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Truth Be Told
Barbara McMahon
Looking for forgiveness…When Jo Hunter was sixteen, she told a lie that changed the course of her life and the lives of her two foster sisters. Now she' s home to make things right. She needs to make peace with Maddie Oglethorpe, the only mother she' s ever known.Jo is used to people not believing in her, but when Sheriff Sam Witt doubts her story, for some reason it hurts more than she ever could have expected.
The words hit her like fists. Maddie was dying?
“Maybe we can catch up later,” Heller said.
She couldn’t answer, could hear only the echo of the words not expected to make it. She remembered the last time she’d seen Maddie, the accusations she’d thrown at her. The anger and hurt and confusion that had filled her.
The wrong she’d done Maddie. And April and Eliza.
Jo felt sick. It had been years since she’d thought about that last day. She turned and almost ran back to her desk. She had to get her reports done and talk to the lieutenant. She needed time off—needed to get home. To see Maddie and apologize. To talk to her one more time. She had to get to Maraville before Maddie died—to see if she could make things right.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes teenagers do foolish things. Most of the time, the repercussions are minimal. But in Jo Hunter’s case, her one revengeful lie changed the lives of many people. It’s a guilt she’s lived with for twelve years. Now an unexpected encounter with someone she once knew sends her on the road back home. It’s a journey that has unexpected twists that Jo hadn’t expected. A second chance at making things turn out as she once had hoped they would, with family, close friends and a future bright with promise.
Come join the adventure of the last of Maddie Oglethorpe’s foster children as Jo learns that sometimes the hardest thing is to forgive oneself. The rewards, however, can be fantastic.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the stories of the three foster sisters who are reunited in a way that will bind them together for the future. Do visit my Web site, www.barbaramcmahon.com, and let me know!
Best wishes,
Barbara McMahon
Truth Be Told
Barbara McMahon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Johanna Raisanen for being an editor extraordinaire!
Thank you for all your help.
And to Sherla Cox, dear friend and onetime coauthor.
I hope you enjoy the girls from the House on Poppin Hill!
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
JO HUNTER DRESSED IN the bad-girl attire that was so familiar—black jeans, black motorcycle boots, tight black T-shirt, spiky hair and an attitude she wore like a shield. She was going to the precinct, but to protect her cover, she dressed the part. If anyone saw her, she’d bluff her way through by saying she’d been picked up. It had happened once a couple of years ago. That, of course, had made it even easier for her to infiltrate that particular drug ring. Working undercover vice was dangerous, but also exciting. Some days she wondered if she was risking death just for the adrenaline rush. Mostly, however, she was not introspective, just anxious to rid the Los Angeles streets of the vermin who preyed on the innocent.
Like the bastards she’d busted last night.
Arriving at the station early, she quickly climbed the worn stairs to the second floor, heading to the desk she shared with Jim Peterson. He worked vice, too, specializing in child porn. That was one vice she didn’t want to get involved in. Drugs was her area. Teenage pushers in the local high schools, to be specific. Jo looked far younger than her twenty-eight years and could pass for a high-school kid.
“Hey, Jo, nice going on that bust,” one of her fellow officers called out.
She waved and smiled, sitting at the computer and logging on. Jim had different hours. For the most part, sharing the desk worked. She pulled up the arrest records, scanned them, and then opened the word processing program. Jo shut out the sounds of the bullpen and concentrated on writing her report.
An hour later, her shoulders ached from sitting at the computer. Being out and about sure beat working at a desk. Stretching, she decided a cup of coffee and chocolate would revive her, so she headed for the candy machine located on the first floor. God, she hated doing reports.
A minute or two later she was studying the machine’s selection—like it had changed in the past five years.
“Jo? Jo Hunter?”
She turned, suddenly on her guard. For a minute she didn’t recognize the man. Handcuffed and being escorted by a uniformed officer, he was lanky and scruffy and obviously hadn’t shaved in a day or two. Who…? Then she recognized him.
“Heller? Josiah Heller?” For heaven’s sake, it was a guy from her hometown in Mississippi. What were the odds of her ever running into anyone from home here in L.A., much less at the station?
