Beneath the corn maze, p.1
Beneath the Corn Maze, page 1
Beneath the Corn Maze
Travel Writer Mystery Series - 3
Wendy Meadows
Copyright © 2021 by Wendy Meadows
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
P.O. Box 997
Newport, NH 03773
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
What’s Next?
More from Wendy
About Wendy Meadows
Chapter One
She could scarcely believe it. Autumn had arrived in Georgia, and Patricia McKay had spent several months traveling around on new assignments without encountering any problems—especially problems associated with murder.
After tangling with a difficult case in a frozen, snow-soaked desert months back, Patricia accepted each new assignment her boss, Edna Traceton, tossed at her with a little trepidation. Would her trip to Canada be filled with murder and danger? No. Patricia’s stay in Canada had been as smooth as a newborn baby’s rear end.
After Canada, Patricia had been assigned to travel to New Zealand. Surely, she feared, some shadowy danger awaited her in that strange land. But no, three fun-filled weeks in New Zealand had passed with ease and comfort.
Surely, Patricia thought, after being sent to Finland, some unknown killer was awaiting in the frozen land of the north. No frozen killer had appeared. Patricia had spent nearly a month in Finland—being delayed, to her joy—spending time with a sweet family who showed her many beautiful places on God’s earth.
“Maybe the danger zone I was trapped in has finally dissipated,” Patricia whispered as her flight landed on a rainy runway at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. The airport was a welcome sight for sore eyes. Louder, she added, “Ah, home at last. As much as I loved Finland, it’s going to be nice to have some pinto beans and cornbread.”
“You’re telling me,” said an old woman in a thick southern drawl. She appeared to be very fancy but in reality was very humble and modest. “My home is just outside of Calhoun. Been away in Boston for nearly a year visiting my son and daughter-in-law and helping take care of my new grandchild. I’m worn down to the ground.”
Patricia smiled. She liked Mabel Horn and was glad her flight had been diverted to Philadelphia before continuing on to Atlanta. Mabel had boarded Patricia’s flight and had been a delight ever since. “You promised to write me, Mabel.”
“Honey, I’m seventy-one years old. If I can remember to go to the bathroom without peeing myself, I’ll try to remember to write,” Mabel complained. “At my age, a gal is lucky if she has enough toilet paper in the house. My late husband always did the shopping, but he’s been in heaven for three years now. I can remember to buy milk and bread but always seem to forget the toilet paper. I think my late husband deliberately went to heaven first to leave me with a few headaches.”
Patricia glanced into a kind face that suddenly filled with sadness. “You miss your husband, don’t you?” she asked.
“I was married to the man for fifty-one years. I guess somewhere in time I must have loved him,” Mabel answered and then offered Patricia a smile filled with sorrow. “Knew I loved my husband after he kissed me. Spent some time telling myself I despised the ground he walked on, but deep down my heart knew the truth.”
Mabel’s words made Patricia think of Brian, who was waiting for her at the airport. Patricia knew she had been spending a lot of time away from home—and Brian. However, it appeared that Brian was okay with her traveling the world. Not too long ago the guy would have put up a fuss, but Patricia was relieved that he was putting on a brave face and biting his tongue. Besides, he was busy at work being the new detective in North Frost—busy, uh, counting jellybeans in the jar that sat on his desk, but hey, a job was a job.
Still, Patricia felt bad about spending so much time away from Brian. Deep down, as much as her heart wanted to refuse the truth, she was in love with him. Why? Patricia had no earthly idea.
“I suppose love strikes when we least expect it, huh?” she asked Mabel.
Mabel simply nodded her head and then tugged on the thick brown sweater that covered her tender frame. “Love never agrees with the songs and poems, dear,” she told Patricia and then nodded at the dark pink sweater Patricia was wearing. “Your beauty requires tender colors, not dark. Dark colors do not complement you. I know you’re wearing pink to impress your man, but next time wear a softer shade.”
Patricia tensed up. “How do you know I’m meeting someone?”
Mabel reached out and patted Patricia’s soft hand. “You became very anxious ever since we arrived in Georgia,” she said and then offered a warm smile. “We’re almost ready to deplane. I’ll remember to write you if you remember to send me reminders to buy toilet paper.”
Patricia smiled and then leaned over and hugged Mabel. “That’s a promise.”
“You have a very special heart, Patricia. Never lose it,” Mabel whispered and didn’t say another word until Patricia walked her off the plane and entered a crowded airport that she knew like the back of her hand. “Call me, honey.” Mabel then nodded at a handsome man standing off by himself. “That might just be your man.”
Patricia spotted Brian standing off to the east side of the terminal. He was looking out the windows, his eyes focused on the falling rain that was soaking the runways and large jets sitting outside. That was just like Brian, Patricia thought. No hello. No wave. Just focus on the weather and how it was going to affect the traffic and the ride home. “I…guess,” Patricia sighed.
Mabel grinned. “Love is never smooth, honey,” she whispered and then walked away without saying another word.
“I guess,” Patricia moaned. She tossed on a gray coat and then gripped her white purse. “Time to go say hello to the love of my life.” Patricia drew in a deep breath and walked over to Brian. “I’m home…safe and sound. Here I am.”
