Page 18 of Deeper Than the Dead
If family commitment determined a person’s afterlife reward, Vera was screwed.
She wandered to the window. Coming back forced her to acknowledge what she wanted to pretend away. Loss and pain and terrible secrets.
How did Eve sleep in this damned house?
The memories ... they haunted Vera even as far away as Memphis. Her intent focus on work had been her only means of escape. Maybe that explained her lack of a personal life.
Enough. Definitely not going there.
The truth was, she hadn’t set out to be in law enforcement. Maybe it was some sort of subconscious atonement ... or just to demonstrate she could. Being a cop proved she was good, didn’t it? In some little way maybe it made up for past mistakes.
Hadn’t she been doing that—trying to prove something—her whole life? At least in the after part. Like when her mother died and then her father up and married a younger woman, Vera had gone out and gotten involved with a bad boy. A bad boy her father had warned her about.
Maybe her choice of law enforcement hadn’t been about proving anything or atoning for something. Maybe it had been about this moment. The moment when she would need to protect herself and Eve from a murder charge.
No ... she refused to chalk years of hard work up to something so self-serving and simple.
Vera evicted the thoughts and stared out the window. As a kid she had loved watching the moonlight trickle through the trees and slink its way over all the blooms of her mother’s many shrubs and bushes. Later, in the after, she had used that moonlight when it hit the house at just the right angle for her to climb her way down the trellis that her father had installed for more of her mother’s vines. The greenery was so thick on it now, finding a foothold on the trellis would be impossible.
It was a miracle she hadn’t broken her neck back then.
She leaned her head against the window frame. Eve had never sneaked out of the house. She’d always been the good girl. At least until after Vera was gone. Then the behavioral issues at school started. Eve pushed away all her friends, and then the alcohol and drugs became her go-to buddies.
Vera closed her eyes and thought of her sister in the next room. Life had been so hard for her back then. She’d been a child stuck in that pivotal transition period between kid and teenager.
It was difficult to evaluate just yet how this current situation was affecting her. Vera had watched her during their time at Hillside with their father today. Her facial expressions had remained closed even when she’d spoken to him. Once they were back home, she’d spent most of the time on her phone. Whenever Vera tried to start a conversation to discuss the situation, Eve needed to make another call or to answer another text.
Typical evasion tactics.
Vera got it. Eve didn’t want to talk about it. She’d wanted desperately to talk before Vera arrived, but once she was here to take care of things, Eve had withdrawn from the situation.
A degree in psychology wasn’t required to understand her strategy. Eve accepted that the situation had happened. Now she was on to the “let’s pretend it didn’t involve me” level and was focused on moving forward. Put on the blinders and ignore. Let Vera handle the issues.
Not that Vera blamed her sister. It was far easier to not look ... to pretend. For their entire childhood, Eve had been able to count on Vera to make everything all right. Vera was here now, so to Eve’s way of thinking, everything would be fine. Vera would fix it.
Except the chances of her being able to fix this were not good.
Her superpowers had evidently taken leave of late. She couldn’t fix any aspect of what was happening in her life. The queasiness she’d been fighting all evening resurrected. She should just go back to bed and fight the covers some more. Sleep would win the battle eventually.
Something out of place snagged her attention as she turned from the window. She leaned closer to the glass and scrutinized the view. Considering the amount of time Vera had spent staring out this window as a teenager, she knew every tree and bush and the way the moonlight hit each one.
Then she spotted the anomaly. A vehicle parked in the driveway, beyond hers, Eve’s, and Luna’s. A pickup. Dark in color.
If it was a reporter poking around, she was calling the police. Vera grabbed her cell phone and slipped out of her room. She hurried down the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible and opted for the back door rather than the front.
On second thought, she grabbed her daddy’s shotgun, which had sat in the corner by the back door for as long as she could remember. If someone was out there snooping around, they were in for a rude awakening.
The click of the back door closing behind her was like a shot fired in the night. Vera held her breath and listened. Silence. She crossed the porch and descended the steps, then disappeared into the thicker part of the trees and bushes on the north end of the house. She could use that cover to reach the end of the parking area. The truck sat just beyond it, in the driveway proper.
The vehicle had no markings. She considered that maybe Bent had a deputy keeping an eye on the place. Maybe it was someone using their own vehicle. As she neared the edge of her cover, she paused and listened.
So damned quiet. Not even a cricket chirping.
This close she could make out a form inside the cab of the truck. Windows were down. She watched for a bit. Listened intently. The occupant made no attempt to get out. Made no sound.
Deep breath. Vera lifted the shotgun and braced it against her shoulder.
She eased to the left, keeping the barrel aimed at the ground—and moved toward the tailgate. Steeling herself, she hunkered down and progressed quickly past the back end of the vehicle and up the side until she was nearly even with the cab. The open windows made the slightest sound dangerous.
