“Can we talk about something else?” Anything. Calculus. Engineering. Softball. U.S. History.
“Absolutely.” Brandi picked up the empty bowls and walked toward the kitchen as Gigi trotted behind. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “How about we take bets on how long it is before Jon calls and asks you out?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Winstons don’t gamble.”
Winstons also never farmed on Sunday. Ever. Well, except the year when Grandpa and Daddy had been behind on harvesting because the weather had been awful. One November Sunday after church, Grandpa shelled corn while Daddy drove the tractor with the auger cart.
And the combine caught on fire.
They both considered it a sign of God’s wrath, and since I’d grown up hearing that story, this truth had been pounded into my very being. Besides, I figured I was in enough trouble with God because of my swearing problem that I didn’t need to add breaking the Sabbath to my naughty list.
Because Sunday farming was off the table, I found myself on the hook for hosting my Bible study group on a beautiful, dry evening, and I couldn’t use harvest as an excuse, though Grandpa and I would shell corn on Monday.
I stood in my kitchen staring at the stack of pizza boxes that I’d gone into Wildcat Springs to pick up because, of course, Pizza Heaven didn’t deliver all the way out to my farm. But they should. I’d probably increase their business by ten percent.
I’d meant to buy pies for dessert—our group loved them—but Pastry Delight was closed, and Hometown Market was out by the time I’d remembered. They’d have to make do with the ice cream bars I’d purchased instead.
Glancing at the clock, I sighed. Ten minutes until I had to slap on my happy hostess face—even though everyone in the group knew that I did not have the spiritual gift of hospitality—and Evan would be showing up with Baby Kelsey in tow.
I’d caught a glimpse of them across the church earlier that day as she’d clung to his arm during worship time.
The front door creaked. “Come in!” I started pulling two-liter bottles of pop from the fridge and sticking them on the counter.
The night before, I’d given Brandi and Ashley strict instructions that they were to show up ten minutes early, so I wouldn’t have to be alone with Evan and Kelsey.
“Hey, Georgia.”
Evan.
I will not cuss on Sunday… I will not cuss on Sunday.
I closed the refrigerator door and rushed forward. “Evan.” I forced a smile. “And you must be Kelsey. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.” My words sounded robotic.
Her mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile, and she looked me up and down. “That’s good.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her green, military-inspired jacket.
The girl had good taste.
I retreated to the freezer to retrieve some ice and wished I could shut myself inside and ponder how I’d ever thought Evan could be attracted to me, because she was different from me in every physical way possible.
Young. Chin-length black hair. Olive skin. Blue eyes. Petite build. Thin.
No wonder he didn’t want me. I was too old, too blond, too brown-eyed, too pale, too tall, and too curvy. Pretty? Sure, why not? Exotic?
Not even close.
“Would you like something to drink?” I shut the freezer door a little too vigorously.
Kelsey eyed the pop bottles, and her nose wrinkled. “I don’t do pop. Not even diet. Do you have sparkling water?”
As far as I was concerned, no one could do pop, do church, or do life but that was a totally different issue, and I didn’t have time to ponder the painful death of the English language when I was dying one of my own. “I have well water.”
Evan frowned. “Do you have bottled water? Your water can be a little, um—”
“No. Sorry.” I cringed. Why hadn’t I picked up a case of water?
“I’ve got a bottle that I haven’t opened.” Brandi breezed in and thrust the bottle at Kelsey, who blinked a few times but took it.
Thank you God for Brandi and her hatred of my well water.
“Thanks,” Evan said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Lifesaver? How about a slice of pepperoni with a side of drama?
“Yeah, thanks,” Kelsey said, and her gaze fell on the stack of pizza boxes.
“I hope pizza’s okay.” I yanked open the refrigerator and buried my head inside. “If not, I have some lettuce. I could whip up a salad.” I pulled a lone carrot from the vegetable drawer, faced them, and waved the withered vegetable around. “It’s your lucky day because I have more than lettuce. Low-fat ranch dressing too. You’ve hit the jackpot. I’m not exactly Top Chef material.” I emitted a laugh that ended with a choke.
