Dead Man's Curve

by Jack Patterson

  Lee grunted and turned his back toward them, hobbling toward the window. “Mr. Corliss, have you ever heard of a thing called coincidence? It’s where two unrelated things happen. That’s what we have here. A poor girl gets into a car crash on Dead Man’s Curve, adjacent to some property I own, and she stumbles into the woods and dies.”

  “She was murdered,” Corliss injected.

  Lee ignored him. “Then a man goes fishing and drowns after getting tangled in a net on a pond that I allow people to access through my property. Simple coincidence.” He turned around to face them. “Unless you’ve got any more poignant questions, I suggest you stop wasting the good taxpayers’ hard-earned money on a frivolous investigation.” He stamped his cane as he finished his sentence.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, Mr. Lee,” Corliss began. “The fact of the matter is there were other things at play here, things that have raised more than an eyebrow or two at the bureau. The FBI has jurisdiction over national land—something I’m sure you’re aware of—and we’ve decided to investigate these deaths as they look mighty suspicious. With all due respect, sir, I’m just doing my job.”

  Lee shuffled back to his desk and sat down. “And I’d like to do mine. Now, if you don’t have any further questions—”

  Before Corliss could say another word, his phone buzzed. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as he slipped off to the west corner of Lee’s office.

  Lee stood up again and pointed his cane at Cal. “You’re a curious little fellow, aren’t you, Mr. Murphy? I’ll bet you’d like to see how the finest whiskey in Kentucky is made, wouldn’t you?”

  Cal eyed him cautiously.

  “You wouldn’t want to miss such a chance, now would you? Follow me.”

  Before Cal could respond, he looked behind him to see the two security guards who’d ushered them into the room gesturing for him to follow Mr. Lee. “Okay, if you insist.”

  Lee stopped and turned around. “I most definitely insist.”

  Cal followed him into an elevator. Instead of the usual calming piano music piping through the speaker system, Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” filled the small descending box.

  How fitting.

  Once the doors parted, Cal walked with Mr. Lee down a short hallway and between a pair of double doors that opened up onto an observation deck above the production floor. They stopped and watched workers scurry across the floor. Supervisors with clipboards directed from several key locations along the observation deck. In the back of the building, a pair of forklifts transported barrels of supplies into a loading area.

  “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Lee finally said.

  Cal nodded. “It’s impressive. How new is this facility?”

  Lee stopped. “Let’s not pretend you’re here to learn about this place, okay? Small talk bores me.”

  Straight talk seems to bore you as well.

  “Follow me,” Lee said as he turned and shuffled toward a long corridor.

  They went through a pair of double doors before Lee led Cal to a small room that looked like it was used for training. Tables were lined up, row after row—enough to seat about 60 people, according to Cal’s quick estimate.

  Cal turned behind him to see if the security guards were in tow, but they were gone. As soon as Cal stepped into the room and realized he was alone, the door slammed shut and Lee jammed his cane horizontally across Cal’s throat.

  “What do you think you’re doing, you sonofabitch?” Lee said. “You’ve already ruined my nephew’s good name and gotten his scholarship taken away—and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of Millersville and never come back. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you never write again. Is that clear?”

  Cal struggled to separate the cane from his throat. After several moments of tussling, Lee relented and staggered backward.

  Cal didn’t say a word and opened the door. This time, he didn’t wait for Lee to lead. He hustled toward the elevator doors.

  “I mean it, Mr. Murphy,” Lee called down the hall after him. “You’ll be finished.”

  Cal didn’t turn around. He punched the button for the first floor repeatedly until the doors slid shut.

  As he began straightening his tie, Cal noticed that he wasn’t the only one on the elevator. A woman stood in the corner, holding a briefcase.

  “Aren’t you that reporter everyone in town is talking about?” she asked.

  Cal eyed her suspiciously. “I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but good things about me.”

  She laughed and took out a business card. “This town can be cruel sometimes,” she said as she scribbled on the back of the card. She walked up to Cal and slipped it into the front pocket on his shirt and patted it a couple of times. “The sooner you figure out what’s going on here, the sooner you can solve this crime and get out of town before the lynch mob shows up at your hotel room with torches and pitchforks.”

  Cal reached for the card.

  “You don’t want to look at that now. Later, okay?”

  He nodded and thanked her as the elevator arrived at the ground floor. When he stepped out into the lobby, Corliss was waiting for him.

  “Where’d you go?” Corliss asked.

  “Never mind that,” Cal said as he looked back at the woman. “Let’s just get outta here.”

  ***

  CORLISS DROVE THEM off the Lee Creek Distilleries property and turned east onto the main highway. They went about a hundred yards before Cal spoke.

  “There’s Kelly. Slow down,” he said.

  Corliss obeyed and pulled off to the side of the road. Lugging her high-powered camera lens with a monopod, Kelly wore a camouflaged outfit.

