Page 111 of Deeper Than the Dead

“Let’s do this then.” Vera opened her door and climbed out. Eve followed.

By the time Beatrice reached the front end of her truck, Vera and Eve were there. A second person—presumably Walt—was in the passenger seat. Vera could just make out the outline of a figure beyond the windshield.

“Hi, Beatrice,” Vera said. “We’ve been waiting to see you.”

“This is not a very good time,” the former schoolteacher said, her voice too low, too quiet, as if she didn’t want whoever was still in the truck to hear. “Walt had an appointment at the doctor’s office in Nashville, and we visited our niece while we were there. We’re both fairly exhausted, as you can imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” Vera said, feeling no sympathy whatsoever. “But this won’t wait for another time.”

Beatrice exhaled an audible breath. “I need to get Walt in the house.”

Before Vera could offer, Eve said, “Let me help you.” She followed the older woman to the passenger side of the vehicle.

Eve retrieved the folded wheelchair from the bed of the truck and readied it for its occupant. Beatrice helped her husband out of the vehicle.

“Evening, Vee,” Walt said as he rolled past.

“Evening to you.” She doubted he would be happy when he learned the reason for her showing up like this. Since Beatrice said nothing, it was clear she wasn’t happy at all.

Her behavior was suspicious to say the least. Maybe only because Vera wanted her to know something about the murders. Wishful thinking could be powerful at times.

Eve rolled the wheelchair, Walt onboard, to the ramp that had been added at the end of the porch. Another, brighter light came on as they neared. Beatrice unlocked the door and stood back while Eve continued pushing the wheelchair until they were inside.

While Beatrice settled her husband in the living room, Vera and Eve waited in the front hall. Some folks still called the main rooms in these old houses parlors, but Vera’s mother had used the term living room. Her mother hadn’t really been like the other mothers. Maybe because she had grown up in the city. Even though Nashville was still in Tennessee, it was a different world from Fayetteville.

When Beatrice returned to the hall and looked from one to the other, it was clear as glass she didn’t plan to make this easy.

She said nothing, just looked at them.

“Do we need to speak in private?” Vera asked.

The older woman turned and walked toward the kitchen.

Vera and Eve shared a look, then followed.

Beatrice sat down at the kitchen table. Vera and Eve joined her.

When they’d made this plan—or more accurately, when Vera had decided this visit was a necessity, she had concluded it would be best to proceed with caution. She and Eve did not need to reveal any aspect of what they knew about the disposal of the women’s bodies or the fact that their mother had helped. The goal was to learn all possible without giving anything away or leading the story in any way.

“We’ve learned,” Vera began, “the identity of the other remains in the cave.” She left it at that for a moment to focus on the older woman’s response, verbal and physical.

At the news Beatrice flinched ever so slightly, then she blinked. “Florence hasn’t mentioned it.”

“She likely doesn’t know,” Vera explained. “The lab in Nashville is handling the case. With the FBI involved, locals don’t necessarily get all the details.” This was basically conjecture on her part, since Bent hadn’t said one way or the other, but it was the most logical assumption.

More blinking from their reluctant host. “Is it someone we know?”

“Latesha Johnson and Trina Sutton, both from the Huntsville area,” Vera explained. “Latesha was having an affair with a so-called sugar daddy here in Fayetteville.”

Another flinch. “Oh my. I don’t recognize either of those names.” Beatrice’s tone sounded stiff ... unnatural.

“Sheriff Fraley never mentioned those names?” Eve asked, her timing perfect. “There was an investigation when the second one, Trina Sutton, went missing.”

Beatrice’s face worked until she managed to speak. “I was so busy with my teaching and after-school programs, I rarely had any idea what Walt was investigating.”

“Why don’t you just ask me,” the man himself said as he rolled into the kitchen. He looked from Vera to Eve and back. “My body might be betraying me, but my mind”—he tapped his temple—“works just fine.”

“Do you need some water or something?” His wife shot to her feet. “I’m sure you’re utterly exhausted.”

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