Deadly Harvest (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 1)

by Marissa Shrock

  “Kevin Doyle?”

  “Yeah?” Irritation filled his tone, and the tattooed man he was working with gave me the once over. Kevin sat up, and his face changed when he saw me. “Can I help you?” He ran his fingers through his brown hair.

  “I’m investigating Tara Fullerton’s death.”

  He sighed, picked up a towel, and mopped his forehead. I tried not to stare at his left hand, which was missing his pinky and ring fingers.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone.” He stood and walked closer, and his spotter wandered away. Kevin nodded toward the man. “He didn’t know Tara. Just started working out here.”

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  He scoffed and draped the towel around his neck. “Tara? Nah. She was tough, but she hid it behind a sweet exterior—most of the time.”

  “How long did you know her?”

  “A while.”

  “Did you know her friend Morgan?”

  He nodded. “Sort of. She worked out a time or two with Tara.”

  “Does Morgan have a drug addiction?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know, but I get why you’re asking—’cause she sure seemed strung out at Tara’s funeral, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” I decided I’d better move on before he got impatient. “Hey, where did Tara work? Her family didn’t mention it in the obituary.”

  He looked above my head as if the rafters could supply the answer. “Some cooking school called Eatable.”

  I stored that detail. “There’s something else I’m curious about. How long had Tara been hunting?”

  “Like ten seconds?” He snorted. “She took it up to impress that boyfriend of hers, and I don’t know why because I can’t picture her bagging a deer. She loved animals. In fact, she hit a squirrel a couple of weeks ago on the way here, and I thought we were going to have to get her a tranquilizer.”

  “Really?” I thought of my own overreaction to hitting a rabbit the day I’d found Tara’s body. Had she been upset about something else and killing the animal had magnified her reaction?

  “Okay, okay, my friends know I exaggerate.” He held up a hand. “It wasn’t that bad, but she was upset, for sure.”

  “Did you ever meet her boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.” Kevin scrunched up his face. “Seemed like a nice enough guy. I only met him the one time he came here with her.” He leaned forward. “Truth be told, I practically bit my tongue into hamburger to keep from telling Mike that Tara was two-timing him.”

  My eyes widened. “Seriously? Did you know who she was seeing?”

  He shook his head. “Some dude in Wildcat Springs she called Sharkie.”

  J.T.’s reaction to Tara’s death came to mind, but I brushed the thought away. He’d never date a girl who had a boyfriend. Unless he hadn’t known. I thumbed my birthstone ring. “How long had Tara been seeing this Sharkie guy?”

  “A month or two.”

  Surely J.T. hadn’t lied to me. “Thanks. You’ve been helpful.”

  “Cool. You got a card or anything in case I remember something else?” He clutched each end of the towel and shifted casually.

  “Sure.” I dug through my purse, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.

  “Winston Family Farms?” He frowned. “I thought you said you were an investigator.”

  “I wear a lot of hats.” I got out of the gym and back to my truck as fast as I could.

  As soon as I was back in my truck, I searched on my phone for Eatable and found it was on the south side of Richardville. Definitely worth the short trip. I pulled into traffic and drove across town.

  Eatable was located in a strip mall between a nail salon and a Chinese restaurant. As I walked in, the bell jingled. In front of me was a gigantic home ec room. Six separate kitchens with stainless steel appliances lined the walls to my right and left. A large common area stood in the middle with chairs and a demonstration station trimmed in weathered, reclaimed wood. The pale green walls gave the room a soothing, homey feeling.

  A middle-aged woman in a white coat and checkered pants emerged from a door in the back wall. Everything about her—body, cheeks, and glasses—was round. “Welcome to Eatable. Are you here for the five o’clock class?”

  “No. I—”

  “Perhaps I can interest you in one of our three levels of culinary workshops.” She reached for a stack of fliers sitting on a table by the door and handed me the paper with class descriptions and times. “Our goal is to help you make your food eatable.” She giggled.

  I’d certainly stumbled into the right place. “I could use some classes, but that’s not why I came today.”

  She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “How can I help you then?” A bit of iciness crept into her tone.

  “I’m investigating the death of Tara Fullerton.”

  “Oh!” Tears sprang into the woman’s eyes. “She was such a dear girl. Her mother and I were friends for years before she died. I hired Tara to teach some of our advanced classes since she’d been to culinary school. Our clients loved her.” She held out her hand. “I’m Pam Marconi, by the way.”

  “Georgia Winston.” I grasped her hand. “So she hadn’t made anyone mad?”

  “Oh no. I give our clients a survey at the end of each class, and Tara always received high marks.”

  “What about her relationship with the other employees?”

  “I never heard any complaints about her, but then sometimes employees don’t speak freely in front of the boss. If you get a chance, talk to Morgan Hopewood to see if she has any ideas. She was Tara’s best friend, but she’s on vacation.”

  Or her vacation was actually rehab. “Does Morgan have a drug problem? She seemed a little strung out at Tara’s funeral.”

