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  The Lakeside Conspiracy

  Copyright © 2015 by Gregg Stutts

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by Amy Cassidy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book originally released on March 23, 2015, which is the 10th anniversary of my father’s death, so I dedicate it to him. He was a great husband, dad, grandpa and friend.

  Chapter 1

  Monday, September 2

  Max slammed the front door, rattling the windows. He got in his truck and squealed the tires as he backed out of the driveway, then stomped on the accelerator to take him the hundred yards to the end of the street. The backend of his Chevy pick-up fishtailed around the corner as he turned onto Lake Shore Drive, the main road into town that hugged the north shore of Beaver Lake.

  He tried to remember the last good day he and Michelle had together but couldn’t. He couldn’t even remember the last day they hadn’t fought. And he couldn’t even remember what had even started their latest argument. After several miles, he relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and gave up any attempt to figure it out. He couldn’t afford to be distracted anyway.

  The first three weeks of football practice had gone well. There was work to do and holes to fill, but they were on schedule. Most of the boys were working hard and staying positive, which wasn’t always easy in the midst of a hot Arkansas summer. Their opening game was just four days away.

  As Max headed toward town, he rechecked the forecast. When he’d last checked, it was for mostly sunny skies with temperatures in the mid-90’s, but the branches of the large oak trees that lined the shore were being whipped around like a storm was approaching. Rain or not, they had work to do. It was football season.

  The only thing he loved more than coaching football was playing football. He especially loved coaching high school kids. But football was not only a love, it was also an escape. He’d lost his temper with Michelle the first time she’d called it his “escape,” but there was probably some truth to it. He’d just never admit it to her. Only football let him forget about things off the field. Things he had no control over.

  Suddenly, a police car with lights flashing and siren blaring appeared in his rearview mirror. He cursed when he saw how fast he was going. He slowed his truck and pulled to the shoulder, but before he could fully stop, the cop raced past him.

  He pulled back onto the road, his heart still pounding, then a minute later saw the same police car and a fire truck parked on the shoulder. An ambulance with flashing red lights was arriving from the other direction.

  Max slowed to take a look and saw a black Dodge Charger had slammed head-on into a tree. He forced his shaking leg down onto the brake pedal and pulled to the shoulder. The only person in town with that model car was Dante Jones, his best wide receiver.

  When Dante showed him the car a few weeks earlier on the first day of practice, Max couldn’t help feeling envious. A seventeen-year-old kid was somehow able to afford a brand new car while he drove around in an old piece-of-junk truck.

  He parked on the shoulder across the road from the accident and shut his truck off. As he got out, he recognized one of the paramedics. Jimmy Wilson was an old friend and teammate from high school.

  “What happened, Jimmy?”

  “Looks like he lost control to me.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s Dante.”

  Max slumped over, his hands on his knees and tried not to vomit. He didn’t want to hear it, but asked anyway, “How bad?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “I’m sorry, Max. He probably died on impact.”

  Dante and his mother had moved to Lakeside just over a year ago, but in a small town in Arkansas everyone knows who the high school football stars are. Dante was extra special though. He could run a 4.32 forty and was being heavily recruited to play at most major football schools. At last count, he’d received over thirty scholarship offers.

  He was also a great kid off the field. Everyone loved him. Most kids in his position were cocky and expected star treatment from teachers and even their peers, but not Dante, he wasn’t like that, something he probably owed to his mother.

  Jimmy put his arm around Max’s shoulder, said again how sorry he was, then went back to working the accident. Max got back in his truck and slammed his fists on the dashboard, opening up a crack in the weathered, sun-baked plastic where his right fist made contact. Before turning the key, he glanced across the road and saw Dante’s body being pulled from the car. He looked away, but not fast enough. He closed his eyes tight and swallowed hard, trying not to throw up all over the inside of his truck.

  He took a deep breath and waited a moment to settle down before starting his truck and shifting into drive. He looked over his shoulder before pulling onto the road, then hesitated and rolled his window down. “Hey, Jimmy!”

  “Yeah, Max?”

  “Did you notice the rear bumper?”

  Jimmy studied it for a moment. “Pretty banged up. What about it?”

  “Do you think that happened in the accident?” Max said.

  Jimmy looked at the skid marks and then back at the car. “Don’t know. Why?”

  “Just seems strange. If he hit the tree head on, why is the rear bumper damaged?”

  “Maybe it was already like that.”

  “No, it didn’t look like that after practice last night. I remember. He was showing the car to some of the guys. The rear bumper was clean.”

  Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “That’s police work.”

  Max rolled the window up and watched Jimmy lean on the hood of the ambulance and write on a clipboard. Before pulling away from the scene, Max took his phone out and snapped a picture.

