Exclusive Excerpt: Lethal harvest
Copyright © 2024 by Declan James Books
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
She stared at him. Always judging. Always looking down at him. Her frozen gaze, wide-eyed, accusatory. Her mouth stuck open in her final scream. He held her face in front of him, ready to call him another name. But she would never get the chance to berate him again.
He lifted her head higher, coiling his fingers through her thick, gray hair.
“Say it!” He shouted. “Call me a liar one more time. Call me a thief!”
He heard her shriek. It echoed through his bones and made the blood roar in his ears. Her jaw went slack. He took a step back. Her face. Her stupid, accusatory look.
“Say it,” he dared her once more. “Come on!”
He jerked her forward. Something shifted. Broke free. He held on to her, pulling her head upward. This time, her body fell away below it, crumpling to the floor of the barn. Rivers of blood soaked the wooden floor and ran through the uneven oak slats.
Now it was his turn to scream. He couldn’t let go of her. It was as if his fingers were glued to her hair. She was a nightmare now. A ghoul. He was nose to nose with her, gripping her severed head.
“No. No. No!”
He took a staggering step forward. Think. Move. Do something! What had he tried to do?
Her blood was everywhere. Why hadn’t he thought she would bleed?
It was then he realized he was still holding the machete in his right hand. Blood dripped from the blade. There was far too much of it to clean up. He became aware of the pain shooting up his right arm. She had been harder to cut through than he anticipated.
God. He hadn’t been thinking at all.
Adrenaline coursing through him now, the walls of the barn closed in on him. Heat smothered him. He couldn’t breathe. Stumbling out into the yard, he shook his arm, trying to free the gruesome souvenir of his night’s work from his fingers.
It was like she wouldn’t let go. Even now. Her hateful expression forever locked in place. He did the only thing he could think to do. He drew his arm back, arced it over his head, and threw her into the cornfield.
The crows would make quick work of her, he hoped. But there was so much blood. He’d made a mess.
Sticky blood caked his gloves. Thank God for those. He couldn’t even remember putting them on. They were hers. Gardening gloves. They’d been sitting on the kitchen counter of all places.
Trembling, he stepped over her body. There was nothing to be done about it now. Wild thoughts raced through his mind. He should take something. He owed it to her, after all. If it wasn’t for her, he could have made something of himself. He was making something of himself. Little by little, climbing back out of the hole. But then she stripped everything away. It only took one word from her. And she knew it. She knew exactly what she was doing the whole time.
“You’re nothing but a thief!” she’d said. “You think I don’t see you for what you are? A loser. A grifter. How dare you come into my home! You don’t belong here!”
Don’t belong here. Don’t belong here. Don’t belong here.
Rage bubbled to the surface, stealing the breath from his lungs.
She made him do it. Given him no choice. She had everyone fooled. Such a nice lady. A pillar of the town. But she was the worst of it.
“That’s what you get!” He shouted into the night sky. Rage gave way to laughter. He doubled over from it. She hadn’t been afraid. Not until that last second, when she must have seen the real danger in his eyes. He would live on that forever. It had finally dawned on her he was not someone she should have messed with. She should have respected him. Appreciated him. Treated him like a human being, not something she needed to scrape off her shoe.
As he thought it, he wiped his own shoe on the grass. Blood and bits of something rubbed off and his laughter rose once more.
Was there time to bury her? Is that what’s done? He thought about going back into the house. He’d left a mess there. No. Not him. She had done it. She had given him no choice.
No choice. There had never been any choice. There had only been what she wanted. Ruby Ingall. She played God with people’s lives.
No more. Never again. He had reclaimed his own destiny and shut her up for good.
Sweat beaded his brow. It ran into his eyes, making it difficult to see. The barn loomed in front of him, casting long shadows over the lawn. He heard a crash. Something fell from a cupboard inside. He startled, crouched down. Her vile cat darted out the pet door off the kitchen. It had something in its teeth.
He had half a mind to chase it down and chop it to bits like he’d done to her. She treated the thing better than she did people. But the cat was too quick.
“You’re on your own now,” he muttered, his voice sounding far away and foreign to his ears.
