Deadly Harvest (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 1)

by Marissa Shrock

  She swiped away the overflowing tears with the back of her hand, so I rummaged in my handbag, found a tissue, and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.”

  While she dabbed her eyes, I thought about everything I’d learned. I wasn’t convinced Morgan had a sufficient motive to murder Tara.

  “Okay. Why did Pam ban her staff from talking about Tara?”

  Morgan sniffed. “She didn’t want any negative publicity.”

  That seemed cold, but Eatable was Pam’s livelihood. “Earlier you said Pam fired somebody for a lesser offense. What was it?”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Us culinary instructors are never allowed to have our phones. One instructor got caught texting during a class, and Pam let him go.”

  That actually seemed like a worse offense than talking about Tara’s death, but Morgan seemed genuinely intimidated by Pam. “Did Pam and Tara get along?”

  “Yeah. Tara was Pam’s favorite, which was totally okay with me because that’s how I got my job. Tara put in a good word for me. Pam and Tara went way back.”

  “Because of Tara’s mom?”

  “Right. She and Pam owned a restaurant together.” She squinted, as if trying to remember. “Irresistible.”

  My research had never indicated that Deborah Fullerton had been an owner. “Why’d Irresistible go out of business?”

  “No idea.” She flicked her gaze toward the door.

  I had one more line of questioning to pursue and had better get to it before she bolted. “How well do you know Kevin Doyle?” A fresh wave of cigarette smoke worked its way to our booth.

  “Tara and I used to hang out with him some.” She bit off the hangnail she’d been picking. “But I haven’t seen him that much lately.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes people drift out of your life, and it’s better if you let them.” She couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Were you ever romantically involved with Kevin?”

  A brittle laugh escaped her throat. “Um, that would be a no.”

  “Because he had a thing for Tara?”

  “Nope. They were just friends.” She crossed her arms, as if daring me to ask for more detail.

  “Would he have any reason to want to hurt her?”

  “No.” Her eyes told a different story. She opened her snake-print clutch, withdrew her keys, and stood. “I need to go, but good luck with your search.”

  She rushed out of the bar without looking back.

  Morgan was open until I’d started asking about Kevin Doyle, which meant that I needed to dig deeper into Kevin’s life. Could he have been the friend with the secret Tara was about to expose?

  A guy across the bar made eye contact. Time to get out of here. While I was leaving, it might be smart to look busy. I stood up, scrolled through my phone, and hurried toward the exit while waiting for Mike Dunson to pick up. Maybe Tara had mentioned Kevin Doyle to him.

  Mike’s voicemail kicked on. “This is Georgia Winston, and I have a few more questions for you. I’d appreciate it if you could call me back.” I left my number, disconnected, dropped my phone in my purse, and exited into fresh air. A damp wind bit through my wool coat, and the moonless night tightened around me as I strode to my truck.

  A shiver crawled up my spine and made me aware I should’ve stopped at the ladies’ room on the way out. I wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wildcat Springs. Before I turned to go back into Zoe’s, I reached into my pocket and clicked the remote starter on my truck to warm it up.

  Boom!

  The force of the blast pushed me to the ground as my truck ignited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I lay frozen on the ground watching my truck burn. Waves of heat chased away the chill that moments earlier had penetrated my coat. My heart thudded as it sunk in that I’d nearly met my maker.

  Patrons rushed out of the bar, and a man and woman knelt beside me. “Are you okay, miss?” the woman with bleach blond hair asked.

  I inspected my hands that’d broken my fall. A few pieces of asphalt were imbedded in my palm, but physically I’d be fine. I held up my hands. “Just a few scrapes.”

  “I called 911,” the burly man said.

  “Is anyone hurt?” I surveyed the parking lot, but other than the crowd gathered near the bar’s door, no one was around. Thank you, Lord. I also said a prayer of thanks that I’d parked far enough away from the motorcycles that they remained unscathed.

  The man and woman each took an arm and helped me inside the bar where they guided me to a bench near the door. The woman shooed the customers away. “Give ’er some space.”

  The patrons regrouped next to the window and door where they viewed the blaze outside.

  “Thank you.” A tremor erupted deep inside me and grew into full-blown shivering.

  “I’m Dawna.” She pointed to the burly man with a sleeve of tattoos adorning his arm. “That’s my boyfriend, Frank.” He stood guard in front of Dawna and me.

  She rubbed my arm. “You’re one lucky girl. Somebody must hate your guts. You a cop or politician or something?”

  “F-farmer.”

  She gaped at me. “You growin’ pot?”

  “J-just your average Indiana g-grain farmer—c-corn and soybeans.” Sirens interrupted our conversation and reminded me that I needed to call Cal. I should probably let Mom and Grandpa know too. I took a deep breath. “Excuse me. I n-need to make some phone calls.”

  Dawna joined Frank in guarding me while I fumbled in search of my phone that had worked its way to the depths of my purse. When I grasped it, my fingers still trembled, and it took all the concentration I had to pull up Cal’s number and tap it.

  He answered after two rings. “Detective Perkins.”

