Dead Shot, Jack Patterson [best feel good books .TXT] 📗

What Others Are Saying

About Jack Patterson

“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

“J.P. 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 AM. .”

- Ray F., reader

Other titles by Jack Patterson

Cal Murphy Thriller series

Dead Shot

Dead Line

Better off Dead

Dead in the Water

James Flynn Thriller series

The Warren Omissions

For Billy Harper, the man who taught me that real newspapermen drink coffee and always print the truth

In the real world, the right thing never happens in the right place and the right time. It is the job of journalists and historians to make it appear that it has. 

- Mark Twain

Chapter 1

Cody Murray shifted in his recliner as he flipped the pages of his favorite sports magazine. Sitting still wasn’t in his repertoire of skills on the field or off it. He lived like he played – always in constant motion.

But it was Sunday afternoon and Cody was trying to relax. He only had two vices, one of which was wasting time reading national sports magazines. The other he had enjoyed 15 minutes earlier. He knew it was wrong, but for an athlete who never stopped, it was the perfect enhancement to his workout regimen. But lately, Cody had become looser with the latter vice, sometimes partaking in it for sheer pleasure.

Cody knew steroids were bad and tough to get, especially in a rural town in southern Idaho. So, he didn’t bother trying. He wanted his impressive body of work to be his body of work – he just needed a little help, a little kick while working out. It was harmless … at first.

Cody dug his jagged fingernails into his left arm in an attempt to remedy a slight itch just above his elbow. It was an irritating distraction from reading the magazine and dreaming of being featured on the cover one day. As unlikely as it might be for the 6-foot-flat scrambling quarterback of a rural Idaho eight-man team to earn a handful of major scholarship offers, Murray had done it. Why not the cover? he mused.

But the thoughts abandoned him when the itching started.

At first, it felt like any other itch. Cody expected it to vanish with one quick scratch. But it didn’t; it got worse. What’s wrong with me? he thought, as he surveyed his arms. Red welts were forming on his arms and spreading to his chest and back. All the scratching seemed to make it worse.

In less than a minute his muscular athletic body was covered. All he could think of was getting relief from the fiery pain. Jumping up from the couch, Cody staggered through the back door, taking a giant leap off the deck and then sprinting full speed toward an Aspen tree twenty yards away.

Rational thought had deserted him. He jammed his fingernails into his chest while slamming his back against the tree and began rubbing against it, thrusting upward from a crouching position in an attempt to stop the itching. His efforts only intensified his skin’s agitation.

Frantic for relief, Cody raced back into the house, ripping off his Statenville workout shirt along the way, and headed straight for his parents’ bathroom. In his mad rush to find anything to help, Cody grabbed a tube of anti-itch cream. He emptied its white contents into his right hand and slathered it all over his bare chest and back. Still no relief. The itching increased.

Cody ran back outside to find another tree. Maybe with my shirt off, I’ll be able to stop the itching. Past the point of despair, he dug both hands into opposing forearms, fell to the grass and rolled and scratched, crying out in agony.

The intense itching felt like fire searing the surface of his body. Cody screamed and flailed about on the ground in sheer torture. His efforts appeared futile but he refused to give up.

His body was covered in bleeding welts as he writhed in the grass. One final spasmodic convulsion and the itching stopped. So did his breathing. Streaks of blood created eerie patterns across his chest. His body lay in the Idaho sun looking like the discarded carcass of a sadistic occult ritual.

No one would believe that Cody Murray, Statenville’s greatest football star in 50 years, had scratched himself to death.

Chapter 2

Cal Murphy’s iPhone vibrated on his bed stand and Cal barely moved. He relished the idea of sleeping in every day, one of the few perks afforded underpaid reporters at a newspaper that only published once a week. But it was a luxury that all but vaporized at 8:30 on this Monday morning in the middle of August.

He fumbled for his phone with the sole purpose of discovering who would absorb his immediate wrath. Josh Moore... why is that freak calling me so early? He knows I