Cold Case Murder. Shirlee McCoy

ran out of there like the place was on fire.”

      “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow will be even longer.”

      “Somehow, I don’t think that’s the real reason you ran.” He scanned her face, his eyes seeming almost translucent in the fading light.

      “It’s one of them.”

      “And the others?”

      “Not something I want to discuss.”

      “Whatever you know, whatever you’re hiding, you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”

      “Maybe, but not today.” Because telling Harrison would mean admitting she was scared. More scared than she’d been in a long time. Scared that the woman lying hidden for decades was the mother she’d spent twenty-five years despising, the mother who’d run away and left her three-year-old daughter with a father whose harsh criticisms and cold anger had bordered on abuse.

      Harrison searched her face, his brow furrowed. Dark hair, a little too long in the back, brushed his collar as he nodded. “Fair enough, but you may as well know that there are very few secrets the dead can hide from me. I’m not too shabby about getting the truth from the living, either. If what’s bothering you has something to do with this case, you won’t be able to keep it from me for long.”

      It was a promise more than a threat, and Jodie sensed that there was nothing arrogant about the words. Harrison Cahill was good at what he did. Great at it, if the little she’d seen was any indication. In other circumstances, she’d be looking forward to seeing more of his methods, watching as he pieced together the puzzle that had been handed to him. But these weren’t other circumstances and the sick dread she’d been feeling since she’d first seen those strands of blond hair intensified as Harrison turned and walked back into the building.

      She got in her car and drove down Main Street, her mind filled with a million thoughts. None of them good. She’d been told her mother had abandoned her and gone on to live a life free of responsibilities. She’d never doubted that. Maybe she should have.

      Jodie needed to talk to her father, ask him what he remembered. Had Amelia told her husband that she planned to leave? Or had she just walked away one day and never returned? As a kid, Jodie had never had the guts to ask, and as an adult she hadn’t thought it mattered.

      She’d been wrong.

      It mattered. A lot. Because someone had been lying dead in the secret room for decades, and that someone just might have been her mother.

      Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she turned onto the winding road that led to Vera Peel’s boardinghouse. Tomorrow, after she’d had time to think, to decide what questions to ask, she’d go to her father’s house. For now, she’d rather avoid the confrontation.

      The boardinghouse stood on a hill at the edge of town, its gingerbread trim and white porch swing doing little to add cheer or charm to the dark exterior. A painted sign hung from posts in the front yard, the gothic lettering adding a sinister feel to place. Jodie had never been inside the house but had always imagined the interior to be just as uninviting.

      She parked her car in the wide, empty driveway, got out and made her way to the porch. The door opened before she even reached the steps, and Vera stepped outside. Tall, spare, with faded red hair and small green eyes, she watched Jodie’s approach.

      “Hello, Ms. Peel. I was looking for accommodations for the evening. Do you have an empty room?” Of course, Vera did. People might stay at the boardinghouse once, but most never returned.

      “No.”

      “You don’t?” Surprised, Jodie paused on the porch stairs.

      “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

      “But I thought—”

      “It doesn’t matter what you thought, Jodie Gilmore, I don’t have a room.” Vera’s lips were tight with impatience, her eyes flashing with anger. If she remembered Jodie, she also remembered the trouble Jodie had so often been in.

      “Ms. Peel, I know I was a troublemaker when I was a kid, but I’ve grown up. I’m with the FBI now, and—”

      “You think I didn’t already know that. It’s all your dad talks about. His daughter, the big shot FBI agent.”

      Jodie’s father talked about her job? Maybe she’d finally given him something to claim bragging rights over, not that it would matter when she finally saw him face-to-face. Richard Gilmore didn’t believe in praising his daughter for anything. As a matter of fact, the only thing he’s said when she’d called to tell him she’d been hired by the FBI was, “Don’t blow it.”

      “Then maybe you’ll see fit to let me stay for a few days.”

      “I’ve got another guest coming. A man.” She emphasized the last word, her beady eyes gleaming with heated fervor.

      “And the rest of your rooms are full?”

      “My handyman Chuck stays here, too.”

      “That’s two rooms that are booked. Your house must have several more that are empty.”

      “What does that have to do with anything? Both of my guests are men. You are a woman. It wouldn’t be seemly to have you stay here.”

      “But, Vera, you run a boardinghouse. You must have had other times when you’ve had both male and female guests.” Jodie rubbed the tight muscles in her neck and tried not to let her impatience show. She needed aspirin for her aching head, she needed a bed to lie down in, and getting upset with Vera Peel wouldn’t get her either of those.

      “I’m sure I have, but I know who you are, Jodie, and I know where you came from. Who you came from.” She nearly spat the words, and Jodie took a step back, almost falling off the step.

      “I hope you aren’t implying that I can’t be trusted around men because of what my mother did.”

      “Your mother ran away with another man. Left your father and you alone. And you know what the Bible says…”

      No, but Jodie was sure she was about to find out.

      “…the sins of the father are passed down through the third and fourth generation.”

      “I don’t think that God meant a child should be judged by her mother’s actions.”

      “I’m sorry, but I really can’t let you stay here.” Vera gazed past Jodie, her eyes glittering oddly. “It looks like my guest has arrived. You’d best be on your way now.”

      Jodie clenched her teeth to keep from arguing further. Insisting that she wasn’t her mother’s daughter wouldn’t change Vera’s opinion. People in Loomis had decided long ago that Amelia Pershing Gilmore’s daughter was the spitting image of her mother. Not just in looks but in temperament. Had Jodie really expected anything more than what Vera had given her?

      She turned away from the older woman, hurrying down the steps as another car pulled in beside hers. A black Jeep with tinted windows and a glossy exterior. She tried not to resent the fact that its owner, a complete stranger to Vera, would get a warmer welcome than she had.

      And not just from the owner of the boardinghouse, but also from almost everyone in town.

      She pulled open her car door, started to get in and paused as the Jeep’s window slid open.

      “Gilmore? You’re staying here, too?” Harrison peered out at her, his chiseled face cast in shadows, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. Handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. Not the kind of man Jodie usually found attractive. But then, the kind of men she usually went for were too smooth and charming to be trusted.

      “No. I…” Couldn’t get a room because my mother was an adulteress? Of course, she couldn’t say that. “I’m staying at my father’s.”

      “Too bad. We could