“What? Where is he? What about the girl?”
“His car veered off the road and wrecked near the river, but he was nowhere to be found. The girl’s still waiting for him at The Mill, but she’s lost without him. She still thinks that one day she might run The Register. She’ll not want to jeopardize that pipe dream, so don’t worry about her.”
“Well, find him. And when you do, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Who knows where is he, now that we can’t track him.”
Gold hung up his phone. Grieving in peace would have to wait.
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.
CHAPTER 21
DAWKINS SMILED AS HE walked back to his car. The more lies he told, the easier it got—even if he didn’t like it. Now he had lied twice in one day to Kelly. He wouldn’t let her beauty distract him from following his new orders. A night worrying about Cal would make her putty in the boss’s hands. And that’s what they needed at the moment since Cal was now missing and up to who knows what. Kelly wouldn’t think straight. Three boys would be buried on Saturday. Statenville would move on by the time she thought about revisiting the suspicious information she and Cal were gathering.
But there was a problem. A big problem.
For all of Dawkins’ lies, he didn’t know the full truth himself. The part he really cared about was Cal’s whereabouts. Cal was missing. How his car eluded the onslaught of obstacles down the hill until making a soft enough landing in the trees for him to walk away was nothing short of a miracle. But who sent him careening off the road was a bigger mystery at the moment.
By the time Dawkins arrived on the scene and found Cal’s car in the woods, Cal was gone. Did he stumble off into the woods alone? Did someone help him? What happened? Suddenly the protector of one mystery found himself wondering about another.
Just where was Cal Murphy?
CHAPTER 22
WHEN CAL CAME TO, the massive migraine throbbing in his head was quickly forgotten. He was gagged and tied to a chair with duct tape. The s
olitary light bulb hanging inches from his face was blinding. The smell of manure emanated from the dirt floor. Where am I? Why am I tied to a chair?
Cal remembered getting hit from behind and bounding down a hill where he came to a sudden but safe stop. The airbags deployed but he was just fine. He was stepping out of the car when two men injected him with a needle. That was the last thing he remembered. Cal was just now realizing that the needle contained a sedative—and he had no idea how long he had been out. An hour? A day? A week? There was no way of knowing for sure.
Just as Cal was ordering his thoughts, a man wearing a ski mask squatted in front of Cal and began questioning him in a smooth, calm voice.
“Are you Cal Murphy?”
“What is this?”
“Answer my question, please.”
“Yeah, I’m Cal Murphy. What are you doing to me?!”
“Please, Cal. Just remain calm, answer my questions and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Whatever, man. This is kidnapping. You’re going to jail for this.”
“Don’t make empty threats and hollow promises, boy. You and I both know that won’t happen. The men guiding this venture will never let that happen. So, you better just get comfortable with the idea that cooperation is in your best interest.”
Cal gritted his teeth. In a moment like this, restraint escaped him. He usually wanted justice—and he wanted it yesterday. But for all the mystery surrounding the deaths of the three teens in Statenville, he wanted to get some answers before getting offed. This story was not going find its way into print or online anytime soon anyway, so no need to push where pushing only led to trouble.
He decided to play along.
“OK, what do you want me to do?”
“Back off! If you keep digging into the death of these three teens, you’re going to write about some things that are going to anger plenty of people. Your safety will be at stake. Your life may be as well.”
“I can’t back off now, especially when I’m obviously rattling the cage of somebody somewhere.”
“You will have a lifetime to spin the tale of the three teens’ deaths. Now is not the time to rip open the heart of a grieving community. Wait a few months to disclose what you know and you’ll be duly rewarded.”
“A few months?! You mean to tell me that you kidnapped me and risked many other things just to tell me that?”
“My motivation is none of your concern. Your concern is following orders. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“Good. I’m glad we could have this conversation.”
With that, the masked man punctured Cal’s neck with a needle, injecting another dose of the fast-acting sedative. Cal’s vision dimmed, then his head drooped.
CHAPTER 23
GOLD DIDN’T LIKE LOOSE ends, but by midnight he had one.
His goon’s attempt at silencing Cal took an unfortunate turn when Cal not only survived the bump off the road, but he vanished as well. This was not the kind of news Gold ever enjoyed hearing, particularly after he had gone to bed thinking his kingdom was safe again.
“Have you found him yet?” Gold barked into his phone.
“No, sir. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of it.”
“You said that last time.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him out of the way.”
“Good. I don’t want to lose any more sleep over this, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gold loved ordering the Sheriff around like that. It was one of the perks of controlling a town and its dark secrets. Hunter Jones owed Gold everything, so when Gold said, “Jump,” Jones always asked, “Where to?” It was that easy for Gold.
***
Jones loathed the way Gold treated him. After all, wasn’t he the sheriff? Instead, it seemed like Gold thought he was the one with a badge—and never had to get his hands dirty. Tonight, Jones was about to get grime beneath his fingernails for a good cause.
He dialed Dawkins’ number.
“Yeah, boss.”
“You found Cal yet?”
