”
“So you think I’m an inside spy for the Timber mafia or something?” She laughed.
“No, I don’t think anything like that, but, I can see it in your eyes and expression that you like Chuck but you undoubtedly haven’t admitted it…”yet!”
Gail was again at a loss for words. Was it true Blake could see that her feelings for Chuck were blooming? Could everyone see it? “My coming here with Chuck looks as though we have a closer relationship, so I can understand how you misunderstood, Blake.”
“Your coming down here is a blessing to Chuck. I can see it in him too. There’s more to his emotions about you than friendship, so don’t lead the boy on, Gail.”
“Did you watch after Matt this close too, Blake?”
He nodded, and then looked up at the sound of a car engine coming down the driveway. It was Chuck’s red Jeep.
When Chuck turned into Matt’s driveway, he saw Blake and Gail sitting on the porch talking but Gail looked slightly flushed, embarrassed. “Now what in the world are they talking about? We hardly know this guy.”
The two stood and watched him park the car. They walked down the porch and then the steps and met Chuck on the walkway. Blake said, “Gail told me where you were. I assume the cemetery was still there.”
Chuck nodded. “Yea, it was still there but somebody was digging around my Grandfather’s grave.”
“Do what?” Gail asked. “Why do you think that?”
Chuck eyed Blake a moment and said, “I don’t think it, I know it. The grave is made from hand laid bricks and they've been moved and put back wrong.”
Blake said, “Oh lord. I wonder if…”
When he let the words trail off, Chuck and Gail looked at one another. Chuck asked, “Blake? You wonder, what?”
“Matt and I were talking one time a few weeks ago about your family history and everything. Matt had this notion about some important missing paper that belonged to his Grandfather. He got it in his head the paper was hidden …”
Chuck finished the sentence. “Inside grandpa’s casket, buried at the cemetery, right?”
Blake looked relieved that Chuck already knew. “Yea, that’s it. He talked to you about it too?”
“No, our father spent his entire life saying that. He truly believed our grandfather’s legal will, the one officially filed, was a forgery and the real one had been hidden in the grave with Grandpa.”
“What? I don’t get it. What is there in the official will that wasn’t legal? Abatha Pary was his wife and she inherited the estate. What could be wrong with that?”
“Dad should have gotten a share too but... zip… he got nothing.”
Blake looked at his watch, “We better get rolling before it gets too late.”
Chuck turned to Gail, “I’ll explain it better later but I doubt it was Matt out there digging up Grandpa. That was some notion my father lived and died with but Matt and I never believed.”
Gail took Chuck’s hand, “You guys be careful. This is starting to sound a little scary to me.”
The two men walked to the truck and climbed in, waved bye to Gail, and drove away.
Pulling through the gated fence of the Veal Timber Mill, Chuck saw three huge machines, forklifts, moving and feeding precut logs to the racks and saws. A fourth, yellow fork worked busily unloading a log truck parked near the length saws.
The property had three main shelters with no sides. The roofs were made of tin that kept the machinery out of the weather but offered little protection for the employees moving about beneath. Chuck could see workers stacking the rough-cut planks that came skidding out of the gang saws and down a waiting ramp.
He felt, before he saw, the chipper machine. Its sharp, high-pitched whine and thunderous rumbling gave him chill bumps. It was the most frightening machine he had ever known and he hated it.
Blake pointed toward a small, painted office building, “Thompson is going to have a fit when you walk in there. Just keep your eyes’ open and watch out. He’s a snake in the grass if ever one was born!”
Blake stopped the truck in front of the office and waited while a small cloud of reddish dust from the truck tires swirled past them. They got out, looked around and stepped up on the building’s small front porch. The office door stood wide open. Chuck stepped through first with Blake close behind.
The office was a two-room affair with a desk and several file cabinets. The door to the other was for the bathroom... ugly white toilet next to a sink and always out of paper. The office smelled of old wood, body sweat, and machine oil. It was hot and humid inside. Chuck wondered why the air-conditioner wasn’t running.
With papers scattered about in what appeared total haphazard fashion, the place looked a disaster. A pink faced, stout, (and God he’s ugly) little man sat fanning with the torn cover of a phone book. His free hand was wildly shuffling through the tangle of papers on the desktop. Behind him was a computer system blank and powered off.
