Page 129 of Deeper Than the Dead

Vera had promised Bent she wouldn’t talk to him ... another text arrived.

It’s important.

She thought of the woman in the photo ... of the friend who’d come looking for her. And then she considered the damned SUV that had almost gotten her killed.

She had to go. A quick reply that she was on her way zoomed off, sealing her decision.

With a grimace, she stood. That little voice she always ignored warned that she should call Bent or at least let him know what she was doing. But he was in that meeting by now. And the pissed-off daughter of two of the people the Higdon family had hurt wanted to do this herself.

She would call Bent after the meeting.

Vera had made it to the door when she realized she had no vehicle. Hers had been towed away from the ditch on Kidd Road.

She did an about-face and walked to the kitchen. Her daddy’s truck keys hung on the rack next to the back door.

Maybe that old truck would start after sitting in the shed for two years. If not, she would just have to figure out another ride.

One way or the other, she was going.

43

Higdon Residence

Mulberry Avenue, Fayetteville, 9:30 a.m.

Vera parked near the judge’s garage next to another vehicle. Not the black SUV that had run her off the road, but a sedan. Newer high-end vehicle. Maybe one belonging to his wife.

Or an attorney.

Vera scoffed. She could see him having an attorney present for this meeting. Bastard. Then why not just do this with the sheriff present as well. She got it. He thought he could intimidate her without Bent around and avoid the official route altogether.

Better men had tried.

She climbed out of her daddy’s truck and closed the door. To her surprise the old Chevy had started right up. Eve or Luna must have driven it from time to time. The stick shift pattern had come back to her before she’d gotten out of the driveway. Just like riding a bicycle. Because the truck had been stored in the shed out back, she’d been able to cut down by the barn and leave without the deputy assigned to watch the house knowing.

Bent would be pissed, but this was something she had to do.

Deep breath. She headed toward the walkway. A row of ornamental grass marched along both sides of the cobblestone leading the way to the broad porch. Neatly manicured shrubs flanked the foundation. Not much that bloomed, just varying sizes of evergreen plants. Less maintenance, she supposed.

She climbed the steps. Glanced around, then back toward Mulberry Avenue. No traffic. No pedestrians. Most folks were in church at this hour on a Sunday morning. Her instincts stirred, had the hair on the back of her neck rising. She passed an eye over the enormous front yard once more ... then the driveway across the street. A small, white Victorian-style house was evidently being renovated. A dumpster sat in the driveway. Sawhorses stood on the porch. A board with a permit posted on it had been nailed to a post. Her attention settled lastly on the one out-of-place element—an old Mustang parked by the dumpster. Same faded, rusty red as the one that had visited her this morning.

Was Brooks watching her?

She scanned the block, left to right and back, without spotting a soul. If Brooks was close by, he was hiding. Maybe watching from the narrow front window on the second floor of that reno.

Vera dismissed the worry for now and headed to the judge’s front door. As she lifted her hand to ring the bell, she hesitated. The front door was ajar.

Okay, now this was one of those moments when she wished she had her service weapon, but she’d left it in her lockbox in Memphis, along with her official credentials, when she’d rushed home.

The idea that this could be some sort of setup crossed her mind. Uneasiness started another walk up her spine. She glanced across the street once more. Surveyed the expansive yard.

All clear.

She took a breath and turned back to the door. Preston had sent a text to her phone. He had to know that if something happened to her, phone records would be subpoenaed and his text messages would be found.

He was a prestigious judge after all.

Stop stalling. Go in, or call Bent.

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