Dead Shot by Jack Patterson (adventure books to read .TXT) 📕

Cal didn’t bother setting down his bag at his desk. He knew Guy was on a rare – but trademark – rampage. Cal had observed that Guy only exhibited this behavior when there was a real news story taking place. The events of the past 24 hours certainly qualified as real news, especially in Statenville.

With two chairs across from Guy’s desk, Kelly took the seat closest to the cubicle doorway. Cal squeezed past her and into the seat wedged against the wall. They were both barely in their seats before Guy commenced.

“What have you two been up to?” he demanded. “On your account, I’ve taken two cautionary phone calls from Sheriff Jones and been called into Joseph’s office – and it’s not even noon!”

“I can explain –” Cal started.

“You better start talking fast. I don’t have time for nuanced excuses.”

“We started by going to talk with Sheriff Jones, and he started giving us the run around along with a suggestion to more or less drop it,” Cal answered.

“A suggestion? Like, ‘Stop digging. No one will like what you find’?”

“Yeah, kind of like that.”

“And so you had to go keep digging, of course.”

“Boss, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? I’m telling you, something strange is going on and people will want to know about it.”

“According to Joseph and Hunter Jones, nobody in this town wants to know about anything other than funeral arrangements and where to send flowers for these poor boys’ families.”

“And you’re buying that?”

“I don’t know what I’m buying yet, but I don’t like anything that gets the publisher and the sheriff crawling all over me. You got it?” The stressed-out editor pointed his index finger at the two as if it were a pistol.

Kelly nodded her head, but Cal knew she had no intention of halting her investigation. Neither did he. Cal continued his protest.

“So how are we supposed to do our jobs?”

“Figure it out, cubbie. But do it without having my boss and the law put the squeeze on me. Now get out of here and let me know when you have something.”

Kelly got up and headed for her desk. Cal didn’t move.

“What makes you think we don’t already have something of interest?”

“You don’t. Now get out of here before you ruin the five precious minutes I have left of this morning.”

Cal huffed as he returned to his desk and began organizing his notes.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Discretion is the better part of valor’?” whispered a voice in Cal’s ear.

Cal turned to see a smart-aleck grin spread across Kelly’s face.

“I think I know who is behind all this, Cal. Let’s go talk about it over lunch.”

Cal grabbed his briefcase and ignored the rest of the newsroom employees. For the second time today, he was invited to ride in Kelly’s car. Guy’s tirade withstanding, it was turning out to be a pretty good day for Cal.

Law enforcement feathers ruffled? Check. Big breaking story with potential for an award-winning article? Check. Business or not, riding with Kelly in her sports car? Check. Lunch with Kelly at Ray-Ray’s? Near perfection. And it was only noon.

Chapter 9

Cal’s breakfast in his frantic rush to get to the office ended up being two untoasted pop tarts and a cup of coffee. It was hardly the breakfast of champions, but most definitely a staple for reporters. By lunchtime, Cal needed something more substantial. He needed brain food. He needed Ray-Ray’s.

Ray-Ray’s was the best – and only – barbecue joint in all of Brooks County. Prior to Ray-Ray’s, the only barbecue to be found there was the processed kind found in the refrigerated section of a grocery store. But six months ago, brothers William and Burt Ray from Arkansas relocated to Statenville and opened up one of the best barbecue restaurants in the state. Within three months, Ray-Ray’s word-of-mouth reputation was so strong that a food critic from the Boise newspaper made the two-and-a-half hour drive to Statenville resulting in a glowing review. After that, Ray-Ray’s needed no more help in attracting customers.

Cal and Kelly inhaled the smell of a hickory wood grill and spicy barbecue sauce as they opened the restaurant door. Nothing could change Cal’s mood like the aroma of barbecue, nothing other than eating it, that is. They both placed their order and then found a table outside to reduce the number of nosy ears.

“So, Kelly, who do you think is behind all of this?” asked Cal, who, after one bite of ribs, had already managed to get a thick stream of barbecue sauce oozing down the center of his chin.

“Well, I don’t know if someone left it on my desk as a hint or if it’s just by pure coincidence, but when I sat down at my desk, I had a paper folded to this headline.”

Kelly pulled a two-week old copy of The Register out of her purse. It was folded so that only one headline was showing.

“Boise Developer, City Clash”

Cal kept eating as he scanned the article written by Guy two weeks ago; an article he missed while covering the end of the summer city softball league tournament. The article painted the scene of Statenville’s contentious city council meeting over the re-zoning of a particular property owned by Boise developer, BCH Homes. It was currently zoned as agricultural land, but BCH wanted to build a 100-home subdivision to accommodate the city’s growth. There was rumor that a new pulpwood plant was going to be relocating to Statenville within the next 18 months – and BCH saw this as an opportunity to build plenty of new homes. The article quoted a handful of local men and women upset about the potential re-zoning and what it would do to their property values. Standard reporting.

Cal didn’t see the connection to the three dead teens.

“I’m not sure I get it,” Cal answered after re-reading the article.

“Let me help you out, Einstein.” Kelly took the paper from Cal and circled three names