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“Isn’t there some way that Mr. and Mrs. Scott could see the body now?” Audrey asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll check with Garth—”
“Please, let me see her,” Mary Nell whimpered.
“Why don’t y’all give me a few minutes,” Tam said. “Audrey, want to come with me?”
“Sure.”
When they were out of earshot of the Scott family, Tam said, “Mrs. Scott is going to fall apart if she sees her daughter’s body.”
“I’ve already called her GP to alert him that she’s going to need medication.”
“Good.”
Tam took Audrey with her past the tape barricade as she rushed to catch up with Pete Tipton’s assistants, who were carrying the body bag toward the ME’s van parked in the restaurant’s back parking lot.
“Wait up, guys,” Tam called to them.
Tipton, who was still talking to Garth and another man, someone Audrey didn’t know, quickly ended his conversation and threw up his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tam said. “I just need y’all to wait a couple of minutes.”
Tipton, Garth, and the stranger came over to where Tam and Audrey stood only a few feet away from the body bag.
“Look, the parents want to see the body now,” Tam explained. “The mother is hysterical as it is. I don’t think letting her see the body can make it any worse.”
“If anything, it might help her.” Audrey injected her opinion. “The not knowing is often far worse than the knowing.” She glanced at Garth, her step-uncle, and saw the flash of painful memories in his eyes. “If it is Jill, then why make her parents wait any longer to find out the truth?”
“And you are?” The tall, rough-around-the-edges stranger looked right at Audrey. The midday sun turned his salt-and-pepper hair to black-streaked silver.
Garth looked questioningly at Audrey and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with—” Audrey said, but Tam interrupted her and rushed straight into introductions.
“Audrey, this is Special Agent Cass with the TBI.”
Garth added, “J.D., this is my niece, Dr. Sherrod.”
Audrey and J.D. Cass exchanged quick, intense inspections. She wasn’t sure exactly what he thought of her and really didn’t care. As a general rule, people tended to like her and she liked almost everyone she met. But there was something about the way this man looked at her, as if he found some flaw she wasn’t aware of, that annoyed her.
His black-eyed gaze settled on her face and then he smiled. “You’re not an M.D., are you?” He rubbed his chin. “Hmm … Let me guess—”
“Doctorate of philosophy in psychology,” Audrey told him. “I’m a mental health therapist.”
“Audrey is Mary Nell Scott’s counselor,” Tam explained. “She came here with Jill Scott’s family because Mrs. Scott is one of her patients.”
“Damn,” Garth grumbled under his breath.
“Is it your professional opinion that Mrs. Scott can handle seeing her daughter’s corpse?” J.D. asked, his gaze intensely focused on Audrey
“It’s my opinion that seeing her daughter’s body—if indeed that’s Jill”—she nodded toward the body bag—“will harm her less than not knowing.”
Audrey glared at J.D. Cass. Admittedly, she found him attractive. Who wouldn’t? He was about six-three, broad shouldered, and extremely masculine, although not classically handsome. But for some reason, he irritated her. Maybe it was because of the almost condescending way he’d said, “You’re not an M.D.” Or it could be because she sensed that he found her lacking in one way or another?
And that bothers you, doesn’t it?
Damn right it did. After all, she was reasonably attractive, some even said pretty. She was highly intelligent and well educated and possessed more than competent social graces. Who was he to look down his imperfect nose at her?
“Let’s get this over with,” Pete Tipton said. “Bring the parents over and let them ID the body.” He motioned to his assistants.
“Thank you.” Audrey focused on the ME, offering him a genuine smile.
“I’ll tell the Scotts.” By the time the statement left her lips, Tam was in motion.
Garth received a phone call, excused himself, and left Audrey and the TBI agent standing side by side. Usually quite adept at conversation, even idle chitchat when necessary, Audrey suddenly found herself unnaturally silent.
Sensing the TBI agent looking at her, she turned back around and faced him. “Is there something you wanted to say, Special Agent Cass?”
With a sly smile curving his lips, the man shrugged. “No, ma’am, Dr. Sherrod.”
“Here they come,” Pete Tipton said as the Scott family approached. “No matter how many times I’ve done this, it doesn’t get any easier.”
Tam escorted the Scotts, Charlie with his arm around Mary Nell, and Mindy following her parents.
“May we see her, please?” Charlie asked.
Tipton nodded. Tam led the family to where the ME’s assistants held the body bag. Tipton unzipped the bag, removed the small, protective bag covering the victim’s head, and stepped back to allow the family an unobstructed view.
Mary Nell gasped and then burst into tears as she crumpled right before their eyes. Weeping uncontrollably, she doubled over in pain. Charlie held her, his arms circling her waist, supporting her twisted body. Mindy stood silent and alone a few feet behind her parents. She had turned an ash gray, her glazed eyes overflowing with tears.
Charlie pulled Mary Nell up and into his arms. He looked Peter Tipton right in the eye. “It’s our daughter. It’s Jill.”