“Hey, Jo, looking good,” he said, tugging on the hold the officer had. “Hold up, man. I know her.”
Jo glanced at the uniformed cop, no one she recognized. Hoping her cover would hold, she assumed her persona of street tough. “I’d ask how’s it going, but it looks bad,” she said to Heller, motioning to his cuffs.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Getting something to eat. They wanted me for questioning. No charge yet. I think the good cop is showing me how fine a dude he is to let me get some candy without someone breathing down my neck—like they don’t have cameras everywhere watching my every move. I head for the door and watch the swarm.” She prayed one of her friends didn’t happen along and call out to her.
“Hey, I know what you mean.”
“What are you doing in L.A.?” Jo asked, hoping the policeman would have enough patience to allow Heller another minute or two. He was someone from home. Not a friend, not someone she would ever have looked up, but suddenly that tenuous connection seemed important.
“This and that. This is a bum rap. I’ll beat it. You ever get back home?”
Jo shook her head. She’d screwed that up royally. There was no home to return to.
“I heard about Maddie beating you,” Heller said. “Bitch. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s child abuse.”
Jo was surprised. She hadn’t known the boy Heller had been very well. They’d dated a couple of times—on her part mostly just to tick Maddie off. He’d been a big-time troublemaker back then, and it looked as if nothing had changed.
“Hear from my old lady now and then,” he said next. “Thought you might want to know—Maddie Oglethorpe had a stroke. She’s not expected to make it. Payback time.” Heller seemed to brighten at the thought.
Jo sucked in her breath. The words hit like fists. Maddie was dying?
“Let’s go,” the cop said, pulling Heller off balance enough that he had to take a step.
“Maybe we can catch up later,” Heller said, smirking as his gaze ran down the length of Jo.
She couldn’t answer, could only hear the echo of the words not expected to make it. She remembered the last time she’d seen Maddie, the accusations she’d thrown at her. The anger and hurt and confusion that had filled her.
The wrong she’d done Maddie. And April and Eliza.
Jo felt sick. It had been years since she’d thought about that last day.
She turned and almost ran back to her desk. She had to get her reports done and talk to the lieutenant. She needed time off—needed to get home. To see Maddie and apologize. To talk to her one more time. She had to get to Maraville before Maddie died to see if she could make things right.
CHAPTER ONE
JO DIDN’T ROAR INTO Maraville on her Harley. She drove a candy-apple-red convertible she’d rented at the New Orleans airport. The air blew in her short dark hair, giving the illusion of coolness until she stopped. Then the sultry Mississippi heat enveloped her, and the sun seemed to burn right through her hair to her scalp. Her skin glistened with perspiration. She was no longer used to the humidity. L.A. heated up plenty in the summer, but it was a dry heat. She’d heard that so many times she couldn’t count, but until today, she hadn’t realized how true it was. She’d been gone too long.
Driving slowly down Main Street, she looked with interest at the town she’d grown up in. After the sprawl of Los Angeles it seemed tiny and quiet. The old brick buildings looked dirty and tired. For the most part, the cars were sedans, sedate and suitable for old folks. Who traveled far in Maraville? She didn’t see the big SUVs that were so prevalent in Southern California, nor the “beater” cars gangs used, or the fancy foreign jobs seen rolling along Rodeo Drive.
People on the sidewalk stopped and stared. A stranger still drew notice in town. She resisted an urge to wave just to see what they’d do. But she wasn’t here to stir things up. She’d come to make her peace with Maddie Oglethorpe, if she wasn’t too late.
As she glided by Ruby’s Café, Jo’s mouth watered in memory. She’d spent a lot of time there eating burgers and fries. She wondered if they still tasted as good as she remembered.
As she drove away from the center of town, she caught the eye of a law-enforcement officer about to get into a car emblazoned with the sheriff’s shield. Maraville wasn’t big enough to afford a police force and so it used the same law enforcement the entire county did. The man getting into the patrol car didn’t look anything like Sheriff Halstead, the man who’d manipulated things to suit himself and the good citizens of Maraville, and shipped Jo off rather than deal with her accusations.
