Dead Man's Curve

by Jack Patterson

  “Is your father still in the picture?”

  “Let’s not talk about that. I’d rather focus on basketball than the intimate details of my personal life.”

  Cal flipped through his notebook and landed on another page of questions. “You’ve received offers from all the top basketball college programs across the country—Notre Dame, Duke, Stanford, Kentucky, Connecticut, Georgetown, Syracuse—the list goes on. Have you narrowed that list down at all?”

  Josh shook his head and leaned back on the bleachers. “There’s only one offer that matters to me—the only offer that every kid in this state ever cares about.”

  “So, is it safe to say you’ve made up your mind that you’re going to sign a scholarship to play at Kentucky then?”

  “Nothing’s for sure yet, but they are the odds-on favorite at this point. I’ll be shocked if I’m not gracing the floor at Rupp Arena this time next year.”

  Kelly’s camera whirred as she clicked off pictures of Josh with various facial expressions.

  Cal made a few more notes and continued his questioning. “People have accused you and the team of being a bunch of partiers. Does that bother you at all?”

  Grinning, Josh shook his head. “We have a lot more to celebrate than most people, so we’re practically celebrating all the time. If people criticize us about that, I don’t hear about it. But I’d challenge them, that’s for sure. I’d dare them to party less if they were as successful as us.”

  “There are some people who think it was your partying habits that played a role in the death of another one of your classmates last year. How do you respond to those people?”

  With narrowing eyes, Josh stopped and glared at Cal. “How do I respond to those people—or is that your way of hiding behind a tough question?”

  Cal cocked his head. “I don’t have a problem asking tough questions, kid. My next one is about Emily Palmer.”

  Josh stood up and kicked the bleachers. “We’re done here. Get outta my gym!”

  He heard Kelly’s camera working overtime to capture the emotional outburst. He ran toward her with his hands protecting his face.

  “Enough with the pictures, lady! We’re done. Got it?”

  Kelly jammed her camera into her bag and followed Cal, who hustled across the gym floor toward the far exit.

  “And stay out!” Josh yelled.

  CHAPTER 5

  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” Kelly asked Cal as they climbed into their car. “This isn’t Atlanta, you know?”

  Cal chuckled. “You do remember I’ve investigated a suspicious murder in a small town before, right? At least, I’m hoping you haven’t forgotten that since it was what sparked our romance.”

  Kelly hit him playfully in his right arm. “Of course I remember.” Then she turned serious. “I also remember that we had allies then, too. It’s not smart to poke the bear.”

  Cal pulled onto the major highway and jammed his foot on the gas pedal. “What? Those were legitimate questions I was asking him.”

  “Maybe—but you were certainly antagonizing him with veiled accusations. Even a teenage jock could see right through that.”

  Cal steered their car through a sharp curve and waited until the road straightened out to respond. “That’s because he was feeling the heat. He’s guilty as sin and he knows it.”

  “Well, this isn’t exactly how I suggest we ease back into this tag-team investigation thing. We’re out of our element—this much I know.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen to us? He says something mean about me on Twitter? Just relax, okay?”

  Cal’s phone buzzed. It was his editor, Jim Gatlin.

  “Gatlin, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?” Cal answered.

  “First of all, why are you answering a call from me while you’re on furlough? You know that’s against corporate policy.”

  “Isn’t it against policy to also call me?”

  “I was counting on you not to answer so I could leave you a message.”

  “You’re on speaker since I’m driving. And since you’ve got me, you might as well tell me yourself.”

  Gatlin sighed. “Fine. I just got a call from our publisher about you.”

  “About me? Did I get nominated for an award? That’s about all he ever calls about, right?”

  “I wish it was about that. It’s about what the heck you’re doing in Millersville, Kentucky. I didn’t send you up there.”

  “It’s a long story, Gatlin. But I’m looking into something as a favor for Kelly’s cousin.”

  “And that includes harassing Josh Hood and pissing off his uncle?”

  “Wait. Who is Josh Hood’s uncle?”

  Gatlin exhaled and grunted. “And you call yourself my star reporter? Who goes to do an interview and doesn’t know who he’s talking to?”

  “Okay, so it wasn’t a serious interview for an article I’m writing as much as it was feeling him out for information. You wanna tell me who his uncle is now?”

  “You ever heard of Lee Creek Bourbon?”

  “Don’t you have a bottle of it in your bottom drawer?”

  Gatlin grunted. “What editor in this newsroom doesn’t? Anyway, Wilfred Lee, the owner of Lee Creek Distilleries, is the kid’s uncle. He’s also one of our major advertisers. And he just called our publisher to find out what kind of story we’re writing on his nephew. Needless to say I was a little red-faced since I hadn’t assigned you or anyone else such an article. Now, do you wanna tell me everything?”

  “A coroner who identified Josh Hood’s DNA in connection to a recent murder, wound up dead a few days later.”

  Gatlin remained silent.

  “Are you there, Gatlin? Still want me to bale on this thing.”

  “Just keep a low profile. I’ll cover for you with the higher ups. Don’t do anything else stupid, okay? And enjoy the rest of your furlough.”

