Deadly Harvest Read online

  Deadly Harvest

  © 2018 by Marissa Shrock

  All rights reserved.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover art ©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.™

  Published by Cimelia Press, Greentown, Indiana

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018906612

  For my grandpas, Jim Shrock and Loren Simpson

  Author’s Note

  One of the best parts of writing a novel is the opportunity to create new places, and this is a power I exercised in Deadly Harvest—and in the books to come. However, to give my story an authentic Hoosier feel, I looked to Indiana history to guide me when I named counties, towns, and cities.

  Indiana has ninety-two counties, but I added a ninety-third—Richard County—in Central Indiana. My story’s county seat, Richardville, is fictional but is named after Jean Baptiste Richardville (1761-1841), an actual Miami chief.

  Wildcat Springs is a figment of my imagination but gets its name from Chief Richardville—whose nickname was The Wildcat. The Wildcat Creek really does flow through Central Indiana.

  In addition to the liberties I took with Indiana’s geography, I used some fictional license with police investigations to remain true to the pace and flow 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

  About the Author

  Also by Marissa Shrock

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  The men were girl talking in the kitchen while the women were watching football in the living room.

  I drew a flowered pillow closer to my chest and fidgeted with the gray fringe while I refocused on the TV. Third and inches. The Colts had better not blow it. But the way things were going in my life, what else could I expect?

  “Kelsey’s awesome.” Evan Beckworth’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. “I met her parents last weekend.”

  An invisible hand squeezed my heart when I heard the infatuation in Evan’s voice. Or was it love?

  “How’d you meet?” my cousin J.T. Simms asked.

  “We connected at a tennis tournament this summer. It was like I’d never seen a woman before, you know?”

  “Dude, that’s awesome.”

  I rolled my eyes and considered shredding my napkin to make earplugs.

  Touchdown. At least something was right in my world. I high-fived my best friend Ashley Choi, who sprawled on the couch next to me.

  “Georgia Rae, hand me the chips. I need some salt after that chocolate pie.” Ashley made a half-hearted attempt to sit up and wiggle her pale pink fingernails in the direction of the coffee table. I tossed the sack of sour cream and onion chips—her weakness—into her lap.

  “Thanks, hon.” Ashley tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, flopped backward, and tore into the bag. She made enough noise to drown out the chitchat in the kitchen and withdrew a handful before daintily popping them in her mouth one at a time.

  Kentucky-bred Ashley was always calling people hon or sweetie, and I’d often wondered how that went over with her fellow engineers, who were mostly male. She was also the only one who called me Georgia Rae without being mad at me.

  “How’s your grandma?” I asked Ashley, hoping that focusing on someone else’s trials would help me block out my own.

  Ashley brushed sour-cream-and-onion dust off her hands. “She loves her new knees so much she wants a new hip.” She cracked open a can of Diet Coke, took a swig, and set it on the coffee table next to a copy of Archeology of the Bible.

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” I managed a half smile.

  “Georgia, are you okay?” Brandi Hartfield’s forehead creased as she got up from the other sofa and put a coaster under Ashley’s Diet Coke. She was our hostess and my other best friend.

  “Yep.” I fixed my eyes on the TV. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brandi’s curls bob.

  She’d pursue this later, which was why Ashley and I sometimes called her Mom. Well, that and the fact that she was a good seven years older than me. She hated it when we reminded her, which made it even more fun. Besides, she didn’t look older. Not even those nasolabial folds that she obsessed about aged her.

  “Is she the one?” J.T. asked Evan. They were still huddled in the kitchen.

  What the—no. I wasn’t going to cuss. Even in my head. God was after me to do better with my mouth, and while I could physically bite my tongue, I was having an awful time in my mind. But really? The one? Did guys actually talk like that, or had aliens come along and transplanted Evan’s and J.T.’s brains?

  Either that or the man bun that J.T. had been sporting lately was infecting his head.

  “…can’t wait for you guys to meet Kelsey. She’s perfect,” Evan said. “She couldn’t come because of her shift at the hospital, but next time we meet…”

  That was swell. Next time was at my house. I quickly calculated. In two weeks, I’d probably be done cutting soybeans since we’d already gotten a good start, but the corn might be ready to shell. I could back out of hosting our Bible study and claim exhaustion from harvest.

  “Guys, the game’s over,” Ashley drawled.

  The Colts had pulled it off.

  J.T. and Evan moseyed into the living room and plopped down on the wood floor. I tried to keep my eyes off of Evan, but I couldn’t help stealing a glance. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and I loved that look. His sandy hair had just the right amount of wave, and the contours of his muscular chest showed through his Richard County Tennis Tournament T-shirt.