She should have come back sooner and set the record straight. But who would have believed her? Nothing had changed in the interim. Now it was too late. The statute of limitations had long run out even if she could get someone in authority to believe her.
The man watched her as she went by. She’d toned down a few things about her appearance for this homecoming, but the black tank top that showed her tanned, muscular arms was as out of place in summertime Maraville as her black jeans and motorcycle boots. Her hair was slightly spiked. She’d come back to make a statement, as well as apologize, she admitted. And if they didn’t like it, too bad. No one had stood up for her in this town. She was going to show them she needed no one. And if she shocked a few people, so much the better.
No one messed with Jo Hunter when she was in battle dress, and she figured she needed all the help she could get.
When her friend Tyler Jones had dropped her off at the airport in Los Angeles, he’d shaken his head and asked why she dressed like that when flying. Didn’t she know what a red flag she was waving?
Since Jo had never flown before, she hadn’t a clue how uptight the flight attendants might get. Fortunately, she took some of Tyler’s advice to heart and bought a colorful short-sleeved shirt at an airport shop to cover the black tank top. Coupled with softening her hairstyle and keeping her expression bland, she felt she more or less fit in with the other travelers.
Still, she had been wanded and her boots double-checked by security. And the flight attendants eyed her suspiciously the entire flight.
Continuing without another look at the cop, she headed for the house on Poppin Hill. If Heller’s story had been true, Maddie was most likely in the hospital, but Jo needed to see the place, to sort of ground herself. She was stalling and she knew it. But it wouldn’t hurt just to see the house before she searched for Maddie.
She almost laughed when the cop pulled in behind her—keeping far enough back not to crowd her, but definitely on her tail. How predictable. Would he follow her all the way up to the house?
She turned onto the curved, crushed-shell driveway. The old house, hidden by trees and shrubbery, couldn’t be seen from the road. She rounded the bend and the Victorian structure came into view, so out of place in Mississippi, with its antebellum architecture. If painted, it would fit in fine in San Francisco. The windows looked empty and blind. Yet flowers bloomed in garden patches, the lawn was mowed and two vehicles were parked in the driveway near the back door.
She pulled to a stop behind one of them, a white van, and killed the engine. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she realized the cop had not followed her into the driveway.
She opened her car door, stepped out and looked around. The familiar scents filled her head with memories. The sticky heat wrapped around her just as it had all those summer days so long ago. Jo was surprised by the pang she felt. One of homecoming and welcome. Stupid. There was no welcome for her here.
She heard a radio and the sound of a power saw from within the house, muffled slightly because of the closed windows. She could also hear the dull roar of the air-conditioning unit at the far corner of the house. That hadn’t been here before.
Was the house still Maddie’s? Was she in time, or had the woman already died and the estate been settled? Heller hadn’t told her much, and she had not followed up before coming as fast as she could.
Nervous at what she’d find, she stepped up onto the back porch. Wiping damp palms against her dark pants, she rapped on the door, remembering how she used to barrel into the kitchen after school, hungry for food and Maddie’s approval. She wasn’t looking for that anymore. Funny how some memories just popped into mind.
“It’s open,” a voice called.
Jo turned the knob and pushed the door.
A familiar scene assailed her. For a moment she felt like a teenager again. Eliza stood at the stove cooking. The aroma of the bubbling sauce filled Jo’s nostrils and made her mouth water. Rock music blared from a radio in the room. And now the sound of someone hammering could be heard in the background.
Just as Eliza turned, April came through the door from the hallway.
“Honestly, if I ever reach her, I’m getting her address and sending her an answering machine. This is so frustrating—” She stopped and stared at Jo. Eliza turned and stared at her, too. For a long moment all three were motionless.
“Jo?” Eliza said.
“Jo, where have you been?” April asked, rushing across the room to throw her arms around her, Eliza only two steps behind.
A lump gathered in Jo’s throat. She was home. And greeted with a welcome she didn’t deserve. Eliza and April were both here. She couldn’t believe it.
“Jo, we’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
“How did you know to come home right now?”
“How are you?”
“What have you been doing?”
“Look at you!”
Jo felt the suspicious sting of tears. She never cried.
