I didn’t have an answer, which was good because it was disturbing enough that I was talking to myself and calling myself a bimbo. Putting him off until tomorrow seemed like the best option. Before I could text, I gasped and dropped my phone.
Hitting the brakes, I raised the combine head.
The lump was a human body.
Chapter Two
My heart thudded as I scrambled out of the cab and down the ladder. I ran around the combine and covered my mouth when I recognized the dark-haired woman sprawled face up next to a log.
Tara Fullerton.
I stepped closer. Flies swarmed Tara’s ashen face and indicated there was no need to start CPR. She wore camouflage hunting clothes, and her crossbow rested on the ground a few feet away.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Back when she was in fifth grade and I was a sophomore in high school, I’d given her piano lessons one summer because her mom had wanted to see if Tara liked playing before she spent a bunch of money on an experienced teacher. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of how excited she’d been to learn to play. But right now, I needed to quit reminiscing and take action.
My phone buzzed, and I swiped to answer the call.
“Grandpa—”
“What’s going on over there? Don’t tell me you hit a rock.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died in my throat. “A body.” I managed to rasp the words.
“A what? Speak up.”
I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears blurring my vision. “I found Tara Fullerton—dead.”
Grandpa swore. “I’m comin’. Call 911.” He disconnected, and his tractor moved across the field along the path I’d harvested.
My fingers shook as I tapped in the numbers.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I was cutting beans and found a body in the woods at the edge of my field. I’m a farmer.” Way to state the obvious. I knelt beside the form. “A dead body. A young woman. Her name is Tara Fullerton.” I tugged on my braid and adjusted my baseball cap as I looked around. My eyes landed on my daddy’s permanent tree stand about twenty feet above where Tara lay.
“You’re certain the victim is dead.”
“Yes, ma’am. There’s no question. Looks like she took a fall from a tree stand.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing away unwelcome memories that threatened to surface.
Stay focused.
“What’s your location?”
I turned from Tara, gave the dispatcher our address, promised not to touch the body—like that was even an option—and disconnected. Grandpa pulled up and scurried out of the tractor. He moved pretty quickly for a seventy-seven-year-old.
He removed his baseball cap and pressed it against his chest as he approached. “Poor thing.” He rubbed his bald head as he surveyed the scene.
Her family’s lives would be changed forever. Did Tara have a husband or boyfriend? I’d lost track of her after I’d gone to college.
Lord, comfort Tara’s loved ones.
“You give her permission to hunt back here?” He put his hat back on. “’Cause I sure didn’t.”
I pulled my gaze from the body and concentrated on his question. “No. And that’s weird because Tara knows—knew—me, so she could’ve just asked.”
“Maybe she thought it’d be better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Grandpa said.
“Probably.” A lump formed in my throat as I studied the simple ladder and wide, wooden platform that Daddy’d built years ago. I’d gone hunting with him one time and could picture the two of us huddled on the stand. I’d been about thirteen. When we’d spotted a doe, I’d gasped, and she’d darted away.
Daddy hadn’t said a word, but he’d never taken me again. Shaking off the pain, I refocused on the present. “I swore we wouldn’t touch the body, but I didn’t promise we wouldn’t check out the woods.” I needed to think about something—anything—other than Tara.
“Whaddya think you’re gonna find?”
“I’m not sure, but I want to know where she parked, because I didn’t see her car earlier.” I stepped into the tree line, and Grandpa joined me. I was probably creeped out from finding a body, but something didn’t feel right. Was it because Tara had been hunting alone? Most women I knew hunted with a family member or boyfriend. She could’ve liked the alone time, but Tara had always seemed social.
A twig cracked, and I shrieked.
“Georgia Rae Winston, calm down, or the sheriff’s gonna find two bodies when he gets here.”
Grandpa had survived a heart attack twenty years earlier and had fought to stay healthy ever since—even though his heart wasn’t strong. “Sorry.” My own heart chugged and didn’t show signs of slowing down.
