Deadly Harmony
© 2019 by Marissa Shrock
All rights reserved.
Cover art © 2019 Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design Studio
Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
“Give Me Jesus” Words: African American Spiritual, Public Domain
Published by Cimelia Press, Greentown, Indiana
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9969879-5-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019911891
Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
Psalm 42:11
Author’s Note
One of the best aspects of being a writer is imagining a story world. Richard County, Webster County, Wildcat Springs, and Richardville are all fictional places, though I did use Indiana history and geography when I created the names. I also utilized some fictional license with police procedures to remain true to the pace of the story.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Also by Marissa Shrock
Credits
Chapter One
Nineteen days. Two hours. And approximately thirty minutes.
That was all the time it’d taken for Cal to move on? I ducked behind a brick column in Smithson’s Steakhouse and calculated my next move while my ex-boyfriend was immersed in conversation with Taryn Anderson—the cute baker from my hometown of Wildcat Springs, Indiana.
I glanced over my shoulder. Taryn giggled and twirled her blond hair, which she’d released from her usual perky top knot. Just my luck. I hadn’t seen Cal since our breakup, and the first time I ran into him, he was on a date?
This was precisely why I didn’t gamble.
I curled my fingers into a fist and lamented my need for the restroom. Why didn’t I have a bladder of steel? Why had I ventured from the safety of the booth I was sharing with my best friend, Brandi Hartfield?
Brandi caught my eye, and confusion played in her expression when she saw my back pressed flat against the column as if I were an awkward spy in a cheesy, made-for-TV movie. I gave a single nod to my left, and understanding dawned in her face.
Then she laughed.
My normally compassionate and motherly friend was getting quite the chuckle at my expense.
I glared at her, and she motioned toward Cal and Taryn’s table.
Brandi thought I was going to saunter over and talk to them? “No way,” I mouthed.
She took a drink of water.
Easy for her to give advice, but I shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’d faced her share of romantic woes. After being single for many years, she’d married, only to be widowed a few years later.
Our waiter, wearing a cowboy hat, emerged from the kitchen with our food. My stomach rumbled as he set the plates on our table. Filet mignon was calling my name.
I sneaked a peek at Cal’s table again and back at Brandi who flicked her fingers toward Cal. It would take every ounce of strength for me to walk across the restaurant.
I closed my eyes as the world carried on around me. Clinking silverware punctuated muffled conversations. “Refund” wailed through the speakers. Even though I hated country music, the song was unavoidably popular, and I sang along in my head.
Give me a love refund. Reimburse this sad affair. My forevermore has just begun. Repay each day I dared to care.
Maybe I didn’t mind the song because I related it to my situation with Cal. I wasn’t getting any younger, and sometimes it felt like I’d wasted precious time on him.
I opened my eyes and wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans. All I needed to do was smile and act like the thirty-one-year old, independent woman I was. Ending the relationship had been my idea, and if Taryn had better luck getting Cal to open up about his life, then more power to her. I gritted my teeth and crushed a stray peanut shell under my snake-print pumps.
Help me, Jesus.
I flipped my honey-blond hair and squaring my shoulders, I marched out into the open and stared at Cal as I strolled toward my table.
As if he sensed my laser-like gaze, he looked up—and away.
Oh no you don’t. I veered left. Life Lesson #3009: Refuse to be ignored.
“Hey, there!” I plastered on a smile as I approached Cal and Taryn’s booth.
“Hi, Georgia!” Taryn surveyed me with a triumphant smirk.
Part of me didn’t blame her. Detective Cal Perkins was quite a catch with his dimple, dark hair, and stunning blue eyes. Not to mention he was taller than me, and I couldn’t say that about a whole lot of men. A former professional baseball player, excellent cook, and detective with the Richard County Sheriff’s Department, he was the total package. Everyone in our small town had thought we’d end up married.
However, our relationship had stalled, and when I’d made the decision to end things, it’d seemed like the right one. But seeing him with Taryn would take some getting used to.
“Are you enjoying your dinner? This is such a fun place,” I said.
Cal sawed a piece of wheat bread from the loaf, ripped off a bite, and shoved it in his mouth—all without looking at me.
“It’s great. I had the cedar plank salmon, and it was delicious.” Taryn pointed to her plate.
Three things. First, how anyone could ingest that disgusting pink meat was beyond me. Second, why would anyone get fish at a steakhouse? Third, was Cal seriously not going to acknowledge my presence?
I set my jaw. “How’s work, Cal?”
“Fine. Things have slowed down since last month.” He finally met my eyes, and he’d perfected the Leave-Us-Alone expression.
