Wheat Harvest Mystery Novel

“Evenin'. Are you Bart Carsten?”

“I am,” Bart said, getting out of his pickup. He pushed the cab door closed and walked over to the man.

“I'm Blaine County Sheriff, Art Drummond,” he said as they shook hands. Art was older than Bart by about 10 years. He had a patient confidence about him. “We got a couple o' local girls who didn't come home last night and no one's seen ‘em today. They were at the baseball fields last night and your pickup was seen there. ‘Carsten Custom Harvesting' written on your doors makes it a pretty unique vehicle to remember and identify. Y'all have a kid named Chris work for you?” The sheriff spoke amiably in his smooth southern drawl.

“I do, and I know he went there last night. We quit early because we were going to finish today with our wheat cutting here at Watonga. The rest of the guys in my crew went to a movie but Chris is a baseball player and took my pickup and went to the ball fields. You want to talk with him?”

Bart had come to Watonga , Oklahoma for the first 10 days of June for 27 years, since he was 13 years old. Working in wheat harvest was what he came for, that final reaping of the farmers' efforts for the crop year. He knew trucks and combines inside out, but talking with a local sheriff was a rare experience. He had seen Sheriff Drummond around town several times in recent years, but this was their first time to speak.

“Yes, I would. Do you know when Chris came home?”

“No, I was asleep when both vehicles returned. I remember hearing them, but I didn't really wake up. The guys didn't come back together, because I heard the trucks pull in at two different times. Actually, come to think of it, the service truck came home first, because I remember the diesel engine. We park it in front of the guys' trailer, and then, later, my pickup, which has a gas engine, pulled in, right here in front of my trailer, just like I did now. The guys are right behind me. Yeah, they're pulling in now.”

Bart's one-ton service truck pulled in with his foreman, Weese at the wheel, the dust swirling behind them, the gravel crunching under the tires as it braked to a stop. As his 5 employees got out of the extended cab truck, all four doors slamming in rapid succession, they looked inquisitively at the sheriff's car and then at Bart.

Bart called, “Hey, Chris, can I talk with you a minute?”

As Chris walked over to them, the rest of the guys heckled him with “You're in trouble now,” and “What did you do, Chris?”

The others went on into their trailer, and Chris came over to Bart's pickup, where Bart and Sheriff Drummond were standing.

“Chris, this is Sheriff Drummond. Chris Loma, from Arvada Colorado .”

The two greeted and shook hands. Bart wondered if Sheriff Drummond knew that Arvada was a west-side suburb of Denver , or if it was just the name of a place to him.

“So, Chris, you were over at the baseball fields last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interestin' evenin'?”

“You mean the little bit of shoving by the stand? That was no big deal. We were just messin' with each other. I told the guy to ‘Butt out,' the one with the goatee, which I probably shouldn't have. I should have just ignored him, but I told him to ‘Butt out,' and he shoved me, and called me “Cocky Colorado,” but nobody even threw a punch. He was just running his turf. I don't think he liked it that a stranger, somebody from out of town, was talking to ‘my girls,' he said, but it was nothing, really. They left and that was all there was to it.” Chris was speaking faster than he usually did, and was obviously nervous about speaking with law enforcement concerning the supposed non-incident.

An interesting contrast was apparent to Bart as these two spoke together. Chris, from Arvada , population over 100,000, was 6'5”, while Art Drummond was the sheriff of Blaine County , the seat of which was Watonga, population under 5,000, and the sheriff was maybe 5'8” in stature. Their ages were possibly 20 and 50, and if you had a “handsome index,” Chris registered a 9, and Art Drummond a 4. If the two men were to walk into a restaurant simultaneously and turned opposite directions to find a table, the room's eyes would follow Chris in unison.

Sheriff Drummond continued, “This shovin' you're referrin' to, happened at the snack buildin'?”

“Yeah, he pushed me up against the concession building. But it was nothing, really, sir.”

“You know their names?”

“Him or the girls?”

