Deadly Holiday (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 2)

by Marissa Shrock

  I nodded. “Zach deserves justice. How can I help?”

  “Describe your relationship with Zach Mishler.” He unzipped his windbreaker far enough to pull a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket.

  Merciful heavens. Had I made myself look like a suspect by reporting the travel mug? I’d fix that—fast. “We met at my church’s welcome reception six months ago when he came to work as the youth pastor. I saw him every Sunday, but we never spent time together. I’m not sure he remembered my name. In fact, that thought crossed my mind this morning.”

  “Tell me what happened earlier today.”

  “I went to church to meet with Ruby Daniels about the Christmas program. I passed Zach in the hallway and spoke to him. He seemed fine—cheerful actually. He was wearing one of those T-shirts that looks like an ugly Christmas sweater, and I complimented him. When I left around nine-thirty, I drove by to see the nativity scene. That’s when I found him sprawled over the manger. I called nine-one-one immediately.”

  “Anyone else around?”

  “No. Doug Brockwell had gone to Richardville to get extension cords.” So he’d said. What if he’d poisoned Zach’s coffee before he left? Surely not. I shook the thought away.

  “Was Zach conscious when you found him?”

  “Barely. He told me he was burning up and thirsty. Then he said anchor. Like it was important.”

  “I see.” He made another note on the pad.

  “I thought he meant God was his anchor, but when I said that, he corrected me—right before he passed out. Do you think anchor could be important?” My last question flew out before I could stop it.

  “Could be. It’s my job to figure that out.”

  There was no mistaking the message in his statement. After this conversation, my assistance wouldn’t be appreciated. No surprise since I’d been downright annoying in my quest for answers about Daddy’s murder. Detective Kimball had been with the sheriff’s department for years, though he’d only been detective for the last several and hadn’t been on the receiving end of Georgia the Bulldog.

  He slid his notebook back in his pocket. “Thanks for your time.” He turned toward the door.

  I gnawed my lip. Should I tell him about the argument I’d witnessed? Did I want to implicate the man who’d been my pastor for fifteen years? “One more thing,” I blurted.

  He faced me. “Yes?”

  “Monday night, I was getting my Bible from the lost and found after choir practice when I overheard Pastor Mark and Zach arguing about something Zach had done.”

  He let go of the knob and took out his notebook again. “What was that?”

  “I’m not sure. Zach had somehow set a bad example for the kids, and it made Pastor Mark mad. I hate making it sound like I suspect my pastor of wrongdoing, but he might know something, and what if Zach was doing something illegal and someone came after him—?”

  “Thank you, Miss Winston. I’ll contact you if I have any more questions. Have a nice day.” On the way out, he flexed his cheek muscles in a smile-ish gesture that made me miss Cal’s pleasant demeanor—and heart-stopping dimple.

  Come home soon, Cal.

  I’d just freed Gus and set out leftovers when J.T. arrived at my back door, and Gus launched into full-greeting mode by jumping up on my cousin.

  “Guster Winston! Down!” I needed to get this critter to obedience school ASAP.

  J.T. chuckled as he grabbed the dog’s paws and danced with him. “He’s fine.” He dropped Gus’s feet, and his smile faded when he met my eyes. “I heard you found Zach. You okay?”

  “Mostly. A little more shaken up now that I’ve heard he may’ve been poisoned.”

  J.T. gaped at me. “That’s crazy. Zach and I were going to play video games tonight.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” He took off his coat and revealed his Wildcat Springs Implement shirt, so he must’ve come from work, where he sold lawn mowers and farm equipment. He hung his jacket on a chair at my kitchen table. “Good thing we closed at noon today. Not sure I could concentrate.”

  “Want some Thanksgiving leftovers?” I pointed to the containers sitting next to the microwave. “There’s plenty—and I’m not that hungry.”

  “No thanks. I grabbed a sandwich earlier.”

