by Laura Scott
Georgia needed to get up and help with the cleanup, but no one would let her. Finally, they had everything straightened. Rhett held a broom, and Poppy stood in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips, surveying the finished project.
Colt had a cell phone to his ear and a tape measure in his other hand. “Great, Junior. I owe you one, man. See you in an hour.” He pocketed his phone. “Herb Jr. has the size of windows we need in his shop. He’s going to get out here with a couple of guys and get it done. That gives me a slice of peace.” The slight scowl let her know he held a measure of frustration, too. “You have too many windows in your bedroom, Georgia. Could you sleep in the upstairs bedroom? One window makes a harder target. I’d feel safer. We’ll take three-hour watches, do perimeter sweeps. We actually have night goggles in our surveillance kit we keep in the SUV. It’s not ideal. I’d like to get you out of town—hundreds of miles away. But this will have to do.”
Georgia was overwhelmed. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. These people had come in and cleaned up her home, taken care of her dogs, made her tea—and she had no way to repay them. “I don’t know what to say. Thank y’all so much for going above and beyond the call of duty.”
“It’s all good gravy,” Poppy said and winked.
Rhett heaved an exaggerated sigh and slowly shook his head. “Just gravy, Poppy. It’s all gravy. Good gravy is an exclamation. You basically said it’s all good good. Like people saying, ‘ramen noodles.’ Ramen means noodle. Noodle noodle.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he might not be able to take one more word.
“Okay, so it’s double good, which is better than one good. Either way.” Her smile was smug, and she wiggled her eyebrows at Rhett. Utter disgust distorted his features, but Poppy didn’t seem to be offended.
Georgia wanted to take a shower and hope it didn’t hurt too bad, then burrow under her covers.
“I want to see Coach Flanigan,” Colt said. “Bullets aren’t keeping me from knocking on his door.”
The fire in his eyes made it crystal clear he was on a mission and daylight wasn’t going to be wasted.
Hopefully, the killer wouldn’t come back tonight.
But he would come.
* * *
Coach Duncan Flanigan lived on Knob Hill in a large brick home surrounded by pastureland. Too bad Colt couldn’t legally get access to Coach’s financials. He’d like to see how he’d paid for this big home. If he was in cahoots with Ole Magnolia’s coach, Joe Jackson, he could be receiving hefty kickbacks for sending him star athletes.
Colt pulled into the circular drive and glanced at Georgia. She’d asked to come since she’d interviewed him years ago. Colt wasn’t sure at first if it was a smart idea—especially if the coach was the person attacking her—but then if he was, it might show in his facial responses. Of course, Colt couldn’t arrest someone because of a physical response, but it would be helpful.
Besides, Georgia had excellent insight and reporter instincts. She would be valuable. And that had brought him to the next quick discussion.
“He’s going to want to know why you, a reporter, are here with a cold case agent. So how about instead of going in as a nosy journalist, you go in as a consultant to the case. If it wasn’t for your keen deductions, this never would have opened up.”
She seemed surprised then grinned. “I like it. I can add it to my résumé and then maybe Charlie will realize he can leave the paper in capable hands.” She stared at the house and blew a long, heavy breath. “I admit I’m nervous. Not anxious, exactly. I could literally be walking into the lion’s den.”
“Well, pretend you’re Daniel and trust the Lord will get you out without being ripped to pieces.” He tugged on her hair in a playful gesture. “It’ll be okay. Use those wits of yours and approach with caution.”
“Excellent advice.”
“Also, you realize by now that everyone is going to know you’re Christi Cold.”
She smirked, and his heart thundered. “I’m aware the cat is out of the bag. Would have been anyway, due to my own investigating. I can live with that.”
“Okay, then. Follow my lead. You’re a consultant, not a reporter sniffing out a story.”
“Technically...” Her mischievous gleam made him chuckle.
“Technically, but for the sake of today...maybe reel it in, will you?”