Chuck could see that the computer was off and judging from the coat of dust on it, had not been operational for some time. The wiry little man pretended not to notice them so Chuck spoke first. “How ‘bout it” he said friendly enough.
The man stopped moving papers and took a rag from his shirt pocket. Without looking up, he wiped sweat from his forehead and asked in a twanged country accent. “Can I he’p you?”
Clearing his throat, Chuck said, “I’m looking for Matt Veal!”
Thompson, still without looking up, waved an arm and said, “He ain’t here. My name’s Thompson. I’m the yard boss. You got a problem?”
Chuck leaned over placing the palms of his hands on the edge of Matt’s desk and peered at the greasy haired man. His eyes scanned the jumble of papers, speed-reading enough to realize that most of them were regular bills.
His unexpected movement brought Thompson’s face upward and Chuck could see the apparent disinterest, disgust, and foul attitude in the man’s eyes. He didn’t like being bothered and let it show plainly in his expression.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes locked on Chuck, and waited but offered nothing. Chuck didn’t keep him waiting long.
“When’s Veal going to be back? I need to see him.”
The expression wavered briefly. Leaning
to the side, he noticed Blake Squires standing just inside the door, “Squires? You got a lot of gall coming out here to this mill.”
Blake, his huge body filling the doorway, said, “Why is that, Thompson? I just brought this man out here because he wants to talk with Matt Veal and if he’s not here then how ‘bout getting him on the phone.”
Chuck added, “And if it’s a long distance call then just have the operator charge it to my bill.”
Thompson’s face paled, his beady eyes darting back and forth from Chuck to Squires. No doubt, their presence had sounded an alarm in his brain and he was now seeing Chuck's family resemblance to Matt.
His eyes narrowed and with a slight quiver in his voice, he asked, “Who are you? What do you want with Matt Veal? I’m the boss when he’s not here.”
Chuck leaned further over the desk, getting closer to the man’s sweaty face. “What do I want? I want to know what it is you’re doing sitting at my brother’s desk and bossing around our mill. I’m only going to ask this question one more time. Where is Matt?”
Thompson’s face turned white, his feet pushed and rolled the desk chair backward several inches. He was in desperate need of air when he sputtered, “I told you on the phone a hundred times. He’s out of town.”
Chuck waved a hand across the top of the desk and asked between clinched teeth, “When’s he coming back to pay these bills? Did he leave you company checks to pay these bills with?”
Thompson recovered and shouted, “That’s none of your business. Now get out of here so I can get back to work.”
Chuck snarled, “Then tell me this, Thompson. Who put you in charge here?”
He shrugged his stooped shoulders, “Your brother hired me to run the place. I’m the crew boss. If you want to know anything else then ask him.”
Chuck moved his face to within inches of Thompson and hissed, “I will when I see him. When was the last time you heard from Matt?”
Thompson tried to lean further back but couldn’t. The wheels on the chair had butted with the wall behind him. His expression reminded Chuck of a trapped, frightened weasel with eyes darting about.
Thompson leaned over to the window and yelled, “Anderson? Get in here on the double.”
Squires, speaking matter of fact to Chuck, said, “Thompson told the Sheriff a few days ago that he had talked to Matt just that morning. He claims Matt passed along word that he and I were no longer partners on the Beaver Creek property and he wanted me to keep my nose out of the business.”
Thompson squirmed in his chair, still wanting more room to back up further. The space between him and Chuck offered little air between them it seemed.
In a high pitched, squeaky voice he said, “Yeah. That’s right, Squires. I’m glad you found out. Now both of you get out of here or I’ll have you tossed out on your heads!”
With speed that shocked even Blake, Chuck reached across the desk and grabbed the front of Thompson’s shirt, giving it a swift, angry tug. The wimpy man gasped and sputtered so Chuck pulled him across the top of the cluttered desk clearing a wide path through the mounds of papers.
Chuck growled, “I am going to...”
A voice from just outside the office said, “You want to get your hands off him or do I need to come on in and tear them loose?”
Chuck turned and saw a mill worker standing just behind, and several inches above, the already tall Blake Squires. In one hand, he was clasping a heavy pipe wrench.
