43

Higdon Residence

Mulberry Avenue, Fayetteville, 9:30 a.m.

Vera parked near the judge s garage next to another vehicle. Not the black SUV that had run her off the road, but a sedan. Newer high-end vehicle. Maybe one belonging to his wife.

Or an attorney.

Vera scoffed. She could see him having an attorney present for this meeting. Bastard. Then why not just do this with the sheriff present as well. She got it. He thought he could intimidate her without Bent around and avoid the official route altogether.

Better men had tried.

She climbed out of her daddy s truck and closed the door. To her surprise the old Chevy had started right up. Eve or Luna must have driven it from time to time. The stick shift pattern had come back to her before she d gotten out of the driveway. Just like riding a bicycle. Because the truck had been stored in the shed out back, she d been able to cut down by the barn and leave without the deputy assigned to watch the house knowing.

Bent would be pissed, but this was something she had to do.

Deep breath. She headed toward the walkway. A row of ornamental grass marched along both sides of the cobblestone leading the way to the broad porch. Neatly manicured shrubs flanked the foundation. Not much that bloomed, just varying sizes of evergreen plants. Less maintenance, she supposed.

She climbed the steps. Glanced around, then back toward Mulberry Avenue. No traffic. No pedestrians. Most folks were in church at this hour on a Sunday morning. Her instincts stirred, had the hair on the back of her neck rising. She passed an eye over the enormous front yard once more . . . then the driveway across the street. A small, white Victorian-style house was evidently being renovated. A dumpster sat in the driveway. Sawhorses stood on the porch. A board with a permit posted on it had been nailed to a post. Her attention settled lastly on the one out-of-place element-an old Mustang parked by the dumpster. Same faded, rusty red as the one that had visited her this morning.

Was Brooks watching her?

She scanned the block, left to right and back, without spotting a soul. If Brooks was close by, he was hiding. Maybe watching from the narrow front window on the second floor of that reno.

Vera dismissed the worry for now and headed to the judge s front door. As she lifted her hand to ring the bell, she hesitated. The front door was ajar.

Okay, now this was one of those moments when she wished she had her service weapon, but she d left it in her lockbox in Memphis, along with her official credentials, when she d rushed home.

The idea that this could be some sort of setup crossed her mind. Uneasiness started another walk up her spine. She glanced across the street once more. Surveyed the expansive yard.

All clear.

She took a breath and turned back to the door. Preston had sent a text to her phone. He had to know that if something happened to her, phone records would be subpoenaed and his text messages would be found.

He was a prestigious judge after all.

Stop stalling. Go in, or call Bent.

Maybe he d left the door open to avoid having to get up and answer.

Yeah, right. She had a bad feeling about this. What the hell? No turning back now. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and held it tight. Then she braced for trouble, pushed the door open wider, and stepped inside. Preston?

The house was quiet. Way too quiet for comfort.

She took another step. Then another. Preston? I m here.

The whisper of a rubber sole against hardwood sounded a split second before a sudden impact from behind flung her forward . . . pain shattered her skull.

The phone flew out of her hand.

The cool hardwood floor slapped her in the face.

Then everything went black.

Vera tried to open her eyes.

Agony exploded in her brain.

Had she been in another accident? The memory of the big black SUV barreling down on her made her flinch.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Not in her SUV.

She looked around as best she could without moving her aching head. Dark. She tried to reach out but couldn t move her hands. Tied behind her.

Her head throbbed worse than after the accident . . . her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. There was something in her mouth . . . like a ball of cotton or cloth.

A gag.

Shit.

Vera pushed away the panic that attempted to rise and focused harder on the situation. Moving. She was moving. She was in a near-fetal position with her hands behind her back. She attempted to stretch one leg out, barely moved a few inches before she hit something. Small space. Cramped.

A big bounce rocked her forward, then back. Pain sheared through her skull. Light gleamed in the darkness.

Car. She was in a trunk. The brake lights had lit up for a moment. But they were moving again now. The car must have slowed after the bump and then turned.

She listened for any sound . . . a voice, a radio. But there was nothing but the growl of the engine.

The forward movement slowed.

She smelled smoke . . . no, cigarettes, and something else . . . stale beer maybe.

The car stopped, and she rocked again. More of that pain pierced her, and the urge to vomit rushed into her throat. She struggled to swallow it back.