It was time to go. If he stayed longer, he would only make things worse. He wiped his brow with his forearm, smearing blood on his face. She’d cut him. The bitch.
He went to the pump on the side of the barn. Lifting it, the cool water began to flow. He rinsed the blade of the machete. It gleamed in the moonlight. Satisfied he’d washed it cleaner than when he picked it up, he took it back into the barn, careful to leave her body where it lay.
His throat burned. Had she scratched him there? He couldn’t remember. He went back to the pump. He stuck his head under the stream and drank. It tasted good. Ice cold water. It felt like a baptism of sorts. And it was.
Because after tonight, he was a new man.
He was free.
Chapter Two
“It’s a bad idea.”
Jake’s rear end hadn’t even touched the booth seat before his grandfather started in.
“Okay,” Jake said with a sigh. He could tell by the look on the old man’s face, whatever this was about, Max Cashen was winding up for a full on rant. Max pointed a gnarled finger at Jake’s face.
“It’s a bad idea. I told her nothing good was gonna come of it. I want no part of it. You should have no part of it. But she’s gonna work on you like she always does and you’re gonna cave and then we’re all gonna suffer.”
“Gramps,” Jake said. “It’s been kind of a long day. Whatever this is, you think it can wait until the weekend?”
Cashen’s Irish Pub, or “Sips” as the locals had started to call it, was fast filling up. Jake wasn’t the only person in town looking to leave his troubles behind for an hour before heading on home. Though Jake’s troubles tended to follow him wherever he went. The lone crimes against person detective in Worthington County. He didn’t exactly have a job he could clock out of and forget.
His sister Gemma owned the bar, one of about a dozen professional ventures she’d taken over the last two decades. Most of those had turned into disastrous misadventures. But after six months, Jake had to admit, the place was booming. She kept a back booth just for Jake. His grandfather usually liked to hold court at the copper top table in the center of the dining room. Tonight, though, he was loaded for bear and sitting directly across from Jake.
“If you don’t talk some sense into her, she’s gonna do more than screw up her own life this time. I’m telling you.”
Jake looked across the dining room. Gemma stood behind the bar, giving orders to one of the female servers. She’d hired a couple of new ones. Now that summer had officially ended, she’d lost a few of the college-aged wait staff that had helped her open the bar. Gemma caught Jake’s eye. Her face fell as she too could read Grandpa’s body language. Gemma put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. Her smile morphed into a mask he knew she wore sometimes when trying to deal with Grandpa Max. She made her way over to Jake’s booth.
“Scoot,” she ordered Grandpa. “And don’t listen to whatever he’s been telling you. You’re not minding your own business again, I take it.”
Grandpa shook his head. He slapped his palms on the table and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ve warned you. Both of you. I wash my hands of it now.” With that, he slid out of the booth and made his way over to his copper top. Gemma sat down in his place.
“Do I even want to ask?” Jake said.
“I didn’t want to talk to you about this right now. I was going to give you a chance to have a beer. Or five.”
“It’s Thursday,” he said. “I still work in the morning. I didn’t come here to get plastered.”
“You’re right. This can wait. I’ll talk to you this weekend.” Something caught her eye. She gestured to someone over Jake’s shoulder. He turned, but couldn’t see who she was signaling to. But now she wore that fake smile for Jake. He knew it wasn’t a good omen.
“Just tell me what’s up,” he said. “You’re clearly itching to. And the old man certainly has opinions. What do you need?”
Gemma’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t need anything. Don’t act like I can’t clean up my own messes.”
Jake raised a hand in surrender. She was prickly today. The only person who had a worse temper than Grandpa Max was his sister. By the heat coloring her cheeks, he knew he was in land mine territory.
“What is it?” he said.
Gemma folded her hands. “I know what you’re going to say. I know what you’re going to think. Believe me, I’ve weighed all the pros and cons. I’m aware of the pitfalls. And I know how this is probably going to end, but…”
“Gemma, for Goddsakes. What?”
“Dickie,” she blurted.
“Dickie.”
“Dickie,” she nodded.
Jake felt tension harden his shoulders. His own rage bubbled to the surface. Dickie. She could only mean Dickie Gerald, her most recent ex-husband and father to their nine-year-old son, Aidan. Dickie had a lousy track record with his sister and had gotten physical with her in the years Jake lived out of town.
