Dead in the Water (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 4) (10 page)

“He’s the only person in Toulon Parish who brags about the coffee here.”

“Maybe Potter oversold the place. It’s pretty much abandoned now.”

The waitress slapped the counter with a towel. “Shoot. Between five-thirty and seven-thirty this place is hoppin’. After that, it is a ghost town.”

“Why’s that?”

“The early bird may get the worm, but the early worm gets the fish around here, if you know what I mean.”

Cal figured it was a fishing analogy. All the colloquial expressions kept his mind sharp as he tried to figure out their meanings in context. He needed that coffee faster than she could pour it.

“First one in the water catches the most fish?” Cal asked.

“Something like that,” she said as she slid a mug of steaming coffee in front of Cal. “I’m Gertie.”

“Nice to meet you, Gertie. I’m Cal.”

“So, Cal, what brings you to Saint-Parran? I know it ain’t fishin’.”

Cal chuckled. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’d only be more obvious if you wore a neon sign around your neck.”

“Well, I’m a reporter and I’m here on assignment.”

“Oh?”

“I’m writing about Tre’vell Baker and Dominique Dixon and about what it’s like for two small town kids in the world of big time recruiting.”

“Sadly, you’re only writin’ about one kid now.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s terrible. Did you know Tre’vell? Doesn’t his mother work here?”

“Yes, I know Tre’vell—or knew him. And, yes, his mother
did
work here. Not any more.”

“
Did
work here?”

“She just up and quit yesterday mornin’. Said she got a job out of town and was movin’.”

“Where to?”

“She didn’t say, but it is strange,” Gertie said as she wiped the counter.

“How so?”

“That woman’s been here as long as I can remember and she ain’t never talked about movin’.”

“Maybe she needs a fresh start or got a job somewhere else.”

Gertie stopped wiping and looked at Cal. “You seriously think people like us interview for out-of-town jobs and get them? No. We just take whatever we can get wherever we can find it.”

“You never know.”

“But after all these years…” Gertie said. Her words hung in the air momentarily as if she were asking a question. “I heard her family came into some money. A cousin of hers won some harassment lawsuit. Maybe that’s where she’s going.”

“Well, I was hoping to talk to her before she leaves.”

“Oh, she’s not going anywhere too soon. She still hasn’t buried Tre’vell. That’s tomorrow. And then after that, we’re all gonna be gettin’ outta here as quick as possible. That storm just might blow us off the map.”

“I thought it was just a tropical storm.”

“It was. But it just got upgraded to a category one hurricane.” Gertie pointed at the television, which was covered by a weather map and a giant green circle blanketing the Gulf. “They’re calling her Hurricane Phyllis and predicting she turns into a category three or four by the time she makes landfall.”

“So everybody doesn’t just go hang out at Bons Temps?”

“You’ve gotta stop listenin’ to Potter. That guy’s so full of it, his eyes are brown.”

It was the first expression Cal heard that he knew exactly what it meant.

Cal fished out a ten-dollar bill and put it on the table.

“Thanks for the coffee, Gertie. Nice talking to you.”

She smiled and nodded as Cal walked out the door. Now he had even more to think about.

CHAPTER 13

HUGH SANDERS JAMMED THE GEAR into park and hesitated to get out of his truck while sitting in Dominque Dixon’s driveway. Being deep in Louisiana didn’t mean Sanders had to miss his favorite sports talk radio program from Alabama any more, thanks to the advent of modern technology. He once beat a blue tooth to a pulp less than a day after he bought it. He still thought the word “twitter” meant “a bird chirping.” And he believed that he could contract a physical virus from his computer that would put him in the hospital. But a podcast of the Paul Finebaum Show on his smart phone? “This is the kind of modern innovation that betters mankind,” he told his friends on more than once as he played episodes on his phone for them.

He remained riveted to his seat because Finebaum promised a call from “Ashley from Anniston.” She was no “Phyllis from Mulga” when it came to expressing her passion for Alabama football, but she was a close second. Sanders thought Ashley’s voice sounded much sexier and imagined her as a svelte Southern belle. If Sanders had ever bothered to look on his computer, he would’ve seen pictures that showed otherwise.