We crept further into the woods, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Fallen leaves crunched under our feet, and moss-covered logs crisscrossed a carpet of twigs and leaves. A squirrel scampered up a tree. Field dust sparkled in the air where the sun peeked through the trees.
We kept going, and I spotted a dark blue sedan. When I approached the car, I stopped. The tree line jutted out in front of the tiny grass clearing where she’d parked, which helped block the view of her car from the road—and from the section of the field we’d harvested so far.
It was probably nothing—just my suspicious mind at work. Besides, she’d been hunting out here without permission, so she’d probably parked that way hoping we wouldn’t notice. I cupped my hands around my face and peered through the windows—without touching, of course.
All the door locks were pushed down, but the keys dangled from the ignition.
A phone, which I assumed belonged to Tara, rested on the passenger’s seat. Two travel mugs sat in the cup holders. Had someone been hunting with Tara?
Maybe that person had gone to get help since the keys were locked in the car. But shouldn’t Tara’s hunting buddy have been back by now? I didn’t know much about corpses, but she’d been dead for at least a few hours.
Or the explanation was much simpler. She’d been hunting alone, accidentally locked her keys in the car, and let her own dirty mugs pile up.
“I reckon we’d better get out of here before we mess up something we didn’t aim to,” Grandpa said. “The sheriff’s department can handle any investigating.”
“I suppose.” Not to mention, experience had taught me I was no Jessica Fletcher.
When the sheriff and several deputies arrived, Grandpa and I moved the combine and tractor out of the way and stood watching the action from a distance while the investigators swarmed around the edge of the field and entered the woods.
Sheriff Anderson ambled over to our post and shook Grandpa’s hand. “Good to see you again, Ron. When are you planning on retiring?”
“Don’t believe in retirement,” Grandpa said. “Work keeps a man young.”
“Not in my business. When my term’s up, I’ll be spending plenty of time with my wife at our cabin down in the Smoky Mountains. Hey, did I ever tell you—”
“When will you know for sure if this is an accident or not?” I asked.
Sheriff Anderson raised a bushy eyebrow. “I’m sure the autopsy’ll confirm this was an accident.”
“Right.” My cheeks burned. This wasn’t an episode of Psych, so I needed to stop looking for clues like my favorite TV detective, Shawn Spencer and his sidekick, Burton “Gus” Guster.
“It’s a shame. Falls from tree stands cause more deaths than hunters accidently getting shot.” He shook his head. “She should’ve had on a safety harness.”
Grandpa adjusted his baseball cap. “Not to sound insensitive, but she was trespassing. We sure didn’t give her permission to hunt out here.”
Sheriff Anderson nodded. “Good to know.”
“Do you think it’s weird she was hunting alone?” I put my hands on my hips.
Sheriff Anderson sighed and did a poor job of covering the annoyance that flickered in his expression. “No. Some people like th
eir space. If there’s anything that indicates foul play, which I’m not saying there is, we’ll find it.”
I had my doubts about that.
“Look,” Sheriff Anderson said, “I know you’ve got to go on with harvesting while the weather’s cooperating, so after we get your statements, if you want to move across the road to your other field, you won’t bother us. It’ll be a while before we clear this area, though.”
“We understand.” Grandpa extended his hand. “Keep us posted, and let me know if there’s any other way I can help.”
Sheriff Anderson gazed over at the investigators. “I sure appreciate it.”
“Georgia!” Evan jumped out of his silver Accord that he’d parked in the grass on the side of the road. “What’s going on?”
I’d forgotten to answer his text, but he’d remembered where I said we’d be harvesting and had shown up anyway.
Fantastic.
I ran my fingers over my hair to get rid of soybean particles but couldn’t do anything about the black smudge of grease adorning my sweatshirt. So attractive.
Evan jogged over to where Grandpa and I stood watching the action from across the road. We couldn’t bring ourselves to get back to work. A reporter from the Richard County Gazette had arrived and started talking to Sheriff Anderson. I prayed he wouldn’t realize I’d been the one to discover the body because I had zero intention of talking to the media.