“Any of ‘em.”

“The guys I don't. The guy with the goatee had a nickname. When we were shoving, one of his buddies told him to lay off because people were watching, but I don't remember it.”

“How ‘bout the girls?”

“Oh, yeah, I know their names,” Chris said, as his cheeks colored noticeably. “The taller one was Jessie, and the other one was Krissy.” Chris looked down at the ground and pushed some gravel back and forth with the side of his left boot.

“How long were you together?”

Chris looked up at the Sheriff. “Like, which time? They weren't there to watch the game, so they came and went. The last time, we were together for a half hour or so. The other one, Krissy, was wanting to go to some party. She kept calling it the ‘buffet,' but I'm pretty sure she didn't mean a restaurant.”

“So, who left first?”

“They did. That pitcher from Kingfisher had a good curveball, and I stayed until the end. He only gave up four hits.”

“Then you came here to your trailer?”

“Well, I cruised uptown a couple of times and got a Mountain Dew at Hot Stuff Pizza. Then I came home.”

“You didn't see the girls again?”

“Um, no, I didn't.”

“What time was that?”

“It was just before midnight. The other guys had gotten back from their movie, and were playing cards. I had to tell them what cute Oklahoma girls they missed. But they said they saw pretty ones at the show. But I'm the only one who has a souvenir from last night. Jessie gave this little eagle to me from her keychain. It's supposed to help me recover from an elbow surgery I had last March.” Chris held up the keychain with the bronze eagle attached.

Sheriff Drummond sighed, and looked intently at Chris. “Well, neither of those girls came home last night. Jessie's folks live 5 miles southwest of town and reported her missing at 4 AM and when we checked with Krissy's mom this morning, she reported her missing, as well. We have spent the day checking leads, and it seems you were the last one to talk with them. What time do you think that was?”

Chris had blanched noticeably when Sheriff Drummond stated the girls were missing. Bart thought the wheels in Chris' head were whirling in high gear, but couldn't tell just which direction they were going. Then Chris collected himself and answered, “Uh, gosh. I was—I was talking to Jessie the last time, but Krissy called her on her cell phone, and it sounded like she was still at the ballpark then, but was—“

“Was what?”

“Well, like I said, she...Krissy, I mean...she wanted to leave and go to this “buffet” thing. I thought they were meeting up and leaving. I think—yeah... they came in Krissy's car. There was one more inning to go, and I stayed. That was, maybe about 10 o'clock, a little after. I wondered if they'd leave the pitcher in for the complete game. I watched the last inning, and bought a pack of Doublemint gum just before the snack shop closed, maybe about 11, and then drove to Hot Stuff Pizza, like I said, and then got here just before midnight.”

“Can you describe what the girls were wearin'?”

“Yeah, they were both in jeans. I think Krissy had this red t-shirt with the eagle mascot logo for their high school on it, and a dark blue windbreaker. Jessie had a blue windbreaker, too, but her shirt was white, with this lacy part in the middle,” he said, as his hand touched his chest, right at the base of his neck.

More color in Chris's cheeks.

“Did either of them give you their cell phone number?”

“No, I thought about asking Jessie for hers, but I don't have one, so I didn't. You've called their phones?”

“All day, and no answer from either of ‘em, so it is not a positive situation, at this point. Any idea where this “buffet” party was?”

“No, they never said. Jessie wasn't as interested in going as Krissy was. I don't know at all where they were going.”

With a pause in questioning, Bart said, “Look, Sheriff, we finished cutting wheat at Salt Creek Farm this afternoon, and loaded the combines and everything to head out in the morning. Here's my card. It's got our phone numbers if you need us. We go to Johnson , Kansas , next, so we're just up the road.”

“What time y'all leavin' in the mornin'?”

“I'd like to be on the road at daylight, but it will probably be more like 6:30 when we actually get gone.”

I'd like to come over in the mornin' and see if you remember anything else, Chris. Maybe, I‘ll be here about 6, OK?”

