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

with Drake. Phillip was eighteen, and Sloan charged him, resulting in a conviction. However, Drake was only questioned and released. People here said it was because Drake was committed to Auburn and Sloan’s a big fan of the school’s football team. Who knows why? But it was devastating for Phillip, who had scholarship offers from Florida State and many other schools around the south to play football. After the conviction, all of Phillip’s offers were rescinded.”

“And the second thing that happened?”

“This was the big one: Susannah was the driver who hit Devontae while he was riding tandem with Phillip. Phillip died in the accident, while Devontae became paralyzed in his legs. It was a sad day around Pickett. Susannah was home visiting from college and had been at The Pirate’s Den, drinking with some friends. She claimed she wasn’t drunk, and her blood alcohol level came back at zero. And then it was simply ruled an accident. Devontae has only grown more and more bitter through the years. But at the time, he was bitter and visibly angry. Whenever anyone saw him out in the community, Devontae wore a scowl on his face.”

“But he’s confined to a wheelchair and paralyzed, correct?” Cal asked.

Arant nodded. “That’s why it’s ludicrous to some degree. If Ray did it, he’d have to have some help—not to mention getting someone to actually pull the trigger for him. There’s no way he could’ve gotten into her house on his own.”

“Let’s not waste our time on him,” Cal said. “We need to focus on the viable suspects in this case.”

“Those are all the names I heard at the time and through the years. The honest truth is I have no idea now who did it. Every one of them could be guilty, if you ask me.”

CHAPTER 30

CAL GAWKED AT THE CROWD filing into the Pickett County Fairgrounds just before 11:00 a.m. Living in the south, he had seen his share of southern culture that would bewilder anyone unfamiliar with its customs and rituals. But the people attending the annual Walk the Plank Demolition Derby seemed like a hidden culture that had just been discovered and documented in a National Geographic special. The south didn’t hold a monopoly on demolition derbies—or banger racing, as they were called in England—but it did on the people who enjoyed the sport.

He looked over at Kelly, whose eyes managed to widen even more than his own.

“What do you think of this?” he asked.

Speechless, she simply shook her head.

Pickup trucks elevated by a hydraulic system bounced up and down to the beat of a hard-driving country music song. Gun racks decorated the back windows of more trucks than even the sticker of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes fame taking a leak on the owner’s most-hated NASCAR driver. One elderly woman glared at Cal when he didn’t stop fast enough for her at a cross walk. She proceeded to salute him with her middle finger, pull her sweater back to reveal her handgun, and spew a stream of tobacco onto the hood of his rental car.

“Do you think she’s really a woman?” Kelly finally asked.

Cal nodded. “Most of the women I’ve met in my travels to the rural south are as sweet as a glass of iced tea. But there are always a few who seem to defy the status quo. She’d fall into the latter category.”

They followed the parking attendants’ directions, parking next to a 1940s era pickup truck on the right. Seconds later, a beat-up Suburban from the 1980s pulled up next to them on the left. Over the track’s loudspeaker, an announcer gave a rundown of the day’s events, starting with several short races before the flag dropped to start the derby.

Cal bought a pair of tickets and entered the turnstile with Kelly. Before they arrived at their seats, everyone stopped and faced the flag, first for Lee Greenwood’s rendition of God Bless the USA, followed by Miss Pickett County singing The National Anthem. The anthem performance sounded somewhat familiar despite a few dropped words and changes to the lyrics where bombs burst in air not once but twice.

“I hope singing isn’t what she does for the talent portion of those pageants,” Kelly whispered.

Cal chuckled and took a seat. Kelly, meanwhile, headed back down the aisle and slipped into the stream of the late-arriving crowd. She’d told Cal she wanted to take some pictures for her portfolio, surmising that this would be her only opportunity to photograph such a unique event.

Using his binoculars, Cal watched the pits to see if there was anything interesting happening. He also wanted to watch any of the people he viewed as suspects in the case and hopefully interview them one last time before heading home. He felt as if he was more confounded about the death of Susannah Sloan than he was before he left Seattle. He still had no idea who killed her—and he still hadn’t ruled out Isaiah Drake either.

Jacob Boone revved up his car before climbing out and grinning maniacally at several of the other drivers. Sheriff Sloan walked around the corner of a white cinder block building on the infield where it appeared a driver’s meeting was set to occur. He motioned to Boone to join him.

I wonder what that’s all about.

Cal put his binoculars down to glance at the order of events. When he looked back up, he saw Boone disappear around the corner where Sloan had been. Cal strained his neck to catch any further action but was derailed when Crazy Corey Taylor stepped into his line of sight toting a sign proclaiming, “The End is Near!”

Exasperated, Cal put his binoculars away and sighed, gesturing for Taylor to move along. Taylor obliged, dancing and spinning as he moved down the aisle. He also repeated the message on his sign, yelling it. Taylor’s antics led to at least three children breaking into tears.

Cal returned to watching the pits when Taylor returned, this time interrupting