7

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 11:15 p.m.

Vera had never liked the silence.

She opened her eyes. Blinked against the darkness. Stared at the ceiling.

Everyone else was likely asleep. Luna had come home just before ten and gone to bed. Her mood hadn t improved much, but at least she was no longer in tears. Eve went to bed before Vera as well. She insisted she needed an early start at the funeral home in the morning.

Since then, Vera had walked the floors. She did some googling, studiously bypassing anything with her name in the lede. She d avoided the radio and television since leaving Memphis. But past experience with this sort of thing provided plenty of fuel for her imagination.

Oddly enough, the shit show in Memphis now had serious competition for top priority.

Eventually, she forced herself to climb into bed. Then she had tossed and turned.

She threw back the covers and sat up, dropped her feet to the floor. The hardwood felt cool under her bare toes. She pushed her hair back from her face, swiped at her damp forehead with her arm. The damned floor was about the only thing around here that felt cool. Was the air-conditioning broken? She hadn t stopped sweating since she arrived. She stood. Glanced around the room that had been hers as a kid. The posters of her favorite rock bands and celebrity crushes still lined the walls. The same daisy-covered quilt her grandmother had made when Vera was twelve lay on the bed.

If she looked closely enough, she d find the scratches in the white paint of the old iron headboard where she d added her name when she was ten. The books she had loved as a teenager lined the shelves next to the desk her mother had purchased from a tag sale and painted a pale green to match the leaves on the quilt.

Vera dragged her fingers across the top of the desk, memories tugging at her emotions. Life had been good then . . . before . Full of hope and possibility. All had gone to hell after her mother died and hadn t been right again until Vera was far away from here and in college. For a long while she d come back once or twice a year. Then it was just once a year . . . even less, more recently. Work was always her excuse. Of course she and her sisters had spoken by phone regularly. One or the other would usually hand the phone to their father for a quick hello. But coming back just wasn t something Vera had wanted to deal with any more often than absolutely necessary.

She thought of her father now, lying in that bed at Hillside, not even knowing his own name most of the time. Maybe she d been selfish to avoid him all those years. But he d had Luna. She d stayed home even while attending college.

If family commitment determined a person s afterlife reward, Vera was screwed.

She wandered to the window. Coming back forced her to acknowledge what she wanted to pretend away. Loss and pain and terrible secrets.

How did Eve sleep in this damned house?

The memories . . . they haunted Vera even as far away as Memphis. Her intent focus on work had been her only means of escape. Maybe that explained her lack of a personal life.

Enough. Definitely not going there.

The truth was, she hadn t set out to be in law enforcement. Maybe it was some sort of subconscious atonement . . . or just to demonstrate she could. Being a cop proved she was good, didn t it? In some little way maybe it made up for past mistakes.

Hadn t she been doing that-trying to prove something-her whole life? At least in the after part. Like when her mother died and then her father up and married a younger woman, Vera had gone out and gotten involved with a bad boy. A bad boy her father had warned her about.

Maybe her choice of law enforcement hadn t been about proving anything or atoning for something. Maybe it had been about this moment. The moment when she would need to protect herself and Eve from a murder charge.

No . . . she refused to chalk years of hard work up to something so self-serving and simple.

Vera evicted the thoughts and stared out the window. As a kid she had loved watching the moonlight trickle through the trees and slink its way over all the blooms of her mother s many shrubs and bushes. Later, in the after , she had used that moonlight when it hit the house at just the right angle for her to climb her way down the trellis that her father had installed for more of her mother s vines. The greenery was so thick on it now, finding a foothold on the trellis would be impossible.

It was a miracle she hadn t broken her neck back then.

She leaned her head against the window frame. Eve had never sneaked out of the house. She d always been the good girl. At least until after Vera was gone. Then the behavioral issues at school started. Eve pushed away all her friends, and then the alcohol and drugs became her go-to buddies.

Vera closed her eyes and thought of her sister in the next room. Life had been so hard for her back then. She d been a child stuck in that pivotal transition period between kid and teenager.

It was difficult to evaluate just yet how this current situation was affecting her. Vera had watched her during their time at Hillside with their father today. Her facial expressions had remained closed even when she d spoken to him. Once they were back home, she d spent most of the time on her phone. Whenever Vera tried to start a conversation to discuss the situation, Eve needed to make another call or to answer another text.