“Nope. We’re still looking.”
“Well, when you do, charge him with driving under the influence.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Dawkins, have you lost your mind? You know we can do anything we want in this town. I got a call from dispatch that a car matching Cal’s was weaving all over the road. Do you need any more than that?”
“No, sir. I think I can make that work. We’ll find him.”
CHAPTER 24
CAL’S IPHONE WAS PROGRAMMED to awaken him at 8 a.m. every Tuesday. It was his deadline day. The Register went to press every Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. rarely without exception.
The last time the presses were held was two years ago when Paul Hackett brought his pick axe to a board of education meeting and threatened one of the board members. When the appropriately named Hackett waved his axe within inches of the board member’s face, Kelly snapped a photo. With barely six months of experience under her belt, she managed to convince Guy to hold the presses. It turned out to be good journalistic instincts by everyone as the photo won best news action shot for an Idaho weekly.
Cal’s iPhone chimed an airy melody. He didn’t move much.
Cal was groggy. The wild events of the night before left him wondering if it wasn’t all a bad dream. There he was in his bed with his clothes on. What happened?
Cal stumbled into the shower, hoping hot water might rouse him to his senses. Slowly, it began to come back to him. He was meeting Kelly. Then someone hit him from behind on purpose. He slid off the road. He survived the spill down the hill. Someone drugged him, warned him to back off, and put him to sleep in his apartment.
Without a second thought, Cal dashed to the window to look for his car. It wasn’t there.
Cal returned to the shower, trying to squeeze out more details from his beleaguered memory. Who took him? Where did they take him? And why? Why warn him to wait before releasing the story?
None of it made sense. Cal’s initial hypothesis was that someone ran him off the road because he got too close to the truth about the teens’ deaths. Or at least they thought he was getting close. Cal felt like he was no closer at that moment than he was 24 hours before when he was taking a shower just after hearing the news from Guy.
Not that it really mattered anyway. Guy had assigned him a benign reaction piece—and Cal doubted Tuesday before deadline was enough time to sway Guy’s opinion to allow him to write the real story. Especially when Cal had nothing but the memory of those boys’ mutilated bodies in his mind.
Cal finished his shower, toweled off and dialed Kelly’s number.
“Cal? Is that you?!” Kelly asked without the slightest thought of a greeting.
“Yeah, Kelly. I’m OK. Sorry about last night.”
“Sorry about last night? Are you kidding me? I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought you were dead after I heard your car went off the road and they couldn’t find you.”
Cal cringed. He remembered his car had been wrecked. While it was the least of his worries, he hated the hassle of being without a car and having to get it repaired.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need a ride this morning.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll come get you. Be there in 15 minutes.”
Cal finished getting dressed and mulled over the previous night’s events. He wasn’t close to having all the facts or even close enough to the truth to form a fledgling theory to float to Guy. But he knew that whatever information he had led to something more. Maybe it was sinister. Maybe it was corruption. Maybe it was a cover up. Maybe …
Conspiracy theorists irked Cal, but he couldn’t help himself. Something was going on, and somebody didn’t want him to find out what. Unraveling the mystery was as simple as that—find out who the somebody is and learn what the something is. But there was nothing simple about it.
Cal’s mind whirled with ideas. Did he hear helicopters overhead? Did a special
ops guy rush him from the river where he had been lying in wait? Cal’s imagination was beginning to drift when the beeping of Kelly’s car horn broke his trance.
He grabbed his iPhone and his keys and glanced back at his room before he headed out. Then he noticed a note lying unopened on his dresser. It was addressed to him: “Mr. Cal Murphy.”
Ding, Dong! Cal realized that Kelly was anxious to see him.
Cal stuffed the envelope into his pocket and headed for the front door.
CHAPTER 25
ON THE DOORSTEP OF Cal’s apartment, Kelly greeted Cal with a hug that pushed the limits of simple friendship. It was extra tight with a final squeeze before letting go. In his oblivious state, Cal had no idea how worried Kelly was over his short disappearance. What seemed like a bad dream to Cal was a living nightmare for Kelly.
“I’m so glad you’re OK,” Kelly said as she turned toward her car.
“Me, too.”
Kelly fired up her Charger and began seeking details.
“So, what happened last night? How did your car end up in a ditch? How did you get home? Did this have anything to do with the case?”
“All I remember is that a big truck bumped me from behind a couple of times and forced me off the road. When the car came to a stop, the air bags deployed. I remember trying to get out to inspect the damage and then I blacked out. When I came to, I was bound to a chair with duct tape and some guys in ski masks told me to stop sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. Then, the next thing I know, I’m waking up in my own bed.”
“That’s it? Nothing else?”
Cal fidgeted with the envelope in his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled it out. After the events of the previous 24 hours, he trusted no one—except Kelly.
“The only clue I might have is this letter I found on my dresser this morning.”
Cal opened the letter and began reading it to himself. However, it wasn’t fast enough for Kelly’s inquiring mind.
Under Your Skin: A Thriller (A Cal Murphy Thriller) Page 6