Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) by L.J. Sellers

“Where is Shane?”
    Her face tightened and her eyes signaled fear. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a few days. Why are you asking about Shane?”
    “When did you see him last?”
    “He went out Thursday morning to look for work and didn’t come back.”
    “Did that worry you?”
    “Not at first. He often stays with friends.” She glanced over at the girl swaddled in white sheets.
    “I want names and addresses.”
    “Shane has a lot of friends but I don’t know where they live.”
    “You do know their names.”
    “He’s been hanging out with someone named Damon lately.” Tracy’s voice pitched higher. “Why are you asking about Shane?”
    “Lori named him as the killer.”
    “No!” Tracy burst into tears. “You heard wrong. Shane did not do this.”
    “If he has an alibi for the timeframe, he needs to come forward and tell us.”
    Tracy came into his personal space, her voice begging. “Don’t railroad my son for this heinous crime just because you’re stumped. If Shane’s fingerprints are in the house it’s because he hung out there with his cousins.”
    “Is Shane using drugs again?”
    “No.” She looked away, then spun back. “Get out of here, please. I can’t handle this right now.”
    A low moaning came from the bed. They both pivoted toward Lori, whose eyes were open.
    “Lori. You’re awake.” Tracy gently touched the girl’s face.
    “Aunt Tracy?” Lori’s voice was scratchy and weak.
    “I’m here, honey. You’re gonna be okay.” Tracy fought back tears. ”
    “Why am I in the hospital?” Lori’s eyes darted around, frightened and confused.
    Tracy glanced at Jackson. He wasn’t sure how to respond.
    McCray stepped up to the bed. “Something happened at your house on Sunday night. Do you remember it?”
    “What do you mean?” Lori squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them again. “Why does my stomach hurt? What happened?”
    “You don’t remember?” Tracy reached for Lori’s hand.
    “I was at work,” Lori said, her voice a whisper. “Was I in a car accident on the way home?”

Chapter 11
     
    After they left the hospital, McCray headed for the Golden Temple factory to look for an employee named Damon, and Jackson drove to the Sweet Life Bakery where Shane’s sister worked. The yellow and purple restaurant was nestled in a little area on the edge of downtown where it butted up against the low-rent Whitaker neighborhood. Lisa Compton worked as a baker in the converted warehouse down the alley. When she’d returned his call, she’d given him instructions on how to find her and Jackson was glad he didn’t have to enter the restaurant where he would be tempted by a display of luscious snacks.
    He strode down the alley and entered the bakery. The aroma of spice cake—nutmeg, cinnamon, and other things he couldn’t name—filled his senses. Next came images of his mother in the kitchen, wearing an apron and smiling as he trotted in carrying schoolbooks. He didn’t let himself think about his parents very often, but ever since his RF diagnosis, they kept surfacing. Now was not a good time though.
    A pretty woman in her twenties looked up from one of the giant stainless steel tables and hurried over. “I’m Lisa Compton. Are you Detective Jackson?”
    He shook her outstretched hand, warm from the ovens. Lisa was taller and bigger framed than her mother, but they had the same short dark hair and intense eyes. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
    “Let’s go outside. There’s a break table we can sit at.”
    The day was temperate and cloudy but Jackson was glad for the fresh air. “I know this will be hard for you, but we have to talk about your family.” Jackson took a seat at the rusty metal table.
    Lisa lit a cigarette. “You probably think it’s weird I’m at work today, but I can’t just sit at home and think about everybody in that house being slaughtered. I have to keep busy.”
    “Do you know who killed Jared and his