4

The Cave

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 5:50 p.m.

Sweat had beaded on Vera s skin by the time she reached the outer perimeter of the site. Walking had seemed like the best idea. By far the most likely way to arrive at her destination without being spotted by reporters. Having reporters descend upon her would have been far worse than feeling hot and sticky and being under siege from the bees, wasps, and gnats. She d swatted dozens from her personal space.

Eve had suggested she take the UTV. Their father had bought one of the utility vehicles for riding around the farm before the dementia had taken over. But Vera passed on the suggestion. The place where the remains had been found was maybe a mile and a half from the house. She ran three miles every day. The walk would be a piece of cake.

Yeah, right. The past few years she had spent so much time inside, either behind her desk or in conference rooms, she d forgotten what it was like to walk through the woods in the heat of a summer afternoon. Even her workouts-including those three-mile runs she was so proud of-were done in a climate-controlled gym. Vera almost laughed at herself. No question about it. There was very little of the country girl left in her now. Give her air-conditioning and bottled vitamin water any time.

Still, this nightmare was happening here, and she had no choice but to take care of it here. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to endure, she would . . . and then what? Get back to her life?

What life?

She kicked the thought aside and focused on the path that had brought her to the most immediate problem. Even the yellow crime scene tape appeared to droop in the oppressive humidity and ruthless heat. No matter that the sun hovered just above the treetops, it was still as hot as blazes.

As kids, she and Eve had roamed this three-hundred-acre farm from end to end. They had explored every nook and cranny. Their mother would pack them a basket with sandwiches and treats and water and repeat the same instructions every time they left the house.

Don t get separated. Watch for snakes. Drink your water. Get home before dark.

If Vera had ever taken the time to have children, she would never have allowed them to roam the woods this way. But her childhood had been a different time. A more innocent time. Snakes, bobcats, and coyotes had been their only concern. Everyone knew everyone else. There was no fear of being harmed by another human.

Funny how looking back, you realized the danger that was actually there all along.

Focus, Vee. Lurking around in the past would not keep her on her toes in the present.

The trees weren t as thick this far beyond the barn. The soil was rockier. A near impossible place to think of burying anything. But the cave-more of a nook beneath a rock ledge-allowed for stashing things that needed hiding. She and Eve had figured that out even as kids.

Technically a ground cave, their secret place-as she and her sister had referred to it-rose from the hillside like a heavy-lidded gaze. The opening reminded her of one of those eyebrow windows she d seen on historic homes in Buffalo, New York. For someone who hadn t bothered to buy a home of her own, she was fascinated by historic architecture. So much so that anytime she traveled, nearly always for work, she took whatever architectural tours were offered. The one in Buffalo remained solidly in her top five. She went there for a joint conference between select law enforcement members and the CIA. No one demonstrated more creativity with interrogation techniques than the CIA. Vera was one of only fifty-nine representatives from departments across the country who were chosen to attend. Not that all the specialized training was going to help her now.

She blinked away the thought. This was not the time for distraction. Or a pity party. Life was complicated sometimes, and she had no right to feel sorry for herself when at least she was alive. Even if her life was burning down and she couldn t seem to find a way to put out the fire, self-pity was for cowards.

The cave opening came into view, and she stalled. Vera had not set foot in this vicinity in more than two decades. And looking at it now, she felt startled by the idea that someone had accidentally discovered the place. You basically had to know where it was to see it, the way it was nestled in that copse of cedar trees. Additionally, the opening was almost completely concealed by a pile of boulders that had seemingly erupted from the ground right next to it.

As she studied the landscape, a cop exited the cave opening on his knees. He held a box, which likely contained whatever evidence he d collected. A tent, maybe eight by eight feet, had been erected a few feet from the opening to create a landing area for the remains and evidence being removed. The remains, as well as any other visible evidence, would be collected, bagged or boxed, and then removed from the site. Soil and other samples from inside would be taken for comparison purposes. Samples of essentially anything inside the cave that may have touched or affected the evidence in some manner would be gathered. A uniformed officer stood guard at the tent to ensure the collections were not compromised in any way.

Another uniform stood at the crime scene perimeter where the yellow tape sagged. He d already spotted Vera and made a call on his radio. Probably to Bent. Some part of her braced for the coming reunion. She almost rolled her eyes at the thought. Both she and Bent had gotten out of here twenty-odd years ago. And now here they were, about to come face to face again. Right back where it all started. Fate really had a twisted sense of irony.

But he d left first, and all these years later she hadn t forgiven him. Or forgotten him. Not that she would ever in a million years admit that last part.

So far none of the reporters gathered at the roadside appeared to have dared move closer to the actual scene, which was approximately three quarters of a mile from their location. Or maybe they had, and the observant officer in charge of maintaining the security of the perimeter had sent them packing. That would change in the coming days. Some would no doubt already be talking to friends and neighbors of the Boyett family. A good reporter did what he or she had to do to get the story. When they couldn t get usable or sufficient information elsewhere, they would come back to the source and attempt a connection.