Concern creased Evan’s brow as he moved his sunglasses to the top of his head. He was wearing black athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt with a blue, pouncing wildcat. “Are you two okay?”
“Sort of.” I dug my boot toe into the dirt while I told him what had happened.
“Holy cow.” He gave me a hug. “That poor girl.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed and tried not to think about how Tara’s family and friends would feel when they found out, but the thought kept pinging in my brain, making my stomach churn. I hitched my thumb toward the combine. “We were just ready to get back to work.”
“I’ll come back another time.”
I started to agree that would be best, but the kindness in his eyes stopped me. “No. You can stay.” It might be nice to have a friend around for a distraction.
I caught Grandpa’s gaze as he turned to go back to his tractor, and his eyes twinkled.
Evan and I climbed in the combine cab. Thank goodness for GPS and autosteer because without it, I wouldn’t be able to keep the combine in a straight line with Evan sitting in the instructional seat next to me.
Keep the conversation light. “How was practice?” Evan coached varsity tennis at Wildcat Springs High School where he was also the guidance counselor.
“Good. Although we’ll get drilled in the regional this week.” He shrugged. “I’m proud of the guys for winning our sectional, though.” He watched as I started the combine. “Do you need to talk about finding the body?”
Yes. Not really. “I’m fine. Or I will be once I get the mental picture out of my mind.” I swallowed. “Tara’s life was important, you know? Someone’s going to be devastated that she’s gone.”
“You certainly understand that.”
“Right.” I clamped my mouth shut. “What brings you by?”
His forehead creased with concern. “If you don’t want to talk about this stuff with me, I can refer you to a great Christian counselor.”
Why did everyone keep insisting that I should talk to a shrink?
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I flipped my braid over my shoulder and glanced at the yield monitor. The beans’ moisture level was perfect—so at least something was going right. “What’s on your mind? From what I overheard last night, things are going great with Kelsey.” Might as well get it out in the open, so he was aware that I knew.
“Yeah, she’s great.” He cleared his throat. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, but obviously now’s not the best time.”
To tell the truth, I didn’t know what I’d thought Evan wanted when he’d texted me earlier. Finding Tara had distracted me from acknowledging that deep down I’d been hoping he was telling me he’d come to his senses, dumped Kelsey, and realized I was the one for him.
I needed to pretend like that thought had never entered the deepest, darkest cranny of my mind. Remember your acting skills, Georgia. “Why?” My voice was pitched a tad too high to sound natural.
“Georgia, you don’t have to play tough for me. That conversation had to be hard to hear. If I could’ve shut J.T. up, I would’ve, but you know how he is. The guy has the tenacity of a bulldog.”
That wasn’t how I’d describe my laid-back cousin, but whatever. “I’m confused,” I said. “What was hard to hear?”
Evan’s brow furrowed. “About Kelsey and me.”
I studied the combine head chopping up the soybeans and thought of the dead rabbit. That’s how I felt. Flipped aside by a piece of machinery that’d invaded my space. I raised my chin. “Why would that be so hard?” I wanted to make him say it.
“Because of our history.”
I wasn’t sure history was the right word because that implied there’d been a romantic relationship—instead of an awkward friendship. For the second time that day, a lump grew in my throat. How much trauma was one girl supposed to deal with in a matter of a few hours?
Not fair, God.
I’d deal with God later. Evan was studying me as if I might snap at any second, so I had to say something. “Look, Evan. It’s best that you and I remain just friends. If you’re happy with Kelsey, I’m thrilled for you.” My heart had a different opinion, but my head was on board.
“But you seemed upset last night.”
