Shirlee McCoy - Cold Case Murder

He smiled again, shrugging his shoulders, the soft cotton of his shirt pulling tight against well-muscled shoulders. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some more questions for you.”

“And I’d be lying if I said I’d answer them.”

Harrison laughed and pushed open Vera’s front door. “That shouldn’t be a reason for us not to have dinner, should it?”

She should say yes, but doing so would mean having to face what she’d much rather avoid—her father. “If we go to dinner, don’t expect to get the answers you’re looking for.”

“Just as long as you don’t expect me not to ask them. How about we meet at that Italian restaurtant on Main Street.”

“Vincetta’s?”

“Right. See you there.” He stepped inside and closed the door, the evening silence almost eerie in his absence.

Dinner with Harrison Cahill? Probably not the best idea she’d ever had, but that wasn’t surprising. Loomis had a way of muddling her thinking. Maybe it was the air—thick with the bayou. Or maybe it was the memories that were always just a whisper away. Either way, the dark and ugly place was already working its magic on her.

She sighed, getting into her car and deciding to make a quick stop at the store to pick up an economy-sized bottle of Tylenol. She had a feeling she was going to need it over the next few days or weeks.

Or months.

Please, God, don’t let it be months.

The prayer slipped out, surprising Jodie. It had been a while since she’d thought to ask God for anything. A while since He’d seen fit to answer.

Maybe this time would be different.

Somehow, though, she doubted it.

Harrison stood in the large foyer of Vera Peel’s boardinghouse and glanced around, looking for the proprietress. The FBI had arranged for his stay in the place. He’d have to remember to thank Sam for that.

After he asked him what he’d been thinking.

Harrison had stayed in a lot of small-town bed-and-breakfasts and boardinghouses over the years, but Vera’s won the prize for creepiest. Dark. Shadowed. Clean, but grim. Not a restful place, but he’d deal with it.

“I see you finally decided to come in.” Vera stepped through a doorway at the end of the hall. Tall and thin, her long dark dress hanging limply from skeletal shoulders, she was as creepy as the house. Maybe more so.

“Sorry I took so long, Mrs. Peel.” He smiled and attempted to make nice. After all, he might be staying with the woman for a while.

“I’m sure you’re not, but that is not something we need to discuss.” She scowled, and Harrison wondered what had happened in her life to make her so prickly. A tough childhood? A bad marriage? Whatever it was, the woman cornered the market on dour.

“Right. If you’ll just show me to my room, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Here is your key.” She thrust an old-fashioned skeleton key at him, and Harrison grabbed it. “Your room is in here.” She shoved open a door to the right, flicking on a light. “My other guest is on the second floor, and my room is in the attic. I keep the door locked.”

Did she think he’d try to invade her private quarters? The idea would have been laughable if Vera hadn’t looked so serious. “Are there any other house rules I should know about? Besides no women and no loud music?”

“Are you mocking me, Mr. Cahill?” She frowned, and Harrison decided the less he saw of his hostess, the better.

“Not at all.”

She looked him up and down, her eyes as cold and bleak as the winter sky. “There’s a phone in your room. You make longdistance calls, you pay for them.”

“Understood.”

“Breakfast is at seven. Muffins. Juice. Coffee. You need more than that, you’ll have to go elsewhere. Good night, Mr. Cahill.” She disappeared down the hall, and Harrison walked into the room, dropping his duffel on the bed. He thought about unpacking but didn’t think Jodie would wait at the restaurant for long. There were questions he needed to ask before he continued his investigation. Questions only she could answer.

Like how she’d known that the woman’s charm bracelet had angels on it and how she’d known about the mother–child charm.

It took less than ten minutes to drive to the restaurant, and Harrison spotted Jodie’s car immediately. A red sports car, it wasn’t something he would have picked as hers if he hadn’t seen it at Vera’s house. Something understated and elegant seemed more her style. Her dark suit, soft makeup and pulled-back hair seemed to reflect a quiet personality.

Of course, Harrison had been wrong about women before. Allison was just the most recent example of that. Thankfully, he’d come to his senses before he made a lifetime commitment to her. A schoolteacher who was as needy as the first graders she taught, she had expected Harrison to give up his freelance work to make time for her. He’d been willing to make time, but not to give up his work. Too bad it had taken him so long to realize that wouldn’t be enough.

He frowned, irritated with his train of thought. Allison had broken up with him two years ago, and he hadn’t spent much time thinking about her since. He didn’t plan to start now. Not when he had a job to do. Two victims. A man and a woman. Dead for more than two decades. Somewhere, people were missing their loved ones. It was Harrison’s job to make sure the families would finally have closure.

He pushed open the door to Vincetta’s Italian Restaurant and walked inside. The place looked a little fancy for Harrison’s taste, but a plate of pasta would fill him just as much as a burger and fries, and Vincetta’s was the only decent restaurant he could find in town.

Jodie was already seated in a booth near the far wall, her attention focused on a menu that lay open on the table. Long strands of blond hair had escaped her ponytail and fell across smooth pale skin. Harrison’s fingers suddenly itched to brush the strands away, to linger on warm, soft flesh.

He pulled his thoughts up short, surprised by the direction they’d taken. Jodie was a decade younger than he was. Maybe more. He shouldn’t be thinking about anything but getting the information he wanted from her. “You look lost in thought,” he said as he approached the booth and slid into it, across from her.

She glanced up from the menu, her eyes wide and deep blue, her expression guarded. “Just trying to decide what to eat. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten good Italian.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve eaten at all. Seems the last meal I had was sometime before the sun went down last night.” He smiled at her, doing his best to seem unthreatening and benign. Jodie was already on guard. If he could get her to relax, he might have a chance at getting the answers he wanted.

“You don’t have to make small talk, Cahill. Just cut to the chase, ask your questions and we’ll get my refusal to answer them out of the way.”

“I’m not sure why you would plan not to answer when what you have to say could help my investigation. Would you care to explain it to me?” He glanced at the menu, then ordered a soda from the waiter who stopped at the table.

“How could anything I have to say help with the investigation?”

“Answering a question with a question. Good tactic, but it’s not going to work with me. Something was bothering you today, and it wasn’t the crime-scene photos.”

“I told you it wasn’t.”

“But you didn’t tell me what it was. If you have information that might help with the investigation, I’d appreciate hearing it.”

“I don’t.” She gestured for the waiter to return for their orders. Obviously she was anxious to get dinner over with.

Harrison wasn’t quite as concerned about ending their meal together, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that it wasn’t only because he wanted answers. There was something about Jodie that made him want to look and keep looking. Something that made him want to find out more about the young FBI agent.