Chris nodded, and Bart and Chris shook hands with the sheriff and retreated to their separate side-by-side trailers. Chris turned, and called, “Sheriff. The guy with the goatee might be named ‘Deuce.' I think one guy said, ‘Come on, Deuce, let him go. Everybody's looking over here.'”

****

“What's that all about?” queried January, as Bart pulled the door of the trailer closed.

Bart's wife of 15 years had first spoken to the sheriff when he arrived, and informed him that Bart and the guys were then just minutes from the trailer park. He was waiting when Bart pulled in. January had watched the discussion outside, and had it figured that some type of trouble was afoot that involved Chris. Jan was just great with guys. She took personal interest in them, and was always keyed in to how they were doing emotionally. She could smell girl troubles, family squabbles, or money issues, or anything like that, long before Bart saw anything out of the ordinary. Bart had a one-track mind, and sometimes he wasn't sure he had both rails in place in that one.

“When Chris went to the ball diamond last night, he talked to a couple of girls that never came home last night, and they're still missing today. No answer to their cell phones, so it looks kinda scary.”

“Did Chris know anything?”

“Well, he did talk to them. Knew their names. One named Jessie, he said they talked for quite awhile. She gave him a little eagle ornament. But he said they left before he did.”

“Bart, Chris is tall and quite handsome, so he will attract a female crowd wherever he goes. I find it hard to imagine a girl who met Chris would leave before he did. A girl will find out if she doesn't like a guy in 5 minutes. How long did they talk?”

“Chris says these two girls stopped to talk, then went to see other people, then came back, then went away, but the one, Jessie, came back for like a half hour by herself. Then the girls talked on cell phones with each other, then left with one inning to go in the game. Chris stayed to see the finish. It seemed like he was telling the truth, ‘cause he said he bought a pack of gum from the concession stand just before they closed, and that the Kingfisher pitcher allowed just 4 hits, and pitched the whole game. How many people there last night know that?”

“If that's a fact. Just like he says she gave him the eagle, and he says she left early. Do you believe a high school girl will spend an hour on a warm summer night with a handsome guy from out of town, and then leave to go somewhere else, while the night is young? No way, Bart.”

“Chris said the other girl wanted to go to someplace called a “buffet,” like that was the name of a party, and that was the phone call between them before they left.”

“How well do we know Chris? He's only worked for you three weeks.”

“Gosh, Jan, nothing about Chris feels like a murderer, if that is in fact what has happened. Yeah, he might be as bold as brass, a bit spoiled, used to admiration from everybody, but—that's not anything like rage or jealousy.”

****

Bart had the guys up at dawn. He liked to travel early with his over-width equipment, when fewer people were on the roads. A Watonga police cruiser pulled in as everyone was rousing. Bart walked over to the patrol car and introduced himself.

“Morning, I'm Bart Carsten. I talked with Sheriff Drummond last night.”

“Yeah, I'm James Kinkade and I'll be handling the investigation from here. I need to talk to Chris Loma. Which vehicle was he drivin'?” Officer Kinkade was more assertive and direct in his conversation than Sheriff Drummond had been last night.

“That Dodge, it's my pickup.”

“Mind if I take a look in it?”

“No, go ahead. I'll go get Chris.”

Seeing the cruiser, Chris was already on his way over, so Bart went on about his business of getting the white trailer house hooked up to Jan's Pathfinder. They had 7 vehicles in the caravan when they moved. Three trucks, three combines, a tractor and grain cart, a 2-ton service truck, a 1-ton service truck, two trailer houses, Bart's pickup and Jan's Pathfinder. Every vehicle pulled some piece of equipment or a trailer, even Jan in the Nissan Pathfinder. Bart always took the lead since he best knew the directions to get where they were going, and Weese, in the 2-ton service truck pulling the guys' silver trailer, followed up last with a watchful eye that everything looked okay. If anything happened to one of the vehicles, Weese stopped with it, while everyone else continued to the next town. Weese had the arc welder, the acetylene torch, the air compressor, spare tires, and hopefully, whatever was needed. They'd fix it and catch up with the waiting caravan at the next town.