  I needed to stop. Right now. Evan was never going to date me, and I needed to accept his relationship with—gag me—twenty-two-year-old Kelsey Lohmann. ASAP. Evan and I were doomed to be just friends, so I’d better figure out a way to be happy for him.

  I surveyed the mix of twenty and thirty-somethings gathered in Brandi’s living room. Our group was smaller than normal this week because two other members—engaged couple Dave and Heather—were out of town, but the rest of us had decided to meet for a meal and Bible lesson anyway.

  Brandi, who was tonight’s leader, shut off the TV. “Let’s pray before we get started.”

  Amen to that. I’d need all the prayers I could get.

  “Does anybody have any final thoughts on Ecclesiastes?” Brandi asked a half an hour later.

  It hadn’t been one of our most riveting lessons since it was a wrap-up of the book. Even though Brandi’s profession was teaching eighth grade social studies at Wildcat Springs Junior High, she’d struggled to breathe life into this particular study.

  I crossed my arms. “Life Lesson #5: Life stinks, is pointless, and then you croak when it’s
your time. How’s that for a final thought?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought of Grandma Winston’s penchant for spouting life rules and assigning them random numbers.

  Grandma lives on. I twisted the amethyst birthstone ring I’d inherited from her a few years ago and observed my friends’ reactions.

  Ashley covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes danced. Evan and J.T. exchanged glances.

  Evan’s hazel eyes filled with concern. “You okay, Georgia? You usually have more to contribute—”

  “Peachy. Keepin’ it real over here.” My cheeks heated. I’d better not be as tomato-y as I felt.

  Brandi cleared her throat. “How about any prayer requests or praises?”

  Brandi locked her front door behind J.T. and Evan and faced me. She pointed at the shoes in my hand. “Put them down. You’re not leaving yet.”

  I dropped the silver sneakers I’d spent too much money on a few weeks ago. Talking might be good. Besides, Brandi had been through a lot and might have some wisdom.

  Ashley’s dark eyes widened. “Is something wrong, hon?” She let her pink-striped tote fall from her shoulder onto the floor.

  “Really?” Brandi scowled. “How could you not notice? Georgia hardly said a word all evening.” She chuckled. “Except for her summary of Ecclesiastes.” She sighed. “I can’t believe those two guys. I know J.T.’s your cousin, but he’s a clueless wonder, and Evan has the sensitivity of a defensive lineman. Coming in here and yammering about some perfect-barely-out-of-diapers girl in front of my best friend.”

  “Evan doesn’t know how I feel about him,” I said.

  “Why are you defending him? He should know.” Brandi marched into the kitchen while Ashley and I trailed behind. “The two of you have been friends for three years, and he’s completely oblivious to the fact you care about him.” She opened the door to her garage where her Yorkie, Gigi, did a jig in her crate.

  Thank you for not using the word love. I tugged my braid when Gigi charged inside, ignored me, and scuttled over to Ashley.

  That was the thanks I got for giving Gigi a chew toy for her birthday.

  “Brandi’s right.” Ashley picked up the traitorous dog and stroked her head. “And you can do better than Evan.”

  “But he’s so…hot,” I whined. “And godly.”

  Brandi slammed the back door. “Godly men don’t lead women on.” Her green eyes flashed as she jerked the slow cooker cord out of the wall and pointed to a cabinet. “Can you get a container for me, please?”

  I opened the door to reveal a stack of used butter tubs leaning precariously. As if I were assisting in surgery, I plucked a container and lid out, slapped the door shut, and jumped backward before they could fall.

  After handing the container to Brandi, I plopped down at a barstool and leaned my elbows against the island’s cool granite. This always happened to me. I’d find a perfect guy and boom. He’d meet the love of his life.

  I was the ultimate good luck charm.

  Guys in search of a wife should line up to be my friend.

  Ashley let go of the dog, sat next to me, and draped her arm over my shoulder. “I don’t get it, sweetie. You’re beautiful. You’ll find the right guy soon. We all will.”

  I snorted. I was honey blond, brown-eyed, and pretty enough—but too tall for my own good. Folks who were kind enough to overlook the few extra pounds I carried had told me for years I should’ve been a model.

  But I’d chosen to be a farmer instead.

  And growing up in small-town Indiana right smack dab in the middle of the Central Till Plain, I was living almost every grown man’s childhood dream. So, I’d pretty much priced myself right out of a husband here in the good ol’ heartland.

  Being thirty didn’t help either.

  “You have a heart of gold, and that’s what’s most important,” Brandi said.

  I snorted. “I’d rather have a heart of silver.”

  “Why?” Brandi inverted the crockpot, and the leftover cocktail wieners slid into the butter tub. Some of the sauce splattered on the counter, and I traced my finger through it.

  “Less valuable than gold. That way guys are less likely to steal it.” I licked my finger.

