Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Cold Case

Malloy counted to ten in his head before he addressed the owner’s contemptuous statement. “None of it’s against the law, Mr. Harrison. There are just procedures that have to be followed.”

“Procedures be damned,” Harrison snorted. “I’m losing money here.”

“And I’m very sorry about that, Mr. Harrison,” Malloy responded, his voice almost singsong in tone, even as he deliberately assumed a contrite expression. “You could write a letter to the department, detailing the inconvenience that this investigation is causing you—not to mention the money it’s costing you,” he added, then approximated a sympathetic tone, saying, “Maybe they’ll reimburse you.”

Again Harrison stopped walking, wonder written across his dour face. “They’d do that?”

Malloy eased himself out of the corner with the skill of a savvy con artist, something he had picked up by observing the people he tracked down and arrested.

“I don’t handle that end of it, but nothing’s impossible,” he told the nursery owner innocently.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the amused look on Sean’s face. The latter had come closer and overheard him. It took effort for Malloy to maintain a completely unaffected and neutral expression as he followed Harrison the rest of the way up the incline and into the trailer.

The trailer’s interior had a musty smell, thanks to piles of papers that hadn’t been sorted and either filed away or disposed of in a long time. Harrison cursed roundly under his breath as he searched his desk.

“Here!” Harrison declared dramatically, finally finding the business card he was looking for. He all but slapped it into the detective’s hand.

“You might want to call ahead and tell him I’ll be stopping by,” Malloy advised. He slipped the business card into his wallet and tucked the wallet away. “Do you remember when you bought this property?”

Suspicion crowded the distrustful brown eyes. “Almost five weeks ago. Why?”

“That was going to be my next question,” Malloy told him, his voice deceptively friendly sounding. “Why?”

Harrison’s dark eyebrows drew together in a perplexed look. “You mean why did I buy it?”

“Yes.” It seemed a simple enough question on the surface, Malloy thought. “Was it a lifelong passion of yours to surround yourself with greenhouses full of exotic plants? Or were you looking for a business write-off when you bought this property? Or...?”

He let his voice trail off. There was still the possibility that Harrison had somehow been involved in these murders that made up the cold case. Maybe the man knew about the bodies buried here and didn’t want them falling into the wrong hands. In his haste to make money, he’d forgotten that the bodies were on this side of the property rather than the developed side.

Malloy watched the nursery owner and waited for him to respond.

Harrison stared at him for a few moments, then shrugged. “I just wanted my own business, and I thought that being in charge of a nursery like this would be relatively stress free.” He punctuated the sentence with a dry, self-mocking laugh. “How’s that for a stupid move?”

“Not necessarily a stupid move, Mr. Harrison. Things’ll be resolved one way or another,” Malloy assured him. “So, you didn’t know the owner before the property changed hands?” he asked innocently.

“Didn’t know the owner after it changed hands, either,” Harrison retorted. “All I know is what my lawyer told me. The nursery used to belong to this collector who got too carried away collecting. He opened up a nursery and did a fair amount of business. He died some fifteen, eighteen years ago and left the place to his sister. She kept the place going, turning it into a real thriving business. When she got sick, she put one of the employees in charge. Eventually she asked him to sell it for her and then I got it. End of story.”

Malloy glanced out of the window down to the site of activity at the far end of the property. From this vantage point, he could see his uncle, the two other members of the CSI team, not to mention the doctor with the killer legs, still working the multiple grave site, all under the entertained eyes of the four construction workers.

The latter group gave no signs of moving, the former gave no indication that they were about to stop. All of which put a decided crimp into Harrison’s anticipated opening date.

He turned around to look at the new owner. “I’m sorry, I missed the last sentence,” Malloy apologized. “What did you just say?”

Harrison frowned at what he took to be the detective’s inattention. “I said, ‘End of story.’”

“I’m afraid not yet,” Malloy corrected, looking at the man pointedly.

Chapter 3 Contents Cover Introduction “You may just have found our first genuine break in this case, Doc,” Malloy declared with enthusiasm. “You’re welcome,” Kristin murmured as she lowered her eyes back to the partially reconstructed skeleton on the table before her. Which was why she failed to be prepared for what came next. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late. Caught up in the moment, Malloy bracketed her shoulders between his hands and delivered a very enthusiastic and yet innocent kiss to her cheek. The next second, he had released her and quickly crossed the floor, getting halfway to the door. “I’ll get back to you,” he promised half a second before he was gone. Kristin stared at the opened door, stunned. Half of her was hoping that he would live up to his promise—and half of her really hoped that he wouldn’t. * * * Be sure to check out the next books in this exciting series: Cavanaugh Justice — Where Aurora’s finest are always in action… Title Page Cavanaugh Cold Case Marie Ferrarella www.millsandboon.co.uk About the Author USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred and fifty books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com . Dedication To Reta Renner Who Can Pronounce Cacti and Succulent Names That Make My Tongue Ache Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue Extract Copyright

The Cold Case Division of the Aurora PD was not a very big department. Nor was it a very popular department to work for. Tracking down sometimes decades-old information was definitely not to everyone’s taste. Patience was at a premium.

When Malloy had been promoted to the rank of detective and put in his application to join that division, he’d viewed working cold cases as a challenge, a way to prove his mettle and his tenacity. Because of his last name, he knew he had to work harder. Cavanaughs were scrutinized closely and held up to a higher standard. This was his way of proving himself.

But there was just so much of a challenge that a man could be expected to take, and working a cold case that had all the earmarks of involving more bodies than were regularly found on a major league baseball team was, in his opinion, over and above the call of duty.

It wasn’t something that he really felt he could tackle alone.

So when Malloy got back to the squad room and saw that his partner was not sitting at his desk, he grew somewhat anxious and testy.

For the past week, Frank Weatherbee had been on vacation, but he was due back today. Malloy looked over toward his partner’s desk to see if there were any telltale signs of life—like Weatherbee’s ever-present bag of barbecue chips—on his desk. But there were no chips. Not a thing was out of place, which Malloy didn’t take as a good sign. When Weatherbee was in, everything on the detective’s desk was out of place.