  I was a little embarrassed by the relief I felt since the leftovers were about the only decent food I had in the house, and deep down I wasn’t thrilled about sharing my mom’s stuffing. “I have Coke or water.”

  “Coke’s good.”

  I took one from the refrigerator and gave it to J.T., and as I dished out mashed potatoes, noodles, turkey, and stuffing, I told him about finding Zach and Detective Kimball’s visit, which helped the mental fog of the last few hours work its way out of my brain.

  Gus sat next to J.T., and he patted the dog’s head. He propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, causing his man-bun to bob. “Who’d want to poison him?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Gus apparently decided I needed some attention because he moved over to me. I tossed him a scrap of turkey and filled J.T. in on the argument I’d witnessed on Monday. I put the plate in the microwave and tapped the reheat button.

  “You think Pastor Mark could’ve had something to do with this?”

  “No. But he might have insight that would help the investigation if Zach was involved with something shady. Was anything strange going on with Zach?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He rested his arm on the back of the chair next to him. “I didn’t know him that well.”

  “All I know is that he’s from the Detroit area, and he’s single. What else can you tell me?” I leaned against the counter.

  “He was fun. Cool to hang out with.” He rubbed his thumb over the can. “Total health nut. Exercised. Ate right.” He held up his Coke. “Wouldn’t even drink pop—or coffee. He was into herbal teas, which I thought was a little weird for a dude, but whatever.” He shrugged.

  Coffee lover that I was, I’d assumed that Zach’s travel mug had contained my favorite beverage, but it’d probably been tea. “What about his family?” I grabbed another Coke out of the fridge for myself.

  “Parents are divorced. His dad and brother own a big real estate agency in Michigan. His mom’s a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Was he close to them?” The microwave dinged, and I removed my food.

  “He got along better with his mom. His dad wanted him to join his company and was ticked when Zach became a youth pastor.”

  I set my plate on the table and opened my Coke. “Did Zach know how people in our church felt about hiring a single youth pastor?”

  “Yep.” J.T. scowled and shook his head. “What’s a guy supposed to do? Not serve God because he doesn’t have a wife? It’s not like we suddenly become useful to God once we’re married.”

  “Preach, Cuz.” I held up my can, and we toasted. “How’d Zach take that news?”

  “In stride. He’d been passed over for a few other jobs because of it, so one day he asked me about it, and I was honest.”

  “Anything else?”

  “His family situation could be why he stuck around here for Thanksgiving. I invited him to Mom and Dad’s, but he already had plans to serve dinner at the homeless shelter in Richardville. He spent a lot of time volunteering there.”

  “Interesting.” The people at the homeless shelter might give us a lead because, other than the church staff, they were some of the last people to have seen Zach alive. Detective Kimball would probably start by asking the church staff questions, and if I went there, I’d be in the way. It wouldn’t hurt to go and ask the mission employees a few questions about Zach’s final hours.

  “I know that look.” J.T. crossed his arms. “Are you planning to start investigating?”

  “Yeah.” No sense in denying it. Besides, Zach’s family deserved answers, because I knew from experience that living without them wasn’t easy. “How about we take a li
ttle field trip?”

  Solid Rock Mission provided meals for the needy and temporary accommodations for the homeless all over Richard County, but the building was located in downtown Richardville, the county seat. Before we went to the mission, I stopped at a grocery store and loaded up on canned and boxed goods to contribute to the mission—and tossed in a few get-me-by items for myself.

  Even though the Lord knew my hidden agenda, I wanted to help because it was the right thing to do. We dropped the food off at the donation garage and asked to speak with the director. The man collecting food waved us inside and told us to wait in the office.

  We entered the small room with a paper-cluttered desk. Framed newspaper articles about the mission hung on the scuffed white walls.

  A man, who sported a gray goatee and appeared to be about forty-five, emerged from a back hallway. “Afternoon, folks. I’m Jim Phillips.” His deep voice would’ve been perfect for radio.

  “Georgia Winston and J.T. Simms.” I shook his hand.