Each vehicle had a business radio, except the Pathfinder, so communication was easy. Jan preferred not to hear all the field talk of the guys as they worked, and when she upgraded to the Pathfinder a year ago, she had prohibited the radio installation in her vehicle. Bart, Jan and Weese each had a cell phone, and since coverage was improving, Bart went along with no radio in the Pathfinder. They used the phones to talk about plans that didn't directly relate to the work at hand. He liked to keep radio communication clean and focused.

When everything was hooked up, stored, packed and ready to go, Bart observed Chris coming out of the trailer with a plastic grocery sack, walk over to the police car and give the sack to Officer Kinkade. As the cruiser left, Chris seemed upset.

“Hey, Chris!” Bart called.

Chris ambled over, his brow deeply furrowed, and Bart asked, “How did that go with the police?”

“Jeez, Chief, he's ready to put me in jail. His mind's made up that I captured them and have them hidden in the trailer. He says as soon as they get the evidence, he'll be up to Kansas to get me. Totally different than the sheriff last night. You know that good-cop, bad-cop thing? Well, they got it down, for sure.”

“Did he want to search the trailer?”

“He didn't ask to.”

“Then he wasn't serious about that. He's trying to see how you hold up to tension. Get you to tell something that helps him get a lead in the case. Anyway, Chris, he's trying to do his job, so let's just do ours, what we've got to do today, and we'll puzzle through what we can do about that stuff. My guess is, there is big-time pressure to find two missing high school girls and a stranger in town is sure a likely suspect. Think about it. It was the talk of the town yesterday. People want those girls found, safe and sound, right now! So this officer is gonna go at it like a bull at a gate. The sheriff was about 15 years older and he probably takes the heat better.”

“He wanted the clothes I wore to the baseball game the night before last, so I gave them to him. He already knew what my shirt looked like.”

When the crew got to the west side of town where they had parked the loaded combines, everyone moved to their vehicle and prepared to head north. Weese walked over to Bart's pickup. He glanced furtively over to the truck for which Chris was picking out the key from his key ring, then unlocking the door. Weese looked nervously at Bart with a furrowed brow.

“Chief, ain't none of my business, but it seems to me that Chris is hiding something. When he came home from the baseball game, he was pretty pumped up about that girl Jenny, but he didn't tell us much. Now, it's like he knows something and he's afraid to say anything. I don't know. He seems nervous, and actually kinda angry. He yelled at Seth last night over which station he had the radio on, which was way out of line from normal. He's just edgy. I think there was more than he was telling us. I don't know anything for a fact, but I thought I should tell you how it feels to me.”

“Thanks for the feedback, Weese,” Bart replied. “Please keep me informed. We'll see how this all plays out. Right now, let's go connect with Highway 270 North and find some wheat to cut in Kansas .”

****

About the author:

As a second-generation custom harvester, David Stoops spent more than 30 years in custom wheat harvesting from Texas to the Dakotas and Montana . In the early 90s, at times there were three generations of Stoops in the crew.

In 1993, he and his wife, Teresa, moved to Kirkland, Washington where they began college teaching at Northwest University, a private Christian university, Teresa in Education, and David in Business. 1999 brought their teaching to Vanguard University in Costa Mesa , California . Teresa subsequently taught at Azusa Pacific University and is now Dean of Education at Grand Canyon University in Phoenix , Arizona .

David writes and speaks full-time, and operates a daily inspiration website via the Internet called Morning by Morning, at http://www.mbm7.com .

To order copies of the book after May 1, 2006, visit this website, http://www.mbm7.com/mystery .

By mail, write:

Harvest Mystery
21110 W Prospector Way
Buckeye, AZ 85396

 

On the personal side, if you'd like to know a little about the folks behind the scenes, we have a biography page here.