Dead Man's Curve Read online

  What Others Are Saying

  About Jack Patterson

  “Jack’s storytelling feels as natural as James Patterson’s, and the short-chapter setup is the literary answer to Lay’s potato chips: you just want one more and before you know it, you’ve gone through the whole thing.

  - David Bashore, The Times-News, Twin Falls, ID

  “Jack Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”

  - Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS

  “Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”

  - Richard D., reader

  “Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.

  - Ray F., reader

  DEAD SHOT

  “Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer Jack Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”

  - Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS

  “You can tell Jack knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery. With a clever plot and characters you badly want to succeed, he is on his way to becoming a new era James Patterson.”

  - Josh Katzowitz,

  NFL writer for CBSSports.com

  & author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game

  DEAD LINE

  “This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. Jack Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”

  - Bob Behler

  3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year

  and play-by-play voice for Boise State football

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  “In Dead in the Water, Jack Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”

  - Mark Schlabach,

  ESPN college sports columnist and

  co-author of Called to Coach

  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by Jack Patterson

  Cal Murphy Thriller series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  The Führer's Daughter (serial)

  The Führer's Daughter (episode 1 of 5)

  The Führer's Daughter (episode 2 of 5)

  The Führer's Daughter (episode 3 of 5)

  To Ken Malone, a great friend and a man who understands the passion of Kentucky basketball.

  DEAD MAN'S CURVE

  A Cal Murphy Thriller

  JACK PATTERSON

  CHAPTER 1

  EMILY PALMER LOOKED STRAIGHT AHEAD and pushed her way through a cluster of classmates. She didn’t stop as she glanced down at a red party cup that crashed to the ground, spraying beer everywhere.

  Callie swilled alcohol around in her cup. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Emily answered as she rambled toward her car.

  Once she reached her red Ford Tempo, Emily fumbled for her keys before the taunts from Josh Hood started.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asked as he pinned the door shut with his hand.

  “Get away from me,” she snapped, refusing to turn and look at him.

  Josh didn’t move his hand. “Wanna go one on one this time?”

  “Move now—I won’t ask again.”

  He laughed while he stooped down and moved his face only inches from hers. “Make me.”

  Emily turned at him and glared. Then she bit his arm. Josh yelped and began cursing at her—and he left himself vulnerable. Next, she delivered a solid kick right between his legs that sent him tumbling backward to the ground. Emily unlocked her car and scrambled inside. She locked the door and fired up the engine.

  As she sped away, she heard several thumps on the side of her car. She checked her side mirrors and saw a lanky shadowy figure pursuing her. She stomped on the gas pedal.

  Deep breath, Emily. It’s not your fault!

  She had to convince herself of this because no one else would absolve her for what just happened. Not in Millersville. A 16-year-old girl standing up for herself and making accusations that would only be taken as scurrilous? She didn’t stand a chance.

  Emily lived with her parents in an aging clapboard house tucked just inside Miller County off Powder Keg Road. Despite living at the edge of the county, her drive home usually flew by. The Kentucky hills rolled on for miles and made her feel as if she were sailing on a sea of green. Once the hills gave way to thick woods, she knew she was almost home. But tonight, nothing felt like it was flying, even as she noted her speed at 75 miles per hour.

  Her eyes darted from the road to her rearview mirror and back again.

  Come on, come on!

  She finally entered the wooded area yet continued to check her mirrors.

  Almost there.

  Just above a rise about a quarter of a mile ahead on the left, she could see the sign for Powder Keg Road gleaming from her high beams. But she would never make it there.

  Without warning, bright lights flashed in her rearview mirror.

  “What the—”

  Before she could get out another word, a truck pulled next to her and rammed her car, sending it careening off the road. Emily’s car came to a sudden stop when it landed in a ditch. With the front end of the vehicle a crumpled mess, smoke began to pour from beneath the hood.

  The driver of the truck got out and surveyed the scene.

  Emily felt blood oozing from her forehead. Her leg throbbed with pain and her back felt wrenched. “Help me!” she cried while struggling to free herself from the car, which was now smoldering.

  The driver smashed Emily’s window and pulled her out. He laid her on the grass about thirty feet away from the car that was now engulfed in flames.

  Emily’s right eye had already swollen shut and she could barely make out anything with her left eye. “Thank you,” she muttered as she stared at the familiar face.

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” he said as he scooped her up and carried her toward the woods.

  CHAPTER 2

  CAL LOOKED AT KELLY and smiled. He watched as she cradled their six-month-old daughter, Maddie, in her arms. He’d never seen his wife so alive since the day she became a mother.