I was not going to let his demeanor get to me. Not Georgia Rae Winston. Nope. Winstons were tough. Resilient. Feisty.
I’d cry later.
“Have a nice evening.” I turned on my heels and sailed back to Brandi, hoping I was giving off a casual vibe.
“I’m proud of you.” She cut into her steak.
“Because I willingly embarrassed myself?” I slid into the booth.
“You didn’t embarrass yourself, and the last time we saw Cal on a date with someone, it took Ashley giving you a pep talk in the restroom to get you to go say hello.
That’d happened before we’d dated, so I was clearly making progress. “What was up with you laughing at me?”
She ducked her head, and her short brown curls bounced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. But seeing you pressed against the brick column—” She dissolved into giggles.
“I hope you don’t do this to your students.” I shook out my napkin that looked like a cowboy bandana and spread it over my lap. “You could warp them for life.”
She somehow managed to compose herself. “I’m sorry. If it makes you fee
l any better, I started praying the minute I realized what was happening.”
“In between giggles. That’s quite a feat.” I picked up my fork and met her concerned gaze. “It did help.” My temporary burst of courage could only be explained by divine origin.
“Good.” She tilted her head. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Cal couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you walked over here.”
I cut into my filet. “That actually makes me feel a lot better.”
An hour later, Brandi and I made our way through a crowd and took our seats in Wildcat Springs Community Church’s auditorium. The massive, modern building was a far cry from the old-fashioned brick church where we’d worshipped when I was a kid.
My twenty-one-year-old stepsister Makayla’s college chorale was on a tour headed for Colorado, and tonight was their first concert. Since the students were staying with families from the church, I’d be hosting Makayla and two of her friends. Technically, we were close enough for her to go home to Richardville, but since my mom and her dad were on a mission trip to Guatemala, and their wood floors were being refinished, Makayla was stuck with me.
Brandi answered a text before dropping her phone into her purse. “Dalton made dinner reservations at Salvador’s for tomorrow night.”
“How are things going?” She’d been on several dates with the physical therapist.
“He’s a nice guy.” She brushed some lint from her gray pants and glanced around at the gathering crowd. “Hamlet’s over there.” She smiled and waved at her second cousin and his mom and dad, Bobbi Sue and Hemingway Miller, who sat to our left.
I lifted my handbag from the floor and double checked to see if my phone volume was off. “That’s nice.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I didn’t dare look to see if Brandi was having another laugh at my expense. Instead, I dumped my phone back into my purse and acknowledged Hamlet, though his parents didn’t appear to notice me.
As I set my purse back on the floor, the choir demonstrated perfect timing and filed onto the risers on stage. The girls wore black A-line gowns with sweetheart necklines, while the boys sported tuxedoes. As soon as they were in place, they opened with “Sing to the Lord.”
The song brought back memories of my college days when I’d majored in music education and traveled with my college’s choir. I’d never used my degree to teach. Instead, I’d started farming corn and soybeans with my grandpa after my daddy died and Grandpa had talked about selling the farm.
Not once had I regretted my decision.
The song ended, and as we applauded, I glanced around—and accidentally met Hamlet’s steady gaze.
Stay focused on the music, Georgia Rae. The last thing I needed was another relational complication when I was trying to heal.
Almost an hour later, the students moved from the stage and circled the auditorium for their final song. As they sang “Give Me Jesus,” goosebumps rose on my arms at the beautiful harmonies. The words of the song helped remind me that even if my life wasn’t what I wanted it to be, all I needed was Jesus.
I’d been living that truth every day since my breakup with Cal.
The choir hit the closing notes, and I caught my stepsister’s eye and smiled as the audience applauded. In the six years I’d known her, we’d never been close, but because my relationship with her identical twin brothers Preston and Austin had improved, I wanted to make progress with her.
Pastor Mark closed with a prayer, and the director thanked those of us who were housing students and told us to meet them in the chapel. People began exiting the auditorium, but quite a few audience members—including Hamlet and his parents—lingered and gabbed with their friends and the students.
“I want to talk to the director,” I said to Brandi, and she followed as I fought the stream of people going the opposite way until I stood in front of the stocky, middle-aged man. Since I was too tall for my own good, I towered over him. “Dr. Jackson, I enjoyed the performance. When I was in college, I sang with—”
“Thank you for coming.” His well-enunciated words held a faint trace of a British accent. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and looked past me. “Pardon me.” He strode toward a man who reminded me of Patrick Swayze.
“That was abrupt,” Brandi said.
“No kidding.” I surveyed the room. At least our little interaction with the director had given Hamlet and his parents time to move on. Her Royal Awkwardness didn’t need a second embarrassing encounter in one night.