Typical evasion tactics.

Vera got it. Eve didn t want to talk about it. She d wanted desperately to talk before Vera arrived, but once she was here to take care of things, Eve had withdrawn from the situation.

A degree in psychology wasn t required to understand her strategy. Eve accepted that the situation had happened. Now she was on to the let s pretend it didn t involve me level and was focused on moving forward. Put on the blinders and ignore. Let Vera handle the issues.

Not that Vera blamed her sister. It was far easier to not look . . . to pretend. For their entire childhood, Eve had been able to count on Vera to make everything all right. Vera was here now, so to Eve s way of thinking, everything would be fine. Vera would fix it.

Except the chances of her being able to fix this were not good.

Her superpowers had evidently taken leave of late. She couldn t fix any aspect of what was happening in her life. The queasiness she d been fighting all evening resurrected. She should just go back to bed and fight the covers some more. Sleep would win the battle eventually.

Something out of place snagged her attention as she turned from the window. She leaned closer to the glass and scrutinized the view. Considering the amount of time Vera had spent staring out this window as a teenager, she knew every tree and bush and the way the moonlight hit each one.

Then she spotted the anomaly. A vehicle parked in the driveway, beyond hers, Eve s, and Luna s. A pickup. Dark in color.

If it was a reporter poking around, she was calling the police. Vera grabbed her cell phone and slipped out of her room. She hurried down the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible and opted for the back door rather than the front.

On second thought, she grabbed her daddy s shotgun, which had sat in the corner by the back door for as long as she could remember. If someone was out there snooping around, they were in for a rude awakening.

The click of the back door closing behind her was like a shot fired in the night. Vera held her breath and listened. Silence. She crossed the porch and descended the steps, then disappeared into the thicker part of the trees and bushes on the north end of the house. She could use that cover to reach the end of the parking area. The truck sat just beyond it, in the driveway proper.

The vehicle had no markings. She considered that maybe Bent had a deputy keeping an eye on the place. Maybe it was someone using their own vehicle. As she neared the edge of her cover, she paused and listened.

So damned quiet. Not even a cricket chirping.

This close she could make out a form inside the cab of the truck. Windows were down. She watched for a bit. Listened intently. The occupant made no attempt to get out. Made no sound.

Deep breath. Vera lifted the shotgun and braced it against her shoulder.

She eased to the left, keeping the barrel aimed at the ground-and moved toward the tailgate. Steeling herself, she hunkered down and progressed quickly past the back end of the vehicle and up the side until she was nearly even with the cab. The open windows made the slightest sound dangerous.

Her heart thumping, she straightened. Leveled the weapon on the target. A face turned toward her.

She froze.

Bent.

I couldn t sleep either, he said, as if his presence should be no surprise.

What the hell are you doing out here? Vera lowered the barrel of the shotgun.

Memories of dozens of other times they d met like this flooded her senses. She would sneak out of the house, rush out here, and climb into his truck. The man always drove a truck. Always an old junker.

She pushed the memories aside, then mentally kicked herself for allowing them to intrude.

Like I said -he opened the door, forcing her to take a step back- I couldn t sleep. He climbed out and closed the door, then leaned against it. His trademark hat low, the brim rendering his face completely unreadable.

How was it that watching him move made her respiration quicken? Idiot.

So you come here like this -she gestured to his truck- in the middle of the night? Is that your typical surveillance protocol?

Seemed like a reasonable thing to do since I needed to do some thinking. These questions -he made a circling motion near his head- keep spinning around in my mind.

You couldn t call? This was what normal people did. They called when they had a question. Or knocked on the door. They didn t sit outside in the dark unless they were casing the place or conducting surveillance.

I didn t figure you d appreciate a call at eleven o clock at night.

You ve been sitting out here for better than twenty minutes?

Thereabouts.

The shotgun suddenly felt too heavy, and the idea that she wore a nightshirt that had seen better days abruptly occurred to her. The fabric was thin and far too clingy. Worse, she looked a mess from tossing and turning. She would have blushed with embarrassment had she not been so damned annoyed.

What questions? she demanded. Might as well get this over with. She knew the routine. Watch a suspect. Make them nervous. Ask odd questions. It was all about getting under the skin. Prodding answers. Forcing reactions.

Yada yada.

