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

and slipped out onto the balcony to enjoy the Okefenokee wildlife just outside his hotel room. After a few days, he was getting acquainted with the various bird calls and other animals communicating throughout the swamp. The serene moments provided him with a chance to clear his head and think about the case.

A man’s voice from below jarred Cal, serving as a reminder that his place of zen was shared and unpredictable.

“Sorry I don’t have anything to show you from Gus this morning,” the man said.

Cal stood up and peered over the balcony at the friendly janitor for the Okefenokee Inn. “That’s okay,” Cal said. “I’d rather just enjoy the sights and sounds of life than death.”

“Death is part of the circle of life,” the janitor said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the swamp wasn’t all full of peace and harmony last night. Wander around here long enough and you’ll see somethin’ else dead.”

Waving at the man, Cal said, “You have a good day, sir.” He retreated inside and found Kelly awake.

“What was that all about?” she asked, squinting as she looked in his direction.

“Oh, nothing. Just the friendly and morbid Okefenokee Inn grounds keeper.”

***

NEVER KNOWN FOR HIS PATIENCE, Cal suggested to Kelly that after breakfast they should visit Heloise Hayward. Cal had learned that she quit working at city hall a few years ago and had taken up as a waitress at a fancy restaurant located near the entrance of the Okefenokee. According to one of the articles he’d read about it, the eatery catered to tourists and didn’t open until 11:00 a.m.

“She should still be home if we hustle,” Cal said while glancing at his watch.

Kelly agreed, and by 10:00 a.m., they were pulling into Heloise’s driveway.

When the car came to a stop and Cal turned it off, his heart-rate quickened at the sound of ferocious barking. He looked up to see a Rottweiler salivating and lunging toward the car. He quickly sighed, relieved once he noticed the chain around the dog’s neck.

“Herschel, I done told you a hundred times to treat guests with more respect than that,” a woman said as she hobbled down the steps. She grabbed the dog by his collar and held him in place while eyeing Cal and Kelly.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

Cal approached gingerly, raising his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

“Mrs. Hayward?”

“Yes. Who’s askin’?”

“I’m Cal Murphy, and this is my wife, Kelly. We’re from The Seattle Times and working on a story about Isaiah Drake. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions for the article I’m writing?”

She stood up and broke into a wide smile. “As long as you’re not from the government, you’re welcome. Come on in. Have a seat on the porch while I fetch y’all some sweet tea.”

Cal and Kelly sat down on the bench swing and surveyed the surroundings. The clapboard house looked like it had seen better days along with the yard, which was little more than a dirt patch, probably due to Herschel. The only vehicle in the yard was a twenty-year-old BMW that needed a new paint job but otherwise looked like a serviceable vehicle.

The chain link rope attaching the wooden swing to the porch eave creaked as Cal and Kelly shifted on the bench.

“I’m afraid I don’t have too much time to talk,” Mrs. Hayward said as she returned carrying a platter with three glasses of sweet tea. “I’ve got to get to work in an hour, but I’ll be more than happy to talk with you as long as I can.”

She held out the platter in front of Cal and Kelly, waiting for them to take a glass. Once they did, she pulled up a chair from the other side of the porch and sat across from them.

“So, what is a big city paper sending a couple of reporters all the way across the country to little ole Pickett to write about Isaiah Drake for?”

“To be blunt, he’s running out of appeals and it looks like his execution might be coming soon,” Cal said. “He was a fan favorite in Seattle, and it’s been twelve years since the murder of Susannah Sloan.”

Mrs. Hayward shook her head. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. That trial tore this town apart. Two of our favorite people in the world. And now they’re both gone.”

“Both of them were admired?” Kelly asked.

Mrs. Hayward nodded. “That’s what made it so painful. We all loved Susannah. She was always smilin’ and kind to people. Even when she became the prosecutor, she handled each case with care. Because she knew the families, she understood each one’s struggle . . . or lack thereof. Some people needed to get a heavy dose of justice; others just needed mercy and a second chance.”

“Like Jordan?” Cal asked.

She nodded emphatically. “Especially Jordan. He was always gettin’ into trouble, messin’ around with the people he shouldn’t have been messin’ around with. But he finally got his life straightened out. He’s still poor, but at least he ain’t gonna die in some drug deal gone wrong.”

“And Susannah knew that about him?” Kelly asked.

“Ah, yes. Susannah was an angel. She wanted to see Jordan escape this place.”

Cal scooted up on the bench and leaned forward.

“Mrs. Hayward, I hate to ask a question like this, but I was wondering if you knew if Jordan and Susannah were lovers.”

“Lovers? Jordan and Susannah? Lawd, no. Whoever told you that has been smokin’ crack since Sunday. Those two were just friends, nothin’ more.”

“Is that why it didn’t bother you to issue Susannah and that Jacksonville lawyer Tanner Thomas a marriage license?” Cal asked.

Mrs. Hayward took a deep breath.

“Well, I can’t say that didn’t bother me. The whole time she was standin’ in front of me, I was starin’ at that bling on her finger that Isaiah had given her. I was hopin’ it might make her reconsider, but it didn’t. I thought it was a rotten thing to do, but who am I to judge?”

“When did