Page 65 of Deeper Than the Dead

“Did you call the FBI?” She eased down onto the window ledge. She’d forgotten how deep the window ledges were in this old house. She had loved sitting in this window reading as a kid. Later she’d watched for Bent from here. Hoping and praying he would show up and she could sneak out to be with him.

“I did. They’ll have someone here tomorrow.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.” She sighed. “Reporters are giving Eve and Luna a hard time.”

“If they’ll let me know the names, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. One is Nolan Baker.”

“I will talk to Baker.”

“Thanks.”

Seconds ticked off in silence, with him looking up at the window and her staring down at his truck—at him, really. They used to do this ... back when this thing between them first started. At first she was too afraid of sneaking out of the house. She got over that pretty quickly, but until she did, they did this—stared at each other across the darkness. Her in the window, him braced against that old truck he drove back then. There had been cell phones at the time, but Bent couldn’t have afforded one, and her daddy would never have allowed her to have one.

“I’m worried about this, Vee.”

The deep, smooth sound of his voice made her shiver. She rolled her eyes. She was thirty-nine years old. Her high school crush should not have the power to make her shiver, particularly under the circumstances.

“Yeah, me too.” As desperately as she wanted to believe this couldn’t be their father, she still had reservations ... doubts. About him ... about something Eve might know.

And, God, she hated herself for the doubts.

“I say,” he offered, “we conduct our own parallel investigation. Off the record, of course. We know this place and the people better than the outsiders. If there’s something to find, we can find it.”

The idea was certainly feasible. He already had a case board—two case boards—set up in his home office. He could keep her up to date on whatever the official investigation found. She could provide input. Anticipation welled inside her. It was a good idea. A win-win situation for his case and for her protecting her family.

They could do this ... teamwork.

Except she couldn’t be a totally dedicated team player. For instance, she saw no reason to mention her calls to Eric. At least not until he got back to her.

Ignoring the tiny ping of guilt, she said, “I think that’s a great idea. Can we use your home office?”

“We can meet for breakfast in the morning,” he offered. “I’ll pick up something from the diner and see you at, say, eight?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “See you then. Night.”

“Night.”

The call ended. Vera watched as he climbed back into his truck and drove away. Finding the truth and closing the case would be quicker and easier with them sharing the details they discovered.

Except for the ones she had to do all in her power to ensure he never knew. Like who really put Sheree in that cave.

22

Twenty-Two Years Ago

April

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 11:38 a.m.

Paralyzed, Vera stood in the doorway, staring at Sheree, who was obviously dead. She hugged the baby tighter to her chest.

What the hell happened here?

“It wasn’t my fault, Vee,” Eve urged. “You have to believe me. I was in bed, sick.”

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