Fool Me Once (Codie Snow #1): A Romantic Suspense Series

by Jade C. Jamison

  Codie was wearing a summer pajama set—a pink satin two-piece button-up short-sleeve shirt and shorts combo—and so she didn’t bother with a robe as she left her room. She hadn’t seen Matthew the night before but had heard him come in late, so this morning she expected a bit of a rundown of his date the night before. Instead, when he saw her, he said, “There’s coffee already made, but tell me what the hell happened with you and Slade yesterday.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Oh-em-gee, girlfriend. He was pissed when he got back to the office and he wouldn’t say why. Just started barking orders at everyone and snapping when we asked questions. Later, I peeked in his office and asked him how you were doing and he muttered something about how much he hated women.” Codie raised her eyebrows but said nothing, instead grabbing a cup out of the cabinet so she could pour herself some hot java. “Yes, I figured it had to be you. What the hell did you do?”

  “What did I do?” Codie was starting to feel a little more steamed herself. “I only did what I always do, but I really put my foot down this time. I asked for a commitment.” She grabbed the carafe. “I don’t see why that’s so damned difficult.”

  “Oh, he didn’t say that was the problem.”

  She poured coffee and then grabbed the sugar. “Of course, he didn’t. Wouldn’t want his star employee to think less of him.”

  “Girlfriend, that’s harsh.”

  “Maybe so, but truth hurts.”

  “No…you’re hurting.” She heard and felt rather than saw Matthew approach her, because she was purposely focusing on her coffee. “I understand why you are, but you have to realize that Slade’s not the marrying kind.”

  A tear threatened to fall, but no way was Codie going to shed one over a guy she needed to consider her permanent ex. “Well, he needs to realize that I’m not the usable kind.” She looked up at Matthew. “We’re over. Forever.” She saw her friend lean toward her and she said, grinning in spite of her emotions, “And don’t you dare consider hugging me right now with your sweaty self. I’ll hug you after your shower.”

  “Codie, you are snarky today. Maybe we need some retail therapy.”

  She sighed as she brought her coffee cup to her lips. “I definitely need therapy. No doubt about that.”

  * * *

  The next day, Codie found an article in the paper. Yes, it was on the front page, but it was under the fold, almost as if the people printing the paper hoped no one would actually see or read it. It didn’t talk about the envelope next to Michelle’s body, which would indicate that the woman had killed herself—Codie could remember the scene as if it were yesterday—but it did mention that the autopsy confirmed that the deceased had died due to suffocation and that it was confirmed a suicide.

  “Self-inflicted,” it said.

  There were no other details, and she wasn’t going to call Pete. She was afraid of being blown off. Again.

  Nope. Instead, that night (or early morning, rather, since it was just past midnight), she headed over to the convenience store where Pete had gotten his free coffee, hoping to stop him there.

  She was beginning to feel more like a true detective when, ten minutes into waiting at one of the benches in the store, she saw a police cruiser pull up to the building. She’d purchased nachos and a fountain drink so the clerk wouldn’t hassle her for hanging around. Codie’s smug bubble burst when she saw a cop who wasn’t Pete exit the car.

  But of course. It made sense. Free coffee for cops—why wouldn’t they all take advantage? Before that cop left, though, a second cruiser pulled in and, as the guy exited the store, he paused to talk to the other cop…and that officer just so happened to be the one she’d been waiting for. She’d planned to wait until he had his coffee to start talking to him, maybe even follow him out into the parking lot, but then she felt like an idiot—because Pete was paid to observe. Why wouldn’t he have noticed it was her?

  Of course, he did. “Codie? What are you doing here?”

  She couldn’t help the sheepish grin that covered her face. Better that than nacho cheese. “What a coincidence.” He furrowed his brow, but before he could say anything to rebut, she said, “Get your coffee. I’ll be right there.” She picked up the plastic tray of half-eaten stale chips and processed cheese that was beginning to solidify so she could throw it away as she approached the counter where Pete was filling a Styrofoam cup.