Evan and Brandi stared at me.
“Pizza’s fine.” Kelsey moved closer to Evan, who wrapped a protective arm around her.
“Don’t worry. I ordered cheese. I always do. Sometimes sausage makes my stomach hurt. I’ve never been able to figure out why. I’m okay if I drink milk, though.”
Brandi moved between Kelsey and me. “Tell me about your nursing job.”
Relief flooded Kelsey’s expression, and she started talking about working with cancer patients as Brandi led her to the living room. I took refuge in the walk-in pantry and searched for the paper plates I’d forgotten to put out.
When I turned around with a stack of plates clutched to my chest, Evan was blocking the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“You’re lying.”
“And now you’re a mind reader? Wherever did that talent come from, and why have you kept it hidden for so long? It must be great when you’re able to get inside the heads of teenagers. Is it scary inside their minds? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
He put his hand on the doorframe and displayed his bicep. “You were lying to me the other day in the combine cab too, weren’t you?”
“Of course not.” I studied the flower pattern on the plates and ran my finger along the edge of the stack. “I don’t want to scare Kelsey off. She’s important to you, and I’m trying to be hospitable when we all know I’m not.”
He grinned. Oh, why did he have to look so handsome?
“That’s what I appreciate about you, Georgia. But, relax.” He rested his hand on my arm, and I said a silent prayer of thanks my sweater covered the goosebumps rising under my sleeve. “What Kelsey and I have is rock solid. You can’t scare her away.”
Really? Rock solid after a few weeks? I ignored my twisting gut and nodded. “Good for you. I’ve had other things on my mind.” I lowered my voice. “I was looking into Tara Fullerton’s case.” Why was I telling Evan when a much better choice would’ve been, well, pretty much anyone?
He raised his eyebrows. “Why not let the police handle it?”
“Tara sent me a letter before she died because she wanted to meet with me, so I poked around a little—but I’ve backed off.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “Wow. That’s crazy.” Evan stepped out of the doorway and motioned for me to go ahead. “I’m not surprised you were looking into things.”
“Why?” I stopped and faced him.
“Everyone knows the only person you trust is yourself.” He laughed, and I curled my fingers into a fist. “Just kidding.” He gave me a friendly punch on the arm.
But we both knew he wasn’t.
After everyone in my Bible study group had gone home, I gathered greasy pizza boxes and hefted a full trash bag out of the wastebasket in my kitchen. Evan’s words still rankled. How dare he judge me after everything I’d been through? It wasn’t like he didn’t know about my dad’s murder. Stomping to the garage, I deposited the trash into the large bin and banged the lid. How could he come into my home and mock me with his “rock solid” relationship?
I slammed the back door as my phone started ringing. When I picked it up from the kitchen table, I didn’t recognize the numbe
r. Was it Jon sent to distract me from Evil Evan and Baby Kelsey? I decided to answer.
“Georgia, this is Jon Nordmeyer.”
I blinked. I never had that kind of luck, which was mainly why I never gambled. “Hey. How’s it going?” I walked into my living room and spotted Kelsey’s jacket draped over my piano bench. Lucky for her, it wouldn’t fit me.
“Great. Your stepdad gave me your number. I hope it’s okay that I called.”
“Absolutely.” After all, I had approved the dossier. Dan moved fast, but then, I already knew that. He’d wooed my mom in less than six months. I paced in front of the fireplace, and as I opened my mouth to fill the silence with some Georgia-esque babbling, Jon cleared his throat.
“Look, I’d like to meet in person—wasting time talking about frou-frou stuff over email and phone calls is annoying. By the time I meet you, I’ll never remember what your favorite color or band is.”