A car door slammed with a whine. Then another softer thud close by but not from this car.

Two cars with doors closing . . . two people .

Her heart started to pound. She rubbed her bound hands over her hips. Her phone wasn t in her back pocket.

Damn. They d taken it.

What do we do now?

The voice made her jump. Female. Vera listened intently. Her head was really messed up, but the woman sounded as if she were right outside the trunk. Too muffled for her to determine if this was someone familiar or a stranger.

We get her inside.

Another voice . . . louder. Florence . . . Florence Higdon.

Vera made a face. Maybe she was mistaken . . . why would-

The trunk lid opened.

Light scorched Vera s eyes. She squeezed them shut.

She s awake.

The other voice . . . softer.

Beatrice.

Vera forced her eyes open. Ignored the glare of light.

Beatrice stared down at her . . . her face pale . . . worried.

What the hell was happening here? Vera s pulse sped up, and her mind grew more alert.

We have to get her inside, Florence barked. Help me.

The two reached into the trunk and grabbed Vera and started to pull her upward.

Her skull exploded with more of that fiery torture. She winced at the agony. Wrestled with the urge to fight them.

She needed out of this trunk. Relax. Let them get you out.

Vera s feet hit the ground. Her knees buckled. Vomit rushed into her throat, and she gagged. Couldn t stop it.

The hot burn of the bile rushed into her nose. She couldn t breathe. Tried to cough. Doubled over in pain.

Oh God, she s choking. Beatrice. We have to help her.

Fingers clawed at her lips. Vera forced her mouth open wider.

Air. She needed air. Her heart pounded harder and harder. Her lungs seized.

There s no time, Florence shouted. We have to get her inside.

Need. To. Breathe.

Somehow Beatrice s fingers caught the cloth and yanked it out of Vera s mouth.

Vomit spewed from her throat. She gasped for air, then she spit and tried to blow the bile from her nose.

More air. She fought for another breath.

Florence yanked at her. Walk, she ordered.

Beatrice took hold of Vera again and helped Florence half walk, half drag her forward.

Vera tried to take in the surroundings. Dilapidated mobile home. Grown up yard. Junked car sitting to one side.

She knew this place. Looked just like the description of the dump where Pete Brooks lived.

She turned her head further to the right.

SUV. Black.

Another burst of adrenaline had her straightening, her gaze sharpening.

Maybe not the one that ran her off the road but one like it. Seemed a bit of a coincidence if this was where Brooks lived.

Vera didn t believe in coincidences.

Fury tightened her jaw.

She tried to twist around. Spotted the rusty Mustang-trunk lid up-and another, newer sedan, before Florence yanked her back around. She recognized the second vehicle. She d parked next to it at the judge s house.

It was a setup. Son of a-

Step up, Florence demanded.

Vera concentrated on climbing the four steps that led onto the rickety deck. Three steps later they were at the front door.

The pain and anger twisted inside Vera. The sun was beating down on her head. She needed to throw up again. But first she had to get out of this insane situation.

Beatrice turned loose of Vera s arm and opened the door. Florence pushed her inside. She stumbled forward and landed on her knees. The crash landing had pain bursting in her skull.

When the world stopped spinning and the pain lessened enough, Vera s gaze settled on what was right in front of her.

Pete Brooks.

He lay flat on his back on the matted blue-and-green shag carpet. Eyes closed. The way his arms were tucked under him, his hands appeared to be secured behind his back. No visible injuries. Was he dead?

Holy shit.

What did you do? Vera dared to move her head so that she could glare at Beatrice. Did you kill him?

Get her up, Florence ordered.

Beatrice grasped Vera s right arm once more and helped her to her feet.

Brooks stirred.

Vera stared at him. His chest rose, then fell. He wasn t dead. Relief flooded her chest. Then she considered what she knew about him and decided maybe she should be worried instead of relieved.

He s waking up, Florence said. We don t have much time. We have to do this now.

Do what? Not that it wasn t perfectly clear what they had planned, but Vera intended to make these two crazy old ladies say it out loud. She resisted the urge to shake her head. This was like something out of a bizarre comedy, with diabolical seniors playing thugs. Or in this case, killers.

But this was no movie . . . these women had killed before. If there had been any doubt in Vera s mind about that, it was gone now.