Why hadn’t I done a better job of hiding my feelings? I shifted. “Not for the reasons you think.” I sighed and picked a hangnail. “See, I had a lousy blind date on Saturday night.” I wasn’t lying, so I didn’t need to add that to my list of sins to confess, because the collection of pent up cuss words pinging around my head was large enough to fill a football stadium. “It’s frustrating to see things working out for other people while you’re stuck having the same bad date over and over again.”
I’d made it sound like I had lots of dates. The truth? Saturday night’s outing had been my first in a while, and the dude had been a real tool. In addition to his entrée, he had insisted on ordering three beers for himself, an appetizer, and dessert that I’d eaten one bite of before he instructed the waiter to split our check. In half. While I’d been in the restroom.
Evan’s shoulders sagged. “I was afraid I’d hurt you. That’s the last thing I want to do because I care about our friendship.”
I winced inwardly. “I know.”
“So we’re good?”
Why did it matter so much to him? “Yep. Now hang on. I’ve got to concentrate while I dump this load, and then I want you to tell me all about Kelsey.”
He beamed. “Great.”
My heart kicked in protest. I grabbed the bag of M&M’s and held them out to Evan. When he shook his head, I dumped the remaining candies in my hand and shoved them in my mouth.
Help me, Lord.
Chapter Three
Tuesday morning, clad in my flannel, frog-print jammies, I stumbled out of my bedroom and into the living room where I turned on the TV for the morning news. “…the Richard County Sheriff’s Department has identified the victim as twenty-five-year-old Tara Fullerton, who died due to injuries sustained during a fall from a tree stand. Sheriff Andy Anderson says this incident is a sobering reminder that all hunters should wear safety harnesses while hunting in tree stands.”
I waited for more information, but the anchor moved on to the next story. Biting my lip, I shuffled into my 1980’s era kitchen that begged for an update to its linoleum flooring and pastel flower-basket print wallpaper. I’d purchased the one-hundred-year-old farmhouse where I’d grown up from my mom when she’d remarried, and because the whole place was in need of updating, she’d given me a good deal.
The t
wo-story home boasted a huge front porch, original woodwork, and a staircase that added the type of character designers on TV were always raving about. Though it was too much house for me right now, I hoped someday I’d be able to have children who’d help bring the place back to life—like it’d been when Dakota and I were kids.
After I started a pot of coffee, my eyes fell on the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. I’d tackle them after coffee. My dishwasher had quit working, and I hadn’t had time to see if Grandpa and I could resurrect it.
While I opened the pantry door, walked inside, and grabbed a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, my mind wandered to Tara. Today she was simply a cautionary tale that would be forgotten at the end of a news cycle, but she was more than that. I poured the remaining cereal in a bowl, chucked the empty box in the trash, and looked in my refrigerator for milk—which I didn’t have.
Dry cereal it is.
Why couldn’t the newscasters have shared something personal about Tara’s life? I sat at the kitchen table and opened my laptop, hoping to learn more about the adult version of Tara. While I ate, I started with Facebook and Instagram.
Perusing Tara’s pages revealed several things. The first was that she should’ve had better privacy settings. The second was that she often worked out at Fitness Universe in the nearby city of Richardville. Third? She was dating Mike Dunson, and there were plenty of vomit-inducing selfies to prove it.
It seemed strange that her profiles didn’t mention hunting. Most female hunters I knew weren’t afraid to brag about it because that hobby was pretty impressive to some guys. Tara had grown up with a single mom, and she hadn’t had a father to teach her the necessary skills. Which meant at some point, she’d probably had a boyfriend who’d shown her—maybe even her current boyfriend. If so, then why had she been hunting alone?
Or her fall hadn’t been accidental, and her hunting buddy had fled the scene.
No. I needed to stop with the questions and speculation. Sheriff Anderson’s disgusted expression when I’d asked about foul play loomed in my mind as I got up and poured coffee into my favorite owl-shaped mug. Perhaps Tara had recently started a new hobby. I shouldn’t let my past experiences cause me to make assumptions, because Heaven knew I didn’t need to go and irritate the sheriff’s department—again.
Deadly Harvest Page 2