Tam and her husband Marcus, an engineer with the Tennessee Valley Authority in Chattanooga, met Audrey and her current boyfriend, Porter Bryant, for dinner that evening. Audrey and Tam arrived late, less than two minutes apart, so they paused outside J. Alexander’s for a quick chat before entering the upscale restaurant on Hamilton Place Boulevard. Neither had changed clothes from earlier that day. Tam still wore black slacks, a lightweight camel blazer, and sensible but stylish one-inch pumps. She had discarded her shoulder holster, something she had forgotten to do a few weeks ago when the foursome had met for dinner. Of course, it had been her first week as a detective.
How Tam could look so good with practically no makeup at the age of thirty-four, Audrey would never know. Maybe it was her flawless golden brown skin or her large, luminous, dark chocolate eyes and thick black lashes.
Although Audrey hadn’t taken time to change from her tailored navy pin-striped slacks and matching jacket into something more femininely casual, she had added fresh blush and lipstick, which she kept in her handbag. She had almost phoned Porter and canceled, but a girl had to eat, and what better company could she find tonight than three good friends? The last thing she wanted to do after a day like today was go home to an empty house. She kept thinking about getting a pet, a cat or a dog or even a goldfish. She thought about it, but never did it.
“You look beat,” Tam said. “Have you been with the Scotts all this time?”
She nodded. “Yes, I stayed and talked to Charlie and Mindy after Dr. Jarnigan’s nurse practitioner came by and gave Mary Beth an injection. A strong sedative. And I helped Charlie deal with countless phone calls and an endless parade of family and friends who came and went all afternoon. Their priest is there with them, as well as Charlie’s sister and her husband and several cousins.”
“It’s been a difficult day all around,” Tam said. “I left your uncle Garth at headquarters. No wonder he’s been divorced four times. What woman would put up with a man married to his job?”
“Every missing persons case is personal for him.”
“Because of Blake,” Tam said. “Garth is a dedicated policeman for the same reason you’re a dedicated counselor. You both want to help people in pain.”
Although Audrey managed to go days, often weeks, without thinking very much about Blake, any missing persons case stirred up old memories. And when she was personally involved in the case, a counselor to someone with a missing family member, she occasionally still had nightmares, decades-old nightmares, about her little brother Blake’s disappearance. The two-year-old had been abducted twenty-five years ago and was still missing. Missing and presumed dead.
“I know you can’t talk about evidence and all that,” Audrey said. “But can you tell me one thing—do y’all think that whoever kidnapped and killed Jill Scott is the same person who abducted Debra Gregory?”
“Possibly. It’s common knowledge that the two women are both in their mid-twenties, both average height and weight, both white females, both brunettes with long dark hair. The Chattanooga Times Free Press ran their photographs side by side on the front page this morning. At the mayor’s insistence, I’m sure. Did you see it?”
“I saw it. And before you ask, yes, I thought there was a resemblance.”
“Enough of a resemblance that they could pass for sisters,” Tam said. “Debra Gregory looks more like Jill than her own sister Mindy does.”
“But the CPD is downplaying the resemblance, aren’t they? The fact that the women resembled each other wasn’t mentioned in the press conference.”
“We don’t want to panic all the young, dark-haired women in Hamilton County who fit the same description. Not when we can’t be a hundred percent sure the two cases are connected. Debra hasn’t been missing twenty-four hours.”
“Then why bring in the TBI?” Audrey asked.
“They’re not officially involved. Not yet.” Tam forced a smile. “We’d better find our dates. We’re already twenty minutes late. Marcus has called me twice since he arrived.”
As they entered the restaurant, Audrey asked, “How well do you know Special Agent Cass?”
Tam spoke to the hostess, who offered to show them to their table.
“I never met him before today,” Tam replied. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
“There they are.” Tam waved at Marcus and Porter, who were seated in a booth halfway across the restaurant. “FYI—the DA called in the TBI. We did not request assistance.”
“He seems like the type who’d expect to take over.”
“Who? Special Agent Cass? What makes you think that?” Tam’s smile widened. “Yeah, I know. He was sending out some powerful He-Man vibes, wasn’t he? And I noticed the way you two kept looking at each other. What was that all about?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Audrey lied.
When they approached the booth where their dates sat, both men stood, gentlemen that they were. Marcus gave Tam a quick kiss on the mouth and a big I’m-glad-to-see-you smile. Porter gave Audrey a peck on the cheek. She and Porter had been dating for nearly six months now and she suspected he was ready for more than the friendship they shared. He hadn’t pushed her into a sexual relationship and she was grateful, although she knew that it was only a matter of time. More than once recently, he had hinted about them moving in together, but she had ignored the hints. She had no desire to live with Porter or any other man. And marriage was out of the question. No way, no how.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tam said. “We’re in the middle of—”
“No shop talk this evening,” Marcus told her. “We’re going to have drinks and a nice dinner and relax.”
“Sounds good to me.” Tam picked up her husband’s glass of Chardonnay and took a sip. “This could be the last halfway relaxing evening I have for quite some time.”
