His eyes raised four stories. “What do you mean, worth my while?”

Caitlin flashed a few Andrew Jacksons.

“Sixty bucks. You show us around, give us ten dollars worth of fresh greens, and I’ll give you three green twenties. Just half an hour, and no one but us three will ever know.”

He looked at the cash, then Mary. “But she has a blog.”

Mary smiled. “I care more about getting a nice firm cucumber than telling the story of where I got it.”

Gooch scratched the back of his head. “Screw it, let’s do the tour.”

They started at the barn, saw various implements in John Deere colors and the two delivery trucks, no markings other than the word “BRO-DUCE” stenciled on the back doors.

“You guys deliver all across the Big Ten?” Caitlin said.

Gooch kept it tight. “Yep. Let’s look at the corn.”

He walked them along the edge of the field, mumbling something about an autumn harvest.

Mary looked between each row. “Just checking if you guys farm like we did at the Colony. My dad used to plant weed between the rows.”

That got Gooch’s attention. “Your dad grew weed?”

“Yeah, until some weird beetle got into everything.”

Caitlin pointed toward the end of the field and changed the subject. “Hey, windmills.”

“For the power bills,” Gooch said. “We gotta keep the greenhouses warm in the winter. Speaking of which.”

He took them back to the land of cucumbers, let them pick a few. They moved on to the second greenhouse, a forest of Roma tomatoes. Mary plucked one from the vine and took a bite.

“Good God, these are fresh,” she said, wiping juice from her chin. “Who’s the farmer around here?”

“This guy Dave. He can grow anything. I just do this for money.”

Gooch led them on to eggplant, sprouts, and green beans. In the last greenhouse, he grabbed a cardboard produce box and packaged their haul.

Caitlin read the side. “Nassau, Bahamas? You guys ship outside the country?”

“That’s from a supplier,” he said. “We reuse the boxes.”

“What do you guys import from the Bahamas, rum?”

He shrugged. “Seeds. Let’s go.”

The house was the only place they hadn’t looked. Caitlin noticed the cameras when they got back to the rental car. One near the farmhouse roof facing the road, another near the front porch.

“Can we use your bathroom?”

“Well—”

Caitlin walked toward the house. “Thanks, Gooch.”

He followed. “I’d better come with you.”

Mary got in line. “I should try too.”

Caitlin opened the door to a large kitchen last updated in the eighties. A trash can overflowed near the door, and a case of beer bottles filled a recycling bin. The room smelled like a truck-stop restroom two days past cleaning.

Gooch pointed to a hallway. “Bathroom’s right there.”