Page 107 of Deeper Than the Dead

Damn. “It would have taken one hell of a lick to end his life.”

Eve stared at the ground a moment. “I may have hit him a couple more times when he staggered away from her and at me.” She stared at her hands. “I hit him until he stopped moving.”

Vera reached out and took her hands. “I probably would have done the same thing.” Maybe not the repeated-blows part, but the sister side of her got it.

Eve’s gaze collided with hers. “I’m sorry, Vee. I should have told you, but I hoped they wouldn’t find that part of the cave.”

“How did you know about that part? Did you go back there after ... Sheree? You must have seen the other piles of rocks.”

Eve nodded. “I went back a few times. And, yes, I knew about the others.”

Vera scrubbed at the tension throbbing in her temples. “Why in the world would you go back?” She had known this was coming, and still it threw her. “Why didn’t you tell me about the others?”

“First off, you know how I feel about the dead. They had no one to visit them. So I did. I knew the others were there from the beginning, but I couldn’t tell you.”

Vera stood. Paced back and forth next to the water, wished she could jump in and swim away. But she wouldn’t get far ... that was the problem in her life. However she tried, she could never get away clean.

She stalled, glared at her sister. “Just tell me Daddy didn’t kill those women.” She looked away. “I know in my heart”—she stared at her sister once more—“that Mama couldn’t have done it.” Vera wilted back onto her rock.

“I honestly don’t know who killed them, but it was Mama who hid them there.”

No. Anger flashed. “I don’t believe you.” Just as suddenly Vera’s insides went ice cold. No. No. No. Her mother would never have hurt another human. This was wrong. A lie. Eve had to have misunderstood whatever she saw or heard. Or made it up, damn it.

“It’s true,” Eve said, her voice small but firm.

“Mama would not have killed anyone,” Vera argued, angry again.

“I wouldn’t have killed anyone either,” Eve argued. “But it happened.”

“Frankly,” Vera snapped, “I can see you killing someone before Mama.”

Eve made a pained face. “Really? Thanks.”

Vera ordered the intensifying emotions to calm. She had to think ... rationally. “Just tell me what you saw or heard that makes you believe Mama had something to do with those remains.” Not possible. No way.

“I only saw them hiding the first body.”

“Them?” Vera thought of the things their father had said this morning when he thought she was Evelyn. Strangely enough, his words were beginning to make sense. And it made Vera sick.

“Two of her friends helped put the bodies there.” Eve’s expression shifted to one of deep concentration. “Or maybe she helped them. I can’t be sure. And I only saw them doing the first one. I wasn’t home when the second one happened.” She bit her lips together for a moment. “I didn’t tell you, because Mama told me I could never tell anyone. That it had to be our secret. Hers and mine.”

Vera could imagine how that would have made Eve feel special. She had always needed just a little bit more. Maybe because of being so much younger than Vera. Still, what she was saying ... she had to be wrong. “Let’s put the absolute impossibility of what you’re saying aside for a moment—”

“I’m sorry,” Eve said. “I know this is hard, but it’s true.”

“I can’t ...” Vera shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t accept what you’re suggesting.”

“See,” Eve fired back, “this is exactly why I couldn’t tell you even after Bent found them. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” The stark pain in her eyes warned she was being honest ... at least on some level. “And I’m not suggesting. This is the truth, Vee.”

“All right.” Vera took a breath, gathered her spiraling thoughts as best she could. “How did you learn about any of this?”

“I followed them to the cave that first time.”

“So you know who the friends were?” Vera felt confident of their identities—which oddly made her immensely happy, in spite of all the rest. She couldn’t wait to wield this information over that pompous ass, Florence Higdon. Her hopes faded. Unless Higdon had only been helping their mother with what she had done. Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Florence Higdon and Beatrice Fraley.”

Beatrice was like their mother: she would never purposely hurt anyone. Florence had to be the one who murdered those women. A bitter taste rose in Vera’s throat. This wasn’t as simple as that. Very little ever was. She, of all people, understood that sometimes a person did things they wouldn’t generally do.

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