Blake turned to the man and said, “Anderson? These men are discussing private business so I suggest you wait your turn outside. When Mr. Veal is done, I’m next in line.”
The worker grinned, exposing a mouth filled with yellowish black teeth and said, “I’ll rip your head off and toss it in the chipper if you say one more...”
Blake’s fist, in a lightning speed swing, disappeared deep into the cotton fabric of the man’s shirt. The blow caught him unexpectedly and the raw power behind it brought a deep, guttural whoosh of air roaring out from between his lips. The force shoved him backwards and off the porch. He landed in the dirt with another heavy “harumpppp.” The heavy wrench he’d been holding clattered to the floor at Blake’s feet. With an equally quick move, Blake slammed the door closed and pushed a dead bolt lever into locking position. He reached down and picked up the wrench, and propped it against a file cabinet.
Turning back to Chuck, he smiled and said, “Anderson has decided to wait his turn. Now what was that you were telling Thompson and please, don’t keep the rest of the man’s company waiting. I tend to get impatient at times.”
Thompson, not believing his backup failed, was desperate. He shouted, “I’ll call the law if you two don’t get out of here and do it right now.”
Chuck, still holding the man’s shirt in his two fists, shook him and spat, “I’ll save you the trouble Thompson. I’ll call them because I want to know where Matt is and I want to know what you’re doing here.”
Thompson’s hand blindly searched the desktop and found a heavy, metallic staple gun. His fist closed around it and with one wild swing, hit Chuck across the cheek and ear. The sudden blow forced him to release the grip and grab his head.
Thompson scrambled backward and regained his footing. He looked around wildly and then dove, head first, out the open window.
Blake was beside Chuck in an instant and moved to follow Thompson but Chuck shouted, “Let him go! I’m all right.”
Blake watched Thompson running across the mill yard “You sure?”
“I didn’t see that coming.”
Blake found a towel in the bathroom, wet it and then held it out for Chuck to use on his bruised cheek. Next, he peered out the mill office window and watched Thompson yelling at a group of workers including the now recovered Anderson.
“Hey Chuck?” Blake said. “Thompson is gathering up a crowd of trouble and I don’t like the looks of it.”
Holding the rag to his face, Chuck stepped to the window beside Blake and watched a dozen men; all seedy looking and well muscled from the harsh work of a timber mill. Even with Blake helping, there was no way he could handle that many people at once. Running was not always the best option out of a fight, but when the cards were stacked this badly, running was an option.
Chuck nodded his chin toward Blake’s truck and said, “We’ve got time to make a run for it. The truck is just outside the door.”
Blake shook his head. “Afraid not, look at the gate. They’ve locked it and I see a couple of guys close by.”
“Can’t we ram the gate or something with your truck?”
Blake shook his head irritably, “That only works on TV. The barbed wire would slice right through the windshield and cut us in half. I got a better idea,” he said reaching for a cell phone clipped to his belt.
Chuck watched a trickle of sweat run down the black man’s cheek as he dialed a number and then glanced back out the window. A few seconds later, he spoke into the receiver.
“Clark? Grab some of the boys and beat it over to the Veal mill. Do it on the double. Thompson has me and Chuck Veal cut off from leaving. I don’t have time to do much explaining but they’re planning a party for us and I wouldn’t want you boys to miss it. Oh, and they got the gate locked so you had better drive Catfish’s old stump buster in first. If they don’t open up then just pick a spot and give them a new gate.”
When Blake hung up, Chuck asked, “How far is your place from here?”
Blake shrugged and said, “It’s about a mile or so. I just hope they can get here before that bunch does.”
Chuck, his smashed cheek throbbing angrily, slumped into the chair, “God, something’s all wrong about this. Matt would never leave a jerk like that in charge of the mill.”
Blake shook his head, “Thompson is the last man on earth Matt would trust. I don’t know why he hired him either but we do know that he’s got control right now with all those goons backing him and judging from the way he acts, he isn’t expecting Matt back here any time soon.”<
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Their eyes locked for a moment and Blake added, “Sorry, Chuck. It’s something I’ve been thinking for a few days or so. I just don’t see how Matt could be alive unless he’s laid up someplace with amnesia.”