  “Do you think you can do this?” Cal asked.

  Kelly paused from making silly faces at Maddie and looked up. “Do what?”

  “Leave her for a week?”

  “I think so, but I won’t like it.”

  Cal nodded. “I won’t either, but this opportunity is too good to pass up.”

  During a phone conversation several weeks ago with a long-time college friend on staff at the Chicago Tribune, Cal learned of an opening for a sportswriter to cover the city’s rich soccer scene. It also included international travel to follow the U.S. men�
�s team in tournaments abroad. While Cal loved his position at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution as an investigative reporter on the sports staff, he longed to travel—and so did Kelly. With her photography skills, they both concluded that it would be easy for her to land freelance assignments abroad. And they could go together. Though the possibility excited both of them, Cal recognized they were a long way from making this a reality. The first step was a trip to the Windy City to meet with the hiring editor and see if the position was a good fit. And with Cal on furlough for the coming week, he prepared to take full advantage of the time off to interview for the job.

  Cal shuffled down the hall in his slippers and robe. “When is your mom getting here?” he shouted.

  “In about an hour, so you better get packed and ready now.”

  He opened the closet door and dragged out a suitcase. Kelly had been packed for two days, moaning nearly every waking moment since about how she was going to miss Maddie.

  “Just quit whining,” Cal had told her. “It’s fine that you want a break. Everyone knows how much you love your daughter—and you’re not a bad mother for leaving for a few days.”

  As Cal began packing, Kelly appeared in the doorway with Maddie. “Can you hold her for a second? I’ve got a call coming in.”

  He took his daughter from Kelly. “Is it your mother? You don’t think she’s calling to cancel on us, do you?”

  “No, it’s my cousin, Kevin.”

  Kevin Mendoza, a coroner from a small town in Idaho, had helped Cal and Kelly several times on investigative pieces. But he rarely contacted Kelly unless to report the passing of a great aunt or uncle.

  Cal watched as Kelly’s face turned from curiosity to concern. The conversation stirred up question after question from Kelly, each one more titillating than the one before. Finally, she hung up.

  “Well, what is it?” Cal asked as he handed Maddie back to Kelly.

  “One of Kevin’s friends from college drowned a few days ago in Kentucky where he worked as a coroner.”

  “That’s awful—but why would he call you to tell you that?”

  Kelly sat down on the bed. “He thinks his friend was murdered.”

  “Murdered? Why would he think that?”

  “He was on the swim team in high school and set several state records.”

  Cal continued tossing clothes into his suitcase. “Being a star swimmer doesn’t preclude you from drowning. He could’ve had too much to drink, slipped and hit his head before falling out of the boat. You never know.”

  “Yeah, well, Kevin said the guy called him a few days before the incident and told him he thought somebody was trying to kill him.” Her phone chimed with an alert that she’d received a new email. She opened it and began skimming it.

  “And?”

  “And then he winds up dead? Don’t you find that the least bit mysterious?” She continued to scroll through the message.

  Cal moved directly in front of Kelly. “Of course it sounds mysterious. But there’s not exactly anything I can do about it.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  He stopped. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, you can investigate his death.”

  “I can’t do that any time soon, remember? We’re going to Chicago today and are gonna relax there for a few days until my interview on Friday.”

  Kelly’s face lit up with a big smile as she stared at her phone. “And it happened in the little town of Millersville, which is right off the interstate on our way to Chicago.”

  Cal paused and looked at her. He cocked his head. “Seriously? You want to do that?”

  “It’s for Kevin. Besides, look at the second paragraph from this email he sent me. Recognize this name?”

  “Josh Hood?”

  She smiled. “You know who he is?”

  “He’s so good that Kentucky broke its rule about honoring only seniors with its Mr. Basketball award; he became the first junior to win it.”

  “And he was a prime suspect—according to coroner before he ended up dead.”

  A grin spread across Cal’s face. “Millersville, here we come.”

  CHAPTER 3

  JUSTIN PALMER WHITTLED on the front porch while he pondered his future. It wasn’t much of one, if anything at all. He’d just lost his daughter and his wife lay in a bed inside their home, fighting for every breath. Like the shards of wood around his feet, hope had dwindled away. There was barely anything left to hold onto.

  The roar of Wilfred Lee’s black Ram 3500 caused him to stop and stare down his driveway. His boss was the last person he wanted to talk to now.

