Deadly Harvest

by Marissa Shrock

  In spite of my injury being a flesh wound, the ER doctor decided to bilk my insurance and keep me in the hospital overnight for observation. Even though Mom wanted to stay, I told her to go home and get the rest I wouldn’t be getting.

  The next morning, Kelsey arrived and hesitated at the door of my room. She clutched a vase of daisies.

  “Hey! Come in.”

  She extended the flowers. “I hope you like daisies. I thought they were cheerful.”

  I took them. “They are. Thanks.” I pointed to the chair at the foot of my bed. “Have a seat.”

  She perched on the edge as if she were afraid of getting too comfortable.

  “Sorry you didn’t get your scarf back yesterday.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Georgia.”

  But my humor had worked, and she relaxed.

  “Seriously, though. Thank you. If we hadn’t become prayer partners and you hadn’t stopped by…”

  She unzipped her black moto jacket, took it off, and set it aside. “I’m glad you’re okay. Cal’s planning to drop by on his lunch break if you’re still here.”

  I sighed. “The doctor told me this morning they’re going to spring me, but we both know it’ll take all day.”

  She laughed. “I wish I could tell you differently.” She glanced out the window at the brick wall.

  I fidgeted with the edge of my blanket. “Is something else on your mind?”

  “Yeah.” She fingered her silver cross necklace. “I’m going to the mission field for a year.”

  “Really?” I pressed the button on my bed and propped it up more. We hadn’t prayed about that, so her announcement felt like it was coming out of nowhere. “Where?”

  “Ethiopia. There’s a clinic there that needs nurses. I didn’t tell you about it because I was in denial.”

  “How so?”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “God’s been bugging me about serving overseas since before I graduated, but when I met Evan, I thought I’d heard God wrong—at least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.”

  No wonder she’d been insecure about their relationship. Deep down, she’d known it wasn’t what God wanted—for now. “Have you told Evan?”

  “No. But if we’re meant to be, it’ll work out when I come home.”

  How would he respond if she never came home?

  “That’s great,” I said. “Let me know if you need financial support. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Financial support for what?” Evan stood in the doorway with a box of chocolates, which I had the feeling I was going to need very soon.

  Kelsey and I exchanged glances.

  She stood and faced him. “I’m going to Ethiopia for a year to work in a clinic.”

  Evan laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  “I’m serious.” She lifted her chin.

  He stared at her. “You’re running away?”

  “No.” Peace radiated in her expression. “I’ve finally stopped running.”

  He swallowed hard, and his shoulders sagged. The silence in the room grew unbearable. If there had been a way for me to dive under the covers and teleport to any other room in the joint—including the morgue—I’d have done it.

  I cleared my throat. “If you want to talk, there’s a nice waiting room at the end of the hall—but leave the chocolate.”

  Kelsey nodded and picked up her jacket. “That’s a good idea,” she whispered.

  Evan handed the box over with a rueful smile, and as I watched them go, I felt at peace about the answer I’d been seeking.

  “I didn’t see that coming,” Evan said about twenty minutes later. While he’d powwowed with Kelsey, I’d entertained myself with The Price Is Right and made a serious dent in the chocolate caramels sprinkled with sea salt.

  I shut off the TV. “How’d you and Kelsey leave things?”

  “She promised to keep in touch.” He shook his head and sat in the chair next to my bed, resting his hands on his thighs. “I’ve messed everything up.”

  “Not everything.” I pointed to the chocolate box. “You did well with these.”

  “Thanks.” He studied me as if he couldn’t figure out what to say next.

  “We’re just supposed to be friends,” I blurted.

  “I know.” He leaned back. “I was going to tell you I’d figured that out when you got out of here.”

  “Why wait?” The edge of my mouth twitched. “It’s not going to affect my will to live.”

  He chuckled and raised his palms. “Never crossed my mind.”

  “You’re bored, aren’t you?” That afternoon, Cal strolled into my room holding a vase with a yellow rose. A smiley face balloon bobbed above it.

  “Of course not. Hospital stays are thrilling. It’s riveting seeing the different scrubs the nurses are wearing. One of my night nurses was a guy, and he had on Colts scrubs, which were my favorite.”

  He laughed.

  “Thanks for the flower and balloon.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked around, and an awkward silence settled over my room.

  I’ll nip that in the bud. “Have you released my cousin?” No sense in dancing around the major issue.

  Cal set the vase on the shelf across from my bed and dragged a chair over to my bedside. “J.T.’s been exonerated, thanks to you.” His tone and expression were free of resentment, but that seemed too good to be true. Didn’t it bother him that he’d been wrong, and I’d been right?

  Cal pulled a newspaper from his jacket and unfolded it so I could see the headline. “You made the front page.”

  Local Woman Arrested in Fullerton Murder

  I wrinkled my nose as I skimmed the article. “I wish they’d highlighted the fact that my sacrifice helped solve a murder instead of me ending up almost dying.”