Looking for another train of thought, Chuck pointed at a huge express safe that stood squarely in one corner of the room. “I need to get your papers out of there.”
Blake, not taking his eyes away from the trouble outside, shook his head. “My papers are not in there. That’s not Matt’s safe. They’ve done something with it. His box was older and there were rust spots around the bottom. That one yonder does not. That is not Matt’s safe.”
In partial disbelief, Chuck stepped over to the heavy door on the safe and squatted down. His fingers spun the huge dial twice and then rolled several numbers to the red marker line at the top of the indicator. After running the sequence code, he grabbed the long, silver release handle and pulled. Nothing happened. He tugged it several times. The door should have opened unless Matt had reset the tumblers and that wasn’t likely.
Eying the box for a moment, Chuck rose back to his feet, “Why in the world would they switch Matt’s safe?”
“Probably because my papers are inside that would tie this thing together. You realize what that means don’t you?”
“Thompson switched the safe because he knows that Matt isn’t going to be coming back to open it and the only way he could possibly know that is....”
“Now you’re getting to the heart of the matter.”
Chuck’s anger flared and he snarled, “Thompson’s got to know something. I’ll beat it out of him if I have to. I mean it Blake. I will tear that little scum apart with my bare hands.”
“I can only imagine how you feel but you better find out why they wanted Matt out of the picture in the first place. Don’t you understand? They wanted him out bad enough to... to....”
Chuck finished the sentence. “…To kill him. I guess you’re right but a timber lease isn’t reason enough to kill somebody. I mean we’re only talking what, fifty thousand bucks between you and Matt? Would anybody kill for what appears so little bit of gain?”
Blake nodded. “I know some folks who would kill for a lot less. Now try to calm down. I have one or two ideas but I can’t connect any of them with Thompson yet. Right now he’s the trip line that could take us to the real person responsible.”
“I don’t know. Murder is a serious means to an end.
Blake shook his head, “Like I said, not to some folks. Some would just as soon drop you in the river if you happen to get in their way.”
Chuck took a deep breath, “I didn’t mean to spill our cards here this morning. I’m sorry.”
Blake smiled. “It was time to get things rolling and besides. I have more at stake here than you realize. Matt’s a good friend of mine and the best business partner a man could ever have.”
Nodding out the window, Chuck snapped, “Here they come.”
Blake looked around, “See if you can shove that file cabinet up against the door. It might slow them down. I’ll hold the window.”
Thompson and eight others crossed the open yard and halted just outside the office building. Several men carried heavy tools or short pieces of lumber. Thompson shouted, “Okay, Squires. You and your buddy drag it out here or we’re gonna’ tear the place apart.”
Blake yelled back, “What’s the matter, Thompson, are you afraid to come back in here alone? Okay... then you can bring three or four of your buddies with you. We can deal with it.”
Blake paused and then added, “By the way, Thompson. Did you tell your boys that my friend in here is Matt Veal’s brother?”
Chuck heard several workers grumbling. Blake shook his head and said, “Telling them isn’t going to help. As I said, Thompson has fired all the workers who liked Matt. The people out there I wouldn’t hire if my life depended on it. They’re a rough bunch and dirt dog mean.”
Chuck sighed heavily “You’re not helping my headache but keep them talking. It might buy us a little more time.
Thompson ordered three of the men to find a heavy log and break down the door. Blake motioned Chuck to move into a corner, away from the opening. There wasn’t much room to hide in such a small (and getting smaller) office.
The heavy wrench Anderson had dropped earlier was propped against the cabinet where Blake had placed it. Chuck picked it up and waited. The heavy metal in his hand felt cold and threatening. It could kill a man in one swing.
The sound of a distant, roaring truck engine grew louder in the small office. Chuck looked over anxiously at Blake, “That’s Catfish’s truck. I’ve been after him for two months to get a muffler put on it. I never thought I’d be so proud to hear it coming.”
