“I took Parker from a struggling rock musician to a country star, and I couldn’t let Elias destroy everything.”
“Why didn’t you pay Elias for the song and to keep his mouth shut instead of murdering him?” Makayla looped her arm around mine.
“When we found out Quincy had sold the song without Elias’s knowledge, we did,” he said. “But it wasn’t enough. Elias knew the song was a hit, so he came back for more. If we refused, he was going to sue Parker. I wasn’t going to let that happen, so I let him think I was meeting to make another payment and . . .”
He looked so proud of himself, I half expected him to blow on the gun barrel. “Does Parker know?” I asked.
“He probably suspects, but when I told him we got lucky that someone offed Kurtz, he agreed. Quincy had a meltdown when she found out I’d killed him, though.”
When I’d met Lukas, he’d seemed like a loving, invested brother. “You didn’t come to the chorale concert because you care about Jonas. You needed to contact Quincy.”
He swiped his beard and adjusted his grip on the gun. “I adore my little brother, but I had to deal with a problem. Quincy wasn’t answering the burner phone I’d given her, and her deadline had passed. When we met at the cemetery, Parker agreed to give her another week to finish a new song, or he was going ahead with the lawsuit. He has a soft spot for Q.” He grimaced. “She and I came here, and I stayed to make sure she finished.”
“And when she couldn’t, you helped her lure me out,” Makayla said.
A door slammed.
Quincy breezed in, holding a plastic bag containing two syringes. “I’ve got the drugs.” She stopped next to Lukas.
“Good,” he said. “These two have figured everything out.”
“What’s in the bag?” My pulse hammered.
Quincy met my gaze. “Fentanyl. You’re about to overdose in the infirmary.” She gazed down at the dirty carpet.
My gut lurched.
“How’d you get your hands on that?” Makayla’s eyes were wide.
Quincy shuffled her feet. “Stop with the questions.”
“It’s not like we can call the police to burst in here and save us,” Makayla mumbled.
Quincy shoved the drugs in her purse and removed a gun. “I met a dealer when I was selling Tune, and he slipped me a password for what he thought was a secret product line of illegal drugs. It’s not true, but I kept his name in case I ever needed something.” She closed the gap between us and pressed the gun into Makayla’s side, jerking her away from me.
“We heard the Forza 12 products are an urban legend.” I cringed when Lukas dug his fingers into my arm and hauled me toward the back door.
“Good work, Detective Winston.” Quincy followed, steering Makayla forward.
“Why’d you cut Elias out in the first place?” I stopped myself from adding that she could’ve saved herself a ton of trouble.
“Elias never would’ve agreed to ghostwriting. He wanted the glory—and royalties. I tapped out my Tune market and needed quick cash to pay off my credit cards. Parker’d been trying to make it big for years, and ‘Refund’ was perfect for him.”
“Elias wasn’t going to sue you?”
“He was . . . too in love with me to do that.” Her voice cracked.
“Quincy, you don’t really want to do this, do you?” I asked.
“I refuse to go to prison.”
“You’ll get caught and spend more time locked up than if you’d turn yourself in now,” I said. “Besides, Makayla and I don’t do drugs. How are you going to explain our overdoses?”
“I can totally convince people Makayla has a secret habit, since I lived with her.”
Makayla glared at Quincy.
“That might work for Makayla, but no one will believe I had anything to do with drugs,” I said.
“Then we’ll just dispose of your body elsewhere.” Lukas opened the door, letting in a whoosh of cold air. He prodded me outside.
My stomach lurched as my feet crunched over the broken glass on the back stoop. Quincy and Makayla followed us toward another cement block building as Lukas pressed his gun into my side to remind me not to try anything. My fingers brushed against the scissors in my pocket that were no match for a gun.
Lord, what do I do?
Along with darkness, a tomblike silence had fallen over the camp. Lukas forced me onto the infirmary’s crumbling cement porch.
Sing praise.
I didn’t question it and chose the first song that came to mind. “In the morning, when I rise,” I sang.
“Shut up!” Lukas hissed. But he froze next to the door.