“I’m not promising.” She laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ll be quieter than a church mouse.”
They clambered from the vehicle, and Colt snorted. Georgia and quiet went together like sardines and peanut butter. “Lying is a sin, and what did we agree the Bible said about sin?”
“Don’t do it?”
She was way too cute for her own good. He shook his head but remained amused. “Yeah. That.”
A Silverado was parked near the door, and a lazy black Lab napped on the front porch. The dog roused as they approached and barked once as if doing the bare minimum of his canine duty, then went back to sleeping.
Colt looked into Georgia’s eyes before ringing the doorbell. “I don’t want Coach to be guilty, but I also don’t want to go in biased. Pray for me?”
She rubbed his upper arm. “Already was.”
A zing passed between them. “Let’s do this, then.” He rang the doorbell.
Coach was as much a legend today as in the past. He hesitated, then recognition lit his eyes and the pleasure at seeing Colt splashed across his face. “Well, look who it is! Colt McCoy. Number seventeen. Best defensive lineman in your class.” His gaze moved to Georgia, and his smile faltered but didn’t fade. “Hey, there, little lady. How are you? I heard from Deacon Tim at church that you’d been attacked and shot.” He shook his head. “Glad you’re still kicking. Come on in, y’all.”
Georgia gave a small shrug. She couldn’t tell if he wanted her dead, but he clearly held a little grudge thanks to her previous accusations against him. Georgia had always been feisty, and what Colt had chalked up to moody. Now, he realized there was Georgia the feisty go-getter, full of spunk, heart and ambition, who was hamstrung by her anxiety, which at times made her appear moody and withdrawn.
They stepped inside Coach’s foyer. The house smelled of Sunday pot roast and potpourri.
“We’re watching some recorded football.”
Coach’s wife, Earlene, sat on the couch with a glass of tea. “Can I get y’all anything?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude on your Sunday afternoon, and I hope we won’t be here long. I’m on official business. So is Georgia—in a consultant’s capacity. The MBI cold case unit has reopened Jared Toledo’s case.”
“Oh, really. On whose authority?” Coach asked. A stern expression only intensified his weathered face. The years had colored his dark hair silver, and his eyebrows had become more gnarled.
“Mine. I’m the unit chief. Georgia hosts a podcast called Dead Talk. Last Thursday, she revealed intimate information and her speculation about Jared’s death and illegal athletic recruiting.” He waited a beat, studied Coach’s physical reaction.
“Do you have information?” He sat beside his wife. He was in his late fifties. Could he have the stamina to attack Georgia physically? He appeared physically fit and the right size, just older.
Georgia opened her mouth, but Colt jumped in first. “I can’t reveal that and neither can she, but it’s enough to reopen the case with a new line of investigation. That’s why we’re here.”
“I see.”
Georgia leaned forward. “Are you saying you’re not illegally recruiting boys to play ball at Courage High and giving them a fake address to use so they can play in your district?”
“Excuse me?” the coach asked.
Georgia didn’t slow down. “You haven’t got some kind of deal worked out with a recruiter or the coach at Ole Magnolia to get those boys who play for you to also
play for them? No monetary gifts to entice them? No kickbacks to you?”
So much for being quieter than a church mouse. Colt inhaled, exhaled and muttered, “Your pants are on fire, Georgia Jane.”
She’d riled up Coach, and the last thing he’d want to do now was cooperate.
“You think I have to resort to that kind of nonsense? Has it ever crossed your mind, Miss Thing, that I happen to be that good of a coach and I mold and make boys into athletes worth having at colleges and in the NFL? I have had fourteen players go pro. You’ve always made false accusations, Georgia Maxwell. I told you that then, and I’m telling it to you now. No wonder someone wants you dead.”
“That’s out of line, Coach.” Colt stepped in front of Georgia. Protective instinct as much as to shut her up.