  Pam knitted her brows. “Not to my knowledge. She was probably just grieving. When my husband died five years ago, I had to pop pills to make it through his funeral. I can barely remember that day.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice, even though we were alone. “If I were you, I’d take a look Tara’s former boss, Mike Dunson. Not long ago, when I called him for a reference, one of the employees put the phone down to go get him, and I could hear him ripping somebody up one side and down the other. I can’t imagine treating an employee that way. I’d never sleep at night.”

  Clearly, she didn’t realize Mike had also been Tara’s boyfriend. “Did Tara ever mention a friend named Sharkie?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  The bell on the door jingled, and a hipster and his matching female companion entered.

  “Welcome,” Pam said. “Are you here for our five o’clock class?”

  “Yes. We’re a little early.” Hipster motioned toward the young woman. “This is my girlfriend Destiny. I’m Travis—Cooper.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” Pam pointed to the demonstration area. “Please have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She turned back to me. “I’m sorry, but we need to wrap this up.”

  “One more question. Did Tara ever talk about hunting?”

  Pam tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “No. I was flabbergasted when I heard she died while hunting.”

  Interesting. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” She motioned toward the flier in my hand. “Please come back and take a class. It makes a wonderful date night.”

  I was sure it did. I’d just have to have a date first.

  Chapter Seven

  After I left Eatable, I decided to take Pam Marconi’s advice and talk to Mike Dunson, who owned a restaurant in downtown Richardville. I hoped that even though he’d creeped me out at Tara’s funeral, he might lighten up if I bought supper at his place. In spite of the day’s chaos, my stomach roared.

  I found a public parking lot and hoofed it across the street to the old train station that housed Mike’s Sandwich Depot. A handful of customers sat at wooden booths that lined the exposed brick walls. The lack of people made me wonder about the quality of the food.
r />   A sign indicated I should be seated, so I found a booth in the back. A pretty server, with full cheeks that probably made her look younger than she was, stood up from a table where she was studying, sauntered over, and handed me a menu. A blue and purple butterfly tattoo partially disguised a scar on her wrist.

  “I’m Haley. I’ll be taking care of you today. Ham and cheese Stromboli’s on special.”

  “That sounds perfect, and I’ll have a Coke too.”

  She withdrew a pad from her apron and scribbled my order. “Okie-dokie.”

  I returned the menu. “Is Mike here?”

  “Yeah. Why?” She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.

  “May I talk to him?”

  She jabbed her order pad back into her apron. “I’ll let him know.”

  After Haley brought my Coke and informed me that Mike would be out soon, she returned to her table and buried her head in a book. Never a good sign when a waitress had time to study during her shift. I took a crayon from the Mason jar on the table and doodled flowers on the butcher paper.

  “Haley said you wanted to see me.” Mike loomed over my table. He wore a green flannel shirt and an apron splattered with tomato sauce—at least I hoped it was tomato sauce.

  “Georgia Winston.” I stuck out my hand.

  “You was at Tara’s funeral.” His eyes narrowed.

  “Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions about Tara.”

  “Why?” He scowled and set his jaw.

  Since the last thing I wanted was for him to realize I considered him a suspect, I picked the reason I hoped would put him at ease. “Tara contacted me before she died because she needed my help with a situation in her life. We never got a chance to meet, so I feel some responsibility to try to help find her killer. I thought you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

  Mike relaxed his expression. “Don’t know that I got the answers. Found out last Thursday that she was seein’ another guy behind my back. So what do I know?” He crossed his hairy arms. “But go ahead.”

  I met his eyes and dropped the crayon back in the jar. “Who told you Tara was cheating?”

  “Her little friend Morgan.” Mike screwed up his face. “I didn’t believe her, because she didn’t have any proof. Not sure why she felt the need to tell me after Tara was gone. Besides, Morgan is trouble. Tried to bilk money out of Tara so she could fund her drug habit.” He waved a finger at me. “I told Tara not to waste her time on that piece of trash, but she didn’t listen. Thought she could help.”

  Yikes. “Did Tara give her money?”

  “Nope. According to Tara, they had a cat fight over it.” He chuckled. “I’d have paid a week’s profit to witness that.”

  Ugh. In spite of the fact this guy was a jerk, I had to keep him talking. “Were you upset when Tara left here to work at Eatable?”

  “Nope.” Mike’s face softened as he sat across from me in the booth. “I was proud of her. She’d worked hard in culinary school and had a bigger future ahead of her than working here the rest of her life. She had talent that could’ve led to her own cooking show. That’s why she wanted to teach people—it was good practice.”

  I switched gears. “How long had Tara been interested in hunting?”

  He stroked his beard. “About a month before deer season, she came to me and said she wanted to learn. I was blown away. Here was a girl who freaked out about hitting a squirrel with her car.”

  That lined up with what Kevin Doyle at Fitness Universe had said.

  “Still, I took it as a peace offering since we’d hit a rough patch, so I taught her how to use a crossbow. Helped her with target practice. I even promised to take her out to my favorite hunting spot once the season opened.” Mike’s pain-filled eyes met mine. “But she had an excuse when I asked her to go on opening day. Now I wonder if she went with her new guy.”

  I wondered that too. “Did she ever say she thought she was in danger?”

  Haley arrived with my Stromboli.

