Page 119 of Deeper Than the Dead

“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind.” He made a face that suggested he was confused. “Why do you ask?”

“If my father was having an affair,” she proposed, “I thought perhaps there might have been tension between him and my mother or between him and their friends. I was so young, I doubt I would have noticed.”

“Ah.” He nodded as if he got it now. Then he made that concentrating face again. “I do seem to recall my parents being worried about your parents for some reason or another. I doubt it would have come to mind though if you hadn’t asked. Interesting how the memory works. Sometimes it only takes a simple mention of a particular day to trigger all sorts of memories. Have you tried looking through family photo albums? Snapshots from the past can be so good at bringing back things we’ve forgotten.”

“I have.” Vera sipped her coffee. “They provided some help.”

“I’m sure you have dozens of”—he smiled—“shall we say, vintage photo albums. Do you have them stored away from sunlight? It’s particularly bad for the photographs.”

Vera hadn’t given a single thought to photograph storage. “We have so many albums. Mother loved taking photos. As far as I know, they’re all lined up on bookshelves in her library. I guess I’ll have to look into changing that.”

He gave her a nod. “You’ll be glad you did.”

“Honestly, I feel like I’m running in circles. I have to tell you”—she looked him directly in the eyes—“it’s a very difficult time for me and my sisters.”

“I’m sure it is.” He made a sad face.

Unable to help herself, she leaned closer and inhaled deeply. “What is that aftershave or cologne you’re wearing?”

“Clive Christian number one. My wife buys it every year for my birthday.” A startled look claimed his face, as if he’d just gotten the punch line of an insulting joke.

Vera hummed a contemplative note. “I’m sure I’ve smelled it somewhere before.” She inhaled deeply again. “Hmm.” She drew back. “Well, thank you for the coffee, but I really have to go.”

She hopped off the stool and headed for the door.

He hurried to keep up with her hasty exit. “I’m sure I can arrange a meeting with my parents,” he offered. “If you’d like to interview them.”

Vera didn’t pause until she reached the front door. “Well thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ll just have Bent arrange it. Nice seeing you again.”

She walked out, knowing that Judge Preston Higdon would be calling his mother the instant the door closed.

“Gotcha,” she muttered.

Whatever else he had done, he’d damned well been in her house, possibly twice, caused her to take a tumble down the stairs, and scared the hell out of Luna.

Unless, of course, there was some other pretentious ass in this little town who wore $2,000 aftershave.

40

Monroe Residence

Red Hill Road, Fayetteville, 11:00 a.m.

Vera had made calls and stopped at the homes of several of her father’s friends. Keller Cole, a longtime work friend of her daddy’s, had passed away last year. His wife remembered nothing relevant to the time in question. With no luck there, she tracked down Dennis Haynes. Haynes was the coworker who had, according to the FBI, lent his car to her daddy to go home the day Sheree ...

Anyway, the man’s wife informed Vera that her husband wasn’t taking visitors. He had a terrible, highly contagious virus and was sequestered to the bedroom. She would have him call when he was well enough to chat.

Vera didn’t believe her for a minute, but there was nothing to do but let it go until another time.

George Monroe was next on her list. She walked up onto his porch and rang the bell. Monroe had been the managing partner of Monroe & Floyd Distributors. Besides Higdon, he was her last hope as far as her daddy’s closest friends went. But how personal did her daddy get with the man who was his boss? Maybe not so much.

Her best bets were Haynes and Higdon.

The trouble was, if Haynes was avoiding her, and Higdon would certainly be, then Monroe was it for now—assuming he was home and available.

The door opened, and an older, very petite woman peered up at Vera. Her gray hair was fastened into a neat bun, and the pink lipstick she wore matched her dress. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m certain we’re not interested.”

It wasn’t until she spoke that Vera remembered the lady. Back in the day—in the before—Mrs. Joslyn Monroe was known for her homemade tea cakes. Vera and Eve had loved when gatherings were hosted by the Monroes just for those tea cakes.

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