  “Wait. Are you done eating those?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m gonna throw them away.”

  “I’ll take ‘em.”

  “Suit yourself.” She forced herself not to grimace. “They’re not exactly healthy.” She walked back to the table, setting down the nachos and picking up her drink while waiting for Pete to head back.

  “Just can’t get enough of me, eh?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I just had some questions.”

  “A likely story,” he said, picking up the tray of nachos and then moving toward the front door. Codie started keeping pace with him. He held up the cup as he nodded at the cashier. “Thanks,” he said as he pushed the door open with the hand that held the coffee. “Let’s see if I buy your reason.”

  God, he was a cocky motherfucker. She could almost hear the air quotes Pete hadn’t been able to display while saying “reason.” She hadn’t remembered him that way…but it was pissing her off. Stifling a sigh and holding her emotions at bay, she said, “I read the article in the paper today about Michelle Dinsmoor.”

  “Codie, you’re obsessing. You need to let that shit go already.”

  She frowned. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  Quoting her, he said, “It’s not exactly healthy.” She scowled and stuck her tongue out at him. “There you go, making more promises.”

  Time to steer him back to the subject—starting with ignoring his last sentence. “The article said her death was confirmed a suicide, but it didn’t give details.”

  “Shit, Codie. Why the hell would you want to know the gruesome blow-by-blow? Isn’t it bad enough to know she took her own life?”

  “I just…it’s haunting me, Pete. Almost like Michelle wants me to know. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll ask someone else.”

  He looked like he was struggling with the idea and sighed. “Let’s go back in and sit down.” Raising an eyebrow, he added, “You don’t want to hear this standing up.”

  Less than a minute later, they were both seated at the plastic table inside the convenience store, Pete downing a melty cheese-covered and soggy tortilla chip before continuing. “Anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me.” Codie nodded, simply relieved that she was going to have some answers. “The suicide note was confirmed to be written in her hand and, yes, it was a suicide note. I don’t know exactly what she said in it and it doesn’t matter. Apparently, though, she’d taken an entire bottle of acetaminophen—200 milligrams, a bottle of one hundred—and then pulled several shopping bags down over her head, tying them around her neck. It looked like she’d done them one at a time until she’d sufficiently blocked the airflow.”

  If a person could feel her face blanch, feel the blood drain from her veins, Codie could right that moment. “Jesus,” she breathed, unable to fully comprehend what that woman must have been feeling.

  “Exactly. Death isn’t pretty, Codie. And suicides are the worst.”

  She doubted the real thing—underneath those plastic grocery bags—could have been worse than what she was conjuring in her mind. What the hell had driven Michelle to do such a thing? What could have been so bad that her method of dying seemed preferable?

  And why couldn’t Codie let it go?

  Chapter Twenty

  OVER THE NEXT week, Codie felt like she was just going through the motions as she processed her feelings—not just her emotions surrounding the death of an old acquaintance who’d had such a promising life, but also how she felt about the men in her life. And she wound up feeling the same old way—like she was missing something serious and important.
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  And then she had a brilliant plan Thursday morning at work. She was so excited, she considered texting Matthew during her break, but she didn’t know if he’d get it. A phone call, though, she’d know before returning to her shift. And if he didn’t answer his cell, she could always call the receptionist answering the phone at Slade’s office and leave a message. But she got lucky, because he picked up his cell. “Girlfriend, what’s up? You never call during the day. Feels like something important.”

  “It kind of is. Can I meet you at lunch?”

  “What? You’re gonna leave me hanging till then? Not even a hint?”

  “Um…no. A little suspense never killed anyone.”

  “Ugh. Fine. Where are we meeting?”

  “Gotta be fast and close.” Codie never had leeway at work when it came to break times. More than sixty minutes for lunch and she’d be called on the carpet by the charge nurse. She imagined that if nothing was scheduled with Slade, Matthew would have a little more leeway with his breaks, but they didn’t need that much time. Besides, she didn’t want to put herself on the radar with her roommate’s boss. Better that Slade didn’t know what she was thinking.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Their need for speed made the decision for them. Taco Bell it was.

