Page 49 of Deeper Than the Dead

“So they won’t be releasing her remains as quickly as we first thought?” Luna would not be happy. She already had a memorial planned. She dragged Vera to the mall in Huntsville last night for dress shopping.

“It might be a little while, yes.”

Eve nodded. “I’ll let Luna know. She’s anxious to have a memorial service.”

“She can have a memorial service anytime she likes,” Bent said. “Just no burial.”

“I’ll be sure to explain the situation to her.”

Bent started to go. Eve’s knees almost gave way with relief. But then he paused and turned to her once more.

“Think about that time frame, Eve,” he said. “If you recall anything that might be relevant to what happened to Sheree, let me know. I don’t want folks speculating too much. Better to figure this out and wrap the case up before the rumors and the speculation get out of hand.”

“Sure.” She nodded. “I’ll do all I can. Vee and I will put our heads together. See what we can recall. Maybe one of us will remember something useful.”

“That would be really helpful. Thanks, Eve.”

She watched him go. The only thing Eve could think was that she really, really needed to call Vee.

18

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 11:00 a.m.

Vera stood in the middle of her father’s bedroom. She wasn’t looking forward to this. But it had to be done before any sort of official search—which was no doubt coming.

As soon as Luna had left for work that morning, Vera had started going through the house. With last night’s shopping foray, there had been no time until now. But she’d made great headway this morning. She’d started in the living room and then moved on to the kitchen. Then the dining room and the library. Even the laundry room and powder room. The downstairs hadn’t been so difficult.

On the other hand, upstairs hadn’t been nearly as simple. Vera had gone through Luna’s room first. She came home for lunch often, and the last thing Vera wanted was to be caught rifling through her things. Luna had kept a number of items that belonged to her mother. Mostly little things, like jewelry and trinkets. Like a child in a woman’s body, Sheree had been a fan of shiny things. Vera scolded herself for being so unkind, but the woman had made their lives miserable.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long.

No one should ever be grateful about another person’s death ... except she and Eve couldn’t help being thankful for the reprieve. Being responsible for Sheree’s death had never been their intent ... the same way killing the Wicked Witch of the West hadn’t been Dorothy’s.

Vera shook off the weird metaphor.

The new dress Luna had chosen last evening for the upcoming memorial still hung in the plastic the store clerk had pulled over the hanger. It was a conservative black dress that fit Luna beautifully. She insisted that Vera choose something as well. Since Vera hadn’t come prepared to attend a memorial service, she grabbed a black sheath and a pair of matching heels. She felt bad that Eve wasn’t with them, so she bought her a little black dress as well.

She doubted Eve would appreciate the effort, but it made Vera feel better. Sometimes you did things for others just to boost your own self-esteem.

Speaking of Eve, her room had been relatively easy. She wasn’t a clotheshorse or a collector of things. Her room was sparsely furnished. Oddly so. And dark. Vera couldn’t remember her sister being brooding when they were kids. But then, people changed. Especially after major trauma.

She thought of Bent and decided that maybe she hadn’t handled things quite so well after all. But she had survived with somewhat fewer scars than Eve.

The longer she stood here in her father’s room and put off what she needed to do, the longer it would take. She surveyed the space. Might as well get this over with.

Vera started with the bedside tables. Luna had ensured that everything—except those items she had taken to Hillside for him—had stayed just as it was. Luna or Eve had placed the framed photo of Vera’s and Eve’s mother next to the one of Sheree on the table on their father’s side of the bed. Or maybe he’d put it there himself at some point. Honestly, Vera couldn’t recall him speaking of her mother those last two years she was at home before she went off to college. The first year because he’d been totally enthralled with Sheree and the second because he’d been far too devastated about her behavior and then her disappearance. After that, Sheree and Luna were all he had talked about.

Vera shook her head at the letters in the drawer of her father’s bedside table. He’d written letters to Sheree after she was gone. Eve read them back then, which only made her feel worse. Vera tossed the faded envelopes aside. The whole thing had disgusted her. Maybe she’d never been so madly in love with someone to understand how emotion would run a person into the ground. Her father had lost his ability to reason ... to function. Not so great for his children.

Eve was likely the only reason Luna had turned out okay.

Vera hadn’t been around. But she had helped from afar.

She thought of the times Luna had come to spend a couple of weeks with her during the summer. She’d been so in awe of Vera’s life and work.

“Nothing to be inspired by now,” she muttered as she moved on to the bedside table her mother had used before Sheree.

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