J.D. dropped his keys on the kitchen counter as he entered his Signal Mountain rental house through the door that led inside from the two-car garage. By the time he reached the living room, he had removed his jacket and his hip holster. He tossed the jacket over the back of the nearest chair and dumped the holster down on the coffee table. It had been a long, seemingly endless day and he was tired. And still horny. He had hoped his breakfast date with Holly that morning would lead to an invitation for him to come over to her place that night. So much for well-laid plans. Per his boss’s instructions, he had stuck with the lead investigators on the Jill Scott case all day and had finally left Sergeant Hudson at the police station half an hour ago. The man was dedicated beyond the norm for any officer.
It wasn’t that J.D. didn’t give his all to his job. He did. But he didn’t live and breathe his job 24/7. There had been a time when he had. Now he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He had other responsibilities, ones in his personal life that required his time and attention.
Just as he kicked off his shoes and wiggled his sock-clad toes, he heard the phone ring. Not his phone. The ringtone belonged to his daughter. Some idiotic song titled “Boom Boom Pow” by a group Zoe had informed him was called the Black Eyed Peas.
Even now, after she’d been living with him for more than a year, he still sometimes forgot he had a kid. A fourteen-year-old daughter. A teenager with an attitude. Zoe was far too pretty and looked way too mature not to gain male attention. When he had told her that she was too young to date, she’d thrown a hissy fit. The girl had a temper. And as much as he’d like to blame her mother for that genetic defect, he couldn’t. Carrie Davidson had been promiscuous, self-centered, vain, and sexy as hell, but not once during their brief affair had he ever seen her lose her temper. No, Zoe had inherited that personality flaw from him.
J.D. traipsed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and retrieved a bottle of beer. Just as he removed the cap and took his first sip, he heard a loud crash, followed by a string of equally loud curse words. Carrying the beer with him, he went through the living room and down the hall and stopped outside his daughter’s closed bedroom door. He knocked.
“Go away!” she screamed.
“What’s going on in there?”
“Not a damn thing. All my friends are together and having a good time tonight and I’m stuck here in my room, a virtual prisoner.”
“It’s a school night,” J.D. reminded her. “I hardly think all your friends are out partying tonight.”
“A bunch are studying together over at Presley’s house. They ordered pizza and are having fun. Fun that I’m missing, thanks to you.” Zoe eased open her bedroom door and peered out into the hall. “Hi. How was your day?”
“Rough,” he replied. “How was yours?”
“It was okay, but it could end really good.” She opened the door all the way and plastered a big smile on her gorgeous face.
What the hell was she wearing? They’d had more than one row about her clothes. Tonight it was green tights, suede knee-high boots, a too short, too tight knit sweater, and a skirt that barely covered her butt. All the clothes she had brought with her last year when he’d moved her in with him had looked like they belonged to a hooker. She’d promptly informed him that her clothes were what girls were wearing these days, as opposed to when he’d been a kid, back in the Dark Ages.
“What do you want?” J.D asked. From his experience, whenever Zoe was pleasant to him, she wanted something.
“Let me go over to Presley’s. Please, please. I promise I’ll be back by eleven.”
“I don’t think so. It’s after eight now. Besides, I’m too tired to drive you over to—”
“That’s okay, J.D.” Zoe came out of her room, her leather shoulder bag slung over her arm. “Presley’s brother Dawson will pick me up. All I have to do is call her back right now.” Zoe held up her bright pink cell phone. “Please.”
He didn’t like playing the stern, disciplinarian parent, but God knew it was way past time that someone did. Apparently Carrie had allowed Zoe to do whatever she wanted to do. And now that she was forced to live with a parent who more often than not said no to her demands, she was a miserable young girl.
“Not tonight,” J.D. told her. “It’s a school night. You know the rules.”
“Screw your rules! I hate you! I hate living here with you!” She scrunched up her face, glowered at him, and then went back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
J.D. heaved a deep, labored breath.
What had he ever done to deserve this?
You got Carrie Davidson pregnant, that’s what.
J.D. took a hefty swig from the beer bottle as he walked back to the kitchen. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Although he was doing his best with Zoe, his best wasn’t good enough. She was miserable and she made him miserable. She was his daughter. The DNA tests proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He should love her. She should love him. But she hated him and he tolerated her.
He finished off the first beer as he made himself a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and then drank another beer with his meal.
He wondered what Dr. Audrey Sherrod would think of his relationship with Zoe. They were a dysfunctional family if ever there was one. Neither had known the other existed until eighteen months ago when Carrie, dying from breast cancer, had called J.D. to say, “Congratulations, you’re the father of a bouncing baby girl.”
Burrowing into his worn leather lounge chair, J.D. picked up the remote and channel surfed, finally pausing on CNN.
Why was he thinking about Audrey Sherrod? Why had she suddenly popped into his head?
He had gotten the distinct impression that the lady didn’t like him. She certainly had looked down her nose at him. And she had a cute little nose and a rather pretty face. Not beautiful, but pretty enough if you liked her type, which he didn’t. She was tall for a woman, a good five-nine. Slender, but not quite skinny. He had noticed the way her breasts filled out the neat pin-striped jacket she had been wearing. Sufficient but not large by any means.