“What’s he done?”
“Nothing. Or…nothing recently. Except…he’s gotten sober.”
Jake went still, bracing himself for whatever else Gemma had to tell him. His grandfather’s warning echoed. Whatever this was, was a bad idea. One Grandpa Max had tried to warn her away from when he caught wind of it. If it involved Dickie Gerald, Jake knew the old man was likely right.
“I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I know people rarely change long term. I know what Dickie’s capable of.”
“Gemma, for the love of God, do not tell me you’re taking that creep back.”
“I’m not telling you that. Of course not. What I’m telling you…I’m giving you a heads up. That’s all. I was…I’m…I’ve allowed Dickie some limited, supervised visitation with Aidan.”
Jake took a sip of his beer. Maybe having five would be a good idea after all.
“How’d that go?” he asked. “And when. Where was I? Please tell me you’re not the one supervising this visitation alone.”
She didn’t answer. A new pit formed in Jake’s stomach. The look on her face told him he’d guessed the situation correctly.
“Gemma, I don’t want you alone with Dickie. Ever.”
She put a hand up. “I’m not here to discuss that. That’s not why I’m bringing it up. But since I have. Aidan’s been asking. He wants to know his dad. They’ve been communicating.”
“How? Aidan doesn’t have a phone.”
“He asked me to call him. Dickie reached out to me a few months ago.”
“A few months ago? I’m only hearing about this now?”
“Jake, listen. Please. Part of me hates all of this, too. Most of me. But the fact remains that Dickie is Aidan’s dad. I know full well how this is probably going to turn out. Dickie’s going to show up for a little while. But he’s Dickie. He’ll revert to form. He’ll disappoint Aidan. I hate it. I want to protect him from it. It’s just…Aidan’s not a baby anymore. Before we know it, he’s going to be a teenager. He’s going to hit that age where I won’t be able to tell him anything. So better he learns who Dickie is now before he gets old enough to run off and do something stupid like try to go live with him.”
Her logic was dizzying. Though part of it made sense. Let Aidan learn for himself the kind of man Dickie was.
“Well,” he said. “I guess I’m glad you told me. I’d rather hear it from you than run into that ass…er…Dickie. But I meant what I said. I don’t want you alone with him. The next time he visits Aidan, I want to be there.”
“When Dickie’s sober, he’s harmless. He’s a mouse who can barely squeak. Believe me, I know the signs. I can sense it on him a mile away. One look at him and I know if Dickie’s been drinking or not. You have to trust me on that.”
Jake wasn’t satisfied, but he knew his sister well enough to know it wasn’t worth arguing about. Not now. She kept her posture rigid, her lips pursed. He knew there was something else she wasn’t telling him.
“What?” He said, feeling that pit reform in his stomach.
“He’s asked me for a favor.”
“A favor? Letting him see his kid isn’t favor enough?”
“He could have taken me to court on that one. I told you. Aidan’s getting older. The next time we wind up in court, the judge is probably going to want to hear from Aidan. I don’t want to put him through that. To his credit, neither does Dickie. So far, he’s behaving. I’m not naïve enough to believe this time’s going to stick. I’m clear headed on that. But…”
“But what?”
“But…well…Dickie’s as together as I’ve ever known him to be. He’s actually going to meetings. Seeing a therapist. Don’t roll your eyes at me, but this time seems different.”
“Oh, Gemma.”
“I told you. I know the odds of it lasting are slim. I mean it. I have my eyes fully open here. Dickie asked me…er…actually you…to do something for him.”
“Me? He wants me to do something for him? How about I refrain from bashing his nose in for beating on my sister? Consider that the favor he gets from me.”
“Jake, that’s not helpful. And he’s not asking for much. I promise. He’s asking for five minutes. He just wants to talk to you. Five minutes. That’s it.”
“Why?”
She sat back. “Honestly? I’m not sure. He just said he has to give you something. And he has to do it in person.”
“I’m not interested in anything Dickie Gerald has to give me.”