  Lee eased out of the truck and limped toward Palmer. The porch steps creaked and groaned beneath the alternating pressure of Lee’s foot and cane. He reached the top and challenged the strength of the bannister as he leaned against it.

  “Sorry for your loss,” Lee began.

  Palmer looked up for a moment and returned to whittling without saying a word.

  “I know you need some time, but I wanted to find out when—or if—you might be returning to work,” Lee said.

  Palmer grunted and kept slicing off slithers of wood.

  “You will have to come back at some point, but I wanted to let you know that we’re going to cover all the funeral costs.”

  Palmer stopped and looked up at his boss. “You think I’m tryin’ to squeeze you for some more money? I couldn’t care less. My only child is dead and my wife has one foot in the grave. You think I’m wondering about how I’m gonna pay for a stupid funeral?”

  “I just thought—”

  “What? That you could buy my cooperation?”

  Lee held himself steady on his cane. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Palmer snapped. “I know what this is about.”

  “Who told you?”

  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going on.”

  Lee paused. “And what exactly is going on?”

  “You’re trying to guarantee my silence.”

  Lee laughed. “That’s absurd. I’d never do anything like that.”

  “I wasn’t born that long ago, but it wasn’t yesterday.”

  Lee slammed his cane down on the porch. “I can fire you right now.”

  Palmer stood up. “I wish you would.”

  “Really? You wish I’d fire you? How would you ever take care of your wife? The bank would have your home before you knew it. And how long do you think your wife would last on the streets with her condition?”

  Palmer sat down. He stared at the shrinking piece of wood in his hand and continued to whittle.

  Lee stuck his cane beneath Palmer’s chin and used it to force his employee to look up at him. “I know things are tough right now and you’re going through a lot, but these feelings are gonna go away. I’m offerin’ you a way out.” He lowered his cane.

  Palmer set his jaw. “I don’t wanna way out—I wanna way through.”

  “I’m offerin’ you both. Just don’t be stupid enough to reject it.” Lee tossed a thick envelope at Palmer’s feet. “See you at work tomorrow?”

  Palmer opened the packet and inspected the papers. The generous assistance from Lee eclipsed more than he’d made in the previous five years on the job at Lee Creek Distilleries. Palmer forced a smile and nodded.

  “Stay with your wife, Palmer,” Lee said. “Play nurse. Grieve with her. Take a vacation with her. Just don’t pass this up.”

  Palmer nodded and dropped the papers in the rocking chair next to him. He didn’t look up as Lee hobbled away.

  CHAPTER 4

  JOSH HOOD KNOCKED DOWN a three-point jump shot and then another. One of his teammates passed him balls as he launched shot after shot, making almost all of them. His concentration wasn’t broken until he heard a slow clap echoing in the gym. He stopped and turned to see a couple of unfamiliar faces.

  “Can I help you?” Josh asked.

  “Only if you’re Josh Hood,” the man replied.
r />   “In the flesh, mister. Who are you?”

  “Cal Murphy, sports writer for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. And this is my wife, Kelly. She’s a photographer.”

  Josh dropped his ball and shook their hands. “What brings you to Millersville?”

  “Just working on a little story about high school basketball and wanted to interview the best player in the Bluegrass State,” Cal said.

  “Did you clear this with my coach?”

  Cal jotted some notes on his pad and paper. “Of course. Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

  “No, it’s fine. Have a seat.”

  They settled onto the bleachers. “My wife is going to take a few pictures while we talk. Is that okay with you?”

  Josh nodded. “Sure. I always like to get my mug in the paper.”

  Cal smiled. “So, tell me how you became the best high school basketball player in Kentucky.”

  He put on his best show of false humility. “I’m not sure I am the best.”

  “That ring you’re wearing certainly says something like that.”

  Josh twisted the gold band on his right ring finger. “Oh, this? I was voted the best last year, but I wear this to remind me that I have to keep working hard if I’m gonna be the best again.”

  Cal scribbled down a few notes. “I hear you have a fierce work ethic. Where did that come from?”

  Josh snickered. “Funny story. When I was in the fourth grade, I was only getting the minimum playing time on my local rec team. My coach worked for my step-dad, so I told my step-dad to fire him if the coach didn’t play me more. My step-dad told me that wasn’t how we did things and that if I wanted to play more then I had to earn it. So, I started practicing every day after school for at least an hour. Eventually it grew into two hours a night and sometimes three in the summer. I even started skipping my chores to shoot hoops. That didn’t go over well with my mom, who said I couldn’t practice until I finished my chores and homework. You wouldn’t believe how fast I can fold a basket of laundry.”