Earlene scolded Coach, and that mellowed him out. “I’m sorry. But you came in asking if I was a criminal. One of my boys died. My boy. That’s how I see each and every player on my team. Like a son. Not only did my star QB die, he was put in my athletic room. My boy. My place.” His eyes held anguish, and he slumped. “I’ve beat myself over the head trying to come up with some information that might help, but I don’t know any more now than I did then.”
Colt believed him. Hopefully, it wasn’t bias. Coach had been more of a father to him than his own. “Can I go over it anyway? One more time?”
He nodded.
“Were you at the school on that night in question?” Sometimes he stayed late in his office watching game tapes, going over the playbook.
Coach rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I was. Not too late because of church the next morning. Jared came in around eight. Said he wanted to talk to me about something. But he got a call on his mobile phone, and when he hung up, he said never mind.”
Colt hadn’t owned his own cell phone, but Jared had possessed every new piece of technology that had been available. His father had left a hefty life insurance policy, and his stepfather owned his own used-car dealership. Colt had to have a part-time job and save for anything he might want, whether it was a Friday night burger and fries or college or even a new pair of jeans.
“Did he seem upset by the call? What was his reaction? Any idea who he was talking to?”
“No idea.” He shook his head. “He seemed troubled, and maybe I should have pressed him. But I didn’t. I was watching game tapes. I regret that.”
Miss Earlene grasped Coach’s hand.
“He said he was gonna work out an hour or so—after the call. I told him not to stay too late—church on Sunday. I stayed fifteen to twenty minutes longer and then left.”
Jared came to see Coach and wanted to talk, but a phone call interrupted him and then he changed his mind. Either the call had something to do with what he wanted to talk to Coach about or after the call he lost his nerve and decided to go work out instead. Maybe to think over what had been on his mind. Colt had often done that, and even now he liked to work out and work through issues.
“I wish I’d have talked to him—that phone call...that might have been important, and I could have given him some advice. Kept him from going where he went. Kept him from...” He removed his hat and held his head in hands. “I can’t ever get that guilt to go away.”
“I understand. You couldn’t have known.”
Coach raked his hand through his thick silver hair.
“Can you explain why some of your players—two of them right now—are using a false address to play in your district?”
His brow furrowed, and he cocked his head. “First I heard of that. I don’t keep up with addresses. I assume if they’re in my school, it’s all approved.”
“Well, it appears several in the past and the two presently are using the address illegally.”
“What’s this mean for the rest of the season?”
Naturally, he’d be worried about that. Two excellent players were going to have to transfer to their rightful school. “What do you think it means?”
“I blame the parents.”
“Rightly so.” It might be possible a parent figured out they could use a false address and told another parent, who told another, but students needed proof of residence and a bill that confirmed it. So how on earth was that sliding by? Who was letting it slide by? Principal Wiggins? They’d have to have a chat with him. “They were being sneaky. I guess the school board will deal with the issue. But either way, the fake address racket is going to stop from here on out.”
“And we’ll be talking to parents and asking if they were prompted or assured they could use this address,” Georgia added. “If you are behind it, we’re gonna know. Sure you don’t know about it?”
This woman.
“I think it’s time for you to go.” He stood, a vein in his neck popping out. Georgia had a way of doing that to a man.
Colt thanked them for their time and stalked to his truck.
“So much for letting me take the lead,” Colt muttered.
“What? I only asked what you were already thinking.” She buckled up.
He started the engine. “I have a method. Angering him isn’t it. I was going to build rapport. Good ole boy stuff. You nixed that in ten seconds flat, church mouse.”
“I don’t think he killed Jared. Do you?”
He was surprised at her conclusion, especially since Coach had acted aggressively toward her. “I don’t know. I have to follow facts, not emotion. Time will tell.”
“Did the sheriff’s office pull the phone records? I’d like to know who Jared was talking to the night he died.”
Pulling from the driveway, Colt grunted. “If they didn’t pull the records, we will. If they did, they must not have thought it important. And it may not have been.”