  “What’s not to enjoy about an unpaid leave of absence?”

  “Be careful, Cal.”

  Cal hung up.

  “Don’t start with me,” he warned.

  “I didn’t say a word,” Kelly said. “Mostly because that look on your face says it all.”

  Cal scowled and glanced at her. He returned his eyes to the road before another noise startled him.

  “What the—”

  An array of blue and red flashing lights filled his rearview mirror.

  “What did I do now?”

  Kelly snickered. “Why don’t you let me do all the talking this time, cowboy?”

  “Be my guest,” Cal said as he gestured for Kelly to hand him the registration from the glove box. He rolled down the driver’s side window and stared into his side mirror at the officer lumbering toward him.

  “Good afternoon, officer,” Cal said as the man finally made it to his car.

  The man sniffed and rubbed his nose. “It’s sheriff. And there ain’t nothin’ good about my afternoon.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff bent down and nearly stuck his entire head into the car. The name “Wilson” was etched into the gold nameplate pinned to his shirt. “It’s on your account, son, that my afternoon ain’t goin’ so well.”

  “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

  “Nothin’ seems to be the problem. You are the problem. Some big hotshot reporter from the big city rolls into my town and starts rufflin’ feathers and makin’ accusations.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I think you do, Mr.—” the sheriff grabbed Cal’s license before continuing. “Mr. Cal Murphy. This road runs north. I suggest you stay on it and find some other alternate route back, if you know what’s good for ya. Am I makin’ myself clear?”

  Cal nodded. “I think so. Was I breaking the law in any way?”

  “I should give you a ticket for being a smart ass, but I’m just gonna give you one for texting while driving.”
<
br />   “But I wasn’t—” Cal protested.

  “Fine. Then show up in court and contest it. I’ll make sure my good friend and golfin’ buddy, Judge Brent Solomon, will be ready for you.” The sheriff marked a few boxes and scribbled on the ticket as he copied down Cal’s information. He ripped off the duplicate and handed one of the copies to Cal.

  “See ya in court, Mr. Murphy—if you dare.”

  Cal watched as the sheriff spun around and waddled back to his car.

  He turned and looked at Kelly. “I thought you were going to jump in at any minute there.”

  Kelly patted Cal on the knee. “You looked like you were handling him just fine—and quite frankly, I thought it was best that both of us avoid getting on his bad side.”

  “Thanks a lot, honey.”

  Cal waited for the sheriff to drive away before he considered his route.

  “So, are we going to get to Chicago early this week?” Kelly asked.

  “Are you kidding me? I never poke the bear and run. We’re going straight into his den.”

  CHAPTER 6

  WILFRED LEE UNCORKED A BOTTLE of his best black label bourbon as he watched Sheriff Ned Wilson speed up the driveway leading to his sprawling brick ranch. He used his cane to rock his chair while waiting for Wilson. Sipping his drink, Lee looked skyward at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Over time, he’d developed the necessary skills to outlast the worst Mother Nature had to offer. Nothing rattled him.

  Wilson huffed as he climbed the steps onto Lee’s porch. Once he reached the top, he paused to catch his breath.

  “Working hard today, Sheriff?” Lee asked.

  “I wouldn’t have to if everyone would let me do my job and stop pokin’ their noses where they don’t belong,” he shot back. Hiking his pants up, he waddled over to Lee.

  Lee took a swig of his drink and pursed his lips. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

  “I thought you were gonna straighten out that big city reporter.”

  “Did what I could for now. Called his publisher, gave him an earful.”

  Wilson took his hat off and mopped his brow with the palm of his right hand. “I pulled him over and told him to leave town.”

  Lee tapped his cane several times before speaking. “And did he?”

  “Naw, he’s still here. Got a report that he and his wife checked in at the Wheel Well Inn off Highway 52. Looks like he intends to stay for a while.”

  “Keep an eye on him. If he makes more trouble, I’ll deal with him myself.”

  “You got it, boss.” Wilson put his hat back on, nodded at Lee, and lumbered back toward his squad car.

  Lee stared at the dusty cloud left in the wake of the sheriff’s exit. It remained in the air, unwilling to disappear. Only his son’s black Porsche Boxster GTS pierced the low-hanging cloud as it passed Wilson. The car skidded to a stop in the driveway and Lee’s son got out.

  “Son, how many times have I told you that our driveway isn’t a racetrack?” he yelled.

  Jeremy stopped and turned toward his father. He looked over the top of his sunglasses. “Do you expect me to keep count?”

  “I expect you to obey.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have bought me a sports car.” He turned and walked straight toward the side entrance of the house.

  Everything and everyone in Millersville was under Lee’s thumb—though his son never missed a chance to challenge that authority or flirt with freedom. All his power guaranteed him nothing. Lee still had to work to ensure that no one could touch his dominion. It’s why the sheriff was on his payroll, as were all the deputies. But that alone wasn’t enough. Exerting control on an empire of this magnitude required stringent control on everything. Outside forces weren’t welcome, especially forces like nosy big city reporters. Though he feared his son could do more damage than any strangers.

  Lee took another sip and put his drink down on the bourbon cask next to his chair. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

  “Got anything I can use on this reporter?” Lee asked, foregoing all pleasantries.