  “See any deer out there?” Corliss joked as she got into the car.

  “I had more fun shooting something else,” she quipped. “Something strange is going on there, something beyond transporting bottled bourbon.”

  ***

  LEE WAS STARING out his window when the phone rang. He limped toward his desk to answer it. It was the head of his security department.

  “Yeah.”

  “We just had a person breach the perimeter about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Is he still here?”

  “Is she still here? And, no, she’s gone.”

  Lee grunted. “Damn corporate espionage. Everybody wants to find out what our family secret recipe is.”

  “I’m sending you a picture of her from our security cams. Maybe you know someone who can identify her and find out who she’s working for.”

  Several moments later, the woman’s picture popped up on Lee’s machine. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “Do you know who she is, sir?”

  “Unfortunately, I do. That Cal Murphy is gonna rue the day he ever set foot in this town.”

  CHAPTER 15

  WHILE CORLISS INSISTED ON chasing down a few more witnesses he needed to interview, Cal and Kelly decided it was time to regroup and eat. But they needed to satisfy more than just their empty stomachs. Cal’s notebook had begun to fill up with unanswered questions, the kind he needed answers to if he was going to string together a story that could expose what was really going on in Millersville and find justice for Billy Riggins and Emily Palmer.

  At 11:30, they sauntered into Steve’s Burgers and Brew Pub looking for a good meal—and Steve. Only one other couple sat in the back, both slurping milkshakes and making eyes at one another.

  Cal and Kelly sat down at the bar and waited a few moments.

  “Remember when we used to do that, honey?” Kelly asked, gesturing toward the couple in the back.

  “What? Exhibit a nauseating amount of public affection? No?”

  “Me either,” she said as her face cracked into a smile.

  “But I do remember becoming a rock in the shoe of powerful men who wanted me dead—and you too. That’s what I remember about our young love.”

  She leaned on him and grabbed his hand. “It’s good to be back on the job.
”

  Cal let out a short breath. “You might be back on the job, but neither one of us is getting paid.”

  “You never know what might happen once this is all over.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t end with me and you six feet under the ground.”

  She playfully hit him. “Oh, stop it. You’re such a worrywart. Nobody is gonna kill us. They just want us to leave town without finding out what’s going on here.”

  “That’s what they all say at first, but something always changes.”

  She shook her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you? Just chase the story. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Says the woman who’s been tied up on more than one occasion.”

  “Exactly. If I’m not worried about it, you shouldn’t be either. These guys are relatively harmless compared to some of the crime bosses we’ve stared down together.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence—I really do.”

  Before Cal could continue, Steve burst through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He wore a white grease-stained apron and was wiping his hands on a towel. “If it’s not my favorite extended-stay, bull-headed reporters,” he said as a grin spread across his face.

  “Back in the flesh,” Cal said.

  “So, what brings you two back here? I’m hoping just an appetite for the best burgers in all of Millersville.”

  Cal wrinkled his nose and squinted at Steve. “It’s one of the reasons.”

  “But it’s not the reason, is it?”

  “We were hoping you could answer a few—” Kelly said before stopping. “What happened to your eye right there?”

  Steve looked down. “It’s nothing. Just a little scratch while I was chopping wood the other day. I forgot to wear my goggles and wood chip came flying up and—”

  Kelly leaned forward and slapped the counter. “We’re reporters, Steve. Remember? We can tell when someone’s lying—and you’re starting to sound like a victim of domestic abuse.”

  The phone rang and Steve didn’t hesitate to answer it without answering her. “Just a minute.”

  While Steve spoke on the phone, Cal leaned over toward Kelly and whispered. “Go easy on him, okay? We want him to know we’re on his side. Don’t try to scare him off.”

  “Looks like somebody’s already tried to do that for us.”

  Steve reappeared with a pad in one hand and a pen in the other. “Now, what can I get for you folks?”

  Cal and Kelly hemmed and hawed over ordering the same thing or trying something new. Eventually, Cal decided on a repeat order of the Bluegrass Bourbon Burger, while Kelly branched out and ordered the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Steve said as he scurried back to the kitchen.

  When he returned a few moments later with their drinks, Cal didn’t let him get away. “Look, I know you might be skittish about talking to us, but we need some allies in this town, some people who can help direct us toward the truth. I get the feeling nobody here wants to talk about it for some reason.”

  Steve leaned on the counter and looked around before speaking. “It’s not just some reason—it’s one reason: Mr. Wilfred Lee. He runs this town and nothing gets by him.”

  “Did you ever work for him?” Cal asked.

  “Who told you that?”

  Steve eyed the pair cautiously. “I used to work for him many years ago. It seems like a distant memory now—more like a nightmare, actually.”

  “What happened?”

  “The same thing that happens to anyone who Mr. Lee despises—he fired me.”

  “Why exactly did he fire you?” Kelly asked.

