Page 125 of Deeper Than the Dead

Somewhere between the kitchen and the front door, Vera heard her sisters talking. Luna must have come downstairs. It was rare that she slept this late. Maybe the trouble yesterday had kept her awake last night as well.

Luna rushed into the kitchen, already dressed for church—cute little yellow dress with matching sandals and purse. She looked like a doll ready to be boxed up and shipped off to a waiting little girl.

“I’m late for breakfast with Jerome and his family.” She gave Vera a hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” Vera smiled, ignored the pain in her forehead. “Don’t worry about me, and drive safely.”

Luna backed away, her lips pouting. “I will. You just stay home and rest today. Love you!” She started to turn away, then hesitated. “Oh, I borrowed one of your mother’s photo albums. I know you were looking at them the other day. I saw a stack on the table in the library. I didn’t want you to think one was lost. I had left it at Jerome’s. I’ve been putting together some album collages for taking with me when I move in with him.” She smiled. “Anyway, last night I finally remembered to bring it back. It’s on the table in the library.”

That was just like her little sister. Album collages. Vera had never heard of them. “Thanks. Have a good day.”

Luna waved, and then she was gone.

Vera finished her coffee and listened to the silence in the house. The big old grandfather clock in the hall started to chime and then made eight deep dongs for the hour.

She should get going. Maybe stop by Bent’s and see what his plans were for the day. All she needed were her bag and her shoes.

The bag she vividly remembered leaving on the side table in the hall. Shoes too, she hoped. She groaned and scooted off the stool. In the hall she checked out a front window and confirmed the deputy on duty this morning was there. No matter that she refused to be afraid, she was no fool. Trouble could sneak up on the most highly trained individual.

She picked up her shoes, sat down on the bench, and tugged them on.

A knock on the front door made Vera jump. She’d spoken to Bent, so it wouldn’t be him. Eve would have called if she needed to talk further. Maybe Luna had forgotten something. But wouldn’t she have just unlocked the door? Wouldn’t be a reporter since a deputy was stationed in front of the house.

She could keep up the guessing game or just go to the door and find out who it was. With effort she got up, stretched her sides. Her ribs were sore. Her neck felt a little stiff as well. Forehead was still tender.

She peeked out the window and saw a deputy standing on her porch. A glance at the cruiser in the drive told her it was the one on duty.

Vera opened the door. “Is everything all right, Deputy?”

He gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am, but there’s a man here to see you.”

Vera’s gaze arrowed to the old—vintage, some would say—rusty, faded-red Mustang parked beyond the cruiser. No one she recognized. Dennis Haynes? She sure hoped so.

“His name is Pete Brooks. He’s a local. Bit of a deadbeat.” The deputy glanced in the man’s direction. “I can tell him to get lost if you’d like.”

The old friend of Garth Rimmey. Talk about surprises. “No. Thank you. Actually, I’d like to speak with him.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.” The deputy stepped off the porch and waved at the man in the Mustang, then hitched his thumb toward the house.

Vera watched as an older man, sixtyish, climbed out and started in her direction. He was tall. Slim. His hair was gray. Despite the heat, he wore biker boots with his jeans. A T-shirt and a leather vest. What looked like dog tags hung around his neck.

His gaze was steady on her as he climbed the steps and crossed the porch. He stopped directly in front of her. With him this close, she could see that he was nearer to seventy than sixty.

“I hear you been looking for me.”

“Come in.” Vera stepped inside, and he followed. She closed the door behind him, then gestured to the living room. “Would you like coffee?”

He chuckled. “Only if there’s whiskey in it.”

“Have a seat, and I’ll see what I can do.”

She walked to the kitchen and rounded up the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s she’d indulged in the other night. She poured a good portion into two mugs, then topped them off with coffee. This meeting might very well call for something a little stronger.

With the bottle tucked under one arm and the mugs in hand, she joined her visitor. Mr. Brooks was studying the framed photographs on the mantel.

“You look just like your mama.” He turned to her, accepted a mug.

“And proud of it,” she agreed. Vera placed the bottle on the coffee table and settled on the sofa.

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