  * * *

  It was noon before Codie knew it, and she and Matthew were standing in line behind a group of high school baseball players, and it made her wonder why she hadn’t suggested Chili’s instead. But it wasn’t more than five minutes later that she and her friend were filling up their drinks at the soda fountain and then juggling a tray as they made their way toward a booth near the back, the high schoolers already finishing up their meals. She and Matthew had barely sat down, their meals unwrapped, when he said, “Okay, spill. Now.”

  “Impatient, are we?”

  “Codie, do you really want to find out if suspense could kill someone? Because I’m close, sister. Now talk. Your burrito can wait.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine.” But she was going to eat while she talked. “You know how upset Michelle Clark—er, Dinsmoor’s—death made me.”

  “Yeah, a little too much.”

  “I’ll admit it hit me harder than it should have. But the good news is I know what I’m going to do about it.”

  Matthew’s response sounded dry. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” Codie picked up her cup and sipped the iced tea through the straw before continuing. She spoke slowly, with purpose, because she suspected Matthew wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Part of her was delaying getting to the point for that very reason. “Here’s the thing. A girl like Michelle? She seemed to have every reason in the world to be happy—a fulfilling religion, a husband she adored, a job that she loved. But she obviously wasn’t satisfied, not at all. A person doesn’t just kill herself for no good reason. On accident, I suppose, but her death was no accident. She meant to kill herself, and she wanted to ensure there was no coming back. So it’s been bothering the shit out of me, Matthew. Seeing the scene didn’t help, because it made it so real to me and made me wonder. How could you go from loving life and relishing every moment to plotting your death to make sure there was no return? Mental illness? Yeah, maybe, and I’m no detective and I don’t have access to every single police report, but I haven’t heard one word about Michelle suddenly suffering from something like that.”

  “Riiiiiiight.” Matthew’s tone increased in volume as he stretched out the vowel sound of the word, the word sounding almost like a question, as if encouraging Codie to get on with her story. One bite of her burrito first, though.

  “So I’m going to find out. I’m not gonna wait for the Police Department to fumble it like they do everything else.”

  “Everything else? That’s not fair, Codie. They only fumble shit surrounding the MC and wealthy businessmen.”

  “Yeah and then they pick on the druggies. I know. But you know as well as I do that they aren’t in any hurry to solve crimes—or other mysteries—against people that don’t matter to them. And I know Michelle doesn’t, or didn’t, matter to them. She does to me.”

  “So what are you planning to do?”

  Here was the tricky part, the part where Matthew would balk, asking if she was out of her fucking mind. She needed to tell him, though. But first, one more bite. After that, she sipped on her drink and Matthew’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. If anyone could be said to die of anticipation, it would have been her friend at right that minute. Letting out a breath, Codie said, “I’m going to go undercover.”

  Matthew almost spat out the Mountain Dew in his mouth, but he managed to swallow before he said, “What? What does that even mean?”

  “I’m going to go to their church…and pretend to be someone lost, seeking for answers.”

  “That’s gonna go over really well. You live with an abomination, after all.”

  Oh, shit. Matthew would never forget the time in middle school when some religious fanatic’s kids had told him he was “an abomination unto God” and that he was going to “burn in hell in a lake of fire and brimstone.” Yeah…all because he had crushes on people of the same sex. And Codie likewise would never forget the day Matthew had turned his back on religion. That same day, her friend had said to the religious kid, “How can a God who claims to love his entire creation hate someone who was born this way? Your god can fuck off!”

  It was the last day Codie had ever remembered seeing her best friend cry.

  “I’m, uh…seriously going undercover.”

  “What? Like Charlie’s Angels?” Leave it to Matthew to refer to his favorite vintage TV show, but it was a great analogy.

  “Yeah, I guess. But, um, I’m not gonna lie about my name. I’m just going to pretend to need their guidance.”

  “Sounds like an iffy proposition, girlfriend.” Hmm. Maybe her bestie was on board.

