Page 19 of Closer Than You Know

Tears burst from her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

Vera stiffened, glanced along the entry hall beyond her former classmate. “Is Carl home?”

A shake of her perfectly coiffed head was the answer.

Vera surrendered to the necessary and gave the woman a perfunctory hug. “Don’t cry. We will find him, and he’ll be okay.”

“I keep telling myself that.” Elizabeth’s voice rose with the building emotion, but, thankfully, she drew back. She dabbed at her cheeks with her fingertips so as not to smear her makeup. “I just don’t know what to do with myself. I had no luck with those mug shots. Once we were back home, Carl had to rush off to the bank and a meeting he couldn’t ignore. I guess, sitting here alone, I just sort of fell to pieces.”

“It’s difficult to just stay home and wait.” Vera suffered a tiny pang of guilt about the mug shots.

Elizabeth pressed a hand over her mouth, as if holding back a sob, and nodded.

Silence lapsed, and for a moment Vera allowed it to linger, in hopes Elizabeth would pull herself together.

“Do you have a few minutes to answer a question or two?” She decided what the woman needed was a distraction. “I want to do all I can to help—if this isn’t an imposition.”

Elizabeth stared at her in confusion or something on that order, then blinked it away. “Of course. I ... I can’t seem to maintain any level of focus.” She waved toward the other end of the hall. “I need tea. Would you join me?”

Vera smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

The entry hall cut through the center of the house, with the usual rooms on either side. French doors stood open, revealing the expected soaring ceilings and shiny original hardwoods in the extravagantly appointed parlor, library, and dining room. Lots of antiques and exquisite pieces adorned the rooms. The space at the rear of the house on the first floor had been opened up to create a generous kitchen and lounge area. Perfect for entertaining. Exactly what Vera would have expected of a home belonging to Elizabeth Baker.

She slid onto a stool at the large island while Elizabeth lit the flame under the kettle. The woman of the house settled two delicate cups and matching saucers on the marble counter and returned to another cupboard for a canister.

“My favorite,” she said, opening the container with trembling fingers.

The scent of peppermint reached Vera’s nose.

“I have peppermint tea,” Elizabeth explained, with a wobbly smile, “every afternoon. I so love it.” She placed a bag in each cup. “I loved the candy as a child, but”—she smoothed a hand over her black-clad hip—“unnecessary sugar is a no-no, especially after you reach a certain age.”

Vera doubted the woman, who was only two years older than her, had consumed a grain of sugar since she was ten years old. Back then she’d been a little plump. The talk in the school cafeteria was that her mother put her on a diet. Vera really couldn’t say if the rumor was true, but the girl had lost all that weight, and her whole personality had changed. Not surprising. If Vera gave up sugar, she would turn unpleasant too.

“I wish I had your willpower.”

The kettle started to sing, and Elizabeth turned off the flame. She poured the steaming water into the cups. “Look at all you’ve accomplished.” She flashed a brighter smile at Vera. “You survived losing your mother and a perfectly terrible stepmother. You were at the top of your class in everything you set out to do.” She set the kettle aside. “Why, look at what you achieved in Memphis. Amazing, just amazing. All of it. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Except for the last part,Vera didn’t say. The cutting-edge team of investigators she’d helped build had been disbanded after one killed another and then herself. So much for being amazing. The media frenzy afterward had destroyed all credibility related to the specialized team.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Elizabeth said. “You’re thinking that what happened before you moved back here negates all that you accomplished. Well, Carl and I have discussed it at length, and we are certain none of it was your fault. You just took the fall. It happens all the time. There always has to be a scapegoat.” Tears gathered in her red-rimmed eyes once more. “Nolan said the same thing.”

Except they were all wrong. It had been Vera’s job to spot potential issues. She should have noticed the trouble before it became a tragedy.

“Tell me more about Nolan,” she said, moving on. She hadn’t come here to talk about herself and definitely not about her past.

Elizabeth removed the tea bag from her cup with one of the delicate spoons that Vera hadn’t noticed she had placed next to each cup. “He’s brilliant. Really.” She met Vera’s gaze, paused a moment to gather herself. “I know I sound like a bragging mama, but it’s true. In time,he’ll find his place and make a name for himself. His father and I will support him every step of the way.”

“He never wanted to go into banking, like his grandfather and father?”

She sipped her tea. “Oh no. Never. Nolan has a wonderful relationship with his father, but he has always had his sights on the media. In fact, when he was a child, all he talked about was becoming an actor.” She let go a beleaguered breath. “His father and I did all possible to dissuade him from that idea. Finally, when he was about ten years old, he watched an exposé on a serial killer by ...” She frowned, as if attempting to call the name to mind. “Ah, yes. Patricia Patton presented it. I think it launched her career to the next level.”

The name and the time frame bored into Vera’s skull like a bullet. “The Messenger.” The hiss of air was barely audible ... the words not really words at all, more a desperate expulsion of sound.

“Yes,” Elizabeth enthused. “That big case you solved. What? Twelve ... no, thirteen years ago!”

Vera snapped from the haze of disbelief that had swaddled her. It was the same every time. Whenever the subject of the Messenger came up ... it seemed to knock her into that place of shock and disbelief. With good reason. She closed out the sounds and images that attempted to fill her mind. It was her first big case as a detective ... a serial-killer case. Not just any serial killer, either. One who had evaded the police and the FBI for a decade.

She forced a smile. “Wow. How interesting that he zeroed in on one of my cases.”

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