Page 92 of Deeper Than the Dead

“Vee, he’s not here.” He nodded toward the two suits standing next to Fayetteville Police Chief Ray Teller. “Those are FBI agents.”

Like she didn’t recognize an FBI agent when she saw one, but she kept the comment to herself.

“This is bigger than us now.”

As if someone had pulled the plug in the bathtub, all the anger and ferocity suddenly drained out of Vera. She wilted. The urge to cry was a palpable force. But she refused to give anyone in or around this damned cemetery snippets for their wagging tongues or their bylines. Damn it all to hell.

She took one last look at her mother’s coffin, and her heart lurched. “I need to get out of here.”

Without question, Bent escorted her from the cemetery. The reporters shouted the same questions, which they both ignored.

Once she was in her SUV, he hesitated before closing her door. He glanced at her chest. “Nice T-shirt.”

She stared down at the tee. Her gaze zeroed in on the logo. Bon Jovi. The lyrics of the song “It’s My Life” echoed in her brain. Bent had given her this tee. He didn’t even like Bon Jovi, but he knew she did, and he bought the tee from a guy who had gone to a concert in Atlanta. He even claimed that Bon Jovi had autographed it. The evidence was faded, and who knew if it was real or a forgery, but back then Vera had been thrilled at the notion that the shirt had hung in the same air (meaning in the Philips Arena) that Jon Bon Jovi had breathed.

She stared straight ahead, drew in a breath. “Keep me posted about this, will you?” Her attention shifted to him. He looked worried. Tired, like her. Stressed. And too damned handsome for his or her own good. Extreme stress prompted thoughtless actions. Nothing good could come of her behaving without thought with this man. No matter how easy it would be at this pain-filled moment.

He gave her a nod. “I will.”

He closed her door and she drove away. In her rearview mirror, she watched as Bent plowed back through the crowd without stopping.

She appreciated that he wasn’t giving them anything.

The urge to cry was back, but what she really wanted to do was scream.

31

Hillside Manor

Molino Road, Fayetteville, 7:30 a.m.

Vera adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag, mostly to buy time. She stood outside the door of her father’s room. Visiting hours weren’t until 9:00 a.m., but she’d talked her way beyond the lobby. She had considered calling Eve to see if she could come with her, but ultimately she’d made the decision to come alone.

There really was no firm reason she could pinpoint, just a feeling that she needed to speak with him alone. Needed to explain to him what was happening.

Possibly because she was terrified of what he might say, given the right prompts by anyone else.

Vera took a breath and reached for the knob. No time like the present.

She gave a short knock, opened the door, and stepped inside. With a big smile, she said, “Good morning, Daddy.”

Vernon Boyett sat in a chair, staring at the television. The sound was so low it was nearly muted. His hands were folded in his lap. The tan-colored sweatpants and matching tee made his skin look even paler. His hair had long ago grayed, and there was far less of it than in his younger days.

A smile tugged at Vera’s lips. As a little girl she could remember thinking she had the handsomest daddy in all of Lincoln County. Her mother had been beautiful as well. They’d made a gorgeous couple. How many times had Vera heard people say to her parents, “My, what a beautiful family you have.”

How had everything gone so wrong? The cancer. Damn it. It had taken their mother, and their father had fallen apart. The sisters had clung together like two desperate souls lost at sea.

“I’m ready for breakfast,” her father announced, his attention settling on Vera.

“It’s me, Daddy. Vee,” she said, walking closer. “I thought I’d drop by and see you this morning. You feeling okay?” She sat down in the chair that stood to his left and shared the same side table.

He stared at her, studied her face closely for a while, then his lips spread into a smile. His face lit as if Jesus himself had taken a seat next to him. “Evelyn, I’m so glad you came. I sure have missed you.”

“Oh no, Da—” Vera stopped herself. “It’s good to see you too.” She held her breath, prayed her voice didn’t give her away.

His expression turned anxious. “I’ve been so worried about what you told me.” He shook his head. “What if someone finds out? I don’t know what I’d do if there was trouble and you had to go away. What would the girls do?”

Fear spread through Vera’s chest. What did he mean? What had her mother done? She moistened her lips and considered how to respond. “No need to worry. It’s all going to be okay.”

---