“… I’ll tell you what, Finebaum, if those little bluebloods from Bryant think they’re gonna just march into our state and start kickin’ our butts all over the place, they’ve got another thing comin’. We are Alabama and we run this state. Everybody and their brother has taken a shot at us and we might get bloodied every now and then, but when it’s all said and done, we’re standin’ and you’re not. I garan-dang-tee you. Next year, we’re gonna stomp a mud hole in Bryant and walk it dry. …”

Sanders pounded on his steering wheel and roared with laughter. “Now that’s my kind of woman. Roll Tide,” he said to himself, muttering Alabama’s rally cry to a party of one. He closed the app and slipped his phone in his pocket before getting out of the truck. Before he got to the porch, Dixon was waiting for him.

“Two visits in the same week? What am I? A six-star recruit now?” Dixon asked.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Sanders said.

“I still haven’t made up my mind.” Dixon looked down and kicked at the dirt.

“That’s OK. Alabama hasn’t made up their mind yet either. They got a cornerback from Dallas who they might sign instead. It’s all about who commits first.”

“I don’t play that game. This is a big decision and I’m going to take my time.”

“Time isn’t your friend, son.”

“Alabama would never renege on their offer to me. You and I both know that, so don’t think pressuring me is gonna work.”

“Think what you want. Coach Raymond is under a lot of pressure not to over-sign like he has in the past. More recruits than available scholarships gets the NCAA sniffin’ around. And we don’t like that. Things are a changin’.”

“Nothin’ ever changes in Alabama.”

“When it comes to winnin’ football games, maybe. But how we win games and how we get recruits is changin’, whether you wanna believe it or not.”

“I’m still not sure where I’m gonna go. I’m just not ready to decide.”

“Sure. Take your time and think about your options. You can stay in state, go to LSU and eat crow. You can play for those hillbillies in Tennessee and maybe make it to a bowl game once in your career. Go to Texas and compete against lesser competition in that weak conference of theirs. Or, heck, go to Southern California, learn to surf, and play against teams that wear baby blue uniforms. Or you can go to Alabama where you belong and get a championship ring or two while playin’ for the best coach in the country.”

“You all say the same thing.”

“There’s only one Alabama—and there’s not another team that’s won as many national titles as we have in the past fifteen years. That’s a fact.”

It was an undeniable fact, the silver bullet Hugh Sanders kept locked and loaded in his chamber of comebacks for anyone who dared to suggest that Alabama had an equal in the college football universe. However, it was a fact best reserved for bar room debates rather than using it to berate a potential recruit.

Dixon looked back down at the ground again and didn’t say a word. Sanders decided he needed to soften up before leaving.

“Look, you take your time,” Sanders said. “But remember you don’t have forever. Alabama will move on with or without you. And while I think you’ll make Alabama a better team, one player does not make a championship. Don’t forget that.”

Dixon nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sanders said his good-bye and trudged back to the truck. He wondered if he’d done more harm than good when it came to his assignment. He didn’t care if Dixon decided to go somewhere else, but he still needed the star recruit to trust him if his plan was going to work.

CHAPTER 14

WHILE POTTER FISHED in the morning with a last-minute client, Cal spent that time making phone calls and surfing the Internet for more information about Tre’vell Baker and Dominique Dixon’s recruiting journey. Nothing gave him any indication that Baker’s death was related to his recruitment. Though nothing suggested Baker was involved in any suspicious activity either. The stalemate of information started to drive Cal crazy. He figured if anything was going to give him a clue as to the true nature of Baker’s death, Lanette Baker could.

Once the afternoon rolled around, Potter met up with Cal for more chauffeur duty. Potter pounded on Cal’s motel door, announcing his presence to Cal and several rooms on both sides.

Cal opened the door, holding only his small computer bag.

“You gonna beat down my door?” Cal asked.

“Just wanted to make sure you heard me.”

“All of Toulon Parish heard you.”

“All of Toulon Parish loves me.”

“That’s what you think,” Cal said as he yanked the door open to Potter’s truck.