  “It’s Georgia. Someone t-tried to kill me with a—” A sob choked the life out of my words. “A bomb. In my truck.” I wanted to say more, but for once in my life, the words wouldn’t come.

  “Where are you?”

  “Zoe’s Place—in R-Redburg.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Dawna and Frank wished me well and left their post once the paramedics arrived and looked me over. They cleaned and bandaged the wounds on my hands and suggested I get checked out at the hospital, but I refused. Medical care cost entirely too much to go to the hospital as a precaution. If I had pain later, I’d pursue it.

  A sheriff’s deputy took my statement, and we were finishing when Cal burst into the bar, showed the other cop his badge, and told him I was part of an ongoing investigation in Richard County.

  “I have everything I need.” The deputy surveyed me. “You be careful out there.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He nodded at Cal, who sat on the bench next to me. Concern blazed in his eyes. “Are you okay?” He took my bandaged hands and examined them.

  “Physically, yes. Emotionally? I’m pretty shaken up.” Cal gave off a vibe that it was okay to be honest, and I didn’t have to pretend I was tougher than I actually was. It was as if he had enough strength for both of us.

  But that didn’t matter right now.

  He let go of my hands. “What were you doing here? I never pegged you as the type who hangs out in biker bars.”

  I told him Morgan had asked to meet me here and that I’d asked her some questions about Mike Dunson, Pam Marconi, and Kevin Doyle.

  He sighed. “How’d she act?”

  “Sad about her best friend’s death. Until I asked her about Kevin. Then she was clearly hiding something.”

  He nodded, and his expression made it obvious there was something he wasn’t saying—or couldn’t say.

  “What if Morgan is working with Kevin and lured me here on purpose?” I remembered what Susan at Fitness Universe had told me about Kevin. “He worked with explosives in the army.”

  “It’s worth checking out. Did you tell anyone else that you were taking cooking lessons at Eatable?”

  “No.”

  “Let me see the numbe
r Morgan sent the text message from.”

  I handed Cal my phone, and he made a note. “Is there security camera footage of the parking lot?” I asked.

  “Nope. I talked to the detective in charge, and he said no one witnessed any suspicious activity around your truck.”

  “Or they’re not saying anything.” I glanced around the bar. “I’m not exactly one of them.”

  “Yeah.” He met my eyes. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

  “Me too.”

  “If I told you that we have other suspects besides your cousin, would you stop nosing around?”

  “Yes.” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “But I can’t make any promises if you go and arrest him.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home.” He stood and offered me his hand.

  I grasped it. “Thanks.” My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the display. Mike Dunson. Letting go of Cal’s hand, I motioned toward my phone. “I need to get this.”

  Curiosity crept into his expression, but he stepped outside and began talking with one of the volunteer fireman.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  “Whaddya want to know?”

  “Did Tara ever talk about Kevin Doyle?”

  “Yeah. The guy used to be her drug dealer. Guess he didn’t learn anything after that other-than-honorable discharge from the army.”

  I hadn’t seen that one coming. “Why’d he get discharged?”

  “DUI and other stuff.”

  Wow. “Was he selling to Morgan?”

  “Probably.”

  That would explain Morgan’s comment about letting someone leave your life. “Why did Tara choose to work out at the same gym as Kevin?”

  “You ain’t the only one who wondered about that. I asked her point blank, and she said she wanted to tell him about Jesus. I told her to let someone else do that, but she didn’t listen.”

  “Did you ever mention this to Detective Perkins?”

  “Sure did.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose. What if Tara had threatened to report Kevin to law enforcement? “One more thing. Has Pam Marconi ever expressed interest in buying your restaurant?”

  “No. But I did hear a rumor from one of my suppliers that she’s looking to start a new restaurant. Guess that cooking school of hers is turning quite the profit.” He chuckled. “Most days at my place are good, but on a slow one, I might let her make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “Thanks for your time.” I disconnected, stared at my phone, and tried to process the facts swimming in my brain.

  “Kels tells me you’re her prayer partner. How’d that happen?” Cal said as he drove me home.

  First, I’d called Mom and then Grandpa, and it had taken me half of the trip to convince them I was okay.

  I appreciated Cal’s effort to distract me from my near-death experience with the other drama in my life. “She asked, and God urged me to say yes.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, made a lane change, and merged onto the highway. “God’s funny, isn’t he? Putting us in positions we’d never choose for ourselves.”

  “True.” I decided to take advantage of this opening to get to know him better. “Has he done that to you?”

  He kneaded the steering wheel. “Did Aunt Bev tell you I used to pitch for the Rangers?”

  “Yeah. That’s cool, by the way.”

  “Thanks. First season was great. Money was even better. Then my elbow gave out on me during my second season, and I had to have Tommy John surgery.” He shook his head. “Never got back to where I was, and the team released me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The whole situation drove me back to my faith, and God led me into law enforcement.”

  “I’m glad he led you to Wildcat Springs.”

  “Me too.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  I sat motionless and decided it was good time for a subject change before I burst into tears thinking about my rotten luck with men. “Will I see you back at church this week?”

  He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “Maybe. I’m still looking.”

  “What are you hoping to find?”

