A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
I left her office twenty minutes later, the blue folder tucked under my arm.
The wind had picked up by the time I pulled my pickup into the gravel lot of the county cooperative feed store at three o’clock. The metal sign above the door was rattling against its brackets, and the air smelled of mineral salt and bulk oats.
Thomas, the store owner, was standing behind the high wooden counter, checking a shipment invoice against a stack of yellow slips. He was seventy-one, with a gray beard and a faded red cap that had the name of a seed company printed on the front.
“Arthur,” he said, looking up from his papers. “I was wondering when you were going to come in for your winter mineral blocks.”
“I need six of the salt mix,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. “The red ones.”
“I will have the boy load them in your bed,” Thomas said. He scribbled the item down on his invoice, then looked at me with a warm smile. “You must be getting some wealthy neighbors down on your end of the road.”