“You been talkin’ to Gertie, haven’t you? That woman loves gossip more than life itself. She thinks it’s fun to scare my clients with her so-called facts about me.”

“She did a pretty good job.”

“Well, she’s full of it.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

Potter latched his seat belt and froze. He stared at Cal for a moment and shook his head. Then he turned the ignition as the truck roared to life.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Cal. There are a lot of snakes in the swamp.”

***

Cal’s first glimpse at the Baker place gave him an eerie feeling. Potter navigated his truck down the road that wasn’t serviced by any transportation department. Teeth-jarring ruts and runaway tree roots dominated the only clear pathway to a set of houses set near the water.

“You ever been back here?” Cal asked.

“What do you think?” Potter said.

They continued on for another minute in silence. Cal took note of his surroundings. Painting the scene for readers served as a trademark of his features stories. The setting for this one would be important since it was the same location where Baker was killed.

Potter stopped the truck and put it in park.

“If it’s all the same to you, Cal, I’m gonna sit this one out,” he said.

“Fishing wear you out this morning?” Cal asked.

“You could say that.”

Cal climbed out of the truck and began walking toward the Baker’s house. The steps creaked beneath his feet as he walked up the porch. The screen door was the only barrier between him and the rest of the house. Unsure of whether to knock or call out, Cal did both at the same time.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

He heard the scuffling of feet and hushed voices until a woman finally appeared at the door.

“Are you Cal?” she asked.

Cal nodded. “Mrs. Baker?”

“In the flesh,” she said as she wiped her flour-covered hands on her cream-colored apron before offering to shake his hand. “You can call me Lanette.”

Cal shook her hand.

“Thanks for taking the time to meet me. I didn’t want to intrude on your grieving, but I’ve got to get out of here before the storm hits.”

Lanette laughed nervously and dismissed his comment with the wave of her hand. “The storm? Ain’t nothin’ gets people worked up around here like the threat of a storm. I doubt we’ll even see a drop of rain. Come on in.”

The screen door creaked as it closed behind Cal and bounced several times against the doorframe. Cal glanced around the room at the banged up walls in need of a fresh coat of paint. Knick-knacks littered the place and only one picture rested on a small table near the entryway. It was a picture of Lanette and her boys.

“Is this Tre’vell?” Cal asked, pointing at the oldest-looking boy in the picture.

Lanette nodded. “We took that picture this summer at my family reunion. It was a wonderful day and we all had so much hope. It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”

Cal studied Lanette’s face. Hard lines around the corner of her eyes. Her brown eyes sparkled despite the fact that they looked red, either from nights of crying or hard days of work—or both. A rigid jawbone and a mouth full of teeth, most of which were crooked.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she waddled toward the kitchen.

She returned to the living room moments later with a fresh glass of iced tea in her hand. “Here you go, Cal. Have a seat.”

Cal sank into the nearest sofa and set down his drink. He pulled out his pad and began flipping through his pages of notes. Lanette sat in a chair across from him and folded her hands in her lap.

“I am trying to get a better picture of who Tre’vell was and what he was like. Can you tell me about how he started playing football?”

“Tre’vell always loved football as long as I can remember. He’d always play with the neighbors or with his brothers in the backyard. But I remember the day he told us all he was going to be a football player.”

“What happened?”

“The Blue Grass Miracle. You remember that play?”

“Was that when LSU beat Kentucky on a Hail Mary at the end of the game?”

“It wasn’t just a Hail Mary—it was more than a prayer. On the last play of the game, Michael Clayton tipped a long pass from Marcus Randall, and somehow Devery Henderson caught it and ran it in for a touchdown. The whole bayou was shoutin’ like somebody got stabbed. It was crazy.”

“And you remember all that so well?”

“Honey, we’ve all seen that play so many times down here I can describe the trainers handing out water during the timeout before the play. That game’s legendary in these parts.”

Cal remembered seeing the highlight on one of those countdown shows on the most shocking comebacks in college football. But it wasn’t as familiar to him as it was to Lanette.

“So, that’s when he decided he wanted to play football?”