“Jake, please. I’m not doing any of this for Dickie. I’m doing it for Aidan. Whether you like it or not, he is Aidan’s dad. If there is even the slightest chance that man can keep his shit together and be a halfway decent human being, Aidan deserves it. I don’t want to rock the boat.”
“How long has this been going on?” Jake asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. How long ago did you let Dickie back into your life and not tell me about it?”
Gemma dropped her chin. He knew that look, too. Christ.
“How long have you been lying to me?”
“I never lied,” she snapped. “I just didn’t tell you.”
“Gemma…”
“Four months,” she said.
“What?”
“Since last May. Just before school let out.”
“All summer. You’re telling me Aidan’s been spending time with Dickie all summer?”
“Once a week,” she said. “And it’s been minimal. We met at the park to start. Then Aidan’s favorite fast food place. They got lunch. A couple of weeks ago, Dickie took Aidan to the zoo. I went too with some friends.”
“Why are you even telling me anything? You’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”
“It’s my life!” She shouted, then immediately dropped to a whisper. “It’s my business. I told you. I’ve been careful. But this is as long as I’ve ever seen Dickie sober. I’m hopeful. But not stupid. It’s been little by little. So far, Dickie’s lived up to every condition I set for him. And Aidan’s happy. It’s been good for him. For now, at least. Dickie might break his heart, but for now…he’s getting to know his dad.”
“What do you want from me, then?”
“Five minutes. That’s all. Dickie asked. Hear what he has to say. Whatever it is. If you want to tell him to go piss up a rope, that’s your business. If you want to threaten him within an inch of his life if he screws this thing up, well, he’s earned that and more. But he’s asked to talk to you for five minutes. He knows full well how you feel.”
“When?” Jake muttered.
Gemma bit her lip. She looked over Jake’s shoulder again. He felt the cold fingers of dread snaking up his spine. He’d been had. No wonder Grandpa was so riled up before Jake even sat down.
“He’s here?”
“We thought this would be a good, neutral place,” Gemma said.
“You mean you know I’m not likely to break his damn nose in the middle of your bar? Don’t be too sure. If that weasel tries something…”
“He won't,” she said. Gemma raised her hand and waved two fingers. Jake went stiff, refusing to turn his head. A moment later, Dickie Gerald stood at the end of the booth. He was clean shaven, smiling nervously, and crushing a baseball cap in his hands.
Jake didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t even really want to look at the guy. But as Gemma found an excuse to disappear and Dickie Gerald slid into the booth opposite him, Jake had to admit the man looked better than he’d ever seen him. Usually scrawny and unkempt, Dickie’s face had filled out. His generally sallow complexion was replaced with a tan, healthy glow. He wore a clean shirt and his eyes were clear. Jake was used to seeing them bloodshot from the overindulgence of cheap whiskey.
“Thank you,” Dickie started. “I know I’m not your favorite person.”
Jake resisted the urge to tell him exactly what kind of person he thought Dickie was. Five minutes. That’s what he’d agreed to give him. For Aidan.
“What’s this about?” Jake asked, checking his smartwatch. He set a timer and tilted the screen so Dickie could see it. “Five minutes. Clock’s running, Dickie.”
“Thank you. I mean it, man. I know what you think of me.”
“It’s not what I think that’s your problem. It’s what I know.”
“I’m not proud of my past. I’ve done a lot of things I regret. I messed everything up with Gemma. That’s gotta be my biggest regret. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and I screwed it all up. I know that.”
“No,” Jake said. “She’s not the best thing that ever happened to you. Aidan is. So what I want to know. Are you using that boy to get to her? Is that your play? Because you’ve never shown any interest in being a dad to that kid in the ten years since you found out he was coming.”
“He’s my son,” Dickie said, emphasizing the word “my.”
“No,” Jake said. “See, that would imply that you’ve acted like a father to him. My sister may have a soft heart when it comes to him. It can cloud her judgment. Make no mistake, I don’t suffer from the same problem.”
“Well, what happens between me and Aidan and me and Gemma and Aidan is our business.”
“Until you hurt them,” Jake said. “That’s when it becomes my business. Do you understand what I’m telling you? I don’t care what step you’re on, Dickie. If this is you making some kind of amends, I’m not interested.”