Florence removed the backpack she wore and reached inside. When she drew her hand out, she held a revolver. That was when Vera noticed the woman was wearing gloves. Vera wasn t surprised. Apparently Florence had learned a few tricks since the last time she committed murder.

We have to do it now, she said to Beatrice. Otherwise, we ll run out of time.

Beatrice nodded her understanding.

Florence aimed the gun-looked like a .38-at Vera. Move her into position.

Vera steeled herself even as her heart pounded in time with the throb in her skull. Beatrice took hold of her again and ushered her toward Brooks.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Vera stalled, digging her heels into that nasty vintage shag carpet. What exactly are you doing here?

I m sorry, Vee, Beatrice said. You shouldn t have come back. You should have left it alone.

Vera took a breath. Ordered her heart to slow as she twisted toward her captors. Where s Preston? she demanded. And Dr. Higdon? Do they know what you re doing? While she had her back turned away from the two, she tugged at the rope holding her wrists together. Answer me! she shouted.

Beatrice jumped. Florence only glared at her.

If the spinning in her head would slow down and Vera could work her hands loose, she might just be able to stop this fiasco.

Charles is at church, Florence said, lifting her chin arrogantly. He s covering for Bea and me. She s at home with Walt since he isn t feeling well, and I have a stomach bug.

Vera s chest ached with disappointment. Is he part of this too? she demanded of Beatrice. Does he even know what you re doing?

Beatrice s lips trembled, and she looked away.

Hope pushed past the disappointment. Beatrice was still the weak link.

The man on the floor grunted. Vera stared down at him. He flinched. But his eyes remained closed.

What d you do? Drug him? A librarian and a schoolteacher. Jesus Christ.

Shut up! Florence grabbed her. She glared at her partner in crime. Help me get her into position.

Beatrice obliged, and the two of them forced Vera over to where Brooks lay.

Put one foot on either side of him, Florence ordered. Your back facing his head.

No way. Vera wasn t cooperating.

Florence pushed her. She almost fell over Brooks, forcing her to throw out her right leg to stop the fall. She ended up standing astraddle of him just as they wanted. Fury erupted in Vera s veins. She was going to kick Florence Higdon s ass-no matter that she was an old lady-just as soon as she got her hands loose.

Hold her still, Florence snapped.

Beatrice held onto Vera while Florence walked around behind her. She jammed the gun into Vera s hands and attempted to force her fingers around the grip.

Oh hell no, Vera growled, fighting the woman s efforts.

She wanted Vera s prints on the weapon that killed Brooks-after his visit this morning. Convenient. Had he not realized he was being set up?

Vera needed to buy time.

Just tell me why. Vera kept tugging her hands from Florence while she stared at Beatrice. Is it because one or both of you killed Latesha and Trina and hid them in our cave?

I told you she would figure it out, Florence growled, her frustration mounting.

Beatrice looked away.

It s because of that damned photograph, isn t it? Florence demanded, forgetting her hands for a moment and getting in Vera s face. You found it, didn t you? That nosy PI from Huntsville probably showed you a picture of those whores, and you put the two together.

And I know the two of you killed them, Vera accused, and dragged my mama into this.

Evelyn, Beatrice said with a shake of her head, had nothing to do with this. She just helped us hide the first body because we were her friends.

Until we weren t, Florence snarled. She wouldn t help us that last time. Wouldn t even speak to us anymore. But she got hers, didn t she?

Vera barely restrained the urge to charge the woman. Instead, she twisted her hands harder in an effort to loosen the rope. She could feel the nylon stretching. Any second now her hands would be free. Then, she would take care of this, by God. Even if she died trying.

She turned to Beatrice again. Spotted the flash of sympathy in the former schoolteacher s eyes. You have a chance to make this right.

Beatrice looked away again. Her trademark move.

No more wasting time, Florence snapped. We are on a deadline here. We have to finish this before church is over and this dumbass on the floor wakes up.

Vera racked her brain for something more to say or do. All you ve done is set your son up to take the fall, she warned Florence. He was the one who lured me to his house with those text messages. I ve already told Bent he was the intruder who broke into our house-his damned aftershave gave him away.