The mill workers outside also heard the truck coming and stopped to look. A rusty looking, three quarter ton pickup with dust boiling and billowing from behind, rounded the curve on the entrance road and swung into view. The front bumper was actually a four-inch thick iron pipe that stretched all the way across the front. The entire frame formed a heavy, formidable front armor and grill. The setup, built to push away fallen trees and limbs on logging paths, was homemade. Blake and Chuck stood together at the window and watched the nearing dust cloud. From within the swirls, they could see the outline of a second vehicle following closely behind.
The two trucks never slowed for the closed barbed wire gate, hitting it with a loud metallic scream of metal against metal. The gate seemed to hesitate for a split second and then crimped, crumpled, and disappeared beneath the front of the lead pickup. Loud pistol cracks sounded and Chuck realized it was the tension snapped wires of the fence. He looked at Blake, “Only works on TV, huh?”
Blake smiled and shrugged. The second truck caught the crumbled mass of metal spewed by the lead truck and ran over it. A rear tire exploded and then shredded to pieces but the truck kept coming and there were several men squatted in the back of each vehicle.
Loose fence wire dangled from the side mirrors of the lead truck and as it braked, came hissing through the air toward Thompson’s crowd out front. They scattered quickly clearing the path for the second truck that was riding a blown tire. It warbled toward the office building and as it slowed, riders in the back started dropping off, truck still in motion, and each man holding a heavy tool or board in hand.
The scene looked more like a gang war about to erupt. A burly man with sun-darkened skin and short, curly hair, stepped out of the driver’s side of the lead truck. He held a 12-gauge shotgun clutched in his arms and swung the barrel level at the crowd that was now gathering back around Thompson. The two, distinct, dark and ugly holes on the tip of the shotgun’s business end spoke loud and clear so nobody moved... nobody spoke a word.
The curly haired driver shouted, “All right, Thompson. I wouldn’t advise anybody getting in the way of this scattergun. I’ve cleaned out a whole covey of quail with it before.”
Thompson screamed, “I’m going to have you arrested. Look at that gate. That’s a thousand dollars you just ruined.”
Blake and Chuck stepped out onto the office porch. Blake shouted, “Just how much damage were you and your goons planning to do on our heads, Thompson?”
Chuck added, “If you want to call the law then just go right ahead. At least you can explain your lies about talking with Matt Veal. Matt is missing and you know it.”
Several of Thompson’s workers glanced sharply at their boss. Chuck shouted again. “The fact is, Thompson, I’ll have you down at the Sheriff’s office pretty soon anyway on suspicion of murder.”
“Murder” Thompson cried. Who’s dead? You can’t pin anything like that on me. I talked with your brother three days ago like I said.”
“You’re a liar, Thompson.” Chuck snarled and you’re not good at it.”
Thompson took a cautious step forward but the barrel of the shotgun gun tracked with his motion. He froze, eyes glued to the dark holes on the end of the gun.
Chuck pointed a
finger and hissed, “You want to climb my wall, Thompson? Come on and do it right now. Just me and you”
Chuck was mad and knew that if Matt was dead then Thompson was involved somehow.
“What?” Thompson screamed. “I don’t fight crap like you and there are laws about threats. I’ll...I’ll...”
Chuck cut him off. “You’ll what, Thompson. You’ll get the needle in the arm up in Jackson prison for killing Matt. That is, if I don’t get you first.”
Turning to the rest of the crews, Chuck shouted, “Y’all hear that? You’re working for a liar and a coward. Take that home in your next paycheck.”
One of Thompson’s men shouted, “We don’t know you from a hill of beans, mister. But if your buddy there with the bird gun will lay it down, we’ll see who’s a coward and who ain’t.”
Clark suddenly tossed the shotgun to a young man who stood nearby and shouted “Bird gun, Anderson? Since when do you shoot birds with double ought buckshot? I got a pair of nice wad cutters in that gun.”
Several of the workers backed up warily. Clark, with hands on his huge, wide hips, cried, “You know something? You got a mouth on you, Anderson and I think my foot will fit down it just about right.”
Chuck stepped forward to say something, after all, it was his fight, but Clark and Anderson had already moved toward one another. The other men formed a circle around and started shouting.
Anderson, a foot taller and thirty pounds heavier than Clark, glanced over at Thompson. Thompson nodded. He faced Clark squarely and snarled, “This will be easy.”
