Page 116 of Deeper Than the Dead

Right there was the reason a smart person never asked questions like the one she’d foolishly thrown out.

Not at the top of your game today, Vee.

“Truth?” She might as well start there.

“The truth is always the better choice,” he agreed.

“I was so burned by our relationship, I didn’t want another one for a really long time.” She held up a hand when he would have spoken—judging by his expression, an apology. “I’m not saying that because I want you to feel guilty or to apologize. We were kids. I suppose between Mama’s death and you leaving, I just needed some time before wading in again.”

He gave her a nod. “Fair enough.”

“Eventually, I dated. I was almost engaged once, but when he popped the question, I said no. He was a very nice man, and we had fun together, but I just didn’t get that forever vibe, you know?” She laughed. “Thankfully we are still friends.”

The part she kept to herself was that she’d wondered once or twice if she’d made a mistake ... if she’d missed her one chance at the things every woman was supposed to want. No, she’d decided. This was not her mother’s generation. This was now, and people wanted different things. There was no need to follow a certain protocol.

Bent smiled that one-sided expression that always made her smile back no matter the circumstances. “I guess our time will come.”

“Maybe.” She laughed. “I won’t hold my breath.”

“Me either.” He drank his coffee.

Vera toyed with the idea of changing her mind about that second cup, but she was already fidgety enough. Better not to push the limits of her caffeine rush.

“Fraley called me at the crack of dawn this morning.”

The news surprised her. “Does he do that often? Check in on how you’re handling things?”

“More so lately.” Bent pushed his cup away as if he’d had enough as well. “He wanted to talk about the other remains found in the second cavern of the cave—in particular, the female victims.”

“Really.” Vera wondered if the man had passed along any new scenarios or complained about her and Eve’s visit.

“He firmly believes your dad helped out a friend who’d gotten in too deep.”

Vera had hoped for something different. “Yes, he mentioned something like that last night.” She turned her cup between her fingers to give herself something to focus on as she worked up the courage to say what she really thought. “My thinking is if that’s the case, then the friend was probably the former sheriff himself.”

Surprise flared in Bent’s eyes. “They were—are friends. Could be, I guess.”

That he didn’t argue the point was unexpected. “There are a number of others,” Vera pointed out. “George Monroe, Daddy’s longtime boss. They were friends.” His name had popped into her head as she lay in bed last night, trying to pretend Bent wasn’t down here on the sofa. “Charles Higdon.” She ticked off a few other names of big shots in town with whom her father had been friends. “Where should we start our questioning?”

“Seems to me”—Bent leaned forward, braced his forearms on the table—“you already did.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I did.”

“Is there a particular reason you started with Walt? I mean he’s a well-loved figure in the county. Everybody knows him.”

She’d expected him to cut the man a little extra slack. Back in the day, Bent had told her how Sheriff Fraley had intervened on numerous occasions when Bent’s daddy was on a rampage. A kid didn’t forget that sort of thing.

What she couldn’t say was that it was Walt’s wife who’d been last night’s target.

“We both know that doesn’t exempt him from crossing the line,” she countered. “Mistakes happen to the best of us.” The tragedy in Memphis was a perfect example.

“No one is exempt,” Bent agreed.

“Not even my mama,” she said, tossing it out there so casually, she hoped he didn’t see the motive behind it. “Or Beatrice and Florence or the wives of any of the other men I mentioned.”

“Your mama would never have hurt anyone,” he argued. “We can rule her out.”

He really had adored her mother. “But not the other women.”

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