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Deadly Holiday (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 2) Page 10
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I clutched a bag full of ornaments that I’d purchased earlier that day at Crafter’s Paradise in Richardville, climbed the wooden staircase on the side of the building, and knocked on the door.
Cal was whistling “Jingle Bell Rock” as he opened the door. He wore a green camouflage-print apron. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Wait. I hear you, but I can’t see you.” I reached out and patted his apron.
He laughed.
“Love the camo print.” I hugged him.
“Thanks.” He smiled.
Would I ever get tired of seeing his dimple? I hoped not.
I held out the bag. “Christmas cheer. I picked some baseball-themed ornaments along with more traditional ones.”
“Cool.” He set the bag on the counter and headed for the stove.
Yellow floral paper adorned the walls, and brown appliances from the 1960s or 70s completed the retro look. Strange that Cal couldn’t afford a better apartment since he’d played professional baseball when he was younger. But there probably weren’t that many places to rent in Wildcat Springs.
He motioned to the stove. “It’s ancient, but it gets the job done. I’m looking to buy my own place in the country—just haven’t found the right one.”
“They can be hard to come by.” I kept my tone light, but my face burned at the thought that if our relationship progressed to marriage, he wouldn’t need to buy his own place. But once again, I was getting way ahead of myself—especially since we were both acting kind of awkward.
“Have a seat.” He motioned toward the dented and scratched table. There weren’t any personal touches in his kitchen to help me figure out what he might like for a gift.
Once I was settled, Cal set a plate containing a pork chop with an apple topping, grits, and green beans in front of me.
“This looks great.” I placed a napkin in my lap.
He sat down with his own plate. “Let’s pray.” He clasped my hand and said a quick blessing for our food.
I took a bite of the tender pork chop, thankful that I had something to do. “Oh. My word. This is fabulous.”
Life Lesson #24: Try to snag a man who can cook.
“Thanks. I learned to love grits when I played ball in Texas. One of my buddies was a native and taught me the right way to cook ’em.” He didn’t start eating right away—long enough to get me wondering if I’d managed to smear grits all over my face.
I wiped my mouth. “You okay?”
“You were right. I’ve been holding out on you.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. I clutched my napkin as if it were the edge of a cliff. “How so?”
“My parents are getting a divorce.”
I loosened my grip. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thirty-seven years of marriage—down the drain.” He put his fork down and scrubbed his hand over his face. “My mom up and decided she’s not happy with my dad, and her new boy toy would make her life great.”
No wonder he’d been holding back with me. Watching a marriage disintegrate was enough to make anyone cautious about relationships. “When did you find out?”
“Last month. I went to Cleveland for Thanksgiving, because my sister and I thought we could help cheer Dad up.” He shook his head. “He announced at dinner that he’s moving to Florida in a couple of weeks to be closer to some woman he met online.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. He wouldn’t listen when I told him rebounding was a bad idea. He insisted Florida had always been part of his retirement plan, even though I’ve never heard about it. He swears he isn’t going to let the divorce stop him. Never mind that he’s always made fun of retirees who can’t hack Ohio winters and escape to Florida every year.”
“Did you see your mom?”
His eyes darkened. “No. I still need some time, so I don’t say something I’ll have to apologize for.” He took a drink of water. “The worst part is, Danielle and I didn’t see the split coming. Mom and Dad were so good at hiding their problems that we believed they were happy. All my years in law enforcement should’ve taught me that people aren’t always what they seem, but I had a huge blind spot when it came to my family.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Danielle’s taking it a lot harder than me. Mom always helped her with the kids, but ever since she started her affair, she’s been too busy with her boyfriend, who’s like fifteen years younger. Now with Dad leaving…” He cut a piece of meat. “So that’s what I’ve been dealing with.” He took a bite of pork chop.
“I’m sorry I was so hard on you.”
“No, you’re right. If we’re going to get to know each other, then you need to know what’s happening in my life. But I expect the same from you.”
“Deal.” I clasped his hand. “I don’t think there’s anything else I haven’t told you.”
“Good.” He squeezed my hand.
We enjoyed our food for a few minutes.
“Let me ask you something.” He cut a piece of meat. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time at the church during the next week because of rehearsals, right?”
“Yep.”
“Keep an eye on everyone. You’re a natural at getting people to open up, so if you hear or learn anything—and I do mean anything—that you think might be important, tell me.”
“You’re bringing me into the investigation?” I tried to keep excitement from spilling into my voice but didn’t quite manage.
“Sort of. If you want to think of it that way. Just tell me what you find out, and don’t go off on any wild goose chases by yourself.”
“Should I pay attention to anyone in particular?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Nope.”
That I could do. “Why the change of heart?”
“Your adventure on the way to the bike store tells me you’re probably involved whether you want to be or not. We might as well roll with it.”
“Is Detective Kimball okay with it?” I couldn’t bring myself to call him Marvin.
