Page 91 of Deeper Than the Dead

Vera bolted to a sitting position. A sharp twinge in her hip reminded her of the intruder, but there was no time to worry about that now. “I’ll be right there.”

She ended the call and grabbed her clothes from where they’d landed on the floor last night. She dragged on the jeans and slid her feet into her shoes. She frowned at the wrinkled tee. Maybe there was something she could wear in her closet.

Her head ached. Her chest and hip were sore. She needed coffee. No time. She opened the door to her closet and snatched the tee on the first hanger, tugged it on, and rounded up her bag. A quick pee, then she ran the brush through her hair and headed out.

It wasn’t until she was downstairs that she realized she should tell her sisters she was leaving. No time.

Vera had to get to that damned cemetery. Her sisters and coffee would have to wait.

Rose Hill Cemetery

Washington Street, Fayetteville, 6:15 a.m.

She was too late.

The lift was already drawing the coffin from the vault.

Vera slammed her SUV door and stormed in that direction. The numerous vehicles lining the narrow street had forced her to park a block up and walk back.

Reporters shouted questions at her as she marched toward the gate. Vera, why are they exhuming your mother? Vera, do they consider your father a suspect? Vera, did you know your father killed your stepmother? Did he kill your mother too? What’s happening with the investigation in Memphis?

She ignored them all, no matter that they made her blood boil even hotter. She was very good at ignoring the questions that couldn’t be answered at a given time.

Not to mention that if she opened her mouth to say something to one of them, there was no telling what sort of fury would lash out. Anytime your emotions were out of control, it was better to say nothing at all. A single misspoken or slipped word could cause irreparable damage.

A police officer, Fayetteville City judging by his uniform, stepped in front of her at the gate. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come into the cemetery right now.”

Vera didn’t need a mirror to know her face had contorted with the rage now bubbling over. She opened her mouth to launch a tirade, but thankfully Bent appeared.

“Let her through,” he said to the officer.

“Sorry, ma’am.” The officer stepped aside.

Now that she’d had to stop, Vera couldn’t seem to set herself back into motion. Her gaze was glued to the movements at her mother’s grave ... her mind was a hurricane of thoughts and emotions. No. No. No.

They can’t do this ... the little girl in her cried.

Except they could ... the woman trained in law enforcement understood. Higdon wanted it, and no doubt, his son who just happened to be a judge had given him the permission he needed or had a colleague attend to it.

Bent’s fingers wrapped around her upper arm and gently ushered her along. She stumbled but somehow managed to follow his lead. This should not be happening. Her mother was innocent in all this. It was wrong to disturb her.

The thoughts were emotional, childish ... but Vera felt like that little girl right now. Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry about all this.

The logical, trained part of her recognized that putting Higdon’s foolish accusations to rest was a step forward. As difficult as this was, it was best to get it over with and move on. But she didn’t have to make it easy or like it.

Bent pulled her to the far side of the official activity, away from the prying eyes of the reporters. A final glimpse of the line of people along the cemetery fence warned that many of those gathered were lookie-loos. People who perhaps knew one of her sisters or her father. People who would never forget—no matter the outcome of this investigation—the threads of criminal accusation that went with this official act.

Luna would be mortified.

Not that Vera wasn’t, but she and Eve weren’t totally innocent in all this and had no right to feel personally affronted by the ramifications of their own actions. Luna was completely innocent. Their mother was innocent.

That was a definite oversimplification, but Vera wasn’t thinking straight. She needed coffee. Another life.

“I know you’re upset, Vee,” Bent was saying.

She shifted her focus to him, and he made a surprised face. “Maybe upset isn’t the right word,” he amended.

Vera pulled free of his hold on her arm. “Where the hell is Higdon?” He was the one she wanted to yell at. This wasn’t Bent’s doing.

---