After a long pause-also a routine intimidation tactic-he stared directly at her and said, I m wondering if you remember anything unusual at all that happened just before Sheree disappeared.

You mean other than the fact that she made Eve and me utterly miserable? Then again, she supposed that hadn t really been unusual. Sheree had done that to lots of people. The woman had been a coldhearted bitch of the highest order. Or that she ignored her baby?

Besides that.

Vera s turn to do the intimidation thing. I really don t want to be rude, but have you been drinking? She scrutinized him head to toe and back. I mean, this is not typically the sort of move a member of law enforcement makes. Showing up in the middle of the night and just sitting outside a house and watching like some psycho stalker. Unless you re conducting surveillance. Is that what you re doing?

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest. Yeah. I almost forgot that part. You re a criminal analyst. Should I be calling you Chief Boyett?

Now he was a comedian. Great.

Not necessary. She cocked her head and glared at him in the near darkness. You didn t answer my question.

You didn t answer mine, he countered.

Yes I did.

What you did, he argued, is throw out a distraction.

Touch . What I remember, she decided to say, is that Sheree was complaining about the baby all the time. She was always leaving Luna with me or with Eve and disappearing for several hours. The rumor was that she was cheating on Daddy. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn t. Eve and I both hated her and hoped she would find someone new and disappear.

And just like that -he snapped his fingers- you got your wish.

Vera bit her tongue. She hadn t meant to say disappear . I guess we did. If you re expecting me to say one or both of us felt bad about her going away, don t hold your breath. We were relieved. She considered her answer for a moment. No, not relieved. We were grateful.

How about your father? What was his state of mind at the time?

He was devastated, of course. Sheriff Fraley questioned him. I remember Daddy crying through the whole interview. Maybe you should check the case file. I m confident there are notes about the interviews, and I vividly recall that he was questioned more than once.

But he and Fraley were friends.

Vera laughed. You really are considering the idea that my daddy did this. She shook her head. That s impossible. He was madly in love with Sheree. Or maybe it was lust. Either way, he had used very poor judgment.

Her daddy s words about expecting Fraley to have found Sheree sooner echoed in Vera s head. But the statement hadn t meant that he had done something to Sheree. The idea was just not possible. Vera was there . . . she knew what happened.

Had Bent questioned her father?

Have you been to Hillside and spoken to him? she asked, the accusation clear in her voice. Her father was mentally incapacitated. Even Bent would know better than to question the man without his legal representative being present.

Nah, he said. I just wanted to hear your reaction.

Now she was beyond pissed off. Good night, Bent.

Before she could walk away, he said, I know there s something you re not telling me, Vee. I saw it in your eyes when we talked today. I just haven t figured out what it is yet. But I will.

She turned back to him. Are you trying to intimidate me?

He pushed off the truck, moved closer. Close enough to have her steeling herself for whatever the hell he intended to say or to do next.

I wouldn t do that. I might be guilty of many things, but being a bad cop is not one of them.

Evidently he d heard about Memphis. Is that another underhanded accusation?

He studied her a moment. Even in the moonlight his gaze was probing, piercing. And far too paralyzing. Why would it be? He gave her a nod. G night, Vee. Get some sleep.

He climbed back into his truck. She expected him to start the engine and drive away, but he didn t. He just sat there, waiting for whatever it was he thought he needed to see, hear, or feel.

If he hoped she would join him, he had another thought coming.

She gave him her back. Walked to the house, put the shotgun away, locked the door, and went in search of something to help her sleep.

For a moment she d considered asking him about Garth Rimmey. Florence Higdon had reminded her that the guy had been involved with Sheree. Vera hadn t found much on the net about him, but what little she did discover, combined with his reputation, fit the profile of the perfect suspect. She would much prefer that Bent focus on him rather than her father or, worse, find the truth.

Rimmey was dead . . . it wasn t like it mattered to him. Being blamed for Sheree s murder wasn t going to make his reputation any worse than it already was.

But digging up the truth could destroy Eve.

Vera could not allow that to happen. Not to mention, it wouldn t do a whole hell of a lot for her.

She located a bottle of Jack Daniel s whiskey in the cupboard above the refrigerator and trudged up the stairs, carrying the bottle by its neck.

Unlike the other men in her life-her father, Bent, and a handful of guys who couldn t possibly have lived up to the memory of her first love-Jack had never let her down.