Page 3 of Deeper Than the Dead
Deep breath. Keep moving.
As she reached her desk, she sagged with relief. Hand shaking, she picked up her phone and tucked it into her shoulder bag. Another deep breath.
Hold it together a little while longer.
One last survey of her office, and her gaze landed on the framed photo that sat on the corner of her desk, angled so she could see it whenever she looked up from her work. The photograph was of the three of them: her, Eve, and their much younger sister, Luna. They were all smiling. Standing under that big old oak tree in the front yard back home. Seemingly of its own accord, Vera’s hand reached for the framed memory and placed it in the gym bag.
Okay. Breathe. That was the last of her personal effects. She was done. She could leave now.
Laughter abruptly bubbled into her throat, sputtered past her lips. This was insane.
Two people were dead. The team she had helped create from the ground up would likely be abolished—every single person related to it in any way had been suspended, pending further investigation. The whole thing continued to play out in the media like a bad movie, amplifying the already tragic situation.
Her disillusioned laughter dissolved as the hot sting of tears surged onto her lashes.
Here she’d thought the worst that could happen had done so already ... then her sister called.
2
Downtown
Fayetteville, Tennessee, 4:00 p.m.
Not much had changed.
No surprise there. Vera braked at the traffic light and surveyed the courthouse, which stood proudly in the center of the town’s square. The shops that surrounded the Colonial Revival–style structure were mostly the ones she remembered from her childhood. Some had new names and facades. In small towns flexibility was key to survival.
The ice cream shop on the corner had been Vera and Eve’s favorite stop whenever they came into town. Strawberry for Eve. Always chocolate for Vera. They’d lick their ice cream cones and spin around on the stools. Tug at each other’s long blonde braids.
So many memories. Vera frowned. How long had it been since she last visited?
Years. She hadn’t come back in over two years. Luna had insisted that she, Eve, and Vera together—as a family—move their father to the home. Grudgingly, Vera had cooperated. But she’d only stayed the one night. Hurrying back to work had been her excuse.
Can’t use that excuse this time, now can you?
Vera blinked away the thought. The swell of dread that had occurred after Luna’s call still refused to subside, despite the time required for Vera to go home and pack a bag and then to drive better than halfway across the state. The blare of a car horn behind her made her jump. The light had turned green, and, lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed.
Clearing her head, she pressed the accelerator and rolled forward. Pedestrians waited at the ends of blocks to cross the street when the light changed. Her gaze skimmed over faces she didn’t recall or maybe didn’t want to recall. If she were lucky, no one she encountered would recognize her.
“Oh look, it’s Vera Boyett—the woman whose incompetence cost lives.”
“Not going there,” she muttered as she passed the bank her family had used for as long as she could remember. At the end of the next block was the Presbyterian Church they’d attended before everything changed.
Before their father ruined the remainder of their childhoods.
Looking back on her early life, Vera saw it in two parts—before and after. Before her mother died, when life was good and simple. Then once she was gone, everything changed—the after.
Her cell vibrated against the console, and the call flashed on the SUV’s dash screen. Eve. Vera tapped Ignore Call the same way she had the other half dozen or so times her sister had called. She could not talk to her. Not on a cell phone. Not until they were face to face.
A dozen more knots tightened in her belly. How the hell had this happened?
Luna had probably provided the details of this startling development when she called, but Vera hadn’t heard anything after Mama’s dead. She’s been dead all this time. She being Vera and Eve’s stepmother, Sheree. Sheree Corbin Boyett—the second wife, the one over twenty years younger than their father. The one who had looked more like a stripper dressed for her next act than a bride about to take on a ready-made family. Air abruptly filled Vera’s lungs, reminding her she’d forgotten to breathe.
Don’t think. Just drive.
Instinctively, she navigated the road that would take her home. Could have driven it blindfolded.
Home. She blinked repeatedly. This had not been home for a very long time, yet somehow, it always would be. Funny how life was like that. You spent years dreaming of escaping a place, and no matter how far and fast you ran, you could never get completely away. It was part of you. Entrenched on a cellular level. God knew she had rushed to escape with considerably more enthusiasm than most.
