Love Inspired Suspense April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Laura Scott

  But even with the accolades and achievements, the haunted whispers of his insignificance and worthlessness sacked him at the fifty-yard line. He shoved away the rancid thoughts and turned up the podcast that had him driving almost an hour on his own time. It had gone live last night, and Colt had been awaiting the sharp thoughts of Christi Cold, aka Georgia.

  He hadn’t seen Georgia or been home in forever. It was the kind of place pictured in movies that women went gaga over during Christmas time—the ones that always ended with a happily-ever-after and the hometown boy winning the girl’s heart.

  Colt had almost had that story. Until Georgia had rejected him after graduation. Dad always said she was too good for a boy like Colt, that one day she’d wise up and run out on him like Mom had.

  Dad had been right.

  He shook out of the memories and listened to the host of the show in a new light and with a new voice—Georgia’s.

  Colt’s cop radar had gone to wailing last night during the podcast. The case had been eerily similar to Jared’s murder case. His gut had nagged him all day until he had made the quick decision to have his analyst get him the address for the host, whom he now knew to be Georgia. Which meant the case was definitely about Jared, though she’d used fictitious names, as she did with most of her cold cases. According to the podcast, Georgia had gained some insight from information she’d garnered that could possibly allow him to reopen the case.

  He turned up the volume and listened.

  “My interviews with former classmates and closest friends of Johnny Toliver...”

  She was fudging or using old resources. Colt was Jared’s best bud and he hadn’t received a recent call from her.

  “...all said he carried large amounts of cash and had expensive concert tickets in his possession. Front row. Pricey, friends. Pricey. Not that Johnny didn’t come from a wealthy family—he did. But he rarely had that kind of money on his person. What I want to know is how he got it. I’ll tell you how—in my opinion. I’ve discovered valid information that points to illegal athletic recruiting going on in one of Mississippi’s finest high schools. I admit I haven’t been able to put it all together as of yet, but I intend to, and if it pans out, I’ll follow up with a sequel podcast. It’s possible Johnny was approached and offered a nice, fat cash settlement and maybe even those concert tickets if he signed with the prestigious Ole Magnolia University.”

  This recruiting angle had never been investigated. The case had gone cold fast. Most everyone on their old Cougars football team suspected the QB from rival Southern High—Chance Leeway—as the murderer, which Georgia had noted with an alias name. Chance had made threats after a game. But he’d alibied out.

  How did Georgia discover this new information? As far as Colt was aware, Georgia was not on any police force, but she had always dreamed of being a big-shot investigative journalist. Maybe she was. Colt had never kept tabs on her. It hurt too much.

  “I suspect Johnny got cold feet, though. An upstanding young man known for his integrity and strong faith, he may have succumbed to temptation, but the conviction weighed heavy on his heart. If he tried to give back the money, not attend Ole Magnolia on a full athletic scholarship and report the illegal recruiting, then more than one person had motive to kill him. I believe it could have been the high school coach. Though the town thinks he’s above reproach, I know for a fact he’s not. It could have been the coach from Ole Magnolia, or even a booster at the high school or college level, and there are several prominent ones who had pull. Or maybe they were in on it together.

  “I say let the dog hunt and see what tree he goes barking up. My mama used to tell me that time will lift the truth to the surface and it’ll bob in the water of lies for all to see. It’s only a matter of a time.”

  That statement should have rung his bells last night. Georgia had always quoted her mama’s line about truth. It was one of the few things Georgia said she remembered her mama saying. He’d been so focused on his own thoughts she’d sparked from her armchair detective work that he’d missed that line.

  Until now.

  If Georgia was onto something, then she could be in danger and not even realize it.

  * * *

  “Would you rather die a violent death and have your killer brought to justice or die quickly and the murderer never be found?”

  Georgia Maxwell snapped to attention and caught her colleague Susan Towers’s mischievous gleam as a gust of wind caught the Magnolia Gazette’s wooden sign, the wrought iron squeaking. “You are morbid,” Georgia said. “Why aren’t you writing for the crime news?” Georgia had been working for the Magnolia Gazette for the past ten years, covering the classifieds as well as the investigative reporting. Though there wasn’t much crime to report, and she wasn’t complaining.

  Susan feigned innocence. “What? It’s a valid question. We both know you dabble in true crime.” She was referencing Georgia’s popular podcast, Dead Talk. Georgia had brought it to life a year ago thanks to her love of mystery, thirst for justice and interest in true crime. In the first six months, it had become the number one cold case podcast series, coming to fans live every Thursday evening at seven.

  “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to know.” Georgia frowned. “You’re nosy.” Susan had discovered a couple of her podcast notes in her desk drawer one afternoon. Georgia had never intended on telling anyone she was Christi Cold—her voice-modified alias. That would be sharing intimate information, and she preferred keeping people at a nice, safe distance.

  “I’m nosy? You’re the one with information that links an illegal athletic recruiting ring to Jared’s murder fifteen years ago. Bold statement, Christi. Where’d you snoop to find that nugget?”

