Cornfield Calamity (Farm Fresh Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Summer Prescott

Author:Summer Prescott [Prescott, Summer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summer Prescott Books
Published: 2024-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

When Grayden left, the good day that Shea had been having dimmed somewhat. There was a killer out there. The sheriff hadn’t come right out and admitted it, but it was true. How ironic. She’d come out here partly because of the low crime rate, so she could feel safe living by herself on a rather remote farm.

She’d just finished restocking the front displays when a motorcycle roared into the driveway, skidding to a halt with its front tire nearly touching the front of her stand. The driver, who looked like a biker from a seventies movie, stared at her for a moment before dismounting and sidling over to the stand.

“Good thing you didn’t hit it,” Shea observed archly, peeved at his carelessness.

“What’d you say?” the man growled, seemingly preoccupied with scanning the entire area.

“I said good thing you didn’t hit it,” Shea enunciated more carefully, speaking louder. “You came pretty close to my stand when you pulled in and I have a firm ‘if you break it, you bought it,’ policy,” she joked, trying to lighten up with a bit of humor, though she thought his bad driving was anything but funny.

He merely stared at her, not saying a word.

Shea waited for a few seconds, then tried again.

“How can I help you?” she asked, now just wanting to get rid of him.

“You? What makes you think you can help me?” His eyes glistened.

“Look, if you’re not going to buy anything, maybe you should just move along,” Shea suggested, giving him a look. After what she’d been through, she was out of patience and hoped that the man would just leave.

“Who do you think you are, girl?” the biker rasped, his sneer showing off a set of teeth that spoke of hard times or hard drinking, or maybe both.

Before Shea could reply, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Whenever you’re done with your man-friend, honey, I’m gonna need a jar of pickled okra, please.” Winnie Walker beamed at Shea, her sister by her side.

The man caught sight of the two women and snorted in disgust before taking two long strides toward his bike and hopping on. He gunned the engine and sped away, leaving poor Winnie fanning herself and choking on the dust he’d created.

“You know dear, I know you’re new around here, but maybe that’s not the sort of company you should be keeping,” Winnie advised, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her hankie.

“Hi Ms. Walker. I have no idea who that boorish lout was, and I hope he never comes back,” Shea replied, remembering the sheriff’s warning.

She was thankful that no killer would be so dumb as to come back to the scene of the crime in broad daylight at least, particularly not with so many witnesses around. She only had to worry once the sun went down.

“Oh darlin’…the bad ones are like fungus; they just keep coming back.” Winnie shook her head.

Shea was glad that the older woman’s sister had come along to cut short the long rambling stories that Winnie wanted to tell, and she finally dragged her away when a line formed behind them.

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