Florence cackled. Do you really think I m that stupid? That s why Brooks has Preston s phone and Preston is at home tied up in his wine cellar. Oh, and the aftershave, it s in the bathroom just down the hall. Brooks has a reputation for petty theft.

Vera shifted gears, looked to Beatrice again. What s going to happen to Walt when you go to prison? Or is he going to prison too?

Beatrice refused to look at her.

Vera shook her head. Ignored the scream in her skull. For the first time in my life, I m glad my mother is dead so she doesn t have to know what the women she trusted are doing to her daughter.

Just shut up! Florence reached for Vera s hands once more.

Vera wrenched her wrists harder. Florence grabbed at her right hand. The rope fell slack.

Vera twisted and plowed her shoulder into Florence. The woman toppled onto the floor. Vera hit the shag carpet face first.

The gun discharged.

Vera rolled and sprang up onto all fours and then to her feet. She swayed a little.

Brooks was rocking side to side and spewing curses.

Florence screamed and rushed toward Vera, the gun clasped in both hands.

No. Beatrice stepped in front of Vera.

Florence jerked to a stop. Get out of my way, or I ll shoot you too!

I can t let you do this, Beatrice argued. This is not her fault.

Florence shoved her lifelong friend out of the way. It s too late to back out now.

Vera slugged the woman before she could level her aim once more. She fell backward over Brooks and hit the floor flat on her back. The weapon flew from her hand.

Brooks rolled and flopped to get the woman off him, then struggled to his knees. He swayed drunkenly. What the . . . hell?

Vera scrambled for the gun. Grabbed it and pushed herself to her feet, adopted a firing stance. Call 911, Beatrice, she ordered, before I really do have to shoot someone.

Beatrice did as she was told.

You, Vera said to Brooks. Sit down, and don t move.

They fucking drugged me, he roared. I did what they said by coming to your house this morning, and then instead of paying me, they drugged me. His face contorted with rage mostly directed at Florence, who was rocking and moaning on the floor. I m going to kill that bitch.

I d like to myself. Vera exhaled a weary breath. But we can t. She s going to rot in prison.

Vera steadied herself and hoped like hell help got here fast. The adrenaline was fading fast, and she wasn t at all sure how much longer she could remain standing.

Lincoln Medical Center

Fayetteville, 4:50 p.m.

Vera was fighting mad by the time Bent walked into her hospital room.

Eve and Luna had been trying to calm her since they arrived. The two had stayed with her through all the tests and scans. This time she had a serious concussion, and the doctor had already warned that she would not be leaving the hospital today.

The only upside was that the meds had toned down the pain. Even her fist where she d slugged Florence wasn t hurting anymore. Vera was fairly confident the lethargy was the primary reason she hadn t stormed out of this room already.

We ll . . . ah, Eve said, looking from Vera to Bent, give you guys a few minutes. She jerked her head for Luna to follow her.

Can we bring you something when we come back? Luna asked, worry lining her face.

No. Vera forced a smile. I m fine.

When the door closed behind the two, she glared at Bent. The man was smart. He d stayed at the foot of her bed-out of reach.

I am so angry with you, Vera said, her speech a little thick. Damn it.

He nodded. I know. But I m here now, and I ll tell you everything.

She had wanted to be there to observe the questioning while those two crazy women were interviewed. She had wanted to hear what Brooks had to say. Not to mention how badly she d wanted to be there when Charles Higdon got his. Damn it!

But Bent had sent her to the hospital strapped to a damned gurney.

You tricked me, she said, even angrier now than she was four hours ago. You told me if I d just let the paramedics have a look at me, you d ensure I was with you for everything.

He stared at the floor.

Instead, they strapped me on that gurney and brought me here.

He finally met her gaze. If it makes you feel better, when you re well enough, you can kick my ass the way you did Mrs. Higdon s.

She might have laughed if she hadn t been so pissed off. Just tell me what happened, and don t leave anything out.

Bent had already been at her house looking for her when the 911 call came in. He d gotten out of his meeting a few minutes early and seen the text message with the photo.

What about Preston? she said, not waiting for him to begin. Whatever he said, he was part of this too.

Bent nodded. He was tied up in the wine cellar, just like you said. And he, of course, insists he had no clue what was going on other than Brooks attacked him. When we pressed the issue, he lawyered up.

Vera felt her face going red with another blast of outrage.

