CHAPTER 22

CAL AND KELLY DECIDED to grab a quick bite to eat at Curly’s Diner for a late lunch. He figured the lunchtime crowd would be cleared out—but he was wrong. They managed to snag the only available table as it seemed as though the entire town descended upon the popular eatery to put their heads together as to who killed Jordan Hayward.

Curly hustled over to Cal and Kelly’s table.

“You two know how to stir things up,” Curly said with a wink.

“Don’t blame me,” Cal said. “We’re just here to get a good story.”

“Now you’re going to get a better one than you bargained for, aren’t you?”

Cal grinned. “All we need now is for the Marsh Monster to make an appearance on Main Street.”

Curly wagged his finger at Cal. “Don’t laugh. The Marsh Monster is in a dead heat for first when it comes to identifying a suspect. To the people around here, that monster is no joking matter.”

“So, what humans made the list of suspects?” Kelly asked.

“You wouldn’t recognize most of the names since Jordan Hayward was a known drug dealer.”

Cal cocked his head and stared at Curly.

“Hayward is a known drug dealer? How come Sheriff Sloan hasn’t done anything to him?”

“Oh, he has, plenty of times. Hayward’s been in and out of jail for drugs, but the charges don’t always stick or they just dismiss them for various and odd reasons. It’s probably been about five years since he was last arrested. He was still dealing, but most people suspect he and the Sheriff came to some kind of an understanding.”

“What kind?” Kelly asked.

“The kind where the Sheriff leaves Hayward alone, probably in exchange for a hefty donation to the department.”

“So, maybe he missed a payment?” Cal suggested.

Curly shrugged. “Maybe. If the first part of that hypothesis is true, that would certainly be a logical conclusion.”

“Who else makes the list?” Kelly asked.

“Patrick Simmons, one of the drug runners from Hayward’s crew. Jacob Boone, who was routinely seen arguing with Hayward. Most people think Boone and Hayward were always up to something. Also, there’s some talk about how fast Sheriff Sloan arrived at the scene and how fishy that seems.”

“Wild theories abound,” Cal said.

“Yes, they do,” Curly said. “And let’s not forget that Manley’s Department Store across the street sells fitted tin-foil hats . . . and he’s always running out.”

“What’s your best guess?” Kelly asked.

“The Marsh Monster, hands down. Now, enough of that. Can I take your order?”

Cal and Kelly ordered their meals and didn’t have time to discuss anything else before Larry Arant strode through the front door. Without an available seat, he shuffled over toward Cal and Kelly’s table.

“Mind if I join you?” Arant asked.

“Are you sure you want to?” Cal asked.

Arant nodded. “I’d spend the rest of my lunch answering questions about the case if I sat with anyone else.”

Cal chuckled. “What do you think we’re going to talk about?”

“Well, at least you won’t be pitching me cockamamie theories and asking me to agree with you or worse—print them.”

“Good point.”

Curly dropped off Cal and Kelly’s sweet teas before quickly taking Arant’s order and vanishing into the kitchen.

“Now, you said back at the lake that you wouldn’t have predicted Drake committing murder but that it didn’t completely surprise you either. Care to elaborate? Is there something we don’t know about?”

Arant shifted in his seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He glanced around the room before he began speaking in a hushed tone. “What I’m about to tell you I’m doing so in the strictest of confidence,” Arant began. “And I’m doing this because I want you to get a full picture of who Isaiah Drake is—or at least, was.”

“Go on,” Cal said, leaning in closer.

“When Drake was a freshman in high school, he was with two other boys who beat and robbed an elderly woman. They put her in the hospital, all for fifty bucks. Sheriff Sloan tracked down the trio. Only one of the boys was punished with a short stint in a juvenile detention center.”

“Who were the other two boys?”

Arant shrugged. “I could guess, but nobody really knows, so that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Then how do you know about Drake?” Kelly asked.

“One night I was at The Pirate’s Den having a couple of drinks with Sheriff Sloan, and he told me the story. He said he let Drake go partly because he wasn’t convinced he was a participant in the attack. The Sheriff also said he saw how much potential Drake had on the football field and hoped to steer him to Auburn. So, when I say I wasn’t surprised that Drake was capable of such a thing, that’s why.”

“Because he allegedly beat up a little old lady?” Cal asked. “That’s quite a leap from there to being a killer.”

“Anyone who beats up an elderly person has something wrong with them.”

“Allegedly,” Kelly added. “He allegedly beat her up with two other men.”

“I never wrote that nor did I ever tell anyone. But just know that Drake isn’t a saint.”

Cal nodded. “Hayward was my prime suspect in the murder of Susannah Sloan, but not anymore. Now, I’m baffled by it all. Okay, so answer me this: Who do you think killed Jordan Hayward?”

Arant leaned back in his seat and glanced around the room. “Same person who I think killed Susannah Sloan—it was Isaiah Drake.”