  “A few things here and there,” answered the voice on the other end.

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing too scandalous, but we can always spin things into our favor.”

  “Quit jerkin’ me around. What’ve you got?”

  “I’m preparing a dossier for you now and will have it couriered over to you within the hour—but be careful. This guy ain’t afraid of nobody.”

  “He’s never butted heads with anyone like me.”

  “No, he hasn’t, sir.”

  Lee snarled as he hung up.

  Ain’t afraid of nobody? He’s never had a run in with Wilfred Lee.

  “I’ll make him wish he never came to my town,” Lee said aloud as he tamped his cane down several times on the porch. “He has no idea what I’m capable of.”

  CHAPTER 7

  CAL AND KELLY DECIDED they needed to grab some dinner and develop a plan for their investigation. Since they’d arrived in Millersville, they managed to attract far more attention than Cal preferred. “If people don’t think you’re looking for something, they won’t hide it,” Cal’s first editor used to tell him. It was an approach Cal and Kelly could no longer use. He might as well have taken out a full-page ad in the local newspaper to herald his coming and announce his intent to dig up the town’s dirtiest secrets.

  As they entered Steve’s Burgers and Brew, Cal felt the gaze of every patron there. A live rendition of Merle Haggard’s “Mama Tried” played on the jukebox. Swirls of cigarette smoke rose from the back corner booth where a group of men were seated. Cal caught a few snippets of their conversation about grain prices and the predictions of a drought the next summer.

  “Grab a seat wherever you like, folks,” bellowed a friendly voice from behind the counter, while a bell clanked against the glass door behind them.

  Cal nodded at the man decked in a white chef’s apron and followed Kelly to a pair of bar chairs at the counter. They sat down and began to peruse the menu.

  Before they even had a chance to read the description of two items, the man hustled over to their end of the bar. He pulled his pad out and engaged his new customers.

  “What brings you two to Millersville?” he asked.

  Cal eyed his inquisitor. With no other employee visible, he deduced that Steve—his name was emblazoned upon his apron—was the namesake of the restaurant, as well as the head cook, waiter, and seating host. Steve’s eyes darted back and forth from Kelly to Cal and down to Kelly’s ring finger. Cal noticed that Steve wore no ring.

  “We’re here on a little business,” Cal said.

  “What kind of business? State department of alcoholic beverage control? Those seem to be the only people who ever have business here.”

  Cal shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m a sports writer and my wife here is a photographer. We’re writing about your high school’s basketball team.”

  Steve leaned forward on the counter. “They’re something special, that’s for sure.”

  “So, what do you recommend, Steve?”

  Cal glanced up from the menu and watched Steve glance around the room at several other tables. Steve let out a sigh as the bell pinged at the door. Cal spun around to see the men who’d been smoking walking in the parking lot toward a pickup truck.

  “Friends of yours?” Cal asked.

  Steve shook his head. “I’d recommend the Bluegrass Bourbon Burger. Full of unusual and distinct flavor, just like this state.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Kelly said.

  “We’ll take two,” Cal added.

  Steve scurried off to the kitchen, visible from the counter area, and started their order.

  Fifteen minutes later, Steve returned with two steaming burgers smothered in a bourbon barbecue sauce and covered with fried onion straws. “Enjoy! These are the best burgers in Millersville.”

  He stood there and waited for his new customers to bite into their
food. Kelly and Cal both gave their approval with nothing more than satisfying sounds of “mmmm.”

  “Glad you like it,” Steve said before leaving to attend to other guests.

  Once Cal polished off his burger, he awaited Steve’s return. A little head nod indicated to Steve that he wanted something. Steve shuffled over to Cal and Kelly.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  “I was hoping to get a refill on this water and ask you a few questions,” Cal said.

  “About what?” he replied as he took Cal’s drink and filled it with a pitcher behind the counter.

  “About a coroner named Billy Riggins. You know him?”

  Steve slid Cal’s drink to him and stared at the couple exiting his restaurant. “Something tells me you’re not just here to write a story about our basketball team.”

  “Something tells me you might know what’s really going on in this town.”

  Steve glanced around the room. He watched the only remaining customers wave at him as they filed out. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, mister, but this isn’t a town that takes too kindly to outsiders pokin’ their noses where they don’t belong.”

  “Like people trying to figure out who killed Billy Riggins?” Kelly quipped.

  “I don’t know what you think you know about Billy’s death, but he drowned in a fishing accident,” Steve answered.

  “And you believe that?” Cal asked.

  Steve unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled down the top of his apron to reveal a four-inch scar just below his left clavicle. “Believing any version of the truth other than the one Sheriff Wilson puts out can be hazardous to your health.”

  “Did the sheriff do that to you?” Kelly asked.

  Steve said nothing. He buttoned his shirt back up as he stared out the window.

  “Look. I don’t expect you to help us,” Cal began. “But I think you’re smart enough to realize that what’s going on here isn’t right. We can put a stop to this.”

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t some simple problem that can be fixed with an I-team investigation and a couple of television cameras. This is the Millersville way. And if you intend to change it, be ready for a war.”