Page 133 of Deeper Than the Dead

Vera took a breath. Ordered her heart to slow as she twisted toward her captors. “Where’s Preston?” she demanded. “And Dr. Higdon? Do they know what you’re doing?” While she had her back turned away from the two, she tugged at the rope holding her wrists together. “Answer me!” she shouted.

Beatrice jumped. Florence only glared at her.

If the spinning in her head would slow down and Vera could work her hands loose, she might just be able to stop this fiasco.

“Charles is at church,” Florence said, lifting her chin arrogantly. “He’s covering for Bea and me. She’s at home with Walt since he isn’t feeling well, and I have a stomach bug.”

Vera’s chest ached with disappointment. “Is he part of this too?” she demanded of Beatrice. “Does he even know what you’re doing?”

Beatrice’s lips trembled, and she looked away.

Hope pushed past the disappointment. Beatrice was still the weak link.

The man on the floor grunted. Vera stared down at him. He flinched. But his eyes remained closed.

“What’d you do? Drug him?” A librarian and a schoolteacher. Jesus Christ.

“Shut up!” Florence grabbed her. She glared at her partner in crime. “Help me get her into position.”

Beatrice obliged, and the two of them forced Vera over to where Brooks lay.

“Put one foot on either side of him,” Florence ordered. “Your back facing his head.”

“No way.” Vera wasn’t cooperating.

Florence pushed her. She almost fell over Brooks, forcing her to throw out her right leg to stop the fall. She ended up standing astraddle of him just as they wanted. Fury erupted in Vera’s veins. She was going to kick Florence Higdon’s ass—no matter that she was an old lady—just as soon as she got her hands loose.

“Hold her still,” Florence snapped.

Beatrice held onto Vera while Florence walked around behind her. She jammed the gun into Vera’s hands and attempted to force her fingers around the grip.

“Oh hell no,” Vera growled, fighting the woman’s efforts.

She wanted Vera’s prints on the weapon that killed Brooks—after his visit this morning. Convenient. Had he not realized he was being set up?

Vera needed to buy time.

“Just tell me why.” Vera kept tugging her hands from Florence while she stared at Beatrice. “Is it because one or both of you killed Latesha and Trina and hid them in our cave?”

“I told you she would figure it out,” Florence growled, her frustration mounting.

Beatrice looked away.

“It’s because of that damned photograph, isn’t it?” Florence demanded, forgetting her hands for a moment and getting in Vera’s face. “You found it, didn’t you? That nosy PI from Huntsville probably showed you a picture of those whores, and you put the two together.”

“And I know the two of you killed them,” Vera accused, “and dragged my mama into this.”

“Evelyn,” Beatrice said with a shake of her head, “had nothing to do with this. She just helped us hide the first body because we were her friends.”

“Until we weren’t,” Florence snarled. “She wouldn’t help us that last time. Wouldn’t even speak to us anymore. But she got hers, didn’t she?”

Vera barely restrained the urge to charge the woman. Instead, she twisted her hands harder in an effort to loosen the rope. She could feel the nylon stretching. Any second now her hands would be free. Then, she would take care of this, by God. Even if she died trying.

She turned to Beatrice again. Spotted the flash of sympathy in the former schoolteacher’s eyes. “You have a chance to make this right.”

Beatrice looked away again. Her trademark move.

“No more wasting time,” Florence snapped. “We are on a deadline here. We have to finish this before church is over and this dumbass on the floor wakes up.”

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