Truth Be Told. Barbara McMahon

bitch they have as banker.”

      “He’s a respected member of the community. Your coming in here and throwing accusations around—”

      “Might damage his precious reputation? Who cares? Not me.” Surprisingly, she was disappointed Sam didn’t believe her.

      “Might not be believed,” he said.

      “So let him sue me for libel.”

      “And he’d likely win. What can you do to prove it? It’s his word against yours, and I’m here to tell you the record of the investigation never once mentions his name.”

      Jo stared at Sam for a moment, thinking the implications through. “The sheriff was in his pocket. Damned bastard.” She lapsed into silence. There was nothing she could do—except watch the man to see if he’d changed or was still coming on to young girls. But how such behavior could be hidden in such a small town for any length of time was beyond her. Maybe he had just had the hots for the teenager she’d once been, tried to get it on with her, and when he failed, snapped.

      She remembered how angry Maddie had been, convinced that Jo was trying to cover up for Heller and put a spoke into Maddie’s romance with the banker at the same time. She’d refused to listen to Jo, turning her over to the sheriff for interrogation and investigation, convinced the sheriff would find the boy who’d done that awful deed.

      “If I make a formal complaint, you have to investigate,” she said. “Maybe I don’t want to tip my hand just yet.”

      “I can be discreet, you know. I’ll make some quiet inquiries—if there’s anything to go on,” Sam offered reluctantly. “What can you tell me about the event?”

      “I can tell you about every horrible moment.”

      “Come to the office later and give a statement.”

      “And you’ll investigate?”

      “I’m making no guarantees. Allen McLennon is the president of the town’s bank. I’ve known him for the two years I’ve lived in Maraville. He’s never had a breath of scandal attached to his name.”

      “In other words, screw off, Jo,” she said bitterly.

      “I’m a firm proponent of the truth,” Sam said. “But not in revenge.”

      “Revenge?”

      “You’ve talked to Eliza and April. You must know McLennon tried to foreclose on the house when Maddie was first in the hospital. They were angry as hell about it. Leads to all sorts of speculation, you know?”

      “And you think I’m making this up now to get back at him?” Jo was incredulous. She hadn’t known about the attempted foreclosure.

      “I said I’d look into it. You stay away from the case and the man you’re accusing.”

      “I don’t report to you,” she said.

      Jo stood and fished out a couple of dollars, tossing them on the table. Maybe there was some investigative work she could do.

      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.

      CHAPTER THREE

      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