  She didn’t snoop, per se. She found it when she cleaned out Dandy Martin’s desk after her tragic death four months ago. Georgia had tried to tell her not to go running off to Memphis to shop alone at the Wolfchase Mall. A string of carjackings had been reported on the news. Dandy had laughed and told her, You gotta live, Georgia. See you on Monday. I’ll be fine.

  But she hadn’t been fine. She’d been the first of the carjacking victims to be murdered.

  Georgia might not be living her best life, but she was alive. Too many people she’d cared about had been ripped from her thanks to an unsafe world.

  Susan followed her gaze to Dandy’s desk and clearly put the pieces together. “Dandy had investigative news?”

  Georgia nodded.

  “How did she get onto a story like that? Did it lead to Jared?”

  Fifteen years ago, the case had been all over the news, the town. The state. Blunt-force trauma to the back of Jared’s head. Killed in one location—which they never determined—and relocated to the athletic training room at Courage High. Go Cougars.

  Georgia peeked at her two Shetland sheepdogs napping at her feet. Wyatt and Doc were her little companions. She called them therapy dogs, which was her way of justifying her attachment to the fur balls. A year ago, when Grandma had passed away, Georgia spiraled into a colossal meltdown. Didn’t even leave her house for an entire month out of paralyzing fear. Dandy had recommended she see a Christian counselor.

  She’d been seeing Celeste ever since, and she’d agreed the dogs were good for Georgia.

  Finally, Georgia felt like she had answers to problems that had made her feel as if something was wrong with her all her life. No longer was she simply “Georgia the worrywart.” The diagnosis of anxiety with panic disorder hadn’t labeled her so much as helped her pinpoint the reason for her extreme fear and worry. She now had a ball to tackle and a field to run it down for the touchdown—mental health and freedom. Every day she picked it up and used her coping skills and prayer to make it another yard.

  Some days were better than others.

  She hadn’t forfeited her prayer for complete healing. That was an everyday prayer. And each day the same Script
ure whispered to her heart: “And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

  Not the answer she wanted to hear, if truth be told, but she was learning to lean into grace in ways she never had before.

  Susan snapped her fingers. “I asked how she got ahold of the story.”

  “Sorry. She got a letter from an anonymous parent after covering a school board meeting. Apparently, they were voting on students who moved school districts but had requested to stay at Courage High for the remainder of their school careers. One of the freshman students who played in the band was denied, but another freshman who played football for Coach Flanigan was granted permission to remain. The letter stated that they knew of a football student using a false address at 4214 Pine Road here in Magnolia and no one was saying a word about it, but to go check it out.”

  “Did she?”

  Georgia nodded. “Dandy’s notes confirm that 4214 Pine Road is nothing but a mailbox with the address numbers sitting on fourteen acres of woods.” What were the kids doing? Pitching tents and bathing in a creek? No. It was a lie.

  “Wow.” Susan frowned. “Athletes always have been able to break rules. At least around here.”

  “For real. All I have are Dandy’s beginning stages of notes. Two players are currently using the same address but live in other school districts.” If Dandy had come to her, she could have already looked into it. She was the investigative reporter.

  Susan unwrapped a green apple Jolly Rancher and winced as if she hadn’t been expecting the tart flavor. “How did you come up with the illegal recruiting ring?”

  “Dandy did. She had a list of students from years past who had also used the Pine Road address but lived in other districts. Those students then went on to receive full athletic scholarships to Ole Magnolia University. In another column, she had a list of students who literally moved from the Southern High school district to Courage High’s district to play football, and those kids also went on to receive full rides at Ole Magnolia.”

  “Okay, so? Coach produces. He’s only lost two state championships in the twenty-five years that he’s coached. If I knew my kid had a better shot at a full ride to college, I’d move, too.”

  “I agree. But falsifying addresses sends up a red flag. It proves something deceptive is happening. Some of her scribbled questions and notes made sense. I decided to look into it myself. Guess what I found out?”

  “What?”

  “Five years ago, Coach moved from a modest home, what he could afford on a teacher’s salary, to a big fat-daddy place on Knob Hill. Miss Earlene has been a housewife her whole life.”

  “They might be good stewards.”

  “My gut says there’s something going on. And so did Dandy’s. Did you know that last year Curt Walker went to Ole Magnolia on a full athletic ride? Did you know he went to Southern High for his freshman and sophomore years, and when he transferred to Courage High his junior year, he rolled up in a brand-new Silverado?”

  “And?”

  “His dad works for a manufacturing plant and his mother works part-time at the dry cleaner. Neither of their vehicles are anything to write home about.” It was there in Dandy’s notes with the distinct question: Are incentives being given in order to come play at Courage High and even Ole Magnolia? “Jared was seen with a lot of cash and front-row tickets to Aerosmith. Those were super-hard to score.”

  “But Jared already lived in the Courage High school district. Why offer him a monetary gift? He wasn’t playing in any other district or planning to move.”

