Cold Case Murder. Shirlee McCoy

good job of making me less curious, Jodie.”

      “I’m not concerned about your curiosity. I’m concerned about finding the truth.” She opened her car door, slid in behind the wheel and said goodbye to Harrison, nervous, on edge and unsure.

      She’d been in Loomis for less than twelve hours, and already it was doing its work on her. The woman she’d worked so hard to become, the confident one who never backed down from a challenge seemed to have disappeared. In her place was the insecure teen Jodie had once been, the frightened child, the young kid who’d wanted desperately to believe that someone, somewhere cared about her, praying desperately that she could be good enough to make her father love her.

      She shook her head. She’d given up on having her father’s love years ago, and she’d given up on God’s help long before then. God might answer prayers for other people, but not for Jodie.

      Fortunately, she’d learned that going it alone wasn’t nearly as difficult as she’d thought it would be.

      Sometimes, though, it was awfully lonely.

      The thought followed her onto the winding lane that led to her father’s house, and it didn’t leave as she knocked on the front door of the old colonial and waited for Richard Gilmore to answer.