“Yeah. After I told him about the SUV tailgating you, he agreed that you’re right in the middle of this, so we should use that to our advantage—since you’ve given us some solid tips in the past.” Cal pointed to my plate. “You want more?”
Yes. “No, thank you. It was delicious. Let me help you clean up.”
“Sure.” He grinned. “Then we can decorate before we have some strawberry cheesecake.”
Strawberry cheesecake? He was definitely my dream man.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, I tried to forget the fact that Cal still hadn’t kissed me the night before as I chugged my Moon Landing Mocha on the way to church to have a vocal rehearsal with Sharon Anderson, who was playing Millie the Time-Traveling Scientist.
What was I doing wrong?
We’d had a blast decorating his Christmas tree, and Cal had played Christmas music and whistled as I sang. At the end of the evening, he’d given me a hug, thanked me for helping him decorate, and sent me on my way. Gus hadn’t even been there to interrupt. No text messages disturbed us. Maybe Cal unloading his family problems had killed the mood.
I pulled into the church parking lot, found a space close to the door, and strode to the entrance.
Even with the visit to Cal’s apartment, I still wasn’t any closer to figuring out a gift for him. He had a few pictures of family sitting on his entertainment center cabinet, but that was it for personal touches.
I walked into the church office. “Good morning, Mona!”
“Morning.” She set her coffee mug on her desk. “Sharon called and said she’s running a few minutes late.”
I shrugged and took another sip of mocha. “No problem.”
A petite, fifty-something woman carrying a box emerged from the back hallway. “This is the last load. I left most of the books on his shelf. I’d like to donate them to your church library.”
“Thank you,” Mona said. “I’ll be happy to move them for you.”r />
As the woman drew closer, I saw the resemblance.
“You’re Zach’s mother?” I asked.
“Yes—Elaine Mishler.”
“Georgia Winston.” I put my coffee cup on the counter. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Elaine studied me and set the box down at her feet. “You’re the one who tried to save my son.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I clasped her hand. “I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Did he know what was happening?” She squeezed my hand before letting go.
What could I say? The brutal truth was Zach had been in horrible shape when I’d found him. “He didn’t have much strength left. He said anchor as if it were important. I thought he meant Jesus was his anchor, but when I said that, he corrected me. Does that word mean something to you?”
“I wish it did.” Her chin trembled. “I should’ve known if something bad was happening in my own son’s life, but I didn’t. He was always a good boy—kind and thoughtful. I couldn’t even give the detectives a reason someone would’ve given him poisoned tea leaves.”
I gaped at her as I absorbed what she’d said. “Someone poisoned the tea before he made it.”
“The killer mixed Jimsonweed seeds into the blend.” Tears filled her eyes. “If I hadn’t taught him to love all kinds of tea, this wouldn’t have happened.” She grabbed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “I know it’s not my fault, but still…”
“Do the police know where the tea came from?”
“If they do, they haven’t told me, but obviously it came from someone he trusted—who knew he liked peppermint-flavored tea.”
Someone like Olivia Scott—or anyone on the church staff.
Elaine removed her keys from her pocket. “I’d better go. I have to finish packing his apartment before heading back to Michigan for his memorial service.”
I hugged her. “I’m praying for you and your family.”
“Thank you.” Elaine picked up the box.
I followed her to the door, opened it, and returned to Mona’s desk. “I feel terrible for Mrs. Mishler.”
“I can’t imagine losing my child—let alone to murder.” She fidgeted with the fringe on her black sweater. “Jimsonweed is awful. I heard about a teenager who died from trying to get high on the stuff last summer.”
“Do you know who?”
“No. I heard it from another mom when I was taking a cycling class at Fitness Universe. She didn’t mention names, but she was warning the rest of us parents.” Mona brushed her bangs off her forehead, and my eyes fell on her left ring finger that displayed a huge princess-cut diamond.
Thankful for the opportunity to change the subject, I pointed to the ring. “Nice rock. Do you have some news?”
She sat up straighter and blushed. “It happened fast, but Jim is everything I could want in a guy, and he loves my kids. They think he’s pretty cool too. His daughter Mia is sixteen and gets along great with Leah.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s the director at Solid Rock Mission, and he has a heart for the less fortunate.”
“Jim Phillips?”
She brightened. “You know him?”
“We’ve met.” Interesting that he’d be able to afford such a big ring on a mission director’s salary. But it could be a family heirloom. “How’d you get together?”
“His brother Tristan is my landlord, so he introduced us.”
A blast of cold air tickled the back of my neck, and I faced Sharon.
She pushed her gray, windblown hair out of her eyes. “I’m sooo sorry. I slept through my alarm.”
“No worries.” Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. “Let’s get started.”
“I met Zach Mishler’s mom at church, and she told me about the poisonous seeds in the tea blend.” I said to Cal that evening as I tossed a doggie biscuit into Gus’s crate. He scampered in, and I shut the door.
“Yep,” he said. “Nasty stuff. The whole Jimsonweed plant is poisonous.”
