Page 2 of Deeper Than the Dead

Her shoulders sagged. Damn. Just what she needed.

Vera braced herself and accepted the call. “Hey, Luna. Everything okay?” That she managed to sound normal under current circumstances startled her. When had she become such a good actress?

More importantly, what did that say about her?

Not going there.

“Vee, you have to come home.”

Vera stilled at her sister’s words. No, not her words—the sound of her voice. Strained with shock or disbelief. So, this was it. Deep breath. She moistened her lips and said the necessary words. “Is it Daddy?”

Their father was only seventy-five, but his health had taken a turn for the worse just over two years ago. The dementia had made it impossible for him to live at home any longer. Not that Vera got home that much anymore. But Luna kept her informed about their father. Even made the occasional video call—which never seemed to come at a good time—from his room at the memory care facility. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her father—she did. It was just that in light of what happened after her mother’s death, Vera had been forced to adjust her thinking toward him. It was the only way to pretend life was even remotely normal.

Right. What was normal?

A fist clenched in Vera’s chest. Though she had been expecting this call for a while now, it still felt like the undoing of some invisible tether to which her life had been bound since the beginning. They—she, Eve, and Luna—were officially orphans now. It was the most unexpected, oddest feeling. She should cry, right? Or, at least, feel tears welling in her eyes. She blinked once, twice. Nothing.

Certainly that was not normal.

“No,” Luna said, sounding strangely startled. “Daddy’s fine.”

“Oh. Good. So ...” Vera started to ask what exactly the trouble was, but her sister began speaking again first.

“I mean ...” Luna sighed. “You know, he’s doing as well as can be expected. But that’s not why I’m calling. This is about ... it’s Mama, Vee.” Her voice grew shrill with something like excitement. “They found her.”

Suddenly thirty-nine-year-old Vera Mae Boyett was seventeen again, soaking wet and cradling her baby sister to her chest. With the burn of fear rushing through her veins and the wail of the nine-month-old echoing in her ears, she had mentally scrambled for how to fix the unfixable.

Vera blinked away the jarring memory. “I don’t understand.” It was all she could think to say. The fist that had been pressing against the vital organs in her chest now pushed into her throat. Shock, disbelief ... apprehension rushed through her.

How could this be?

No. No. No. This was not supposed to happen. Two years after her stepmother’s disappearance, the consensus among all who knew her had been that Sheree Corbin Boyett either was dead or no longer wanted to be a part of their lives. When her body was never found, they assumed the latter. In spite of the rumors and conclusions, their father never remarried. Vera had wondered if deep down he hoped Sheree would come back one day. Or perhaps he realized that his hasty wedding to another woman after his first wife died had been a mistake that didn’t bear repeating.

Please. Like he deserved that much credit.

“They found her,” Luna repeated, as if Vera hadn’t gotten that part.

Oh, she got it. The ability to breathe had escaped her as that unexpected reality pulsed its way to her brain. Her equilibrium wobbled. Dear God, how had this happened? She squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No.

“She didn’t leave us, Vee.” Luna’s voice broke in, shaking with raw emotion now. “Someone took her from us. Mama’s dead. She’s been dead all this time.”

Luna continued to speak, but two words boomed over and over in Vera’s head, drowning out all else. Mama’s dead. Mama’s dead.

Somehow, before the ability to think deserted her completely, Vera managed to promise she would be home as soon as possible. As the call ended, she stared at the screen. Attempted to gather her wits about her, but the sour taste of regret and panic surged into her throat too quickly. Vera dropped her phone onto her desk and rushed from her office.

Forcing herself to move more slowly so as not to draw attention, she concentrated on holding back the bile. Her eyes stung. Her stomach spasmed. She made it through the door of the restroom and as far as the sink before the bitterness spewed forth, leaving a burn from the very bottom of her gut to her nose.

When she stopped gagging, she twisted the faucet’s handle and cupped her hand beneath the flow of water to rinse her mouth. She did the same to flush the sink, then braced her hands on the cold porcelain and stared at herself in the mirror.

This couldn’t be. Could. Not. Be.

Her career was falling apart ... spiraling out of control, and now her personal life was tipping over the edge ... and it was all happening at once.

Breathe. Pull it together.

Barely restraining the surging emotions, she straightened and steadied herself. Ran her fingers through her hair, adjusted her jacket, and then walked out of the restroom. With her gaze locked onto the entrance of her office, she moved in that direction, hoping to God she didn’t run into anyone who wanted to offer their regrets regarding her team’s crash and burn.

She passed one ... two colleagues, but both were focused on the files they carried. All she had to do was make it a few more steps, and she would be in the clear.

---