Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Kelly finished trouncing her third darts opponent at The Mill. Beating drunk farm boys who thought they had a chance with her amused Kelly. She even dated a few of the regulars in high school, back when she thought being a farmer's wife was her destiny. She wasn't completely opposed to the idea, but working for the student paper at Arizona State gave her a taste of real journalism-one that couldn't be quenched by whipping up lunchtime feasts, changing little ones' diapers, and serving on the Statenville PTA. Of course, working for The Register wouldn't guarantee her more than a skimpy serving of real journalism either, but she thought it could be palatable, especially if she were in charge.

Kelly picked up her phone to call Cal. Where is he? Surely he would have called me if something came up.

Kelly accessed his number on the screen-and hesitated. She had already called him three times and left messages. But a fourth? That might be pushing it. He was only about an hour late. No need to seem desperate, especially for a guy she wasn't completely sure she liked romantically. Although the exciting day's events had changed that. Adventure proved to be a powerful elixir for her cold feet.

A basket of fries, two more dart annihilations and 45 minutes later, Kelly decided Cal wasn't coming.

A thought crept into her mind. It was not worth mulling over, but Kelly couldn't make it go away.

What if someone doesn't want Cal to write that story? What if someone did something to him?

Her efforts to dismiss such depressing thoughts only served to stir her angst. She grabbed her purse and coat. She needed to put these hair-brained ideas to rest.

She left the bar without a word or a glance over her shoulder. This wasn't about a sudden crush on Cal. This was about her co-worker who was being threatened for doing his job.

Paranoia settled over her like a thick fog. She began scanning the parking lot for any suspicious activity or likely suspects in dark cars awaiting a certain patron. She spotted one man who looked out of place in Statenville. A new black Chevy Blazer in Statenville? He might as well have painted the car fire engine red. This was Ford country, save a few granola types who preferred Subarus. But she quickly dismissed him as her guy. He was looking down at his phone and talking to someone as he waved his free hand around. In the 10 seconds she watched him as she walked to her car, he never once looked up.

Nevertheless, Kelly quickened her pace. She fumbled for her keys as she walked, hoping to avert a prolonged mining expedition in her purse. The less vulnerable she was before gaining entrance to her car, the better.

Success.

She unlocked the door with the click of a button on her fob and slid behind the wheel. She locked the doors and turned the ignition. Before turning on her headlights, Kelly scanned one final time around the parking lot and concluded she was safe. She pulled onto the road and headed for Cal's house, using the same route he would have taken to get there.

Kelly eased down the road, searching the roadside for any sign of Cal or his Civic.

Why didn't he call me?

One jalopy and a flat tire sidelined two vehicles along the route Kelly took. No sign of Cal.

She drove another five minutes before entering a winding stretch of road near Cal's apartment.

That's where she saw the flashing lights. Red and blue squad car lights flickered in the cool August air. A squad car was on the shoulder of the road ahead. It flanked an A-1 Towing Service truck, which made its presence known with a pair of flashing yellow lights.

Kelly didn't want to presume she knew Cal was the reason for the roadside gathering, but she couldn't stop her mind from racing through all the doomsday scenarios. Maybe Cal crashed. Maybe someone killed him. Maybe there's nothing to see.

She sped up and pulled behind the sheriff's deputy car. It belonged to Dawkins. She closed her eyes and moaned. Not Dawkins! Not now!

Dawkins was talking with the tow truck driver when her headlights signaled her arrival. He turned toward her and shielded his eyes from her car lights. The deputy approched Kelly's car as she moved to meet him half way.

"What's going on here?" she asked nervously.

"Well, I thought maybe you could tell us something."

"What do you mean?"

"Mercer was off duty tonight but he called me about a car that he noticed had spun off the road. He said it was all smashed up against a tree, so I came down here to check it out. It's Cal's."

Kelly tried to ignore her emotions and get into her reporter mindset. There were questions. Lots of them. And she needed answers now.

"Have you been down there?" Kelly asked, motioning toward the ravine below.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Is Cal hurt? Injured? Where is he?"

"When I went down there, I didn't see anyone."

"What do you mean, you didn't see anyone?"

"I mean, it's obviously a one-car accident. It looks like the impact with a tree crumpled the hood up pretty good. But nobody saw it happen. At least, there were no citizen reports of a driver veering off the road and into the woods."

"So, he's just gone?"

"Yep, as far as I can tell."

"Do you think he's still alive?"

Dawkins paused as if he was unsure of what to say, unsure of telling her the truth.

"There's no way to know for sure. It's hard to imagine him just getting out of that car, wrecked the way that it is, and just walking around. But we'll keep looking."

"Well, please call me on my cell if you find him."

Kelly handed him her business card and began walking back to her car. She thought she might be able to make Dawkins crack. A little flirtatious behavior never hurt with law enforcement types when it came to getting what she wanted. But she left feeling like she didn't get what she needed out of him.

Then there was a more pressing matter: Cal could be dead.