Dead Drop by Jack Patterson (reading cloud ebooks txt) 📕

that . . . .” Cal trailed off as he began to look more closely at the message he’d just received and the attachment that came along with it.

Kelly waited for a few moments before trying to get his attention. “Cal? Cal? Are you still there?”

“Yes, honey, I’m still here.”

“No, I mean are you still present in this conversation?”

“Uh, huh.”

“What is it, Cal? I know you’re not paying attention any more.”

Cal scanned the images attached in the text message, which happened to be pictures of a document. He took too long to answer her.

“That’s fine, Kelly.”

“Cal? You’re answering questions I didn’t ask. What are you doing?”

He came out of his fog and caught the tail end of her question. “What was that again?”

“I know you’re not paying attention to me. All I said was—”

Cal took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just got an interesting text message.”

“Which you had to read immediately, of course.”

“Of course.”

She sighed. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. What did it say?”

“It was a copy of the divorce papers Sid Westin served to his wife the day he was killed.”

“Some people just don’t know how to handle a break up, do they?”

“You joke, but this is serious.”

“Cal, do you honestly think this could possibly be related to his death? Sounds like a click-bait tweet on Twitter as opposed to a piece of the puzzle surrounding his death—if there even if a puzzle.”

“You might be right, but I need to check this out.”

“And how are you gonna do that now that Buckman has pulled you off the story—and most likely Rebecca Westin thinks you’re a low life for writing that story about her?”

“I have my ways.”

Cal hung up, and his phone buzzed again with another message. This time, it was a series of photos.

***

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Cal stood at the backdoor entrance of Rebecca Westin’s house. He’d hopped the fence surrounding her backyard and hoped that she’d find him harmless enough to let in. Cal was banking on the fact that while she may have hated a “Cal Murphy” who wrote for The Times, she wouldn’t recognize him if he walked through her front door—or back door.

He waited patiently for someone to come to the door. When she peered through the blinds at him, he pushed his faux glasses up on his nose and waved at her. His Eddie Ramsey impersonation at office parties had become legendary—and now it was time to put it to use for a good cause.

Rebecca cracked the door open. “May I help you?”

“Mrs. Rebecca Westin?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Eddie Ramsey from The Times, and I wanted to talk with you for a few moments if you wouldn’t mind. It’s about your late husband.”

She hesitated for a moment and then swung the door open. “As long as your name isn’t Cal Murphy, I guess I’m okay with it. I need to get my side of the story out.”

Cal laughed and even included the classic Ramsey snort. “Oh, Cal’s not such a bad guy. He was just doing what he was told.”

“Writing an article about me like that just days after my husband was killed in a bank robbery is about the least tasteful thing anyone could’ve done to me. I can hardly believe any editor would assign such a story—never mind the fact that it isn’t true.”

“Well, we only write what our editor tells us to write, Mrs. Westin.”

“So, you’re a bunch of mindless robots?” She raised her eyebrows before walking slowly toward the living room.

“I wouldn’t say that’s a fair characterization. Perhaps of Cal Murphy, but not anyone else.”

She turned around. “I knew I’d like you.” She gestured toward the couch. “Please, have a seat.”

Cal sat down and pulled out his notebook. “Thank you, Mrs. Westin.”

“Please, call me Rebecca.”

“Okay, Rebecca. I hope you don’t find my line of questioning insensitive either, but there’s something I wanted to ask you about, and I don’t want to make a public spectacle of it.”

“Is that why you came to the back door?”

He nodded. “The news crews can be cruel at times in the way they capture your every move.”

“Not to mention overbearing.”

“That, too. And it’s why I wanted to ask you these questions discreetly. I hope you don’t find them as too invasive either.”

“Depends on what it’s about.”

Cal took a deep breath. “Someone sent us some documents today regarding your relationship with your late husband.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They were divorce papers dated the day of Sid’s death. And according to the person who sent them to our office, they were served to you on that same day. Can you verify that for me?”

“First, Cal Murphy. Now, you. Geez, you people are relentless. What does this even have to do with anything?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Isn’t that the job of the police?”

“They investigate their way, and I investigate mine.” Cal paused. “Don’t you want to know who’s behind all of this?”

“I trust the police over some muckraking journalist.”

“Look, Rebecca, I’m on your side.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am. I’m just trying to figure out who has a motive for doing this to you.”

“Probably Sid trying to torture me from the grave.”

“Why would he want to torture you? Did he catch you having an affair?”

Rebecca glared at him. “Okay, you’ve gone too far this time. I’m done with you.”

“So, he did catch you having an affair?”

She pointed to the door. “Out. Now!”

Cal gathered his things and shuffled toward the door.

“I did not have an affair. You can print that?”

He stopped and turned around, cocking his head to one side. “Are you sure you want me to print that? Or should I print these?” He held up his phone with the images that had been sent to him of a scantily-clad Rebecca engaged in what appeared to be some rather sensuous activity with a man who wasn’t her husband.

“Where did you get those? Those are fake!”

“I’m sure they are. The truth, Rebecca?”

“Get out!”

Cal slipped out the back door and hopped the fence without looking back once. He’d