Page 121 of Deeper Than the Dead

George made a maybe-maybe-not gesture to back up the expression that insinuated the same. “It was always difficult to tell when Florence and Charles were fighting about themselves or that pom—” He cleared his throat. “Their son. Preston was a bit spoiled by his mother, and Charles tended to get ill about it sometimes.”

Vera laughed. “It can be that way at times. Particularly with only children.”

Lyn scoffed. “Admit it.” She said this to Vera. “Preston was a little shit.”

“Oh my,” George said. “Perhaps we shouldn’t go there, Lyn. After all, his father will likely be the one to pronounce us deceased when we die.”

Vera struggled to keep the grin off her face. “A very good point, George.”

George’s expression turned serious then. “Vera, if your father or your family needs anything during this awful, awful mess, please come to us. We are glad to help.”

Vera didn’t hesitate. “I could use a little assistance getting Dennis Haynes to talk to me.”

“Consider it done,” George said. “The man owes me. I overlooked many a Monday morning when he crawled in late after a weekend of too much drink.”

“Thank you, that would be much appreciated.”

Lyn insisted that Vera stay for lunch, and as much as she wanted to rush out and find the next name on her list, she decided it was the least she could do after the couple had been so forthcoming.

Then she was going to find Pete Brooks if it took her the rest of the day. Although he certainly wasn’t on the friends-of-her-parents list, he was considered Garth Rimmey’s closest friend.

Whatever he remembered about that time frame, Vera wanted to hear it.

Kidd Road, Fayetteville, 3:30 p.m.

Vera had talked to a dozen people and driven to more locations. But she hadn’t found Pete Brooks.

Anywhere.

Bob Phillips, the man who operated the gas station on Pulaski Highway just outside the city limits, had said the last he’d heard, Brooks lived in the Harms area on Ables Road.

Vera had headed there next. She hadn’t heard from Bent or her sisters—which hopefully meant there had been no more drama at the house or the cave. Until some other action occurred to change her course, she intended to use every minute available in search of answers.

If she were lucky, George Monroe would come through and have Dennis Haynes call her. Unless, of course, the FBI had warned him not to talk to anyone involved with the case.

She rounded the next curve and found herself staring down a black SUV in her lane.

Her foot went instantly to the brake.

The SUV rocketed forward—still coming directly at her—in her lane.

Her heart rushed into her throat. She cut the steering wheel hard to the right. Rammed the accelerator. Her head hit the glass in her door as her vehicle bounced so hard she lost control of the steering wheel ... her head hit the window again.

The shoulder belt tightened, jerking her against the seat until she couldn’t breathe.

And then everything stopped ... except the airbag.

41

Lincoln Medical Center

Fayetteville, 6:50 p.m.

Bent opened the passenger-side door of his truck and waited for Vera to climb in. Until that moment, he’d scarcely been able to breathe.

She said not one word until he was behind the wheel and driving out of the hospital parking lot. No surprise.

“Are you satisfied now?” She shot him a glare as she struggled to rip off the wristband the nurse had put in place despite her argument that she was fine and didn’t need to see a doctor.

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