Vera understood. When you needed information, you did whatever necessary to find it. You scratched around, pushed as hard as the law allowed (sometimes harder), and you didn t stop. Ever. Until you had what you needed.

Uneasiness crawled along her spine. She and Eve needed to talk about that aspect of this situation. It wasn t as if they had to figure out what to say in answer to official questions. They had told their stories in April twenty-two years ago when Sheree disappeared. Not in all these years had their stories changed. No reason for modification. No one had ever prompted a review of the case. Sheree hadn t had any close family to nudge law enforcement for closure. When she disappeared, Sheriff Fraley attempted to contact her family, but her parents had passed by then. Not that they would have shown up or cared anyway. Her overly strict parents had insisted their one and only child was dead to them by the time she was fourteen. Apparently, her wild ways had been too horrific for their sensibilities. They d moved back to Indiana and put Tennessee behind them for good. Who abandons a child? And Sheree had been a fourteen-year-old child when they cleared out.

In some ways, Vera supposed Sheree hadn t understood how to be a better person. All she d ever known was taking care of herself and avoiding the disappointment, shame, and abandonment of her heartless parents.

No sympathy, Vee.

Feeling sorry for the woman who had torn their lives apart was not going to help the situation either.

Another figure exited the opening of the cave.

Even without his trademark cowboy hat, Vera recognized him. His hair was long, brushed his shoulders, just as it had back in the day-before he d run off to join the army. He stood, dusted off his knees, and looked in her direction. Somehow his gaze landing on her-despite the distance-shook her in ways to which she should have grown immune ages ago. Unfortunately, she clearly had not. He began walking toward her, and she braced for whatever would come next.

When she was a teenager, his coming closer would have had her heart pounding and her pulse fluttering. Not unlike now, she realized, frustrated with herself. She dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand, wishing she d driven that damned UTV instead of working up a sweat on foot. Her hair was likely a mess. Her Memphis Police Department tee was sticking to her skin. Damn it.

He stopped three feet away, leaving the hanging yellow tape between them. Vee.

Some part of her had managed to block the memory of how his voice sounded. Deep, the slightest bit gravelly, but the real killer was the soulful aspect to the way he spoke. Slow, focused-as if each word was intended for only you in the most intimate way possible. His voice moved through you, tugged at you . . .

Vera reminded herself to breathe. Bent. She gave the slightest of nods. I was surprised to hear you re the sheriff now. When did you get back?

For the first time, she allowed her gaze to meet his. And he still had that way of looking not just at you but inside you. As if he could see all the way to the thoughts in your head and the hammering in your chest. She steeled herself a little more firmly-for all the good it would do.

Did my twenty in the army, he said. Decided to come on home and take my time figuring out what came next. Before I knew what was happening, Sheriff Fraley had talked me into this job. He inclined his head, studied her as if he expected to hear the rest of her story next. So here I am.

She nodded again-more of a jerk than an actual nod. I m glad you found your calling.

Oh hell. Inside she cringed. Could she have said anything more clich ? She blinked. Whatever. She and this man were practically strangers. There was absolutely no reason for her to be concerned as to what he thought of her. At least, not beyond any connection to the human remains found in that damned cave. Whatever brief connection they had shared a lifetime ago had vanished the moment he took off on her.

Your sisters called you about this -he hitched his head toward the opening into the hillside- I m guessing.

What was that question supposed to mean? Well, of course they called me. It s my understanding the remains of my stepmother were found.

We don t have an official ID just yet, but we have reason to believe it s her. Some of her personal belongings were found with the remains, including a driver s license. He studied Vera a moment, as if calculating what he might say next. Every ounce of willpower she possessed was required not to look away.

As I recall, he finally went on, you hated Sheree. You can see how I might be surprised that you d rush back home on her account. He shrugged, that gesture that only men who wanted to prove they gave not one shit could make. What s it been-two or three years-since you were here?

Obviously, he was trying to fire her up. You re right. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. As a teenager I truly despised Sheree for taking our mama s place too soon. For stealing all our daddy s attention. And I probably wished her dead more than once. She flashed a fake smile. And I ll be the first one to admit that I was extremely happy when she disappeared. Good riddance. Is that what you wanted to hear?

He winced, or maybe it was just some sort of tic, then glanced toward the uniform standing guard at the tent a few yards away. Jesus Christ, Vee, that s something you don t need to repeat to me or to anyone else.

It s true, she said, not backing down. But I was a kid, and I was hurt by the loss of my mama. Sometimes you say and do stupid things when you re emotionally ravaged by consecutive life-altering events.

He looked away.

She resisted the temptation to smile. Good. Now he understood how it felt to have the past shoved into his face. But that s the past. I m here about what s happening now.

His gaze connected with hers once more. The thumping in her chest hitched. Damn it. After all this time she shouldn t react to the man on such a fundamental level. Ridiculous.