Don t worry, Bent assured her. Brooks told us everything-including Preston s part. Beatrice confirmed his story.

Vera closed her eyes a second to make the room stop spinning. You re giving me the abridged version. How about filling in some of the finer details.

Bent dared to move around to the side of the bed. According to Beatrice, Preston was the intruder-just like you said. Although his bottle of expensive aftershave was stashed in Brooks s bathroom.

Florence bragged about having thought of that. Vera wondered how no one had seen the crazy in that woman.

The black SUV parked at the Brooks s place belongs to Preston s assistant. We brought her in, and she confessed immediately to having run you off the road. Preston talked her into it.

Vera decided she couldn t stand waiting for the crescendo. Florence killed Latesha and Trina, didn t she?

Yes. She s trying to get some sort of deal-as is her husband. But Beatrice has already rolled on both of them.

The tremendous rush of relief combined with the meds had Vera relaxing maybe a little too much. Charles was the sugar daddy. I knew it. Well, at least she d wanted it to be him.

It started out that way, Bent said, but Preston and Latesha got involved. Beatrice said Florence never cared what Charles did as long as no one in town found out. But she was terrified Preston would screw up his life-get kicked out of Harvard . . . ruin his reputation.

Beatrice didn t kill anyone, right? Vera hadn t believed her capable of murder. But how had such an intelligent woman allowed such an evil one to drag her into this mess?

No, but she feels responsible. Apparently she and Preston had a thing during his high school years. When he got involved with Latesha, Beatrice got jealous. She s the one who told Florence. Got her all fired up about how Preston would be ruined if the girl got pregnant or folks found out. Bent shook his head. Because of that, she feels responsible for what happened. In the end, it didn t matter, because Preston was no longer interested in an older woman. It was all for nothing. And two young women lost their lives.

That s why she went along, Vera realized. She needed to make sure no one ever found out about her affair. The reality went to show that even good people would do almost anything to protect their secrets. Just like Brooks said.

She didn t want anyone, especially Walt, to find out. Bent shook his head.

Vera felt bad for Walt. But she felt utterly sick at what those two had dragged her mother into. They used my mother to help them hide the bodies.

Bent s expression told her how sick the idea made him as well. That s something else Beatrice regrets. She said your mother wouldn t talk to them anymore after what they did. She kept their secret, but she wouldn t have anything to do with them.

Vera realized then that her mother had shared this with her father, which explained the seemingly incriminating things he had said the other day.

Vera forced the painful thoughts away. Did Brooks tell you that, when he visited me this morning, he basically confessed to killing Rimmey?

In a roundabout way, Bent confirmed. He said they fought but that the guy was alive when he left him.

Vera rolled her eyes. The move sparked a pain in her head. I guess a jury will have to decide that one.

Maybe not, Bent countered. Like the Higdons, he wants a deal. He says he knows who killed Sheree and he ll give up the name for the right options.

Vera s heart almost stumbled. Did he give any clue who that person was?

He says it was Rimmey and that he can prove it-as I said, if the right deal is offered.

Vera rode out the wave of shock. You believe him?

Bent shrugged. It makes sense.

Not exactly an answer, but Vera would take it.

Looks like you solved a major part of your case, Sheriff. God, she was tired.

Yeah. He grinned. Your favorite reporter is begging for an exclusive.

Vera s gaze narrowed on him. Do it and I will never speak to you again.

He held up his hands. Don t worry. I already told her no.

Good. Vera put her hand on his, where it rested on the bed rail. Thank you.

He chuckled. For what? You did all the work. I should be thanking you.

Thank you for being here. Vera blinked to hold back the emotion rising in her eyes. Along with the exhaustion, her emotions were getting the better of her. This would have been hard-maybe impossible-without you.

He reached out, traced her cheek, with its rug burn from that nasty shag carpet. I m here to stay, Vee. I m not going anywhere.

Vera smiled. I m glad.

She wanted to say more, but the door opened, and her sisters arrived with balloons and flowers. Luna was all smiles and wanting to celebrate, while Eve looked uncomfortable. So different, her sisters. But she loved them both so much.

Vera watched as they prodded Bent for the lowdown on all that happened. She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion tugging at her have its way.

It was all good now . . . nothing else to worry about.

Mostly.