  “Thanks.” I unrolled my silverware.

  “You’re welcome.” She nodded and scurried away. I made a mental note to ask her about Mike before I left.

  “Nope.” Mike put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “If she was, she probably confided in her new boyfriend.” He stood. “We done here? I got work to do, and you need to eat while it’s hot.”

  I shook my head and held up a finger while I dug a business card from my handbag and handed it to Mike. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Will do.” He trudged back to the kitchen.

  When I finished eating the Stromboli, that was actually really good, Haley brought me my check. “Do you need a refill in a to-go cup?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You can pay up front. Have a nice evening.” She smiled and turned.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?” She faced me and stuffed her hands in her apron pocket.

  “How is it, working for Mike?”

  “Fine. The pay’s decent.” She motioned toward her stack of schoolbooks. “I’m in college, and he lets me study when we’re not busy.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “He’s been a total grump lately, but I figure it’s because he’s torn up about his girlfriend dying. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to studying for my organic chemistry test tomorrow, so have a nice evening.”

  Grandpa, Cory, and I spent Thursday, Friday, and part of Saturday shelling corn, which gave me plenty of time in the combine cab to ponder everything I’d learned about Tara.

  Eventually, I’d come to the conclusion that finding answers wasn’t worth alienating Detective Perkins and forced the subject out of my mind. Not only did I want the detective to ask me on a date, but I also needed him to give Daddy’s case his best effort. Besides, the only real benefit of my little investigation was that it’d taken my focus off of Evan and Baby Kelsey.

  When a storm rolled in Saturday afternoon, and the field got wet enough that we had to stop, I took a nap before heading to Brandi’s house that night for dessert and a Psych marathon.

  After we made sundaes, I brought Brandi and Ashley up to speed on my stepdad meddling in my love life because in comparison to the investigation, Detective Perkins, and Evan, it was a safe, but juicy, topic. Even though I’d rehearsed all of Jon Nordmeyer’s great qualities, Detective Perkins’s face lingered in my mind. I did my best to push him right back out.

  I put my empty bowl on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch.

  “Your stepdad might be on to something with Jon.” Brandi was tucking away chocolate chip ice cream while her Yorkie perched next to her on the loveseat.

  “I agree.” Ashley held up her spoon in an affirmative vote. “Put yourself out there and give him a chance.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms. If I told them my reluctance was a self-defense mechanism designed to protect me from false hope, they’d tell me to see a counselor or get a dog.

  Again.

  Brandi shook her head and grinned. “You met a former student of mine earlier this week at Fitness Universe.”

  Uh-oh. “Who’s that?” I donned my best innocent expression.

  “Kevin Doyle.” She licked her spoon and put her bowl on the coffee table next to mine. “He was in my U.S. History class when I taught at Richardville.” She picked up Gigi and stroked her head.

  “What’d he say about me?”

  Ashley leaned forward. “Is he good looking? Single? Nice?” She turned to Brandi. “If he doesn’t want to go out with Georgia, would he consider me?”

  I stared at Ashley. “Easy there, killer.”

  Brandi chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s not why I brought him up, though.”

  “Okay.” Ashley huffed and stirred her chocolate ice cream. “Then why?”

  “I ran into Kevin at the drugstore today, and he said he met this girl from Wildcat Springs. Wondered if I knew a PI named Georgia.”

  “Well,
you don’t.” I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. “You know a farmer named Georgia.”

  The edge of Brandi’s mouth twitched, and her eyes danced. “Care to explain?”

  She knew me well enough to realize with Georgia Rae Winston anything was possible—including a second or third career. “No wonder you wanted us to come over for ice cream. You had to get the scoop.” I fought a snort of laughter over my own stupid pun.

  Brandi and Ashley groaned in unison.

  “You caught me,” Brandi said. “Now out with it, already.”

  I pulled a pillow into my lap and propped my bare feet up on the coffee table. “I went to the gym where Tara Fullerton worked out.” I told them about my visit with Kevin and how I’d gone to Eatable and Mike’s Sandwich Depot.

  Ashley giggled. “Good work, detective.”

  “Georgia Rae, the sheriff’s department can handle death investigations,” Brandi said in her teacher voice. “You’re interfering. TV detectives don’t like it, so I doubt the real ones do either.” She gave me the ultimate mom glare, and I swore even Gigi frowned at me.

  I traced my fingers over the pillow’s floral pattern. It was so wrong that Brandi didn’t have children to mother, because she’d be awfully good at it. “You’re right. But I got to thinking about Tara’s family and how they feel—losing her and all…” My throat tightened. “Besides, think how you’d feel if one of your former students wrote you a letter asking for help. Wouldn’t you want to find out why?”

  “I would.” Ashley reached over and put her arm around me. “I totally get it.”

  “I’ve decided to back off. When I took Detective Perkins that letter Tara sent me, he told me he’s looking into my daddy’s case. The last thing I want to do is make him mad. I need him to give Daddy’s case his best effort.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only reason you don’t want the detective mad at you?” Ashley eyed me.

  Heat crept up my neck. “What other reason would there be?”

  “Hot and single come to mind.” She smirked.