  “Yeah, but maybe I can figure out why something that had once brought Michelle great joy eventually caused her great suffering.”

  “Maybe. How long do you think that’ll take?”

  “How long do you think it’ll be before they invite me to move in to one of their houses?”

  Matthew slammed his paper cup on the table. “Oh, hell, no. You’re crazy. You can’t really be considering going that far. Come on, Codie. Think about it.”

  “I have, Matthew, long and hard. It’s the only way.”

  “No. There are much better ways to find the information you need.”

  “Name one.” She gave him but two seconds to struggle and, while he blinked as if confused, she said, “I’m doing it, Matthew. That’s all there is to it.”

  “You’d talked about joining the force, Codie. Why don’t you try to do that instead? Then you could investigate like a cop.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going in.”

  “You’re crazy. What do you think Slade and Pete will think about this foolish notion?”

  “I don’t care. And don’t you dare say a word to either one of them, Matthew. I mean it.” His lips pursed as if he was already struggling to keep the words inside. “I mean it. Not. A. Word.”

  * * *

  The next evening, Codie went to a couple of thrift stores before heading home. She wanted to buy a few plain simple dresses, things she’d never wear of her own accord, but items that she thought might come across as understated and feminine—the kinds of dresses she’d remembered Michelle wearing years ago when they’d been working on certification together.

  She managed to find a few things—some skirts in neutral colors like gray and khaki and then two light cotton floral dresses that ended below the knee. She ran by Walmart and picked up a pair of pink ballet-type slippers as well. Demure was the word of the day.

  When she got to her apartment at six that evening, she didn’t have a clue that her the place was full of testosterone—until she’d walked inside and couldn’t gracefully exit. Her eyes swept across the room to se
e Slade in what had been no doubt his work attire (a dark gray suit) followed by Matthew (also still in work suit), and next to her roommate stood Pete, also prepared for work and in uniform. All three men had been sitting at the kitchen table but stood when she’d opened the door, as if they were going to have to grab her to drag her inside.

  Yes, she’d wanted to run, but she was also curious. “What the hell’s going on?” Why would Matthew have these two men in the same room at the same time? Was he trying to make her life a living hell?

  Yes…but not in the way she was imagining.

  “Think of this as an intervention, Codie,” Matthew said, an apologetic look on his face.

  “Oh, hell, no,” she responded, but she dropped her bags to the floor and approached the table anyway. Whatever mess Matthew had stirred up in his worry she could only hope to settle by assuring them all that she would be okay—but she had to impress upon them that she was moving forward with her plan…whether they liked it or not. She pressed her palms flat on the table and made sure to make eye contact with each man. First, Slade, and his eyes seemed to say that he knew her to her very soul. Next, Matthew, and if guilt could literally weigh a person down, he would’ve been about six inches tall at the moment based on his expression. Finally, Pete—something in his eyes told her he understood what she wanted to do but he thought it was a stupid idea. “Why the hell do you guys think I need an intervention, for God’s sake?”

  Slade’s voice was firm—as though he was arguing with a judge in a courtroom, possible contempt be damned. “Matthew said you’re getting ready to do the most foolish thing of your lifetime.”

  “Going undercover, Codie? Was the ride-along not enough?” Pete’s voice was also strong and both men together threatened to melt her resolve.

  But she had a card up her sleeve. And that card was the truth. “Look. Sit down.” She knew she didn’t have the power behind her words that they did, but surely they could hear the exasperation in her voice. Whether they did or not, they complied with her wishes, and Codie didn’t speak again until they were all settled. “I know you’re all sick to death of hearing me whine about Michelle, and you can’t understand my obsession with finding out why she’s dead. I was trying to let it go, knowing that sometimes there are things we’ll never understand, and I was ready to accept that this was one of them. But know what? I don’t give a shit what the handwriting experts said, Pete. I don’t believe for a second that Michelle killed herself. That doesn’t make any sense to me…so the next logical explanation is that she was murdered. And if it’s the last thing I do on this planet, I’m going to find out who did it and why.”