  “What can I help you with?” Jim rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, button-down shirt.

  “We’re friends of Zach Mishler,” I said. “Did you know him?”

  “The youth pastor at WSCC? Sure do. Great guy. Volunteered here yesterday. We fed over six hundred people.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Did Zach volunteer regularly?”

  Jim chomped on gum. “Started last month. Sometimes brought kids from his youth group with him. I’d say he’s on his way to becoming a regular.” Jim studied J.T. and me. “You said did. Has something happened to Zach?”

  J.T. squeezed his man-bun. “He died this morning.”

  Jim’s jaw froze. “That’s awful. How?”

  “We believe he may’ve been poisoned.” My words came out with more authority than I felt, and I realized I’d made us sound like a couple of real detectives. Please don’t ask if we’re cops. Please forget we didn’t show you badges. Please keep talking. “We’re retracing Zach’s final hours, looking for leads. Did anything unusual happen when Zach was serving here yesterday?”

  “Like what?” Jim furrowed his brow.

  “Disagreements with any other volunteers or patrons?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He rested his elbow on his arm and tapped his chin. “But I wasn’t here the whole time because my girlfriend and I were out delivering meals to shut-ins.” He walked back to his desk. “Tell you what. My brother was supervising the volunteers all day. He’s working in the warehouse. I’ll call him in.” Jim picked up the phone, asked his brother to come over, and hung up. “Have you tried talking to the young lady who was with Zach?”

  J.T. and I exchanged glances.

  “We didn’t know he brought anyone with him,” J.T. said. “Do you know her name?”

  “Not off the top of my head, but give me a second.” Jim lifted his finger, strode to the desk, shuffled through some papers, and held one up. “Yesterday’s volunteer sign-in sheet. I’ll know the name when I see it.” He ran his finger down the list. “Here it is. Olivia Scott—pretty thing. Strawberry blond hair that reminded me of my daughter Mia’s.”

  Interesting. Were Olivia and Zach a couple? She’d never mentioned dating anyone, but she and I hadn’t exactly gotten that far into our choir-practice friendship.

  “Come to think of it,” Jim said, “the two of them spent a lot of time chatting with another young gal—probably about twenty—who had really long fake eyelashes. Got the impression they all knew each other beforehand.”

  “Do you know Eyelash Girl’s name?” J.T. asked.

  “No. But I’ve seen her around before.” He reached for a pen on his desk and wrote on the list. “None of these names I’ve circled ring a bell. My brother might have an idea.” He held it out, and I walked over, looked at it, and didn’t recognize any of the six female names Jim had marked. I whipped my phone out of my bag and took a picture.

  “What’s going on?” A thin man with a long, bushy beard hovered in the doorway and looked back and forth between J.T. and me.

  His facial hair reminded me of my theory that there was a direct correlation between the media yapping about toxic masculinity and the rising number of men sporting full beards.

  “Zach Mishler died this morning. Might be murder,” Jim said.

  “Aw, man. I’m sorry to hear that.” Bearded Man’s voice was as deep as his brother’s. “He was a friendly guy. Always had a way of making people feel special.” He ran his hand down the length of his beard. “How can I help?”

  “This is Tristan.” Jim looked back at his brother. “You remember anything strange happening while Zach was here yesterday?”

  “No. Can’t say that I do.” Tristan shoved his hands in his army jacket and looked between J.T. and me. “If I think of something, I’ll let you know.

  “Thanks.” I held out the list of volunteers. “Jim told us Zach was talking to a girl with long eyelashes. Would you recognize her name from this list?”

  “Don’t need the list.” Tristan waved his hand. “Her name’s Carsyn Daniels.”

  Ruby’s daughter. I glanced down at the paper. Carsyn hadn’t signed in.

  “She seems to enjoy volunteering here,” Tristan said.

  I nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” He ambled out of the office.

  I held the list out to Jim.

  Jim shook his head. “Keep it for evidence.”

  “We’re not cops,” J.T. said.