  Chapter 2

  Ten minutes later, Max pulled into the school parking lot, his stomach still churning from the fight with Michelle and what he’d just witnessed. He drove around back to the field house, which stood in stark contrast to their brand-new stadium. The field house was built when the school first opened in 1971. The red dragon painted on the side was now more a faded pink than a fierce red. He’d been promised for two years that it would be repainted, but nothing had ever come of it. But at least the work on the stadium was almost complete and would be dedicated at their first game in four days.

  Max knew football practice wasn’t the way anyone wanted to spend their Labor Day. Not his coaches. Not the trainers. Definitely not the players. But they had no choice. They had a game to get ready for, and you could bet Fayetteville was practicing whether it was a holiday or not.

  Considering the news about Dante, he thought for a moment about cancelling practice. It wouldn’t take long for word to get out about the accident. No one would be in a frame of mind to practice, but the best thing to do would be to carry on and stay on schedule. Cancelling practice wouldn’t bring Dante back and would only hurt their chances against Fayetteville.

  As he neared the field house, he was surprised to see another vehicle. It was only six forty-five and rarely did anyone arrive before him. Whoever it was had parked in the spot marked, Head Coach. Like the dragon on the field house, the sign was faded, but it was still clear enough to read.

  Max parked next to the other vehicle and watched Jack Murphy, the booster club president, get out. His two sons had graduated several years earlier, but Jack stayed on in his role. No one seemed to mind since it was a thankless job. Being the booster club president meant only one thing—fundraising—which Jack did very well. Still though, he wouldn’t mind seeing Jack resi
gn and turn the job over to someone a little less annoying.

  Jack was the guy who was always driving a new vehicle. The black Cadillac Escalade was his latest. Max got out of his truck, which hadn’t been new for a very long time, and slammed the door. Jack Murphy was the last person he felt like talking to, but knew he might as well get it over with and find out what he had on his mind.

  “You’re up early on Labor Day,” Max said.

  “I’m up early every day, Max. Don’t like to miss anything,” Jack said. “Know what I mean?”

  “If you came out to watch practice, we don’t start until eight-thirty.”

  “Actually, I’m here to see you, Max. Only take a minute.”

  “Well, I really don’t have a lot of time, Jack. Can it wait?”

  “Take a walk with me,” Jack said, as he ignored the question and headed toward the stadium.

  Max followed along, feeling annoyed at the intrusion and wondering what he could possibly want this early in the morning on a holiday. He checked his watch. He still needed time to prepare for the meeting with his coaching staff and think through how to break the news about Dante, but Jack had something on his mind and that’s all that mattered at the moment. Most people in Lakeside understood you just don’t say “no” to Jack Murphy. It was best to let him say what he needed to say and go on his way.

  Jack took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the padlocked gate to the stadium. Max didn’t even have a key yet, but wasn’t surprised Jack did. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it, Max?”

  “Real nice,” Max said.

  “Nice? Look around! It’s the best stadium in the state. Even better than Bentonville’s.”

  “We’re glad to have it,” Max said. “The boys are looking forward to Friday night.” He tried to sound grateful or enthusiastic or whatever it was he was supposed to feel, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dante. And if it wasn’t Dante, it was Michelle.

  The two men walked out to the fifty-yard line where a large red dragon was painted on the turf. The morning sun was peaking over the tree tops on the visitor’s side of the field, which illuminated the top three rows of red seats on the home side of the field. It looked like a fiery red streak had been painted across the home stands. Beyond the stadium, a line of dark clouds was approaching from the west.

  “Other than a few finishing touches to the press box, it’s ready to go, Max. The home stands seat seven thousand. Seven thousand! That’s real good for the state of Arkansas,” Jack said. “Especially for our little town of thirty thousand people. The visitor’s side holds another three thousand. And you can be sure Fayetteville will have their side packed on Friday night.”

  “We’ll do our best to fill up our side,” Max said, hearing the heaviness in his own voice.

  “So, tell me, how are things looking? Feeling good about this year’s team? Give me an update.”

  “Yeah, I feel good. We’ll know a lot more after Friday night.”

  “Good, good. So you feel like there’s a good spirit among the boys?”

  Jack was fishing, but Max wasn’t sure for what. “Yeah, great spirit, Jack.”

  “Team first. Right, Max? Team first.”

  “Yeah, team first.” He watched Jack pacing back and forth between the forty and fifty-yard lines as gusts of wind blew leaves and bits of paper across the field.

  “That’s good. That’s real good. You know nothing kills a team faster than an individual putting themselves above the team. Can’t have it. Just cannot have it.” Jack’s volume was rising.