  “Keep reading.”

  I skimmed until I found the mention of my information being used to solve Tara’s murders. Then I put the paper in my lap and focused on Cal. “Now what?” I’d let him interpret that question however he wished.

  “Haley gave a full confession, and we’re investigating her mother for fraud.”

  We can talk about the case. I willed disappointment from my expression. “I’m glad.” Nick and Sheri—and everyone who loved Tara—had the answers they deserved. If only my family were so lucky…

  “The good news is, barring any upcoming crime sprees, I can focus on your dad’s investigation now.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.” I ran my finger over the blanket’s rough surface.

  “When you get out of here, I’d like to talk about the research you did on his case.” He cracked his knuckles. “We could even do that over dinner, if you’re not still mad at me for arresting your cousin.”

  I twisted a wad of blanket. “You were doing your job.” I met his eyes and wanted to forget the question that hovered. But I had to know. “Do you resent me for solving the case?”

  “Fair question.” He ran his hands through his hair and met my gaze. “But justice is more important than my pride, and I’m sorry I was wrong about J.T.”

  I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Then, yes. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  Near-death experiences impact everybody differently. Some people vow to serve God. Some people buy a fancy sports car. Since I was already serving God and couldn’t care less about a fancy set of wheels, my trauma influenced me to get a dog.

  And I even agreed to talk to a counselor that Pastor Mark had recommended.

  The day after I was released from the hospital, Brandi had driven me to a breeder’s house in Indianapolis where I’d purchased an eight-week-old—housebroken—yellow Labrador retriever.

  That night, the pup still didn’t have a name, and Brandi, Ashley, and I sat on my living room floor while my dog-child bounded between us, nipping our fingers and charming us with his puppy antics.

  “His paws are huge,” Ashley said. “Are you sure you want him to be
an inside dog? He’s going to be massive when he’s full grown.”

  I was quite aware of this fact, having met the dog’s seventy-pound mother and eighty-five-pound father. “I thought you wanted me to have a pet.”

  “Hon, I strongly hinted for a Pomeranian, but no one ever listens to me. I just don’t want you to be sorry when this cute little angel is the size of a small horse.”

  I covered the dog’s ears. “Don’t say that in front of him.”

  Brandi laughed. “I think you should name him Buddy.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “He’s supposed to be my guard dog.”

  “Beast?” Ashley said.

  I picked up the dog and cuddled him. “How can you look at this face and suggest that he’s a beast?”

  “If you called him Beast, he might live up to the name instead of licking intruders to death.” Ashley held out her hand, and the dog swiped it with his tongue.

  I stroked the puppy’s head. We’d think of something perfect soon. “Have you set up a date with Jon?”

  Brandi crossed her arms. “As a matter of fact, I have. We’re going out on Saturday.”

  “Yay!” Ashley clasped her hands. “Have you decided on your outfit? Do you want me to paint your nails?”

  Brandi smiled. “No. And yes.”

  “What about Cal?” Ashley asked. “Tell me there’s hope now that J.T.’s been cleared.”

  “Yes.” I updated them on our last conversation.

  “I’m glad he’s not upset with you,” Brandi said.

  “And the Evan thing?” Ashley eyed me as if she weren’t sure it could possibly be true that I was over him.

  But it was. “God’s given me peace about Evan and me being friends, and I’ve moved on.” God would provide the right man for me. It might end up being Cal, or it could be someone else. God would show me in time.

  “I thought of a name,” Brandi said. “This is so perfect, I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner.”

  Oh boy.

  She clasped her hands. “He’s going to be your sidekick, right?”

  “Yep.”

  She grinned. “Then how about Guster—Gus for short?”

  I blinked. The name was perfect. Brandi knew me well.

  Ashley squealed. “I love it.”

  “Well?” Brandi leaned forward and met my eyes.

  I turned the dog to face me. “Do you want to be called Gus?”

  He licked my face, and all three of us laughed.

  “I guess that answers our question.” I kissed his furry head. “Gus Winston it is.”

  Don’t miss Georgia’s next adventure in Deadly Holiday. If you want to be the first to know about new releases, sign up for my mailing list by clicking here. I won’t share your email with anyone.

  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

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank all the people who helped make this story possible. Thanks, Ryan Riggs for letting me tag along in the combine cab during harvest and giving me insight into the farming profession. Thank you, Trent Shrock for answering my farming questions.

  Thanks to my beta readers, Julie Woodall, Bekah Shaffer, and Katie Briggs.

  Thanks, Mom and Dad for being my story’s very first readers and for your love, support, and encouragement.

  Editing by A Little Red Ink

  Cover Art by Seedlings Design Studio

  Marketing Copy by JR2 Marketing & Advertising

  Cimelia Press Logo by Race Point