Page 9 of Closer Than You Know

Bent had gone into the house to prepare the promised breakfast. Vera had opted to remain in the home office he’d created out of an existing potting shed behind the cottage he called home. The first time she’d come here, she’d been surprised.

The main house, a wood-and-stone cottage, sat a good half mile off the road, on a rise overlooking a meadow where horses grazed. Just passing by on the main road, one would never know there was a house deep within the woods. It was one of the most beautiful properties Vera had seen, and she’d seen a few. The idea that this naturally pristine and tranquil property belonged to the womanizing boozer who’d stolen her heart and introduced her to sex twenty-odd years ago stunned her. No, not stunned—shocked her.

More startling had been his reason for buying the place. When he was a child, his mother had worked as a cleaning lady for the then owner. She’d mentioned how much she would love to have a home like this—it was her dream home. Even decades after her death, Bent hadn’t forgotten the way his mother had spoken about the place. When he returned to Fayetteville and learned it was for sale, he bought it.

Truth was, Bent hadn’t been a bad person back when he and Vera collided, just a wild twenty-one-year-old who had nothing and wantednothing except to feel something besides neglect and abuse. He used his looks and sex, as well as plenty of alcohol, to assuage that emptiness.

Loss and need brought the two of them together.

But Bent knew he wasn’t what Vera needed, so he ran off and joined the army. She was devastated. They hadn’t seen each other or spoken in better than two decades until seven months ago, when those remains were found and Vera had to come back home to protect her sisters and to handle the situation.

She stared at the two whiteboards on the far side of the room. The first time Bent had brought her here, to his home workspace, the remains and other evidence found in the cave on the Boyett farm had lined both. All those bones ...

The only ones Vera had known about were the remains of her and Eve’s stepmother. She had helped Eve put the vicious bitch’s body in that cave. She shuddered at the memory. Twenty-odd years later—when the bones were discovered—she and Eve faced no charges for what they had done as kids. Their father and Sheree, the wicked stepmother, had argued, gotten physical when she’d tried to drown Luna—Vera and Eve’s baby half sister, only nine months old at the time. The fall and subsequent head injury that had caused Sheree’s death were ruled an accident. The trouble was, Sheree’s remains weren’t the only ones in that damned cave.

Enough of that.

She blinked away the memory and eased down onto a stool next to the vintage planks and posts Bent had put together to create a large table, which served as his desk. Seven months. They’d been working together on some level the whole time, and so far he’d been careful not to cross the line she had drawn in the sand. They would be friends and nothing more. It wasn’t always easy—for her anyway—but it was the best course of action.

She looked around the room, which reminded her of him in so many ways ... it smelled of his subtle aftershave—an oldie but goody. Something earthy and lightly scented. She’d always loved it. Once,maybe twice she’d run into a man wearing that same aftershave. Except no one had worn it the way Bent did. Somehow his natural scent or maybe the small amount he used, perhaps both, mingled and made the most amazingly subtle fragrance.

She cleared her throat and stood, walked up to the first of the two case boards, where the victims of the Time Thief were displayed. Beneath each photo were the details of the victim and the event. All three in their twenties. All White. Two males, one female. The details of the abductions varied very little. The time and day of the week changed. Location too. But the events that occurred were exactly the same each time. The victim was drugged and kept that way until he or she was released around forty-eight hours later.

Photos of the drawings on the bodies showed those were fairly consistent as well. Very little variation. That was the part of the case that confused Vera. The drawings—images of odd beings and animals, as well as crude renderings of the solar system—were simple, adolescent almost. For someone so carefully organized and seemingly clever, the diagrams didn’t fit. She wondered if this was just a game to the perp. Bent had made notes about a few social media sites where he’d found similar drawings, but none linked with criminal activity. Most were associated with finds in caves or other remote locations around the world. These same sorts of drawings were regularly affiliated with people and groups with strong opinions about UFOs and aliens. For some the belief was like a religion. But not a single one of those drawings was connected to this town or this case—at least not that they had found so far. Was their Time Thief using what he found on the net to give himself authenticity of some sort?

The door opened, luring her gaze in that direction. Bent walked in, carrying one of those post office trays made for holding sorted mail. No envelopes in this one. There was a carafe with two cups and two wrapped sandwiches.

He kicked the door shut behind him and carried the tray to the table. “I hope BLTs work for you.”

Vera inhaled the aroma of bacon and coffee. “Oh God, it smells fantastic.”

He passed her a sandwich swaddled in a paper towel. “Whoever invented microwave bacon was a genius.” He pointed in her direction. “By the way, I added mustard to yours.”

She was surprised he remembered. “Thanks.”

He poured the coffee, and for a minute they only ate. The lettuce and tomato were really fresh. Vera swallowed. “I can’t believe you had lettuce and tomato on hand. If I have any in the fridge, they’re probably dead. I buy them and then forget about them.”

Bent set his coffee aside. “I wouldn’t have had any, but I stole it from the leftover salad Renae brought last night.”

Time slowed for a second as Vera analyzed his statement.

“Renae?” She blinked to hide her surprise. They rarely talked about that part of their lives. She didn’t actually havethat partanymore—the personal part. She had, it seemed, been unaware that he apparently did have one. Her last personal or intimate relationship had been back in Memphis with a guy she still considered a friend. But dating wasn’t even on her radar.

Bent tore off another bite and then nodded as he chewed. After swallowing, he explained, “She’s divorced, moved here about three years ago. Just after I came back.”

Vera forced another bite, the lettuce and tomato suddenly tasting bitter. “I see,” she mumbled around chewing.

He studied her a moment. “She’s just a friend.”

The idea that he saw right through, right to the sting of jealousy that had burned her, annoyed Vera inordinately. “We all need friends.”

She forced her focus onto the coffee and the sandwich. Took another bite and worked on it until she could swallow, then licked her lips. “Tastes surprisingly good for store-bought veggies this time of year.”

“She has a greenhouse. Grows her own.”

Of course she did. She probably milked goats and made cheese as well. Vera set the remainder of her sandwich aside. Her appetite had vanished. “Wow. I’m impressed. She sounds nice.”

Bent shrugged, the move barely visible. “She is. Nice, I mean.”

---