Brian looked at Patricia—looked into the most beautiful face he had ever seen—but then suddenly frowned. Patricia had cut her long auburn hair. It was now short and looked…silly. Well, maybe not silly, and maybe even stylish in the eyes of the person who created the cut, but definitely not…well…Patricia. The hairstyle was not Patricia’s normal style.
“Uh…nice haircut,” he blurted out before his brain could throw a little common sense at his mouth.
Patricia stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “The new style in Finland. I thought I could use a change,” she told Brian in a very—very—defensive tone. Good grief, she thought, first the guy didn’t even greet me and then he insults my new hairstyle. Yeah, love sure isn’t smooth…more like a path filled with a million sharp thorns. “I’m glad you like it, Brian.”
Brian tensed up and then quickly glanced down at the brown sports blazer he was wearing over a pair of old jeans. Brian knew his look was “normal,” if not fashionable, and really didn’t care that he was more or less an old broken-in shoe. Patricia, on the other hand, always seemed to conform to new styles every time she traveled to new worldly locations—mostly clothes. Patricia had changed her hairstyle only twice in the past and had quickly regretted the changes and hungered for her old hair back. Brian had hoped the last hairstyle change would be, well…the last. Unfortunately, it appeared that Patricia had fallen victim to the world once again. Why? Brian didn’t know. Patricia was a riddle to him at times. “Uh, yeah…nice,” he murmured.
Patricia rolled her eyes. “You hate it, don’t you?” she asked in an annoyed voice. “I knew you would. That’s why I didn’t even talk about it to Mabel on the plane.”
Brian raised his eyes. “Who?”
“Mabel, the old…I mean, my new friend who…oh, forget it!” Patricia snapped her arms together. “Brian, it’s not a crime to try out new styles, you know. Finland was a very beautiful country with a very beautiful culture. The family I was staying with were all very nice. The oldest daughter and I became very close friends. She’s the one who convinced me to try this new style, and, well, I think it’s…happening.”
“What are we, in the seventies?” Brian asked before he could catch his mouth. He winced and then looked out at the rain again. “Look, Patricia, I…it’s your hair, do what you want with it, okay,” he said, struggling to sound casual instead of telling Patricia how silly he thought she looked.
“You’re a jerk, Brian.” Patricia frowned. “A real gentleman would have complimented my hair even if he didn’t like it. You, on the other hand, are far from being a gentleman.” Patricia looked around. “I think I’ll rent a car and drive home…alone.”
“Now wait a minute,” Brian objected and then made a “why me” face. “Look, Patricia, we haven’t seen each other in a long time—
“I was working!”
“Yeah, I know, I know.” Brian held up a hand. “Look, tiger, before you go chewing me to pieces, let’s just throw up a white flag and call for a peace treaty, okay? Besides, I have some good news for you.”
“Good news?” Patricia asked as she stared into Brian’s eyes. As she did, her gut suddenly tensed up. A deep worry told Patricia that Brian’s good news wasn’t going to be good news. “What good news?”
Brian proudly folded his arms together and let out a manly smile, his chin raised in a cocky manner. “I’ve been working on your motorhome.”
Patricia froze. “My…motorhome? You mean my classic 1978 Winnebago?”
“Yep, I turned that heap of junk into something grand.” Brian beamed.
“Heap…of junk?” Patricia asked in a painful whisper. “What…did you do to my motorhome, Brian?” she demanded as if the end of the world had arrived.
“Spruced it up,” Brian explained in a proud voice. “I subscribe to your travel magazine. The June edition was all about traveling around different countries in RVs—new RVs that are top-notch. Well, that got me thinking about your old heap of junk—”
“My old heap of junk?” Patricia repeated, feeling as if Brian were sticking a hot dagger into her heart.
Brian nodded. “Not much crime in North Frost,” he explained. “Usually, things pick up for the Autumn Festival—don’t forget that starts tomorrow. Anyway, with you being gone and nothing to do at the office except watch the paint dry, I decided to work on your RV.”
Patricia screwed up her face as if someone had shoved a sour lemon into her mouth. Whenever Brian got into a mood to do one of his little “projects,” someone suffered in the end—named Patricia. Brian’s last project had been a disaster. The guy had decided to add a sun room onto the back of Patricia’s farmhouse. The room turned out looking like a warped chicken coop. Brian Johnson was an excellent cop—an intelligent, strong, solid cop—but a lousy carpenter, electrician, and plumber. “What exactly did you…do…to my motorhome?”
“You’ll see when we get home.” Brian beamed. “I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m…sure it will be.” Patricia sighed and then just stared at Brian. Yes, love certainly wasn’t smooth sailing. “Uh, Brian, I’m very tired. As you know, a storm caused my flight to be diverted to Philadelphia. I still have to call Edna and report that I’m home. Maybe we should just get a quick bite to eat, drive home, and call it a day, huh? I’ll take a look at my…motorhome…when I feel rested.”