“Jake, I get it. I do. You said your piece. You’re welcome to it. I deserve it. I know that. But I’m really not here to talk about Aidan or Gemma. That’s not what this is about. This is about…someone else.”
Jake sat back. There were only about three minutes left on his timer.
“I’m here about my cousin. On his behalf. Believe me, I knew how this was going to go with you. I don’t wanna talk to you. I don’t even wanna be in the same room with you, either.”
Jake started to rise. “Good. So let’s not be.”
Dickie reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. Jake felt coiled, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. Dickie must have seen something in his face and pulled his hand back.
“Please,” he said. “Just let me say what I came to say and give you what I promised to give you. Then we can go our separate ways. As far as Gemma and Aidan, like I said. As much as you hate me, you can’t change the fact that Aidan’s my boy. I’m in his life and I’m gonna stay in his life. But this isn’t about that.”
“Your five minutes are up.”
“My cousin,” Dickie said. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled but sealed envelope. “This is for you. He asked me to give it to you.”
Something in Jake told him he should just keep going. Turn his back on Dickie. Not take whatever bait he was dangling. He didn’t. Life in Blackhand Hills might have turned out vastly different if he had. But before he could really form a solid thought, Dickie slapped that battered envelope into his hand.
Jake didn’t look at it. He sat back down.
“My cousin,” Dickie continued. “He’s a dead man anyway, okay? He knows that. Only…he doesn’t deserve to be.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“My cousin is Wesley Hall,” Dickie said.
The name held no meaning to Jake. Not then. Dickie dropped it like it should have.
“He’s at Chillicothe. In about six weeks, they’re gonna stick a needle in his arm and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Christ,” Jake muttered. “You’ve got a cousin on death row? That’s what this is about? You expect me to do something about it?”
“No. No, man. I don’t. I just promised to give you that letter. That’s all. Except, I know Wes. He didn’t hurt nobody. I know it.”
“Great,” Jake said. “A ringing endorsement. Why don’t you call the governor?”
“Man, I get it. I know how this sounds. You hate my guts. You know what? I hate yours. Yeah. Twelve steps. I’m working the program. I am. And I’m sorry for what I did to Gemma. Only I never did anything to you, so…”
Jake crushed the letter in his fist. He had half a mind to throw the thing at Dickie. “See, that’s the thing. If you hurt my sister, I end you.”
“Wes is innocent. That’s the thing. He didn’t kill that old lady and they’re gonna juice him just the same. That ain’t right. Even you know that. He said he’s been trying to get somebody to read one of his letters for years. All his appeals got turned down. He’s out of time.”
As if on cue, Jake’s watch timer started beeping. He pressed the side button and silenced it. Dickie smiled.
“Read the letter. That’s all I ask.”
“All you asked was for five minutes. Then all you asked was for me to take this damn thing. Now you want me to read it.”
“Do whatever you gotta do. My conscious is clear now. I can tell Wes I tried. It won’t be on my head anymore. I’ll tell his Ma. I’m doing this for her as much as anybody else. She’s always been good to me, my Aunt Laurie. You should talk to her.”
Dickie got up. “Finish your beer,” he said. “We got nothing left to talk about. I’ve done my part.”
Mercifully, Dickie turned on his heel and walked straight out the front door. Jake felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Gemma reappeared almost immediately.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it. And I told you. He looks different.”
“Looks aren’t everything,” Jake said. Gemma held a pitcher in her hand. She refilled Jake’s beer mug. He practically inhaled the second one.
“What is that, anyway?” Gemma said. “The letter. Dickie said he just wanted to make sure he put it in your hand. I see he did that much.”
Jake set his mug down. Half intending to rip the thing in half, he turned it over and read the return address.
Wesley Wayne Hall. When Dickie said it at first, it didn't ring any bells. But now, seeing it in writing, all three names spelled out, it sent a stab of recognition through Jake. He quickly pulled up the browser on his phone and typed the name in.
The first headline that popped up made his stomach churn.
“Christ,” he whispered. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Gemma leaned in and read the name on the envelope. Unlike Jake, she recognized it immediately. Her jaw dropped. She looked back at the door Dickie had just exited.
“That son of a bitch,” she said.