  Ashley gasped. “Oh, sweetie. You need to see a counselor.”

  I crossed my arms. “Winstons don’t go to therapy.”

  Brandi put the leftovers in the fridge and scooped up Gigi. “Then you need a pet to cheer you up.”

  “I have barn cats. And ducks.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “Do the cats even have names?”

  I fought a grin. “Uhhh…Stripey and Orangey.”

  Brandi shook her head. “I meant a dog to keep you company.” She turned Gigi toward me and wiggled her paws. “One look at the cute, wittle face, and all your troubles don’t seem so bad.”

  I pointed to the puddle Gigi had deposited on the tile next to the dishwasher. “Seems like more trouble to me.”

  The next day was the perfect afternoon to cut soybeans in our field a few miles outside of my hometown of Wildcat Springs. Not a cloud in the sky, and a hint of crispness in the air. We’d gotten started around one because there’d been heavy dew that morning, and we’d had to wait for the beans to dry out.

  Grandpa Winston was driving the tractor and pulling the auger cart while I operated the combine. My perch in the cab offered me a nice view of the countryside that contained mostly farmland crisscrossed by a grid of roads. Every so often, a grove of trees or a house broke up the flat, fertile land.

  While I opened up the section of the field next to the road so I’d have room to turn the combine around at the end of each row, Evan and J.T.’s conversation replayed in my head and knifed through my gut.

  Why did I care so much? If Evan was truly my friend, then I should be happy he’d met a nice girl. But I didn’t need a shrink to tell me I was jealous enough to claw Kelsey’s eyes out.

  I retrieved a bag of M&Ms from my backpack and ripped them open with my teeth. I’d start with the chocolate and move to prayer when I got done being mad at God.

  Chocolate and prayer—not necessarily in that order—were my therapy. Always had been. Probably always would be.

  Truthfully, if I had more prospects, this thing with Evan wouldn’t sting as much. But good men were hard to come by. Why couldn’t God send a bunch of quality men into my life and let me have a choice instead of waiting around to be chosen? That would be the perfect way to forget all about Evan.

  A deluge of men.

  I chomped M&Ms and shook my head. I should concentrate. The last thing Grandpa and I needed was a rock coming through the combine header and tearing it up because I was mooning over a guy. Replacing parts took valuable time—and money.

  Grandpa was counting on me, and I wasn’t going to let him down. When my daddy died almost nine years ago, I’d finished college and come home to help my grandpa with the farm. My brother, Dakota, didn’t have any interest. I’d never understood why in heaven’s name he’d rather be trapped inside an accounting office crunching numbers all day, but I was thankful because otherwise, I’d be stuck teaching music to a bunch of squirrelly kids. Instead, I got to be out in the sunshine, close to nature.

  Okay, that was a teensy bit dramatic. Things were pretty plush in my high-tech, air-conditioned cab with choral music blasting through the speakers. No country music for this gal, thank you very much.

  I studied the numbers on the yield monitor, the on-board device I used to keep track of how many bushels we were harvesting per acre. A wet spring and summer had led to repeated flooding, and several gigantic bare spots in our soybean fields meant that yields would be lower than average.

  After I made several passes down the field, the grain tank was full. While Grandpa drove the tractor and auger cart alongside the combine, I maneuvered its unloading auger, which looked like a big metal arm, over the cart and dumped the soybeans without stopping. Dumping on the go was more efficient—and Winstons were all about efficienc
y. Once the auger cart was full, Grandpa would fill the grain truck, and our farmhand Cory would drive the load to the elevator—or store some grain in the bins on my farm so we could sell it later.

  Just as I’d finished emptying the load, a rabbit leaped in front of the rotating header and managed to stay ahead of it, scampering for his life. I shrieked and slowed the combine. “Get out of the way, you dumb bunny. Run!”

  He didn’t scurry fast enough, and the header flipped his body aside.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and fought a sob. Seriously? What was wrong with me? PMS? I never cried over stuff like this. I hadn’t cried since—

  “Get a grip, Georgia Rae.”

  I took a deep breath and let the low rumble of the machinery soothe me. A large wooded area lay ahead, and the trees’ leaves displayed yellows, oranges, and reds. As I drew closer, I noticed a lumpy mound protruding from the edge of the woods.

  Great. Another dead animal was what I needed today. Probably a deer—which actually wouldn’t be the end of the world considering the damage those creatures could do to my crops.

  My phone pinged with a text message from Evan.

  I need to see you.

  Fabulous. Keeping an eye out for rocks, I used one hand to text back.

  Busy in field.

  I shoved more M&Ms in my mouth and prayed he’d get the hint.

  I’ll come ride along after tennis practice.

  “Ugh. Georgia, you stupid bimbo. Why’d you have to go and tell your friends they’re welcome in the combine cab any time?”