Dead to Rights by Jack Patterson (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

to create a duplicate log for that night, erasing his missteps, even though he knew he didn’t really make any. Parker took up this assignment on his own initiative, even after Sloan had warned the young deputy not to do it. Obviously, Parker ignored him. But it was too late to reprimand Parker, who died a couple of years after the incident when he succumbed to the so-called Marsh Monster.

Sloan knew his logs didn’t look good, not then nor in a few minutes after he’d have the whole incident covered up, stricken from the official record. If Drake’s case ever returned to court, it’d be a big city reporter against him—and all in front of a jury of their peers.

Sloan liked that idea and those odds.

But he had to work quick. He couldn’t let Tillman see him or anyone else for that matter.

Sloan knew he’d screwed up, but he didn’t count anyone investigating him. He’d make it all go away—or maybe he’d be the one who went away.

CHAPTER 6

THE FIRST THING CAL NOTICED when he and Kelly stepped into Curly’s Diner—aside from the smell of burgers and the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen grill—was a signed action photo of Isaiah Drake playing for Auburn. Sports memorabilia lined the walls, and several banners touting Pickett County Pirate state titles hung from the ceiling. A trio of elderly men sat at the bar, huddled over their food. Trying to catch a smattering of their conversation, Cal could tell they were talking about college football and debating which school had the best chance to win the national title in the forthcoming season.

Cal and Kelly sat down at the bar, leaving two empty seats between them and the trio. They hadn’t been sitting down for more than twenty seconds before a large man wearing an apron and a cap ambled out of the back and behind the bar.

“Good”—the man paused to glance at his watch, held his finger up in the air, and mouthed a countdown—“afternoon. Sorry, I had to wait until the big hand reached the twelve before I could say it and really mean it. What can I start you fine folks off with?”

“We’ll need a minute to look over the menu,” Cal said.

The man slid a pair in front of them.

“Let me get your drink started while you check it out. What would like?” His voice boomed, undoubtedly loud enough for all the patrons to hear.

Cal and Kelly both ordered sweet tea and continued to study the selections.

“You got it.”

When the man returned with their drinks, he fished out a small note pad and a pen. “You decided yet? I’m ready whenever you are.”

Kelly ordered the Curly Special, while Cal opted for the pork barbecue sandwich. The man didn’t write down a thing before retreating to the kitchen.

When he re-emerged a minute later, he wiped his hands on his apron and proceeded to lean on the counter.

“So what brings you two to Pickett?” Curly asked as his gaze darted back and forth between Cal and Kelly. “You don’t write for one of them food magazines, do ya?”

Kelly laughed. “I wish.”

Cal cut his eyes over at the picture of Drake on the wall. “We’re here because I’m working on a story about your hometown hero.”

Curly huffed through his nose. “He ain’t a hero to many people around here any more.”

Cal furrowed his brow. “Yet you still have his picture up.”

“Someone has to remind this town about all the joy Isaiah Drake brought us. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let popular opinion or a bogus conviction tell me how I’m supposed to feel about him. Besides, he was set up. I just know it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I was at the trial, Mr. . . .”

“Murphy. Cal Murphy with The Seattle Times,” Cal said, offering his hand.

Curly shook Cal’s hand and continued, “Well, Mr. Murphy, it was a sham from start to finish. The prosecutor and everyone else in this town had already decided Drake was guilty. There wasn’t the kind of evidence that should ever condemn a man to death, but that didn’t stop ‘em. He was convicted and sentenced to death for the sole fact that the victim was Sheriff Sloan’s daughter. But anybody who knew Drake knew that the prosecution’s story about what happened that night was ridiculous. Drake loved Susannah, and there’s no doubt in my mind someone set up him to take the fall.”

“Any idea who?”

“Drake was popular in Pickett, so it wouldn’t be a long list. Perhaps a jealous friend, a rival, someone with an axe to grind.”

“Got any names?”

A bell rung, letting Curly know a plate of food was ready. He held up his finger and turned around to grab a pair of plates beneath the heat lamp on the counter. He quickly returned, sliding Cal and Kelly’s plates in front of them.

“That’s not my style to rat out anyone,” Curly said, lowering his voice as he glanced around the diner. “I like my business here.”

Another customer sat down at the other end of the bar and signaled for Curly’s attention. Without another word, Curly darted toward the customer to take his order.

After Cal and Kelly finished eating, Cal reached for the receipt on the counter. But it didn’t budge. Curly anchored the paper to the counter with his first.

“Did you folks like your meal?” Curly asked.

They both nodded.

“It was delicious,” Kelly said as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“Good to hear that,” Curly responded while shoving another receipt beneath the original. “You two have a pleasant time here in Pickett, and I hope to see you again here real soon.”

Cal slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and nodded.

Curly hustled around the counter and held the door open for them as they left.

However, as Kelly stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, she was almost bowled over by a man in a wheelchair.

“Hey!” Kelly yelled.

The man continued on without looking