Deadly Holiday (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 2) by Marissa Shrock

Author:Marissa Shrock [Shrock, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cimelia Press
Published: 2018-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

“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.

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