Chuck glanced at Blake and saw a glint of humor on the dark man’s face. “Blake? This is my problem so let me handle it.”
Ignoring the remarks, Blake shouted at the young man now holding the shotgun. “Catfish, if anybody interferes, you give them both barrels.”
Anderson swung a few punches that Clark ignored. Both men had grown up around the rough and tumble life of timber mills. Neither were strangers to a brawl. Clark’s cool, calculated, and cautious movements were upsetting Anderson’s concentration. Unknown to Chuck only, Clark had a personal reason to fight Anderson.
The heavier man lunged at Clark’s mid section, intending to pick the smaller man up and slam him into the dirt. Had the move been successful, the fight would be over. Wary of Anderson’s longer reach and size, Clark easily sidestepped and the larger man roared past, blindly flailing at empty air.
Clark caught him with a fist to the back of the neck as he passed that cracked wickedly in the morning air. The blow sent Anderson sprawling face down in the dirt, puffing wildly.
Clark turned shouting, “What’s the matter, Andy? Can’t take a little push every now and then? It’s too bad there wasn’t a chipper door right there where you just landed.”
Chuck snapped his head and looked at Blake. “What did that mean?”
Blake shook his head and whispered; “I’ll explain it later.” The first sign of worry appeared on Blake’s face.
Anderson slowly rose to his feet and growled, “I’ll kill you Clark. Just like our chipper chewed up your brother and spit his hide out on the crappy pile.”
Clark’s face grew darker, “My brother was pushed into that chipper, Anderson. You know it because you pushed him.”
Chuck grabbed Blake’s arm and half cried, “What’s all that? His brother was the one killed here?”
Blake nodded. “That’s the one.”
The workers were yelling excitedly. Anderson got to his feet slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. With a snarl, he moved closer for another round. Clark, with a deep, dangerous determination on his face, made the next move.
He faked a hay raking swing with his right fist and Anderson moved his head away to avoid a blow that, he didn’t realize, wasn’t coming anyway. When his head moved away to the left, it collided with Clark’s right fist that had been secretly closing in from the same direction. It was a boxer’s perfect sucker move and it worked. The sound of the lick thudded like an axe and Thompson’s second in command crumpled at Clark’s feet.
Several of Thompson’s crew lunged forward but Catfish, shotgun level and steady, yelled, “Don’t try it. This thing might go off.”
Stunned and wary, Anderson raised to all fours. Clark stepped in with a vicious knee jab, hitting him squarely under the chin. The blow flipped the larger man over and blood started gushing from a broken nose and cut lips. Anderson was out cold.
Blake jumped from the porch shouting, “Okay, Clark. He’s had it.”
With fiery eyes, Clark roared, “He killed my brother and now I’m gonna kill him.”
Blake stepped through the circle of men and grabbed Clark’s arm just as a heavy logger’s boot was about to smash Anderson’s head. He barked, “I said, that’s enough. We’re going to get to the bottom of everything soon enough.”
Blake hauled his foreman away from the motionless body. Thompson screamed, “I’m gonna have you locked up for this. I’m calling the sheriff right now!”
Chuck, still standing on the office porch, grabbed Thompson’s arm as he tried to pass and said, “Go ahead Thompson. I’ll wait. I’m serious. In fact, I’ll make the call for you if you want.”
Thompson wrung his arm loose and stumbled backwards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Veal. This isn’t your affair. It’s not your mill. This place belongs to Matt and I’m the boss until he gets back! “
Chuck stepped closer again, “I’ll find out what’s happened to Matt. I have a copy of his will and just in case you are wondering, I get everything including the mill, timber property, and outhouse. One of my first orders will be to fire you before they put you in jail for murder.”
Thompson slipped past Chuck and stumbled through the office doorway. He let him go.
Blake pointed at one of Thompson’s men and shouted, “Get him out of here before I turn Clark loose. If Thompson does call the Sheriff, be sure and tell him I’ll be at my office for the rest of this afternoon. Otherwise, I’ll be seeing him shortly anyway if he cares to wait.”
Blake held Clark until another worker pulled Anderson away, and then he half pushed him toward Catfish and said, “Take this guy back to the mill. I’ll be there in a minute.”