Barbara McMahon - Truth Be Told

Sam’s jaw tightened as he glared at her. “Running away?”

“Regrouping. I’ll find a way to hang the SOB.” She turned to leave.

“I asked you for coffee, so take your money,” he called after her.

Jo hesitated, then charged forward. He had not asked her to have coffee. He’d marched her into Ruby’s as if he were the Gestapo or something. Jo always paid her own way. Ever since she’d left the foster care in Meridian she’d vowed never to be beholden to anyone again.

She halfway expected Sam to come storming after her. But she reached the sidewalk alone. She turned and headed back for the house, plenty of thoughts crowding her mind. Her quiet walk around town had changed things. Somehow there had to be a way to bring McLennon down. And she was going to prove to Maddie and everyone that these days Jo Hunter could be counted on to tell the truth.

JO WALKED BACK INTO the old house on Poppin Hill, heading to the kitchen, wishing Eliza were there making something good to eat. She made herself a sandwich, poured iced tea into a glass, then went to sit on the front porch in the muggy heat. How anyone stood the racket the construction workers made was beyond her. Probably why both Eliza and April weren’t here. Eating slowly, she tried to sort through her emotions.

As a teenager, she’d been full of anger when no one believed her about the man who’d attacked her. She’d spent long hours fantasizing about revenge—against Maddie, against the sheriff, even the social services worker who had taken her from her home. How the truth would come out and everyone in town would beg her to come back to live there. And she’d spurn them. Those daydreams had helped her heal and given her the impetus to go into law enforcement. She never wanted to be a victim again.

She was a survivor. She had the battle scars to prove it.

But the reality was different from fantasy. Sam was right. No one would believe her without proof. McLennon had had years to polish his image. Anyone who remembered her would recall a trouble-making teenager who’d turned on her foster mother. The perpetrator was living life high on the hog, and no one really wanted her back in Maraville. Maybe Eliza and April, but they both had new directions in life.

She was feeling sorry for herself.

Muttering an expletive, Jo finished the last of her iced tea and took the plate and glass back inside. She was not going to have a private pity party. There were things she could do to find the facts to support her claim. If not, her belief in justice would be sorely tried. Taking a deep breath, she tried to rationalize her plans. The first step was asking for an official investigation.

Fifteen minutes later Jo walked into the sheriff’s department. The dispatcher pointed her in the direction of Sam’s office. When she arrived, she recognized his secretary.

“Marjorie?” Jo said.

“Jo Hunter! I heard they were trying to find you. No one told me they did and that you were back already.” She jumped up and came around to give Jo a hug. Jo awkwardly returned it. Had she forgotten how touchy-feely people were in the South?

“Goodness, April and I are on the phone all the time,” Marjorie said in a rush. “She didn’t tell me!”

“I just got here yesterday. She’ll be calling, I’m sure.” Jo glanced around. The place hadn’t changed much from the day old Sheriff Halstead had brought her in and listened to her account of the incident. Dismissing every word as a lie.

“Sam in?” she asked. If he were, would he see her? Take her statement and really read it?

“Sure is. He’s on the phone but should be finished soon. Have a seat. Where have you been all these years and what have you been doing?”

“I live in L.A.,” Jo said, sitting gingerly on the edge of one of the visitor chairs.

“Hollywood?” Marjorie sat beside Jo. “Do you get to see movie stars all the time?”

Jo shook her head. “Sometimes I see one or two, but I’m not on that detail.”

“You’re a cop?” Marjorie guessed.

“Yup. Detective.” Jo said it with pride. She’d fought long and hard to get where she was, and she was damned proud of it.

“Isn’t that a kick? I bet Maddie’s as proud as a peacock about that. She must be so happy to have all her chicks back. We’re all pulling for her recovery, you know.”

“Thank you.” Jo was taken aback that Marjorie seemed to discount entirely the cloud under which she’d left.

“You here to talk about that night twelve years ago?” Marjorie asked, voice lowered.

“The sheriff said earlier I could come in and make a statement.”

“There wasn’t anything in the file,” Marjorie said, voice still low.

“You think Sam will let me look at the records?”

“Why, sure he will. He gave a copy to that Jack Palmer when he and April were hunting for you. There’s not much. I looked at it myself. Sheriff Halstead wasn’t quite the law enforcement man Sam is. I worked for Halstead for two years before Sam came. What a world of difference.”

“What happened to Halstead?” Jo asked. Maybe she could tackle the man after seeing Sam.

“He died a couple of years ago—heart attack. That’s what got Sam appointed to the job. Then he won the election last year. Otherwise I expect the good ol’ boy network would have kept the man in office forever. Oops, the line is free, which means Sam’s off the phone,” Marjorie said. She rose and went to the door near her desk, knocked and stuck her head in.

A second later she pushed it open and gestured to Jo.

For a second, walking into Sam’s office felt like walking into the past—only nothing looked the same. The walls had been painted off-white, and there were citations and awards and photos on the long wall. The windows had wooden blinds, which added a touch of class to the government-issue decoration.

Sam had an old oak desk, scarred and aged. It suited the office and the man.

“Jo,” he said, rising.

“Hi.” She swallowed hard. She shouldn’t have stormed away from Ruby’s. This was as awkward as it got. She should apologize. Would it make a difference to his looking into things?

“I came to make that statement. And ask if I could see the file.”

He looked at her for such a long time she was sure he was going to refuse. Then he nodded and asked Marjorie to get it. Gesturing to the chair across the desk from his, he indicated she sit.

Jo did, her knees feeling wobbly. “Thank you. Do you want me to type up a report? I’m good at that. Or I can just tell you what happened that night.”

He sat and leaned back in his chair. “I’d appreciate not having to write it up myself. You can use the computer in Marjorie’s area.”

She smiled. No one she knew liked writing reports.

“I hope you write reports better than Halstead did. There’s nothing to go on in his. Just some mention of wild accusations from a teenager, no follow-up with either Maddie or anyone else. And he never mentions other possibilities.”

“So Maddie didn’t get into trouble? I heard Halstead say they would take away her foster license.”

“Maybe they did, but I don’t have any information on it. As far as I know she never had other foster children after you girls were sent away. Yet she’s part of this new home for unwed pregnant teens, and I haven’t heard a hint of anyone opposing her involvement.”

“Suspicious, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “Southern towns have loyalties to home-grown people.”

“I was born here,” Jo said, refuting his claim.

Sam set her up at the extra computer in the outer office. It took Jo longer to write the report than she’d expected. She could see every moment, and to write it all down took time. When she was finished, Marjorie printed it out and took it in to Sam. Jo followed and sat in the visitor’s chair.