Cold Case Murder. Shirlee McCoy
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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.
The very young FBI agent.
He’d do well to keep that in mind. “I think you’re lying.”
“You can think whatever you want, Cahill. It won’t change anything.” She had the decency to look uncomfortable, her soft lips turned down, her cheeks pink.
“You think you know the victims, don’t you?”
“How could I? I moved away from Loomis ten years ago. I barely remember my high-school friends, let alone anyone else from town.”
“You remembered Vera. And she remembered you.”
“Do you think anyone could forget a woman like Vera?”
“I don’t think I ever will.” He chuckled.
“She’s definitely the kind of person who sticks in your brain.” Her lips curved, softening her features, making her looking even younger than she had earlier and tempting him to ask just how old she was. He didn’t ask, though. The last thing he needed was to put her on the defensive again.
“So she’s always been uptight?”
“Ever since her husband left her. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I was too young when he left town to remember what Vera was like before. And, like I said, I haven’t seen her in ten years. It’s possible she’s even worse than she used to be.”
“Ten years ago. And you were what? Eleven or twelve?” He couldn’t help himself, the comment just slipped out.
“Go ahead. Ask.” This time Jodie smiled full-out, her eyes dancing with humor, her face relaxed and open and so breathtakingly beautiful Harrison wanted to take out his camera and capture the moment.
“Ask what?”
“How old I am. I know you’re dying to.”
“I’ll admit to mild curiosity.”
“Twenty-eight. Not nearly as young as you thought, right?”
She was right and probably thought she’d accomplished exactly what she’d planned to—refocusing the direction of the conversation.
Unfortunately for Jodie, Harrison was as tenacious as a bulldog when he got something in his mind. He wouldn’t forget her reaction to the photos he showed her or her question about the bracelet, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it until he got answers. “Right.”
The waiter appeared, setting plates of food down in front of them, then fading back into the restaurant.
Harrison turned his attention back to Jodie.
Despite her effort to appear relaxed, her hands were clenched in fists, her lips tight. She looked anxious. Nervous even. “Of course, I might have been wrong about your age, but I wasn’t wrong in thinking that you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just…wondering.”
“About?”
“How everything is connected. A missing woman. Three recent homicides. The remains of two people left in a boarded-up room for decades.”
“Maybe they aren’t.”
“Do you really think that?”
“The more recent ones probably are, but Jane and John Doe have been dead for at least twenty years. I’m leaning toward thinking their murder is not connected to Loomis’s recent crime wave.”
“How do you know when they were killed?”
“I recognize the watch we found. It was only made in the 1980s. And it displayed days and months. It gave us a pretty accurate date. It stopped on the eleventh of June.”
“It could have stopped years after the murders. I’ve had watch batteries that run forever.”
“It had a windup movement. Probably wound down a couple of days after the murder.”
At his words, Jodie blanched, the stark paleness of her face making her eyes glow vivid blue in contrast.
His words had struck a chord with her, and it wasn’t a good one.
“June. That’s pretty specific.” She spoke quietly, her eyes on the plate of pasta she’d barely touched.
“I’m hoping knowing that will give us a quick answer as to who our victims are.”
“Quick answers usually aren’t easy to come by in our business.” They were never easy to come by in Loomis, either. Jodie didn’t bother telling Harrison that. Instead, she pushed her plate away, dropped a twenty on the table and stood, more anxious than ever to speak with her father. She wanted to know the day and month her mother had left. A woman with long blond hair and an angel bracelet had been murdered around the same time Jodie’s mother had walked away. That didn’t mean the two things were connected. It also didn’t mean they weren’t.
“Running away again, Gilmore?” Harrison rose with her, throwing a twenty down next to his empty plate.
“I’m not running. I’m going to get some sleep so I can tackle all the evidence from a fresh perspective tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m heading to my father’s place. Whether or not he’ll let me stay remains to be seen.”
“I’d think your father would be happy to have you.”
“That’s because you’ve never met my father.” They stepped outside together, the deep black night