I stopped and used my thumb to brush dust off Daddy’s photo on the mantle. Ten points for Jon’s honesty. Dan knew more about me than I’d given him credit for. “Red. Chanticleer—I prefer choral music to bands. I give a pop quiz on the first date. A perfect score means you move on to the next level.” I slapped my hand against my forehead and squeezed my eyes shut. I had not intended for that to sound suggestive.
At all.
“I have two tickets to see Wicked in Indianapolis. Do you want to come?”
I stifled a squeal. I’d been dying to see that musical. “Yes, please.” I also said a silent prayer of thanks that my unintended innuendo had flown over his head.
“Excellent. Will Friday work?”
As soon as I ended my conversation with Jon, Evan texted about Kelsey’s jacket. He was on his way to pick it up.
Because, of course, it was too scary for her to get it herself.
He didn’t say that, but I drew my own conclusions.
When the doorbell chimed, I opened the door and thrust the jacket at Evan. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. Kelsey’s always leaving stuff everywhere.” He chuckled. “It’s her one flaw.”
It took a valiant effort to turn my burgeoning snort into a passable throat clear, but I somehow managed. “She seems nice.”
“She liked everyone in our group—including you.” He leaned against the doorframe.
“Really?”
“Yeah, she’s just shy until you get to know her, but she told me on the way home that she has a coworker who’d be perfect for you. Maybe we could even double date sometime.”
If I’d ever doubted that God worked in all things for good, I’d have become a believer that very moment, because I’d never been so thankful for my meddling stepdad. I shifted. “Actually, I have a date this weekend, but if things don’t work out…”
“Great. Let us know.” He beamed. “Have a great week.” He turned and jogged down the sidewalk.
“You too.” I locked the door, leaned against it, and closed my eyes.
Jon Nordmeyer had better be everything Dan had promised.
On a sunny Monday afternoon, Grandpa and I were back shelling corn with Cory’s help. J.T. was even planning to assist when he was done with work.
The corn combine header had always reminded me of a giant’s comb, and as it crumpled the dry stalks, the sound of crinkling paper blended with the hum of machinery. Bright yellow ears mingled with torn leaves and stalks. While I made a pass down the field, I thought about my upcoming date with Jon.
Even though this week would be full of work, I wasn’t second-guessing my decision to go with Jon for a few hours on Friday night.
My mind drifted to Detective Perkins, but I didn’t let my thoughts linger there and turned them to his great aunt. I needed to pay a visit to Beverly to make sure she was okay since she hadn’t been at church on Sunday.
I glanced at the yield monitor. Fabulous. Why had it gone black? Add that to the list of things going wrong. I tapped the screen and tried to make adjustments, but the monitor stayed frozen. I stopped the combine because this problem needed my full attention.
I searched my phone for J.T.’s number. Not only did he sell equipment, he was my go-to guy at Wildcat Springs Implement because he knew how to fix technology problems. When I glanced up, crimson words in a dripping-blood font appeared on the yield monitor.
I dropped my phone in my lap and sucked in a breath.
Georgia—Stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, or you’ll be the next to die.
Chapter Eight
I stopped the combine and stared at the monitor. Shaking my head, I picked up my phone and took several pictures in case the message disappeared. As creepy as the threat was, I couldn’t help but worry we might’ve lost valuable data from this year’s harvest.
I called Grandpa.
“What’s going on over there?” he asked.
“Someone hacked our yield monitor.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Well, if that don’t beat all. I knew these technological developments would cause problems. Did we lose data?”
“I’m not sure, but there’s a more pressing issue at the moment.” I repeated the message.
He muttered something that I couldn’t make out. “I’m calling the sheriff’s department.”
“Ask for Detective Perkins.”
Because he was investigating Tara’s case. That was the only reason.
