Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) by Catherine Finger

visit, get a little distance between these murders and our girl. Give the system time to push the information through the proper channels.” There was a firmness in his voice that would be too much work to fight.
    “Fine. Tell her I love her, okay? Tell her something came up, but I’ll see her in a coupla days. Thanks, pal.” I ended the call without waiting to hear anything else. It wasn’t his fault, but he was handy.
    I pulled into a gas station parking lot to regroup. Should I go ride Scooter in my newly freed up time? I called Mitch and asked her to set up a briefing on the murder with me and the two lead FBI agents in a few hours. The beauty of a small town cop shop. They needed all hands on deck, mine included.
    “Ah, Chief, you sure that’s a good idea?” Mitch wasn’t about to come any closer to the dynamite hanging in the air between us.
    “Yes. A hundred percent. Any minute now, one or both of us will get the call that clears me to the proverbial ‘T.’” I hope.
    “Sure, but…”
    “And when it does, why waste time pulling you together?” Prickly heat inched up under my chin.
    “Well, even when you’re cleared, and even in an understaffed, overworked little burg like Haversport, it might not be the best thing to have you working this case though, right?”
    Only Mitch had earned the right to speak this kind of truth to me.
    “So, you think there’s a better cop than me to work this case?” It was a stupid thing to say. My shirt was sticking to my back, my social worker wouldn’t let me see my little girl, my cheating ex was dead, and I was about to get a whole lot stupider.
    “Josie…” Mitch sighed.
    “I’m sorry. You’re the cop to work this case, and we have a dozen others. But I can’t stay out of this one. I don’t care what the ruling is. I can’t. I won’t.” I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, watching my veins plump up.
    “I get it. And I’m all for you putting in an appearance as more of a Chief, less of a suspect. But only if it’s going to help you, not hurt you, in the long run.”
    I sighed. “I appreciate you and your concern. I do. Set up the meeting so we’re good to go the minute we get the call.” My voice was crisper than I’d meant it to be. “Thanks, Mitch.”
    I hung up before she could reply and headed to the outskirts of town. Instead of riding my horse, I would stop by Riverside and visit my mother while waiting for the phone to ring.

 
     
     
    Riverside Place was built ten years ago as an “independent living center for active seniors” in unincorporated Haversport. The town had grown up enough to almost touch it, but it still had that ‘towne country feeling’ boasted about in its literature. Bluffs jutted up in the distance on three sides of the facility, giving the seniors excellent views from most balconies and patios. My mom had called this place home for the past four years.
    I parked in my usual spot and signed the guest register. A dull roar floating down the hallway on the right reminded me it was Friday Happy Hour. Oh, brother—I didn’t have it in me today to watch wheelchair-bound ninety-year-old studs flirt with half a dozen adoring fellow residents. Seemed like everyone had a partner—except for me.
    Shake it off, sister! I pushed through my melancholy and pulled myself down the hall. Dick Clark was up on a big screen, and there were streamers everywhere. Who knew what holiday was being commemorated here today. Certainly not Good Friday. It didn’t matter. Silver heads bobbed with simple glee, and I stopped to greet my mother’s friends and neighbors as I kept an eye out for her.
    A cane tapped the back of my leg. I turned to face a dignified gentleman, with sparkling blue eyes, in a wheelchair. “Chief! Have one on me.”
    Art Spenser held out a plastic cup of something questionable.
    I took the offering from his shaking hand and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Art. How are you? You’re looking