Cold Case Witness. Sarah Varland
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The steps groaned, the only sound in the south Georgia silence, as Gemma Phillips took another step toward the place she’d promised herself she’d never go again—the place where her nightmares had begun a decade before.
She took another step anyway, and another, until she was at the top of the stairs, hand poised to knock on the door of the portable office building where the Treasure Point Historical Society—and hopefully her future—awaited.
A month ago, Gemma would have said this job, helping the town develop and implement a marketing plan for the new museum being built on the Hamilton Estate, was beneath her. If she had her choice, she’d still be anywhere but here. But her job in Atlanta was gone and so were her savings. Treasure Point, where she could stay with her sister rent-free while job hunting, had looked like her only option—still did, unfortunately. And this job was the only one in town remotely close to what she enjoyed doing. She needed this to work.
But first, she needed to wow the historical society members. Surely after ten years, the cloud that had seemed to follow her, the looks people had given her, would have dissipated. Even small towns forgot eventually...
Gemma took a deep breath and knocked, shivering in the slight breeze that rustled the Spanish moss draped in the live oaks around her.
The door opened immediately, as though they’d been expecting her to arrive now. But Gemma knew without glancing at her watch that she was seven minutes early, just like she’d planned.
“It’s you.” An older woman gave her a disapproving stare. Not the first she’d gotten in this town, although she didn’t feel she deserved them. Gemma’d been a straight-A student, always been nice to dogs and old ladies, and still, she was no stranger to that disapproval.
“Yes, ma’am. Were you expecting someone else?” Right before a scheduled interview time? Gemma added the last snarky question only to herself.
Cindy Anne didn’t answer, only spun gracefully and walked into the office building. Gemma shut the door behind herself and lifted a hand to wave at the other committee members, who were already seated at a long table on the far side of the one-room building. The man in the center didn’t look familiar to her, but he stood and reached his hand out. “Jim Howard. We’ve spoken over email.”
Gemma nodded. He was the director of the Treasure Point Historical Society, and the one who’d not only replied to her inquiry about the job but had treated her kindly with every response. Since he appeared to be the one in charge, maybe this would go well after all. “It’s nice to meet you.” She gave her best smile, tried to talk her shoulders into relaxing.
Gemma sat down, noting as she did that the metal folding chair sat directly in the line of sight of the window, in full view of dozens of tall oak trees, branches camouflaged by Spanish moss, where someone could be hiding.
Not that it mattered. She had nothing to worry about, not really. She was jumpy because she was back here on the Hamilton property for the first time in years, where her nightmare had both started and ended a decade before. Moments like this, when chills sneaked up her spine, were just aftershocks from those few months in high school when it had felt as if her whole world was being shaken. No one was after her now. No one needed to be. She was just ordinary. Normal.
“We’re ready to begin.” Jim gave her a small smile, which she tried to return. At least he was being kind, which was more than she could say for Cindy Anne.
Gemma sat up straighter, caught the window in her peripheral vision again and, again, tried to ignore it. She had to stop letting the past color every aspect of her future. It was time to prove to herself, to the town and most important to her parents, that she was more than the shy girl who in high school had testified at the trial of a smuggling ring and sent its members to jail. This job—marketing—was something she was good at. All she needed was a chance to make a good impression.
“Why don’t you tell us a bit about your work history? Your résumé is impressive.”
Gemma tried to keep her smile relaxed, but already she could feel her confidence building, excitement starting to buzz in her chest.
The next ten minutes were straight out of a best-case scenario. Everything pointed to Gemma getting this job.
And then Cindy Anne spoke up for the first time since she’d let Gemma in.
“And what about your past? To what degree do you believe it will negatively influence your attempts to bring positive publicity to the Treasure Point History Museum?”
Silence. Even the near-constant sound of bugs that Gemma associated with this part of Georgia was absent. Just this eerie, empty space where noise should be.
And for a moment, Gemma wanted to walk away. Let them—let the whole town think whatever they wanted. It shouldn’t be this hard to interview for a job. She was qualified and capable. And her supposedly shocking past consisted of testifying against a bunch of criminals. She’d done the right thing. But for reasons she’d never been able to understand, she’d started being looked upon with suspicion ever since she’d discovered and helped break up a smuggling ring. If she could rewind the clock, go back to that night and unsee the crime, she would. Ten years later and she was still dealing with the fallout.
She made herself answer in a level voice. She’d faced people far more intimidating. But she’d never had so very much at stake. “I don’t believe my past has anything to do with this job.”
“Now, Cindy Anne...” another member spoke up. “I thought we’d agreed to give her a fair chance. She’s the best qualified candidate.”
Gemma wanted to let the words lift her spirits ever so slightly, but she was probably their only candidate. Not a lot of small-town people were drawn to marketing. It seemed for her whole childhood that everyone around here had a “what you see is what you get” view of life. And it wasn’t that Gemma disagreed entirely with that perspective...but she’d always felt it was honest but still logical to be careful which side you presented, to let people see what you wanted them to see.
Around her, the committee argued. Gemma stared out the window, noticing someone walking near the edge of the woods.
He was a Treasure Point police officer, but he looked too young to have been on the force during the case in which Gemma had testified. Her shoulders relaxed some at that realization—she didn’t have to hold against him the way some of the officers in that case had treated her.
The man came closer to the building, looked up at the window. Had he caught her staring?
Something about him was so familiar...
Then it hit her. Matt O’Dell, son of one of the men her testimony had sent to prison.
Their eyes met, just for a second. Gemma looked away.
If the Treasure Point Historical Society members hadn’t forgotten her past, Matt surely wouldn’t have. A shame, because he’d always intrigued her in high school. She’d always sort of wished...
“—trial period.”
“Wait, what?” Gemma snapped her attention back to the committee members. She surveyed them one at a time, studied their faces. And didn’t like what she saw.
This wasn’t going to turn out the way she’d hoped.
“We think a trial period might be wise in this case.”
Gemma shot a glare at Cindy Anne. The older woman lifted her nose and shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I think hiring you at all is a mistake.”
Gemma swallowed hard. A mistake? She pushed her chair back and stood. There was only so much she could take. If they weren’t happy with her, fine,