  Max didn’t reply, nor did he think Jack was even looking for one. He finally stopped at midfield, surveyed the stadium one last time, then started back toward the gate. After a few steps, he stopped suddenly and looked at Max, “You’re a team player, aren’t you, Max?”

  Max stopped too. Jack’s question caught him off guard. “Am I a team player? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about putting the team before any individual,” then Jack hurried off the field.

  “Is there something you want to say to me?” Max called after him. “If there is, then just say it, because to be honest, I’m not in the mood for whatever it is we’re doing here.”

  Jack stopped and waited for Max to catch up. “This is what, you’re third season with us?”

  “Yeah, third season.” Max realized his hands were clenched into fists and relaxed them before Jack noticed.

  “We’ve still got all the pieces for a championship this year, don’t we?” Jack said.

  “Time will tell,” he said, wondering what Jack meant by still. Jack’s game had gone on long enough for him to feel his face getting warm, which meant the vein in his forehead was probably showing. If this conversation didn’t end now, he felt sure he’d do or say something he’d regret.

  “Well, Max, that’s all I’ve got. Just remember—team first. Can’t have anyone thinking they’re above the team and can start playing by their own rules whenever they feel like it.”

  They passed back through the gate. Max headed toward the field house while Jack locked up and went back to his vehicle. As he unlocked the door to the coach’s entrance, he heard Jack call out, “Terrible thing!”

  “What’s that?” Max yelled back above a gust of wind.

  “Dante,” Jack replied. “Terrible thing about the accident.”

  Max stared at him but couldn’t find the words to respond. Black clouds swirled overhead as Jack got in his Escalade. Before driving off, he rolled the window down and looked up at the sky. “Better take cover, Max. Looks like a storm’s about to hit.”

  He took several deep breaths as he watched Jack race across the empty parking lot. There was more happening in the conversation with Jack than he realized, but there wasn’t time to figure it out. He went inside, started a pot of coffee and wrote out the agenda on the white board in the coaches’ room.

  When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and waited for the rest of his staff to arrive. He stared at the whiteboard, feeling like he’d missed something. He double-checked the notes on his yellow legal pad against what he’d written on the board. It was all there.

  Still though, something wasn’t right. He closed his eyes. It was right there, just out of reach. He looked back at the board and saw Dante’s name. That was it.

  How did Jack already known about Dante’s accident?

  Chapter 3

  It was almost seven o’clock when Max left the high school to head home. Practice ended at noon. He dismissed the team and let his coaching staff go home as well. It gave them one last afternoon to enjoy a cookout or a few hours on the lake with their families. Three years earlier, Max would have left with everyone else, but there was no point now.

  At a stoplight, he pulled his phone out for the first time all day. He swiped and saw the picture of Dante’s accident scene. After speaking to Dante’s aunt, who was visiting from Alabama, he’d broken the news to the coaches and players. Dante’s mother was too upset to even take his phone call. Everyone had taken it hard, as expected, but all agreed to go ahead with the day’s practice.

  He only felt mildly guilty about manipulating them into that consensus. Yes, they would need time to grieve, but life had to go on. They might as well learn that now. After he finished addressing the team, one of the senior captains led them in a prayer and everyone agreed to dedicate the season to Dante.

  Michelle had texted him at 5:22 p.m. and asked when he’d be home. He was about to type a reply when the light turned green, so he dropped the phone on the seat. She could wait.

  He passed the scene of Dante’s accident and slowed to take another look. Other than a scraped-up tree and some skid marks, there was no evidence a young man had died there. Most people would pass this spot and never know this was where Dante Jones, his star receiver, took his last breath.

  He knew life was more than football, but it was his job to move forward and find a replacement for Dante. That would not be easy.
He was not only the best wide receiver on the team, he was the best in the entire state. Last season had been his first at Lakeside after moving from Birmingham. Max never did get the whole story on why he and his mother had moved to Arkansas, although he thought it had something to do with her job.

  Dante had been an all-state player as a sophomore. Quite an accomplishment in any state, but especially Alabama. Last season at Lakeside, he’d broken the single season state record for receptions and receiving yards and was named to the all-state team. Entering his senior season, he was considered the top recruit in the state of Arkansas even thought he’d verbally committed to play football for Northern Arkansas State University, which was just a few miles from the high school.

  NASU had a good football program and Max had loved his four years there, but it wasn’t the caliber of an Alabama, an Oklahoma, a Penn State or any number of other schools interested in Dante. He had never understood why Dante chose NASU so many national powerhouses. But it wasn’t any of his business. Of course, his verbal commitment hadn’t stopped any of those bigger schools from continuing to pursue him.