6

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 8:00 p.m.

We had to come. The older woman, Florence Higdon, thrust the covered casserole dish she held at Vera. It s the least we can do, she assured her with all the humility a woman who possessed none might fake.

Vera managed a smile. Thank you. Really, you shouldn t have gone to so much trouble.

Pop it in the microwave for a minute before serving, Beatrice Fraley chimed in. She stood in the doorway next to Higdon, her lifelong friend.

Vera s face hurt from holding the smile in place. I ll remember that. Thank you as well, Mrs. Fraley.

You should call me Beatrice, Vee. She smiled, the expression weary, maybe a little sad.

Vera gave her a nod. Beatrice.

It s an old family recipe, Florence put in. Trust me, y all will love it.

If she had a million dollars, Vera would bet every cent of it that Beatrice-retired fifth-grade teacher and wife of the now-retired sheriff-had prepared the offering. These two and Vera s mother had been friends back in the day, and her mother always said that Florence loved to gossip and to take credit for what others did, while Beatrice loved to teach and to try new recipes.

I m sure we will, Vera agreed.

We re anxious to see Luna, Florence said. I hope she s holding up all right.

Now Vera was confused. Florence Higdon, in addition to being the wife of the longtime Lincoln County medical examiner, Dr. Charles Higdon, was the director of the library-Luna s soon-to-retire boss.

Didn t you see her at the library today? Vera was under the impression Luna had gone to work this morning.

Oh no. I had the day off, Florence explained with a shake of her head so adamant that her towering southern-belle hairdo moved, despite the half a bottle of hair spray that had no doubt been showered upon it. I ve been worried sick since Charles told me what they d found.

I m afraid Luna isn t here. Vera mentally crossed her fingers. No need for them to linger in light of that news. She s out with Jerome and his family tonight. But I ll let her know you came by.

Florence s face lit with renewed enthusiasm. We won t worry about Luna then. We ll just come in and visit with you and Eve for a spell. Why, I haven t seen you in ages, Vera Mae.

Where are my manners? Vera backed up and allowed the ladies inside. She felt ill with the idea of how the next half hour-or God forbid, hour-would go. But then she shouldn t be surprised. Florence would be fishing for juicy tidbits to pass along to her grapevine. The woman hadn t been called the Radio her whole adult life for nothing.

We won t stay long, Beatrice promised, while Florence hurried on down the hall.

It s always a pleasure to see you, Vera assured her former teacher. Then, to include her friend, she amended, y all.

Vera followed the two and wished that Eve hadn t gone to her room for her cell phone charger. If she realized they had company, she would stay hidden until the two were gone.

Just Vera s luck.

Oddly, Florence had bypassed the living room and stationed herself in the library. At the door, Vera paused. I ll just put this in the kitchen.

Florence waved her permission without a glance in Vera s direction. She was too busy surveying the room. Beatrice had perched on the edge of a chair, hands braced on the purse in her lap.

All Vera wanted was for this day to end. She left the casserole on the table and used the phone on the wall to call Eve s cell. Of course it went to voicemail, damn it. You better get down here and rescue me. Then she hung up, took a breath, and returned to the library.

For the next fifteen minutes Florence effused about poor Luna. Blessed her poor little heart at least a dozen times. She did this even as she slowly perused the shelves around the room. Beatrice nodded her agreement with all that poured out of her friend. The way the two took their cues from each other was like watching a comedy act, only nothing about it was funny.

But you re here now, Vera, Beatrice threw in. Luna will be fine. I m certain you ll take care of everything just as you always have.

I ll certainly do my best, Vera promised with a glance toward the hall. Still no sign of Eve.

What do you make of all this? Florence exclaimed with palpable dismay, finally settling in a chair. I mean, how could this happen right under our noses and no one figure it out?

Now Vera felt sorry for Beatrice. Since her husband had been the sheriff at the time of Sheree s disappearance, the jab hit home. Her crestfallen expression said as much.

We know Sheriff Fraley did everything possible to learn what happened to Sheree, Vera said. He was the finest sheriff this county ever had.

The former teacher s face showed her appreciation. He was and still is a good man.

Well of course, Florence agreed. No blame lies with Walt. He did all he could.

Somehow the woman s tone transformed the validation into an insult, but Beatrice let it pass.

Were you girls able to relay this awful news to your father in a way he could understand? Florence asked, shifting gears again. The woman hopped around from subject to subject like a rabbit on crack.

We told him, but I m not sure he understood what we were saying.