I ignored him, and Makayla joined in with her strong alto, our voices blending in perfect harmony. “In the morning when I rise.”
“Be quiet!” Quincy yelled, but she didn’t move.
We sang louder. “In the morning when I rise. Give me Jesus.”
“Make them stop!” Quincy shrieked.
“Give me Jesus.”
“Do it yourself.” Lukas clawed my arm. “You’ve got a gun.”
Still holding Makayla, Quincy shoved her gun in her purse. “This is your fault. I loved Elias, and you killed him.” She removed the drugs but fumbled with the plastic bag, trying to open it with one hand. “Elias didn’t deserve that.”
“Give me Jesus. You may have all this world. Give me Jesus.”
“Sometimes you have to make sacrifices,” he said.
“Sacrifices? We’re talking about someone I loved!” Her face twisted with rage.
“Oh, when I come to die,” I sang, and Makayla joined with tears flooding her eyes. “Oh, when I come to die.”
A syringe slipped through Quincy’s trembling fingers and clattered against the cement. She swore. “Help me!”
Lukas stepped forward, dragging me with him. I met Makayla’s eyes.
We fell silent.
When Quincy bent to grab the syringe, Makayla swiped the purse from Quincy’s shoulder. I turned and drove my knee into Lukas’s crotch. He let go, doubled over, and toppled sideways on the uneven concrete.
I lunged forward and wrenched the gun from his hand.
With her hands raised, Quincy screamed and sank against the building. “Please don’t shoot.” The she buried her head against her knees and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”
Lukas curled into a ball and groaned as I held the weapon on him. “Makayla, call 9-1-1.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
After the deputies from the Webster County Sheriff’s Department led Quincy and Lukas away from the camp, Makayla and I gave our statements to Detective Ryan McCloud in the main office building’s front room. His kind eyes and patient demeanor put us both—especially Makayla—at ease as we described what’d happened.
He also contacted Detective Hawk when we told him about Elias’s murder in Richard County and assured us that Quincy and Lukas would be brought to justice. Detective Hawk had already been looking for me, because Preston had reported me missing after finding my phone—and rescuing a frantic Gus.
Now we were sitting on an old wooden church pew waiting for Preston and Austin to pick us up. Mom and Dan were speeding home from the Indianapolis airport.
“I still can’t believe Quincy was going to kill us.” Makayla rubbed her wrists where the ropes had left a raw band and fixed her gaze on a bulletin board—empty except for a multi-colored star border. “What made you think to sing?”
“I prayed about what to do, and God brought that to mind—in part because you told me to pay attention in church on Sunday.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” I ran my hand over the pew’s smooth wood. “I’ve been having a hard time with the Cal breakup, and God reminded to praise him in my difficulties.”
“I’m glad he did.” Her voice quivered.
“Me too.” I gave her a squeeze. “You’re an awesome sidekick, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She managed a weak smile.
“Presty, we’ve been usurped.”
“What’s up with that, Austy?”
The twins hovered in the doorway and opened their arms—and they’d probably string me up me if I ever made it public knowledge—but they definitely had tears in their eyes. We rushed over for hugs.
“Nobody’s been usurped,” I said. “We’re all one big team.”
The next morning, I awoke to a peaceful house. Gus had refused to sleep in his crate and was still snoozing at the foot of my bed. The night before, Mom and Dan had taken Makayla home to Richardville. Austin and Preston had offered to stay with me, but since the danger was over, I passed. I’d detected a bit of dismay when I declined their protection.
Once I got moving, I decided I needed a fix from Latte Conspiracies—for two reasons. First, because of my recent onslaught of guests, I was out of coffee, which almost never happened, though I was frequently without decent food. Second, Bobbi Sue was sure to tell everyone she knew about the events involving Makayla and me, and I wanted to ensure she’d broadcast accurate information.
Okay. There was a third reason by the name of Hamlet Roswell Miller, and I wasn’t even sure he was working. But I hoped so.
When I arrived in town, I found an empty space across the street from the coffee shop, and I parallel parked. The sunny morning was a reminder that planting season was approaching quickly, and the very thought put a ripple of excitement in my stomach.
