Beneath the Corn Maze: Travel Writer Mystery, #3

By Wendy Meadows

A killer is on the loose – and she's the next victim.

Eager to return home after a series of unusually uneventful trips, Patricia looks forward to some quiet time with her boyfriend in their small town in Georgia. She's relieved to not any have more murder mysteries on her hands – but she has no idea what she's about to be dragged into.

When a seemingly ordinary visit for some Fall-themed festivities ends with a double murder and Patricia's own close brush with death, she stumbles into an elusive mystery – and it quickly becomes clear that someone is prepared to kill her to protect it.

If she hopes to unravel the murders, she'll be forced to travel to the heart of Atlanta and get into the mind of the insane killer who is stalking her every move. Locked in a deadly race against time to unmask the murderer before they can get to her, Patricia must push her skills to the limits and stay one step ahead if she wants to stay alive.

Can Patricia bring the identity of her would-be killer to light? Or will she end up six feet under before her next travel assignment?

Dive into a thrilling mystery with a surprise around every corner. With a dash of action and a suspenseful cat-and-mouse game that will keep you on your toes, Patricia McKay's next adventure is not for the faint of heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
• Release date: Aug 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201558536

Wendy Meadows

USA Today bestselling author, Wendy Meadows, is a passionate Cozy Mystery Author whose meticulously crafted stories showcase witty women sleuths and engaging plots. Her primary influences include but are not limited to mystery genre greats Joanne Fluke, Ellery Adams, and James Patterson. To date, she has published dozens of books, which include her popular Sweetfern Harbor Series, Maple Hill Series, and Alaska Cozy Series, to name a few. In a previous life, Wendy worked as a Graphic Designer, earning her Graphic Design Certification at the prestigious New York based Sessions School of Design. With this valuable artistic background, she designs her own book covers. In fact, she began writing fiction soon after designing numerous book covers for other fiction authors. When she isn’t writing about female detectives and their tactful crime solving, you can find Wendy either tending to her hobby farm, playing video games, relaxing on her back porch, or coloring in her growing collection of adult coloring books. She also loves spending quality time with her husband, two sons, two cats, and one adorable Labradoodle. Together, they call “The Granite State” home sweet home. To find out more about Wendy Meadows both personally and creatively, feel free to visit her official website at www.wendymeadows.com

Book preview

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