It s such a sad situation when we lose someone to that terrible disease, Beatrice put in.

It really is, Vera agreed.

I ve always wondered, Florence began, if he knew more than he was telling. Her eyebrows reared up her forehead. Not to say he was guilty of any wrongdoing, but it s so strange that he had no idea about what happened to her. She was his wife after all.

Vera tightened her jaw to prevent the sort of response that would only result in gossip fodder.

Walt always thought that Garth Rimmey character had something to do with her leaving, Beatrice offered. That man was a pure devil. She turned her full attention to Vera. We were concerned for your father after he and Sheree married. Walt worried that Rimmey might try and hurt Vernon or one of you girls to get back at him for marrying his longtime girlfriend.

Then he ended up dead too, Florence said in a suspicious tone. Just a few days after Sheree disappeared. Someone beat him to death with a baseball bat. Seemed to me that would have been relevant to her disappearance somehow.

Walt looked into any sort of connection, Beatrice countered. He found none.

You tell her.

As for Garth Rimmey, Vera hadn t known him, not really. She d heard the rumors about him, and she d seen him around. He d certainly looked mean enough, but that was the extent of her knowledge of the man. Still, the idea that Rimmey had been so close to Sheree . . . that he may have been looking for her after she disappeared unsettled Vera more than a little.

Had he come to their house looking for Sheree? Had he been watching them?

He was dead . . . probably didn t matter.

Unless he d voiced whatever suspicions he had to a friend. Had he known about the cave?

Vera forced the new worry away.

I was thinking, Florence went on, with all your training, Vera, I m sure you have ideas on what you believe happened.

I was a kid, Vera countered. A teenager. I had no clue. I assumed she left. She turned her hands up. Looking back, based on her reputation, anyone would have thought as much.

That s right, Florence continued with a slow nod. You were in high school. A big smile spread across her face. You and my Preston were in school together. You know he s a judge now. He s been nominated for a position on the Tennessee Supreme Court. We re all so proud of him.

Congratulations, Vera said, forcing a big smile.

Preston was three or four years older than her, and back in high school, he d been a bully. Not the type who beat up other kids. His preferred weapons were insulting words and a sharp sense of superiority. Then again, who was surprised, considering his parents had written the book on self-importance.

Florence hummed a note of disappointment. I would have thought you d formed some sort of impression.

Obviously the woman couldn t bear not having the skinny on everything, including Vera s thoughts. The truth about what really happened to Sheree was a mystery, and it was killing her. It wasn t doing a lot for Vera s mental health either.

Vera s smile lapsed. She couldn t keep that face on a second longer. I m afraid I haven t had much time to consider alternative scenarios regarding this shocking discovery. I arrived home only a few hours ago.

You re right. Beatrice stood. We should go. My goodness, you ve barely shaken the dust off from your travels. She glanced down at her friend before looking to Vera once more. We ll pop in again when you ve caught your breath.

Vera was on her feet in a heartbeat. She pushed that fake smile back into place and lied, I look forward to it.

Florence reluctantly rose from the sofa. She studied Vera a moment. Mercy, you look so much like your mama.

Vera managed a real smile this time. Thank you. I consider that a great compliment.

You should, Florence said. There was no one else like your mama.

With that, she followed the route her friend had taken, all the while babbling on about needing more time to catch up. Vera thanked them again for the casserole. Once they were gone, she closed the door and collapsed against it.

Eve came down the stairs. They gone?

Vera glared at her. Thanks a lot.

Her sister shrugged. Admit it, you would have done the same thing.

Vera rolled her eyes. Maybe. She laughed then. Florence Higdon hasn t changed one little bit. How on earth does that woman keep her hair so high? It s like a cone-shaped tower-like the one at the Twistee Treat shops we stopped at for ice cream when we went to the beach in Florida.

Before.

Eve laughed, and for a moment they were lost to the memories together. The seemingly endless hours in the car to get to Florida and then the ice-cream-swirl-topped buildings where they savored the best cones of the summer.

Good times, Eve said, her voice distant. As for the hair, she added, you know the old saying. The higher the hair, the closer to Jesus.

Vera rolled her eyes. Neither she nor Eve had ever been big-hair types. Maybe that s where we went wrong. We hardly went to church anymore after Mama died. They were certainly in a mess-one of biblical proportions.

Eve scoffed. I don t think even Jesus could get us out of this one.

Sadly, Eve was right. They were in trouble here, and all the hard-earned experience and knowledge of fifteen years in the criminal justice system wasn t going to fix it.

Their only hope was plausible deniability.