West Jennings, Bent explained. Wesley s son. You may or may not know that Wesley took over his family s farm a few years back. His younger son and one of his friends from school, Matt Thompson, were roaming the woods and came upon the cave and what was inside.

Eve told me, she said, her throat suddenly dry for reasons that had nothing to do with the man watching her entirely too closely.

You or Eve ever happen upon this? Again, he hitched his head toward the opening, from which one of his deputies or an evidence tech exited just then. It s mostly hidden. I can understand if you didn t.

Her first instinct was to say no. But explaining how they d discovered a good hiding place as kids and then never came back to it after they were older might make more sense. In addition, it would leave room for any potential evidence they may have left behind. Kids loved cool places, particularly those their parents might not know about.

You two didn t roam around out here the way West and Matt do? He rephrased the question as if he had decided her lack of an immediate response meant she didn t understand what he d asked. Wesley says his son and his friends are in the woods all the time.

Well, you know how boys are. Always looking for a way to get into trouble. But the answer to your initial question is yes. Eve and I found this place as kids. We used to play here quite often, but eventually we lost interest, so it s been a really long time since we were in there.

His gaze narrowed ever so slightly. The first part of her answer had hit home. Not particularly nice of her to make this uncomfortable for him, but some things just had to be said. The benefit was that if she kept him off his game, he was far less likely to do his best. There were things he could not know.

The simple fact in this whole mess was that there were some things you could never tell anyone. Not for love or money or anything else. You just could never tell.

Vera would not feel guilty about trying to protect her sister and herself from this nightmare. Telling the whole truth wouldn t fix any of this. Sheree was dead. Had she deserved to die? Of course not. Would telling the truth make Luna feel any better? No. There was nothing to do except ride this out and deal with whatever came up as best they could.

No one would be better off with the real story.

Vera refused to analyze the conclusion. It would be like turning over the same rock repeatedly and hoping to find something different beneath it each time. It was what it was.

You think your father knew about this place?

My father? The question startled her. Otherwise she would have responded with a far more direct and incontestable reply rather than the one her brain spit out without thought. She steadied herself. Daddy worked hard. He had two kids and a wife who was very ill. The idea that he was roaming around these woods looking for caves is a little silly, if you really think about it.

Three kids, he countered.

Obviously if he was busy with Eve and me, she shot back, he was even busier when Luna came along. Particularly since Sheree hadn t possessed the slightest maternal instinct.

That he flustered her so easily only made her more disconcerted. And angry.

A man likes to keep an eye on his property, Bent pressed. You sure he hadn t run upon West messing around out here? Before his illness took over?

Had West said as much? Vera ignored the thought. He certainly never mentioned anything about it if he did. She folded her arms over her chest. What is this? Are you suggesting my daddy had something to do with what happened to Sheree?

I m not suggesting anything, Bent assured her. I m only attempting to determine if anyone in the family was aware of the cave.

A thought occurred to Vera. Maybe Sheree found it. She may have been meeting someone here and things went wrong.

Did Vera feel guilty about throwing her stepmother under the bus? No way. Sheree had done all within her power to make Vera and Eve miserable. To suck everything-his attention, his money-from their father. No way did Vera feel even the slightest guilt for making a negative statement about her.

Could be, Bent agreed.

When can I have a look around in there? I m sure you re aware I m well qualified to assess a crime scene. More so, I would imagine, not to brag, than anyone in there right now. She was bragging . . . sort of. But it wasn t to show off. It was to accomplish her goal.

His lips-the lips she had loved to kiss as a young, naive girl-quirked with the urge to smile. Yes, I m well aware of your qualifications, Vee. But I can t let you in there.

It had been worth a try.

Because I m a suspect? She dared him with her eyes. Are you actually going there?

I didn t say you were a suspect. You know the rules.

Yes, she did, but you never got to bend them unless you tried. Then I ll expect you to keep me well informed.

With that, she showed him her back and started toward the house. If he refused to permit her to see the crime scene, there was little else she could do here. Other than sweat in this damned humidity and suffer powerful flashbacks of all those times she found herself tangled up with him.

She really had been naive.

Even now she couldn t help wondering if he remembered those days and weeks as graphically as she did. She rolled her eyes. Idiot.

More importantly, she loved that she was the one walking away from him right now. She would bet just about anything that he was watching, still wondering what he should have said differently to keep things on a friendlier level.

No matter how badly she wanted to appease the ridiculous curiosity expanding inside her, she did not allow herself to look back. Not when she could feel his gaze burning a hole in her back. Oh, he remembered, she decided. A triumphant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. In fact, she doubted enough alcohol existed to erase those memories.

The man she had known back then was more mature now, obviously. Less spontaneous, probably. Less self-destructive, maybe. That part was hard to say just yet.

Sadly, if anything, he was far more physically attractive. No doubt wiser.

Bent had always been smart. She had heard her daddy say more than once that he could have done anything he wanted with his life if he hadn t loved the bottle so much. Even back then, Bent had been particularly observant as well . . . but was he perceptive enough to know Vera was lying?

She could only hope that was not the case.