A bell jingled, and Detective Hawk strode out of Latte Conspiracies with a large coffee cup in hand.
She waved when she saw me. “Georgia, I’m glad I ran into you because I’ve been wanting to talk to you. How’re you doing after everything that happened yesterday?”
We stopped in front of the shop. “I’m all right. Makayla was pretty shaken up, though.”
“It’ll take her some time to get over being betrayed by her friend.”
“Yes, it will. Do you have more questions about the case?”
“No, no.” She brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “This is personal.”
“Okay.” Did this have something to do with Cal? We stepped aside as a few people passed.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Why?”
“I unloaded on you about Cal without hearing your side. I know you cared about him and wouldn’t have ended things without a good reason.”
“I’d expect you to take his side since you work together.”
“I know, but that wasn’t fair, and the protective part of me got riled up when I saw how upset he was after the two of you split.”
“I wish he’d have told me about what happened to Mason’s wife, so I could’ve been there for him, but he shut me out.”
She nodded. “That would frustrate me too. Anyway, I talked to him about what happened to you yesterday, and he was more than a little relieved that you’re okay. I’m sure he’ll check on you soon. He really values your friendship.”
Friendship. One more confirmation that I needed to forget the past and move ahead. “Have a nice day, Detective Hawk.” I turned toward the door.
“Georgia?”
“Yeah?”
“Please call me Vanessa again.”
After I got an Area 51 Latte and gave Bobbi Sue the scoop about my adventure, I chose a table near the window. While I sipped coffee, I read online articles about Lukas’s and Quincy’s arrests. This case was receiving national attention because of the ties to Parker Curtis. He’d already lawyered up and refused to talk to the media, so time would tell if he’d truly known what Lukas had done on his behalf.
“What am I going to do with you?” Hamlet slid into the chair across from mine.
“Put me in a bubble.” I set my phone aside.
“I don’t think so.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks. I’m ready to give my detective skills a break for a while. I just want to focus on getting my crops planted.” I smiled—and hoped it could be classified as demure. “And saying some magic words.”
His face lit up. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I felt peace about taking this next step.
“Wonderful!” He grasped my hands. “Georgia Rae Winston, I realize it’s short notice, but may I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”
I feigned a sigh. “It is short notice. I’m not sure I can work you into my incredibly busy social calendar.”
“I see.” His eyes glimmered. “Perhaps next Saturday would be better.”
The edge of my mouth twitched. “I’m kidding. Tomorrow would be perfect.”
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He stood and kissed my cheek. “Have a lovely day.” He strutted back behind the counter—and I couldn’t stop grinning and thanking God for the gifts of life, health, and friendship.
I really was one lucky woman.
Don’t miss Georgia’s next adventure in Deadly Hideaway coming in 2020. Stay in touch by subscribing to my e-mail newsletter and get the latest on all my new releases.
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About the Author
Marissa Shrock is a survivor of many awkward blind dates and many years of teaching middle school. Both provide excellent inspiration for her fictional yarns.
Since childhood, she’s loved to read a variety of genres, so her own work includes dystopian thrillers and cozy mysteries. She’s the author of the Emancipation Warriors Series and the Georgia Rae Winston Mystery Series. Her debut novel, The First Principle, was a Carol Award Finalist.
Marissa enjoys playing golf, building elaborate LEGO creations, and traveling to new places. Her home is in Indiana, where she’s surrounded by corn and soybean fields. Visit her at www.marissashrock.com.
Also by Marissa Shrock
The Emancipation Warriors Series
The First Principle
The Liberation
The Pursuit
The Agitator: A Novella
Georgia Rae Winston Mystery Series
Deadly Harvest
Deadly Holiday
Deadly Heritage
Deadly Harmony
Credits
Editing by A Little Red Ink
Cover Art by Seedlings Design Studio
Marketing Copy by JR2 Marketing & Advertising
Cimelia Press Logo by Race Point
Beta Readers: Mary Shrock, Brad Shrock, and Katie Briggs
Deadly Harmony Page 18