Page 20 of Deeper Than the Dead

Vera bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say disappear. “I guess we did. If you’re expecting me to say one or both of us felt bad about her going away, don’t hold your breath. We were relieved.” She considered her answer for a moment. “No, not relieved. We were grateful.”

“How about your father? What was his state of mind at the time?”

“He was devastated, of course. Sheriff Fraley questioned him. I remember Daddy crying through the whole interview. Maybe you should check the case file. I’m confident there are notes about the interviews, and I vividly recall that he was questioned more than once.”

“But he and Fraley were friends.”

Vera laughed. “You really are considering the idea that my daddy did this.” She shook her head. “That’s impossible. He was madly in love with Sheree.” Or maybe it was lust. Either way, he had used very poor judgment.

Her daddy’s words about expecting Fraley to have found Sheree sooner echoed in Vera’s head. But the statement hadn’t meant that he had done something to Sheree. The idea was just not possible. Vera was there ... she knew what happened.

Had Bent questioned her father?

“Have you been to Hillside and spoken to him?” she asked, the accusation clear in her voice. Her father was mentally incapacitated. Even Bent would know better than to question the man without his legal representative being present.

“Nah,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your reaction.”

Now she was beyond pissed off. “Good night, Bent.”

Before she could walk away, he said, “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, Vee. I saw it in your eyes when we talked today. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. But I will.”

She turned back to him. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

He pushed off the truck, moved closer. Close enough to have her steeling herself for whatever the hell he intended to say or to do next.

“I wouldn’t do that. I might be guilty of many things, but being a bad cop is not one of them.”

Evidently he’d heard about Memphis. “Is that another underhanded accusation?”

He studied her a moment. Even in the moonlight his gaze was probing, piercing. And far too paralyzing. “Why would it be?” He gave her a nod. “G’night, Vee. Get some sleep.”

He climbed back into his truck. She expected him to start the engine and drive away, but he didn’t. He just sat there, waiting for whatever it was he thought he needed to see, hear, or feel.

If he hoped she would join him, he had another thought coming.

She gave him her back. Walked to the house, put the shotgun away, locked the door, and went in search of something to help her sleep.

For a moment she’d considered asking him about Garth Rimmey. Florence Higdon had reminded her that the guy had been involved with Sheree. Vera hadn’t found much on the net about him, but what little she did discover, combined with his reputation, fit the profile of the perfect suspect. She would much prefer that Bent focus on him rather than her father or, worse, find the truth.

Rimmey was dead ... it wasn’t like it mattered to him. Being blamed for Sheree’s murder wasn’t going to make his reputation any worse than it already was.

But digging up the truth could destroy Eve.

Vera could not allow that to happen. Not to mention, it wouldn’t do a whole hell of a lot for her.

She located a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey in the cupboard above the refrigerator and trudged up the stairs, carrying the bottle by its neck.

Unlike the other men in her life—her father, Bent, and a handful of guys who couldn’t possibly have lived up to the memory of her first love—Jack had never let her down.

8

11:30 p.m.

Just like old times.

Eve watched her older sister talking to Bent. The two stood outside his truck. It was the middle of the night, and they were far enough away from the house so as not to be heard if their voices were raised. It could have been twenty-some years ago all over again.

Except nothing was the same.

---