Chapter 3
In the five minutes it took Cal to shower and towel dry his moppy dishwater blond hair, he tried to imagine what could have happened to two of Statenville's best football players. It didn't take long before he dumped thinking about the cause of the murders and began fantasizing over receiving a Pulitzer for his award-winning coverage of the mysterious Statenville serial killer.
Known for his trademark tardiness and sloppy appearance, Cal wasn't interested in propagating any false ideas that he was big time and the people of Statenville weren't. If anything, Josh was right - Cal needed motivation. He really wanted to be big time, but he was too depressed at the disappointing direction journalism had taken him. Writing for a weekly was never in his plans, but that is what he had been doing for almost a year now, pounding out articles on garden club meetings and school board decisions. He wanted to be writing about pro athletes and NFL lockouts. This was like being a superstar on the worst team in the league - what's the point?
Cal gave up on trying to impress anyone in Statenville. The townspeople held such a low image of The Register reporters that it didn't matter what he wore. If it doesn't matter, why not be comfortable. But wearing a tie on any day other than Sunday resulted in an endless line of questioning, such as, "What's the special occasion?" or "You sure do look nice. What's her name?"
But today felt different for Cal. A double murder is a serious story and I need to be more serious looking.
He dug some wrinkled khaki slacks out of his closet and paired it with a blue and green plaid oxford shirt. No tie. No one would confuse him for a Gap model, but he appeared more professional than on most days, which was Cal's meager goal as he raced out of his rundown duplex apartment door. This could be big.
On this late summer morning, Cal rushed to his black and maroon Civic . He engaged the engine and pressed the accelerator to the floor. A few seconds passed before Cal coaxed the engine underneath the replacement hood to life. He peeled onto Highway 278 for his five-minute commute. There was no time to waste if he was going to turn out a story sure to land at the top of the heap in his skimpy clips file.
As Cal slowed to a stop at an intersection, his iPhone buzzed again.
Kelly Mendoza's picture and name consumed the phone's screen.
Cal's mood momentarily changed from frenetic to giddy. If there was a good reason for staying in Statenville, it was Kelly Mendoza. Her fiery spirit overtook her common sense at times, but Cal dug spunk in a woman. It didn't hurt that Kelly possessed good looks either. A 5-foot-9 leggy firecracker with wavy shoulder-length brown hair and piercing blue eyes made for an intriguing package. Kelly embraced her Basque bloodlines in both spirit and beauty. Cal spent more time dreaming about asking her out than he did of covering the Mariners and the Seahawks combined. But there was that bothersome unwritten "no dating fellow employees" policy.
Cal pressed talk.
"Hey, Kelly. Happy Monday morning to you."
"Cal, I'm sure you heard the news ..."
"What news?" Cal said, playing coy.
"Guy hasn't called you yet?" Kelly asked.
"Yeah, yeah. He told me about the murders. I'm on my way into the office now." Cal could tell flirting wasn't a good idea.
"Well, I heard there's a serial killer on the loose," she said in a near-whisper. "Why would anyone want to target those two kids? There's got to be something else going on."
"Don't get too freaked out, OK? I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this." Cal just couldn't think of a plausible one at the moment to soothe Kelly's nerves.
"Are you packing any heat?"
"Packing what?" A grin spread across Cal's face.
"You got a gun?"
"Heck, no. What do you think this is? Dodge City? ... Are you?"
"You better believe it. I've got my Glock 21 within arm's reach."
Cal shuddered but responded with a nervous laugh at the thought of some poor criminal getting on the wrong end of Kelly's gun.
"Well, maybe I should ride with you today. You're the photographer on call today, aren't you?"
"Of course, Cal. I'm the only photographer ever on call."
"I know but it sounded like something you would say if you were working at a big city paper. We might be writing for a small town paper, but we've got a big city murder to cover now."
"I'm a little scared, but a tiny bit excited too," Kelly admitted.
"Ditto on both of those for me, too. See you at the office in a few." He ended the call.
What was going on? Cal wondered. Is there really a serial killer on the loose in Statenville? And if so, why would he kill those two boys? Whatever could they have done? What could they have been involved with to deserve death?
The paper's readers would likely be asking those same questions. It seemed like a good place to start when interviewing the local authorities. He imagined their answers and began to write the story in his mind.
He looked down Main Street at Statenville's usual brisk economic activity. Shoppers and business owners, many whom he knew, went about business as usual. He wondered if they knew a killer was on the loose. And in this small town, he wondered how they couldn't. Then he wondered why no one seemed scared.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)
Mystery / Thriller****NOTE: This novel is completed ... Enjoy!***** Working as a journalist at a small weekly paper in rural Idaho, Cal Murphy begins losing his big city dreams of writing for a metro paper before his passion is reignited after three high school star...