  Jason Todd Simms! Seriously? A few cuss words pinged in my head, and I physically bit my tongue as I handed the list to Jim, who gaped at us like we’d suddenly sprouted extra heads.

  “My mistake.” Jim put the paper back on the desk. “Anything else?” His tone had grown icy, but I had to ask one more question.

  “Do any of the volunteers or patrons around here have anchor tattoos?”

  “Don’t know. Never paid that much attention.” Jim narrowed his eyes. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Thanks for your time.” I grabbed J.T.’s hand and dragged him outside to my truck.

  Chapter Three

  “Sorry,” J.T. said when I’d driven a few blocks away from the mission. “The part about us not being cops kind of slipped out. You were killing the whole detective act until I blew it.” His ears turned pink. “Am I fired as your sidekick?”

  I laughed as I stopped for a red light. “You’re way better than Austin and Preston would be.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “Though, if Brandi or Ashley were around, you’d replace me for sure. Besides, if Jim were lying, wouldn’t he be relieved we weren’t cops?”

  The light changed, and I eased the truck through the intersection. “Good point. I won’t fire you after all.” I checked my blind spot and switched lanes. “Did Zach ever mention he was seeing Olivia Scott?”

  “Nope. A few weeks ago, Zach told me he was thinking about trying online dating. He was pretty lonely. He probably met Olivia at church and decided to ask her out instead.”

  “On Thanksgiving?”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense with someone you just met.”

  “Unless she had a bad family situation she was trying to stay away from, so she spent her day volunteering instead of enduring painful awkwardness.” I chewed my lip. That wasn’t a half-bad strategy, but I’d never crush my mom like that.

  “Could be.”

  I tightened my grip on the wheel. “I should talk to Olivia and Carsyn.”

  “I’d give Olivia some time,” J.T. said. “She’s probably torn up about Zach.”

  He had a point, but my gut was telling me Olivia Scott and Carsyn Daniels might be able to give me clues about what’d happened to Zach.

  Life Lesson #52: Always follow your gut. I’d picked up my late grandma Winston’s habit of assigning words of wisdom random numbers.

  We both grew quiet, and though I normally listened to show tunes or choral music, I turned the radio to the local Christian station a
nd sang along with “My Hope is in You.”

  A few minutes later, J.T. picked up a quarter from the cup holder and flicked it between his fingers. “This is off the subject, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  I glanced at him and turned the radio off. “That sounds ominous.”

  He flipped the quarter over a few more times. “Do you think Ashley would go out with me?”

  Didn’t see that coming.

  Sweet-talking, Kentucky-bred Ashley would go out with almost any eligible, Christian man, but I knew better than to say that out loud—or to speak for my friend. “Why not ask her and find out?”

  He shifted. “Has she ever said anything about me?”

  How should I answer that? We’d never talked at length about J.T.—at least in that regard—and I didn’t want to give him false hope. “She thinks you’re nice.”

  He groaned and threw his head back. “Great.”

  “That’s a good thing.” I glanced at him, and his forlorn expression hurt my heart. “I can tell you she’s not dating anybody—at least that she’s told me about, and Ashley’s usually pretty open about the men in her life.” In the two and a half years I’d known her, we’d shared a lot of laughs—and a few tears—about bad dates.

  He shook his head. “Don’t tell her I said anything. I don’t want it to be awkward at Bible study.” He tossed the quarter back into the cup holder.

  “I won’t.” Male-female relationship difficulties were one of the hazards of having a co-ed group, but the thought of being stuck with a bunch of single women without the mediating influence of men was enough to make me want to sit in a corner and suck my thumb.

  He gave a half-hearted shrug. “She’s too good for me anyway.”

  “I’m on my way home from Indianapolis, and I’m bringing Indian food for us,” Brandi said a couple hours after I’d arrived home from the mission.

  Clearly, she hadn’t heard about Pastor Zach, or she would’ve led with that information. I decided to wait to tell her because there’d be time to get into it later.