  “But he was planning on attending and playing football for Mississippi State until about two weeks before he died. I remember. And that’s the same time frame he had a wad of green and those tickets. Plus, he was secretive about them. Even his sister, Amber, wasn’t sure where they came from.” Coincidence? Doubtful. “Someone gave him serious incentive to play for Ole Magnolia.” Granted, Georgia couldn’t prove it—yet. But it was enough to speculate over on her podcast and toss out her theory.

  “It’s not a bad theory. I assume you’ll be moving forward?” Susan asked and collected her purse.

  “I have to.” For Dandy and Jared. If she was right and one of those men killed Jared, they deserved to answer for their crime.

  Susan glanced outside. “I’d ask you to go get dinner next door, but I know you won’t.”

  Dinner led to personal discussion, which led to emotional connection, which led to caring, which led to anxiety.

  Nope, not pulling any triggers today.

  “I gotta walk the dogs before the rain hits.” The sky’s last shades of pink and blue were sinking into darkness, and the forecast called for a soggy night.

  “Fair enough.” Susan pushed open the door. “Hey, you never answered my Would You Rather question.”

  Georgia grinned. “I’d rather die a violent death. I wouldn’t want to be selfish. A killer not caught means the possibility of more needless victims and no justice.”

  Susan arched an eyebrow. “That’s a commendable answer. On a serious note—you might be opening a can of worms when you don’t have solid proof yet—I know. I know. You said it was all speculation, but if you nailed the truth, someone’s gonna be furious. Having said that, when you do get hard facts, it’ll be worth taking to Buck.”

  Georgia had every intention of informing the sheriff, who happened to also be Susan’s big brother. “I will.”

  “You said it yourself. A killer not found is a killer roaming free, and on the off chance one of those names gets wind and recognizes it’s them—or it hits too close to home about an illegal recruiting ring—you might be in trouble.”

  Georgia’s chest tightened and her throat swelled, but she had a duty as an investigative reporter.

  Susan winced at the wind picking up. “Just be careful. Maybe I’ll grab dinner to go instead.”

  “Smart. I’m over the rain.” Rain had been the wet theme to ominous news in her life—the day Jared was found dead, the evening she’d been informed that her parents had died in a car accident when she was only twelve, and the day she’d buried Grandma in the dreary, cold rain. Storms still sent a wave of panic into her chest, but she was learning to cope better.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Georgia collected her things and locked up. The dogs heeled to her Ford Fusion. They jumped in the back seat, and she drove the ten miles to the twenty-acre piece of property Grandma had willed her.

  Up the gravel road on the hill sat her sanctuary. A house built to look like a cabin. A place she had trouble leaving at times for fear of all the danger everywhere else.

  She unlocked the door and instead of the warm, enveloping freedom of safety, a chill slithered down her spine. Susan’s words had dug under her skin and rattled her. Georgia’s identity would come out, and everything she said would be out there. What was the worst that could happen?

  She might get sued for slander. Defamation of character. She might have to go on record and retract something she said, and a lot of the town might ostracize her. Can I live with that? If it brought about justice for Jared, yes.

  She relaxed as she quizzed herself with the coping questions Celeste had incorporated into her life. The fear of something bad happening was her biggest battle. The what-if question. It could potentially snowball until she was incapacitated in sobs on the bathroom floor over her child who died in a drowning accident. She didn’t even have a child! Her imagination could quickly elevate to terrifying places.

  So she had to ask: What evidence do you have to support this thought? What is the worst that could happen? After she figured out the worst, the next question was: Can I live with that?

  Once the negative thoughts were dealt with, they had to be replaced with something positiv
e.

  Philippians 4:8 had become another life verse. Instead of frightening or anxious thoughts, she focused on things that were good, lovely and worthy of praise. If it was noble or pure, she let it in to take root.

  Anything else had to go.

  Some days were bloody wars.

  The good in investigating would be justice served. Lies hidden in darkness revealed. Closure for families. She could live with that.

  But the nagging feeling something was wrong needled her.

  “Okay, boys, let’s go out before it’s too dark for me to see.” She opened the door, and they bounded out, barking at squirrels and at nothing. Typical.

  Another set of chill bumps raised on her arms. She scanned her dimly lit living room and sniffed. What was that smell? Was she making it up, or was there a foreign scent in her home?

  Her imagination was running wild, and she tried to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right as she walked outside. She watched the dogs play for about ten minutes, then hollered for them to come inside. The full moon hung in the dark sky like something out of a werewolf movie. An owl hooted.

  She rubbed her arms. “Come on, boys.” Usually her blue merle, Doc, had perfect recall. Her tricolor was different story. “Let’s go!”

  The awareness that she was not alone didn’t give her time to brace herself. A hulking man in black rushed her and knocked her to the cold hard ground. The dogs barked wildly as they rushed to her side, but they weren’t guard dogs! They could get hurt!

  The man’s meaty hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed. “You had to go and stick your nose in where it didn’t belong with that stupid podcast,” he growled.

  She couldn’t catch a single breath. Couldn’t think straight.

  God, help me!

  “Where. Is. It?”