“Oh, it’ll only take a minute,” Brian promised. “It’s parked in your barn behind your house. You won’t have far to walk.” Brian, feeling proud of himself—and relieved that the conversation was no longer on Patricia’s new hairstyle—reached out and dared to hug the beautiful woman. “I’m glad you’re home, Patricia. I’m also glad you won’t be leaving again until after the Autumn Festival is over.”
“Yeah…lucky me,” Patricia whispered as she hugged Brian back. Images of a tormented, twisted motorhome filled her mind.
Brian let go of Patricia. “Aren’t you glad you’re home?” he asked.
“Huh?” Patricia said before reading disappointment in Brian’s eyes. “Oh…sure, sure, I’m glad, honey,” she said and forced a smile to her lips. “I’m tired, that’s all…and a little uneasy about my motorhome. I mean…Brian, remember the sun room?”
Brian quickly began rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, the sun room.” He looked away and then let out an awkward laugh. “Never been so happy to tear down something I built in my life. But hey, this is different. I really went all out on your RV and even had some professionals help me.”
“Professionals?”
“Some guys down at the local car dealership who know their stuff,” Brian explained. “You’ll see. Now, enough talk. Let’s get out of this crummy airport and get home.”
“Let’s find a Chick-fil-A first,” Patricia pleaded. “I’m starved.”
“I can do that.” Brian smiled and then gently took Patricia’s hand. “I’m really glad you’re home.”
Patricia looked into Brian’s sincere eyes. How could she stay mad? “I’ve missed you. When I was in Finland, a very handsome man kept trying to marry me, but all I could think about was you. I may regret saying that later, but it’s true.”
Brian leaned forward and gave Patricia a gentle kiss. “The new waitress at the diner asked me to take her out for dinner, but I told her my heart belonged to you,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’ll regret saying that later.”
Patricia put her head down on Brian’s shoulder and closed her eyes. It felt nice being in a pair of loving arms. Brian placed his cheek next to Patricia’s and soaked in the lovely smell of her perfume. Holding Patricia was…home. Brian knew his heart belonged to Patricia and that someday he was going to make the beautiful woman his wife. “Come on, let’s go find you a Chick-fil-A and then we’ll drive home…together.”
Patricia smiled and then nudged Brian with her elbow. “You better get my luggage first, cowboy, or you’ll be walking.”
“Oh, that’s right…luggage,” Brian complained in a joking voice. “I can’t forget to get the kitchen sink you packed.”
“And the bathroom,” Patricia giggled and then hooked her arm around Brian’s. “When I was in Finland, I rode a reindeer. It was very nice,” she said and then walked Brian away talking all about her latest trip. Brian didn’t mind. Just having Patricia home was enough to make his every dream come true. Sure, hearing all about Finland wasn’t exactly like talking about a 1950s hot rod, but love was never smooth, and sometimes love required a man to allow a few thorns to be stuck into his ears. That was life…and yes, that was love—true love.
Patricia smiled as Brian drove her down a solemn street lined with breathtaking trees adorned with vibrant autumn colors. Glad the rain had stopped, she quickly rolled down the passenger side window attached to Brian’s truck, drew in a deep breath of crisp air, and then simply let the wind wash her tired face with gentle hands. “Oh, it feels so good to finally be back home. As much as I love traveling the world, there is no place like North Frost.”
Brian glanced over at Patricia, but instead of smiling, he frowned. Deep in his heart Brian wanted Patricia to stay home forever, but each time she returned home from a worldly visit, she always acted out the same theatrical performance. It wouldn’t be long before Edna Traceton, Patricia’s boss, called and sent the love of his life off on another worldly journey. “We’re almost to your farm.”
“Yes, we are.” Patricia beamed as Brian passed the Old Whitfield Farm. A long driveway drifted off into the trees, ending up at a large farmhouse that was currently for sale. It broke Patricia’s heart that the farm was being sold. Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield had been such pleasant people, but sadly, age had taken its course, and the Whitfields finally moved to Florida to be close to their children, settling down in a retirement community. “Any takers on the farm?” she asked Brian, pulling her head back into the truck.
Brian shook his head. “Carl said a developer tried to sweet talk him, but that was the only nibble.”
“It’s a good thing the Whitfields made a clause that the buyer must be a farmer and that their farm can never be sold off to a developer,” Patricia stated in a relieved voice. “The Whitfields’ land ends where my land begins. A developer would destroy all this beauty…and my land.”
“County is fighting hard to keep North Frost from being chewed alive by hungry developers,” Brian pointed out. “Too many North Georgia counties are being overrun by people who live in Atlanta, Florida, and New York. Our way of life is being destroyed by rental cabins and corporate America.”
“Tell me about it,” Patricia sighed. “I remember the old courthouse located in a few counties west of us. You know which one I’m talking about?” Brian nodded. “That courthouse was built when the county formed,” Patricia continued in a sad voice. “But then a bunch of snotty rich people from Atlanta helped one of their ‘people’ become mayor and what happened? The courthouse was torn down against the wishes of the real citizens of the county and replaced by a…monstrosity. And to add insult to injury, the little square that was once so cozy was turned into a breeding ground for ‘snowflakes’ that think their poop doesn’t smell.”