  “Look, I don’t care to get into all that. It’s water under the bridge now. I’ve done my best to put it behind me and have managed to build a nice little life for myself.”

  Cal pulled out his notepad and scratched down a few notes. “If you don’t tell us, he’s going to keep doing whatever he’s doing again and again and again. We’ve already figured out there’s more to this story than the death of a high school girl and a cover up murder. And something tells me that Wilfred is at the center of it all.”

  “I’m not the best person to talk to about that. Besides, if I told you what I did know, it’d come back to haunt me.”

  “I could quote you as a deep source,” Cal said.

  “Yeah, nobody would have to know it was you,” Kelly added.

  Steve wiped the counter with a dishrag, the third time during their conversation by Cal’s count. “The things I know are so specific that Lee and his thugs would know it was me and come after me and my family. I’m afraid I’ve already said too much. What did Callie tell you?”

  “She wasn’t real helpful,” Kelly said. “Though I could tell you two are alike in a lot of ways. You both know more than you’re saying.”

  Steve started walking backward toward the door. “Let me check on your food for you.”

  Kelly looked at Cal. “What are these people so afraid of?”

  “It’s not a what, but who—and we already know the answer to that.”

  She tousled her hair. “But why? What’s he doing that everyone is so afraid to tell us about? And why would they protect him like this?”

  “I think Billy Riggins found dead in a fishing net is all you need to know.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve just got a feeling in my gut that there’s something else going on.”

  “Something other than what you saw today at the plant?”

  “Yeah, something much worse.” She paused. “But I have no idea what. It’s just a feeling.”

  Cal looked at his notes, while Kelly surveyed the restaurant. A few other patrons shuffled through the door, prompting Steve to shout out an obligatory, “I’ll be with you in a minute,” each time.

  Moments later, Steve finally reappeared with their food. He slid their plates in front of them. “I hope you enjoy your meal. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  Cal stared at the business card he’d fished out of his pocket. “I’d like some ketchup—and for you to answer one more question for me.”

  “Shoot,” Steve said as he grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter and put it next to Cal’s plate.

  “What do you know about something called The Gentleman’s Club?” Cal asked.

  Steve stepped back and glared at him. Then he hunched over the counter and spoke softly. “I like you two—a lot, actually. I admire what you’re trying to do here. And I must tell you it’s one thing to try and figure out who killed Billy Riggins and Emily Palmer, but it’s another to start overturning every rock in Millersville. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just leave that one alone. Don’t talk about it with anyone else. Don’t mention it in public. Nothing good is going to come out of it—that much I can promise you.”

  “What are we missing, Steve? I feel like there’s something else going on here,” Kelly said.

  “There is, but you don’t want any part of it. Trust me. You’re already dancing with the devil as it is and he’s stepping on your toes. Keep this up and he might bury you right here in Miller County.”

  “What are you so afraid of? I just don’t get it,” she said.

  “Just leave well enough alone. That’s all I’m going to say about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other customers to attend to.” He hustled over to a table full of customers, leaving Cal and Kelly to ruminate on their conversation.

  “What is The Gentleman’s Club?” Kelly asked.

  Cal shook his head. “I have no idea, which is why I asked him. Apparently, it’s not exactly a place we need to be asking about.”

  “And that’s exactly why we need to be asking about it.”

  Cal took a bite of his burger and swallowed before continuing their conversation. “What’s got you so fired up about this now?”

  She stole one of his fries and winked at him. “You’re rubbing off on me. I hate se
eing powerful people think they’re above the law.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think this is a case of someone being above the law—I think this is a case of someone owning the law.”

  “I think you’re probably right.”

  ***

  IN THE BACK CORNER of Steve’s, one of the Miller County deputies strained to hear their conversation. He’d been sitting there for the past ten minutes like a wallflower. He slipped out of the restaurant without anyone acknowledging him.

  He climbed into his squad car and called Sheriff Wilson.

  “That Murphy couple is still here—and they were asking Steve a lot of questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “They were asking about The Gentleman’s Club.”

  “Don’t let ‘em outta your sight.”

  CHAPTER 16

  WILFRED LEE LICKED the end of his fishing hook and looked at his son, Jeremy. “What? Haven’t you ever seen someone bait a hook before?” He spit on the ground and then jammed the plastic worm onto the end.

  “Not like that,” Jeremy said.

  “This is the only way to bait your hook. I can’t believe you haven’t learned this from me by now.”

  “It’s just so odd, especially when you make the kind of comments you make.”

  Lee paused and shot his son a look. “Like what exactly?”

  “What is it you’re always saying? Something about how disgusting it is to have a tackle box on your tongue?”

  “There’s a big difference between licking a hook in preparation for the bait versus ramming the hook into your tongue and calling it art or some kind of twisted self-expression.”

  “Whatever,” Jeremy said as he hurled his line into the water.

  Lee turned and eyed his son, who’d put his fishing rod in a holder and shoved his hands beneath his armpits.