“I read about it.” That afternoon, I’d done a quick Google search, and I’d learned that the flowering plant grew in Indiana during warm months, but the seeds could be purchased online year-round. “Any ideas on who gave him the tea?”
“We have a strong lead.” For having been dating just a month, I was getting pretty good at recognizing his I-Can’t-Tell-You-That look. He squinted, just slightly, and his eyes twinkled, but he pressed his lips together, as if he were trying to look like he disapproved.
“Good. I’m thinking it’s not anyone on the church staff, or you wouldn’t have encouraged me to be on the lookout for you.”
“Nothing is certain yet.”
Gus started whining, so Cal and I made a quick exit. He was taking me to Wildcat Lanes, which was bound to be interesting. I hadn’t bowled for probably ten years. He opened the passenger door of the Jeep that he drove when he wasn’t working, and I hopped in.
When we were on our way, I couldn’t resist another question. “Do you know anything about a teenager dying from Jimsonweed last summer?”
He drove toward the highway. “No. Who told you that?”
“Mona. But she didn’t know who the kid was. She heard it from another mom when she was working out.”
“Good to know.” Cal scrubbed his hand over his chin.
When we arrived at the bowling alley about twenty minutes later, nearly all of the lanes were filled. Though no one had smoked inside for at least ten years, the smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered and mixed with grease from the concession stand. After Cal paid for a couple of games and we got our shoes, we found our lane.
Please, God, don’t let me embarrass myself. I kicked off my silver sneakers and put on the worn bowling shoes.
The chorus of falling pins followed by a cheer drew my attention to the lane next to us. Ella Brockwell did a victory shimmy before high-fiving her husband Doug. When she met my gaze, she waved. “First strike of the night.”
Doug’s eyes shined. “She’s a tough one.”
I laughed. “I’m hoping I don’t bowl all gutter balls.”
“We can always put up the bumpers.” Cal looked up from the console where he was entering our initials.
“Nope.” I lifted my chin. “I’m good.”
Doug picked up a ball from the return. “You two have fun.” He winked and approached the lane. He let the ball fly, and a few seconds later—strike. He pumped his fist, and Ella giggled.
It was nice to see them getting along.
“Ladies first.” Cal motioned toward the lane and rested his hand on the small of my back.
I bit my lip and selected a burgundy-marbled ball from the return. At least it was pretty. Taking a deep breath, I approached my lane and drew the ball back.
Nice and easy.
As I swung through, the ball collided with the back of my leg. My knee buckled, and the ball plunked out of my hand. While I limped backward, trying not to shriek in pain, the ball rolled about halfway down the lane before it dribbled left and died in the gutter.
Cal hopped up. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my leg and glanced around to see if anyone else—especially Doug and Ella—had seen. But they were—thankfully—focused on each other. “I’ll probably have a gigantic bruise tomorrow, but I’m tough. I’m sorry I embarrassed you by looking like such a klutz and—”
“Relax.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t embarrass me.” A reassuring smile spread over his face.
“Okay.” I tried to forget about his dimple as I picked up the ball from the return. “I’ll be more careful.”
“You’ve got this.”
Jaw clenched, I marched forward. This time, I eased up on my follow through and managed to miss my leg. The ball sailed straight down the middle of the lane, and I crossed my fingers.
Please, please, please don’
t fall in the gutter.
The ball cracked against the pins, knocking seven of them down.
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. At least I wouldn’t have a night of all gutter balls.
Cal stood. “Good job.”
I dropped down on the bench and watched him bowl a strike—with ease.
Be still my heart. I clapped. “Way to go.”
A little bit later, and without further embarrassing incidents, Cal had just won our first game when my phone rang. “This is Georgia.”
“Ms. Winston, this is Safe Home calling to inform you that your security system alarm has been triggered. Shall we notify the police?”
My eyes widened, and my heart chugged. “Yes. I’m not home.” I didn’t care about my stuff, but if someone hurt Gus…
Cal turned, concern filling his expression.
“We’ll take care of that right away.”
“Thank you.” I disconnected and stood. “Someone’s breaking into my house.”
Chapter Twelve
My place was trashed. By the time the sheriff’s department had been able to respond, the perps had fled, leaving overturned furniture, spilled drawers, and broken glass from my back door in their wake.
Gus had been howling in his cage, but thankfully, he was fine.
My laptop was gone, yet my TV, DVD player, and jewelry were intact.
“Are you missing any cash or other valuables?” Cal asked after I’d wandered around in a daze trying to remember everything I owned. Gus didn’t leave our sides.
“I need to check the safe.” I bolted out of the office and into the hallway where I opened the basement door, and we descended into the basement’s musty depths.
I didn’t have the fancy walkout kind, complete with a pool table, home theater, and wet bar. Nope. Mine was the one-hundred-year-old variety that I used for storage and for shelter during the tornado warnings that were all-too-frequent here in the good ol’ heartland.
Daddy’d built a safe room years ago in the corner, and it contained an actual safe and was large enough to duck into during storms.