  “A church with reverence and respect for God.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. A lot of services are so focused on making people feel good that they forget why they’re there in the first place, which is to worship God and encourage one another.”

  “You don’t like contemporary music?” I asked.

  “It’s not the music. It’s the attitude people have when they approach God. He’s not a cool beer-drinking uncle who’ll wink at your sin.”

  I’d never thought of it that way.

  “If churches don’t take sin seriously, then people won’t see a need for the gospel. We’re misleading them.”

  “And you think my church doesn’t take sin seriously?” I worked to keep defensiveness from my tone—not because I was upset, but because I didn’t want him to think he was offending me. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how I felt.

  “Not necessarily.” He cleared his throat. “I’m weighing my options.”

  I’d grown up in that church, but it wasn’t the church I’d grown up in anymore. “Where else have you visited?”

  “Liberty Christian Church. I liked it. Felt like home. Solid biblical teaching. Music was a blend of hymns and contemporary. I’ll give it a few more tries, but it might be where I land.”

  “I miss hymns.” The music nerd in me loved four-part harmony and the lyrics of the old gems.

  “Me too.” Cal whistled “Great is Thy Faithfulness” as he turned off the highway and onto the road that led to my farm.

  “My daddy used to whistle,” I whispered.

  I’d have given anything to have him here to protect me. Tears pricked my eyes, and my nose burned. I gazed out at the distant wind turbines with their red lights blinking in unison. I thanked the Lord every day that we’d stopped their encroachment onto our farmland because they’d sure come close.

  “I haven’t forgotten his case.” Cal pulled into my driveway.

  “I know.”

  I met his gaze and wished he could be more than a diligent public servant doing his job to protect me.

  He shut off his car. “I’m coming in to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Right. Grandpa should be here in a little bit, and I’m willing to bet that my mom will show up.” I got out of the car and closed the door. “My stepdad too, because he won’t let Mom come alone if he thinks we’re in danger.” The circus would arrive at any moment. Not to mention, I needed to tell Brandi and Ashley.

  “Good. You shouldn’t stay here alone tonight.”

  “Let’s see if the boogeyman’s been here.” I unlocked the back door, and Cal motioned for me to step aside while he walked forward with his gun.

  Maybe I didn’t hate guns as much as I thought.

  “Stay behind me,” he said.

  I followed him as he checked each room of my house, which took a while since there were a lot of nooks and crannies.

  Finally, he deemed the house safe and moved back downstairs—and right into my dining room. Cal holstered his gun and studied the chalkboard with my notes and clippings. “Why is there a Pomeranian?”

  “Her name’s Polly. My friend Ashley drew her because she wants me to get a dog.”

  “A Pomeranian?” He chuckled.

  “Doesn’t seem to suit me, does it?”

  “You need a guard dog, not a lap dog.” He stepped closer to the wall. “I’m impressed.”

  “With the Pomeranian or the facts I’ve gathered?”

  “The Pomeranian.” He smirked.

  I stuck out my tongue.

  “You’ve certainly been busy, but you can take this down.” He tapped Mike Dunson’s picture. “He alibied out.”

  “Care to share details?” I removed the picture and crumpled it into a ball.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “He spent Sunday night until Monday
mid-morning with one of the waitresses who works for him.”

  “Which one?”

  “Haley Marconi.” Cal pulled the thumbtack out of Tara, Kevin, and Morgan’s beach photo. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Tara’s cousin Nick invited me over when he and his mom were clearing out Tara’s apartment.”

  “I see.”

  I pointed to the pictures of the articles. “That’s where I found these articles as well.”

  “Good work.” He tacked the picture back up. “Any idea when that picture was taken?”

  “Two years ago.” I leaned against a chair and decided not to take Mike Dunson at his word. “Are you aware Kevin Doyle used to deal drugs to Tara and that he got an other-than-honorable discharge from the army?”

  “Yep.” Cal crossed his arms and stared at the board. “I’m going to find out where he was tonight.”

  My doorbell chimed, and I started for the foyer, but Cal stepped in front of me. “I’ll get it.”

  I peered through the sidelights. “It’s Grandpa and his girlfriend Wanda.”

  They smothered me in hugs as soon as Cal opened the door.

  “Georgia Rae, your guardian angel put his wing down tonight,” Grandpa said.

  “I used one of my nine lives for sure.” Praise the Lord I’d had to go to the bathroom—and that I’d not wet myself during the blast.

  Wanda rubbed my arm. “You look tired, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.” Her short, asymmetrical haircut gave her a youthful appearance. She faced Cal. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Detective Cal Perkins.” He held out his hand and shook Wanda’s.

  “Wanda Morris.” She grinned and giggled. “I’ll bet you’re taking good care of Georgia.” Wow. Cal even made seventy-something women act like teenagers.

  “I’m trying.”

  He caught my eye, and with my gaze, I dared him to keep talking, but he turned to Grandpa. “Are you staying with her tonight?”

  “Sure are. Suitcases are in the car.”

  “Good.” Cal said. “She needs a security system and should consider temporarily moving in with friends or family.”

  “I’m right here.” I put my hands on my hips. “Some psycho isn’t going to drive me out of my home.”