Shirlee McCoy - Cold Case Murder

Which was why he’d decided to avoid relationships, accept his life as a bachelor and be happy about it. It was also why he shouldn’t be noticing Jodie’s perfume. Or shampoo. Or whatever it was that clung to her skin.

Apparently, the past month had taken more of a toll on Harrison than he’d thought. Two weeks in California working with the FBI to identify remains left by a serial killer. Then back to New Orleans and twelve-hour days getting caught up on work. He needed a vacation. That was the problem.

It had to be, because there was no way Harrison planned to admit that he found a woman intriguing who looked like she was barely out of her teens.

With that firmly in mind, he turned his attention back to the man and woman lying on the ground in front of him. The nameless, faceless dead. He’d find out who they were and make sure their families had the closure they deserved. Nothing—not time, not scanty evidence, not a sweet-smelling distraction—would keep him from doing that.

Jodie stepped out of the house and into the damp March air, her heart beating in time to her pounding head. She never got headaches in New Orleans, but she’d had them plenty when she’d lived in Loomis. She should have known they’d be back as soon as she set foot in the little town.

Sam was a few yards away, talking to a uniformed officer, and Jodie walked toward them, determined to forget both the headache and the past. If she kept focused, kept moving forward on the case, there’d be no chance of sinking back into what she’d been a decade ago. “Sam? We’ve got another bullet in the tunnel. No casings yet, but Cahill isn’t done collecting the evidence.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get it and send it with the other for ballistics testing, and—”

“You’ll be wasting your time on that, Agent Pierce.” The officer cut in, and Jodie took her first good look at him, her heart sinking when she realized who he was.

Sheriff Bradford Reed. His lined face and faded eyes sparked a memory of another day. Jodie had been cutting school, and he’d found her hanging out behind the library. He’d been neither cruel nor kind, his silent disapproval making Jodie feel worse than her father’s rage had.

“Wasting my time because…?” Sam’s question pulled Jodie from the memory and she blinked, trying to free herself from the past.

“The crimes aren’t related. We’ve got no mass murderer or serial killer or whatever name y’all want to put on it. This is a peaceful town—”

“A peaceful town where several murders have taken place, Sheriff Reed. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the fact.” Sam spoke with quiet conviction, and Jodie wondered if he and the sheriff had been on opposite sides of the fence during the course of the FBI’s investigation into Leah Farley’s disappearance.

“I know what’s going on in my town. I’m just saying that what’s happening now and what happened years ago aren’t related. So there’s no reason to waste time and money checking on those bullets. They’re not going to match what we’ve already got.”

“Maybe they’re not, Sheriff, but it’s our job to find out for sure.” Jodie met the man’s eyes and refused to fidget under his intense scrutiny. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t recognize her.

Of course, she’d never been lucky.

“You’re Jodie Gilmore.”

“That’s right.”

“Been a long time.”

“Ten years.”

“Does your father know you’re back in town?”

“Not yet.”

“Guess you’ll get around to telling him eventually.” He shifted his attention back to Sam, dismissing her as he had when he’d dropped her off at her house so many years before. “Looks like we’re done here. You’ll let me know what your forensic specialist has to say about those bodies?”

“That and whether or not we get a match on the blood on Leah Farley’s shoe.”

“Good. See ya around, then.” The sheriff nodded his head in Jodie’s direction, his eyes dull and lifeless. No motivation. No real need to find answers. If the murderer in his town was going to be found, Jodie had a feeling the sheriff was more than happy to leave the finding to the FBI.

“Sheriff Reed hasn’t changed much.” She spoke as the sheriff got into his car and drove away.

“He’s always been unmotivated?”

“I’d call it indifferent, but I guess it means the same.”

“What it means is that he’d be willing to let these people go unidentified. That’s not acceptable to me.”

“What about the other murders? Is he more motivated to solve them?” Jodie asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

“I think he was hoping for a cut-and-dried case, but the more answers we find, the more questions we have. I’m hoping that with you here, things will move along a little more quickly.”

“You think I can get the answers you need?” His assumption was so far off base, she almost laughed. Not only would she not be able to get people in Loomis to talk, but also they might be more closedmouthed around her. She knew them, after all. Their pasts. Their secrets. Their vulnerabilities.

Just as they knew hers.

“You grew up here, Jodie. They’re going to open up to a local in a way they won’t open up to an outsider.”

Maybe that was true, but in Loomis’s eyes, she was an outsider. She didn’t bother trying to explain. Only someone who had lived in the town could understand. “I’ll do my best to be an asset to the investigation.”

“I’m sure you will.” His tone was serious, but Jodie could see amusement in his eyes.

She’d sounded like a rookie, and she suddenly felt like one. “Just so you know, this isn’t my first case.”

“Just so you know, that’s why I called you in. You’ve got great interrogation skills. Even if this hadn’t been your hometown, I would have wanted you to step in. I’m going to get that bullet. Want to meet me at headquarters later? We can come up with a plan of action there.”

“Headquarters?” The only headquarters she knew of was back in New Orleans, and she’d be perfectly happy to meet him there.

“We’re renting a building on Main Street. It used to be a five-and-dime.”

“I know it.”

“You can go ahead and get settled in wherever you’re going to stay before you head over there. I may be here awhile.” He walked back to the house, and Jodie had no choice but to get in her car and drive away. The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go. She’d already called Loomis Hotel, but all the rooms were booked.

Vera Peel’s boardinghouse was creepy and old, the proprietress stingy and mean, but it might work. Then there was Dad’s. The family home. The place she should have been able to return to no questions asked. She couldn’t. Even if she could have, she wouldn’t. There was nothing for her in the colonial house she’d grown up in but unhappy memories and disappointments.

Which brought her right back to square one. Where would she stay while she was in Loomis?

Rain fell in steady rivulets as Jodie pulled down the long driveway. Twilight painted the landscape in shades of green and gold, making beauty of the bayou’s murky water. In the distance, lights beckoned Jodie toward Loomis. If she hadn’t known the truth about the town, she might have felt a tug of nostalgia as she passed old plantation homes covered with deep green ivy.

She sighed and ran a hand over her flyaway hair. Thick and straight, it was as blond now as it had been when she’d been a kid. She knew a lot of women with similar color hair. Not many of them had been born with it.

Had the woman in the underground room been?

Jodie’s mind flashed back to the tunnel—the long blond hair lying on the floor, the strands as thick and straight as hers. As thick and straight as her mother’s had been.