“Brandi?” A guy in a paisley button-down shirt lingered next to us. I guessed he was about forty, and his full, reddish-brown beard was flecked with gray.
“Lukas!” Her face glowed, and she hugged him. “It’s great to see you again.” She kept her hand on his arm and turned to me. “Georgia, this is Lukas Dawes. We graduated from Brenneman together. Lukas, this is Georgia Winston.”
We shook hands and exchanged greetings. Lukas wasn’t what I’d call handsome, but his smile transformed his face, obliterating any plainness.
“Who are you here to see?” she asked.
“My little brother Jonas. I’m an artist manager based in Nashville. We’re kicking off our Midwest tour tomorrow night in Chicago, so I told Jonas I’d come since it’s not too far out of my way.”
“Who do you manage?” Brandi gazed up at him.
She batted her eyes, which I’d never actually witnessed.
“Parker Curtis.”
Brandi’s jaw dropped. “My sister Carly and I adore Parker Curtis. What a cool job!”
“It is. Parker’s always been fun to work with, and it’s getting crazy now that he has a hit song.” Lukas grinned. “How about I get you and Carly some free tickets and backstage passes. He’s playing in Fort Wayne Sunday night.”
She clasped her hands. “Yes, please! That’s so generous!”
If we hadn’t been standing in a crowded church, I was ninety-five percent certain she would’ve kissed him.
Lukas removed his phone from his back pocket, and they exchanged contact information. Then he surveyed the thinning crowd. “Do either of you know the way to the chapel? I’d like to say hey to my brother before I head out.”
“Sure. We have some guests to pick up.” I led the way through the auditorium and back hallway to the chapel.
Brandi and Lukas trailed behind and chatted about life and how they’d lost touch. When we entered the chapel, the students stood in clusters next to stacks of luggage, and several of them waited in the pews.
A slim kid with a sparse beard waved at Lukas as he approached us. “Hey, bro.” Jonas hugged Lukas. “Let me finish the housing assignments, and we’ll talk.” He motioned down at the tablet he was holding.
“No problem. These ladies need to pick up some students.” Lukas nodded. “Nice to see you again, Brandi.” He hugged her again. “I’ll be in touch about the tickets.” He took his phone out of his pocket and walked away.
“Take care.” Her gaze lingered on Lukas before she snapped her attention to Jonas. “Brandi Hartfield.”
Jonas consulted his tablet. “Got it.” He motioned to a group of four girls gathered next to a pew. “You’ll be hosting Taylor, Kenzie, Jessa, and Dani. Feel free to leave as soon as you’re ready. Please have the girls back here tomorrow morning at eight sharp.”
“Will do.” Brandi turned to me. “Have a good one.” She walked over to the girls and greeted them.
We’d definitely discuss Lukas as soon as possible because I needed details. I checked in with Jonas and then scanned the crowded room. I zeroed in on my stepsister, and she shot a tight smile in my direction. Her blue-green eyes were her most striking feature, and she’d toned down the pink streaks in her brown, shoulder-length hair and lost the lip ring she’d added before Thanksgiving. The petite black girl standing next to her gave me a friendly smile. They waited next to a pile of suitcases, coats, and bookbags.
“Sammi, this is my stepsister, Georgia.” Makayla hitched her thumb in my
direction. “Georgia, Sammi Cardwell.”
Sammi held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. We appreciate you taking us in for the night.” Her brown eyes sparkled.
“You’re welcome.” I scanned the crowd. “Where’s your other friend?”
Makayla and Sammi glanced around.
“Her bags are here.” Sammi furrowed her brow and then turned. “Oh, there she is.” She waved at a slender girl with a pixie haircut, nose ring, and a sulky expression. “Quincy! Over here!”
Quincy shoved her hands into her skirt pockets and threaded her way through the groups of people. “I was in the restroom,” she mumbled. Grabbing her backpack from the luggage pile, she swept her gaze over me. “I take it you’re Georgia.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you, Quincy.” I turned to the other girls. “Is everyone ready?”
“Absolutely!” Sammi grabbed her suitcase handle.
Makayla picked up her red, 1980s vinyl raincoat and threw it over her arm. “Fine with me.”
“Yep.” Quincy glanced at her phone and slung her backpack over her shoulder.
The last bit of orange daylight edged the western horizon as I led them outside to my truck. For late March, the evening was unseasonably warm, and earlier that day, the temperatures had soared into the low seventies. I knew better than to get used to the balminess, because a cold front was projected to sweep in, and snow flurries were forecasted for tomorrow night.
Since they were wearing formal dresses, I hefted their suitcases into my truck bed while they piled into the extended cab. Sammi took shotgun when Makayla refused.
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