While Grandpa made that call, I scrolled through my phone’s contacts and selected J.T.’s number because I’d need his help if I couldn’t get the monitor back to normal. “Hey, cuz,” I said after his voice message beeped. “I’m shelling corn in our field over on 1000 East, and my yield monitor got hacked, so Grandpa and I are a little worried about data loss. If you can come to my rescue, that’d be great.” I disconnected and opened a bottle of water and stared at the message that continued to scroll across the screen. It would take someone tech savvy to pull this off. Clearly, my nosiness had spooked someone into taking action.
Obviously, I was better at this investigation thing than I’d thought.
I sipped my water and considered possible suspects.
Mike Dunson had a history of hacking, and if he’d killed Tara, of course he’d want me to stay away. Goosebumps erupted on my arms as I remembered his threatening gaze at Tara’s funeral. Not to mention Tara’s cousin had suspected him as well, but Mike had shown his softer side when I’d spoken to him at his restaurant.
Nick Vogler was a network administrator. He might have the expertise to hack the monitor, but why would he have killed his cousin? Perhaps he was the one with a secret, and Tara had intended to investigate Nick. Could her investigation have exposed something he wanted to stay hidden?
Grandpa climbed up the ladder. I scooted over to the instructional seat so he could check out the monitor.
“You’d better be minding your own business.” He adjusted his baseball cap.
“I know.” The seriousness of the situation was beginning to get through my thick skull.
As Detective Perkins parked on the edge of the field and picked his way across broken cornstalks, the monitor’s screen returned to normal and displayed a map of our field with green, yellow, orange, and red patches, indicating the number of bushels we’d harvested. Grandpa and I got out of the cab to greet him, and he grinned when he saw me. “Causing trouble, Miss Winston?”
I shot him a glare and held out my phone. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time.” His dimple faded as he studied the picture of the threat. “I’ll definitely check this out.” He handed my phone back, squinted, and held his hand up to shade his eyes. “Besides talking to Nick Vogler at Tara’s funeral, have you done anything else that would constitute poking around?”
I burrowed the toe of my work boot into some smashed cornstalks. Might as well come clean. “I went to Tara’s gym to ask questions, and I visited her workplace and spoke with her boss. I also went to see Mike Dunson at his restaurant.” I held up my h
ands in surrender. “But I promise I backed off after that. We’ve been in the field.”
“Why in the Sam Hill would you do that, Georgia Rae?” Grandpa lifted his baseball cap off his head and set it back down.
“It’s complicated.”
“No. It’s simple. You let these guys do their jobs. They’re the ones qualified. Not you.”
“I have to agree with your grandpa,” Detective Perkins said.
Even though it was sunny, the air was crisp, so I zipped my fleece and squirmed under the detective’s intense gaze. “Do you think Mike Dunson could’ve hacked my yield monitor?” I rubbed my arms.
Detective Perkins pressed his lips together. “I’ll look into it.”
“Is he a suspect?” I tugged my braid when Grandpa shot me a puzzled glance.
“No comment.”
“Is there more evidence than the note?”
“There are some text messages on Tara’s phone that caught our attention.” Detective Perkins rested his hand on my shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
“That’s right,” Grandpa said. “You’ve got enough to worry about with harvest.”
A Ford truck pulled into the grass alongside the road, and J.T. hopped out and joined us. Detective Perkins surveyed J.T., and his eyes lingered for a second on his man bun. Then Detective Perkins held out his hand. “Detective Calvin Perkins.”
“J.T. Simms.” He grasped the detective’s hand. “Georgia, never in my time of working with yield monitors have I ever heard of one being hacked.”
“Well, I am one-of-a-kind.”
“I know. God broke the mold after he made you.” J.T.’s eyes twinkled, but when I held out my phone so he could see the picture of the threat, his smile faded, and his jaw clenched. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He returned my phone and then slammed his fist into his palm. “If this joker hurts you, he’ll have to answer to me.”
Detective Perkins cleared his throat. “Did Miss Winston call you? Or were you aware of the problem beforehand?”
Deadly Harvest Page 7