“What do you think he wanted to talk to the coach about?” she asked.
That was a million-dollar question. “Could be anything from the upcoming game to potentially feeling guilty over taking bribes to play ball at Ole Magnolia. We need to find hard evidence proving that theory. Right now, it’s a good guess. Good guesses don’t put away murderers or grant warrants.” The best thing to do was work the case as if it recently happened. Take nothing at face value and hope for new information.
They pulled down Georgia’s gravel road as Herb Jr. passed them on his way out, waving. “I hope they were able to get everything done,” Colt murmured.
“Me too. I don’t like to be used for human target practice.”
“I don’t like it, either.”
Inside, the house was put together and in order.
“Everything’s like new,” Poppy said. “Rhett did the lion’s share. He’s a clean freak. We like that about him and that’s about all.” She winked in good fun at Georgia.
He surveyed the windows. Not a single smudge. “Where’s Rhett and Mae?”
“Rhett is taking a perimeter walk. Mae is in the restroom.” She gripped a red mug full of something that smelled flowery with a hint of spice. “What did Coach Flanigan have to say?”
Colt heaved a sigh and eased into the oversize chair across from the couch. When Rhett and Mae were back inside he gave them the play-by-play.
“I’d like to find the phone records. They weren’t in the boxes of case files.” Poppy stood as if that was the cue to let her leave.
“I can go with her,” Rhett offered.
Colt nodded. “Let’s meet back here in a couple of hours and we can order takeout. Call if you find them. I’d like to know who Jared talked to.”
Poppy and Rhett left.
“I’ll be out on the porch.” Mae excused herself.
“Colt, I’m sorry for being such a bulldog with Coach. I guess if he is the attacker, I wanted him to know I’m not afraid of him or going to stop. But the truth is, I am afraid. Who wouldn’t be?”
He sat next to her and the blue merle. “Like Pastor said. Some fear is
healthy. But verbally charging him was reckless if he is the person who attacked you. So how about not giving me anxiety and quit going off half-cocked?”
She nodded. “Fair enough.”
They sat in comfortable silence, thinking, until Colt’s cell phone rang.
Poppy.
“Hey, whatcha got?”
“Phone records, but it’s a bust. The call Duncan Flanigan referenced was a two-minute conversation with Jared’s stepdad. He called to see if Jared was coming home or staying with a friend.”
“What about the calls prior to that and after?”
“This gets more interesting. Chance Leeway called him at 9:06 p.m. Three minutes and forty-two seconds. But Chance lawyered up fast in the initial investigation. Not much to his statement.”
“We’ll see what round two offers up.” If Chance was involved, Colt would find out.
FIVE
The sunshine had made a stellar appearance this morning, and Georgia had dressed in jeans and a fitted sweater. She couldn’t let a killer keep her from doing her job, living her life. She was making progress, avoiding her biggest triggers successfully, though having Colt around brought up so many old memories and fond feelings. But she wouldn’t let herself slip into those nostalgic moments, and she would not allow herself to feel new feelings for him.
Colt met her at the front door. “I had a feeling you’d be working today. Paper stops for nothing.”
“No, and I have to make myself keep doing what I need to do. I’ve come too far to regress. Also, I do the crime of the week, so when you need to head over to the sheriff’s office let me know and I’ll go with you. Check the weekend crimes.” She peeked outside and noticed a few boxes. She pointed to the delivery. “You want me to open the door or...?”
“Not even a little.” Colt opened it, scanned the yard then brought the boxes inside. “Where do you want them?”
“It’s the dogs’ new beds and food from the local feed store. Kitchen table is fine.” He set the boxes on the table.
Georgia inspected them. Noticed the tin and opened it. Sometimes Kate at the feed store sent home freshly baked dog treats. “Y’all got some goodies.” She gave Wyatt and Doc two each and rubbed their heads.
