Chapter 24
Fayetteville Hardware
Vera wanted to get this thing done. The uncertainty was making her crazy. She almost told Bent before they parted ways, but she’d decided she needed to confirm one way or the other first.
She sat in the parking lot, stared at the dozens of sales being advertised in the hardware store’s windows.
She was prepared for the worst-case scenario.
That was her motto: Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Luna was counting on her to turn this situation around either way.
On the drive here she had considered that perhaps she would need to have a friendly drink with the ME as an excuse to pick her brain about Jackie’s injuries.
Vera knew many things about murder, killers, and all the working parts and broken pieces that went together with a homicide.
But she was not a medical doctor. She did not know all the what-ifs related to the human body to make informed, accurate conclusions on the many possible scenarios associated with injuries and death.
It was one thing to have experienced a situation—she always tried to learn the ins and outs of every homicide she investigated—but it was another to simply know because you’d studied and practiced the subject.
Jenny Collins might be a pain in Vera’s ass where Bent was concerned, but she was the top authority on the human anatomy around these parts.
Besides, Vera had been back home for more than a year.
It was time to make a few friends—useful ones, anyway.
A girl could never have too many handy, knowledgeable pals.
No more putting it off. Vera emerged from her SUV and headed into the hardware store. At the counter she smiled for the clerk. “Is Mr. Potter in?”
Luna had said that Clarence Potter shook the can of paint and rung her up that day. He was the owner. Vera wanted to speak directly to him. The quickest way to make the gossip grapevine was to pose a dicey question to the wrong person.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter is gone for the day. Can I help you with something?”
Vera didn’t recognize the clerk, but she looked to be about Eve’s age.
Maybe someone she went to school with, assuming she was from the area.
Vera committed the woman’s glossy red hair and green eyes to memory.
She would ask Eve later. If the cash register operation and/or maintenance became an issue, it wouldn’t hurt to have an inside contact.
“Thank you, but I really need to speak with Mr. Potter. What time will he be in tomorrow?”
“He’s generally here by eight and leaves at five. He had to leave a little early today.” She tapped her mouth. “Dentist appointment.”
Another idea occurred to Vera. “Thanks. I just need a . . .” She mentally ran down a list of items sold at a hardware store. “An extension cord.”
The redhead blinked. “Sure. I’ll show you where they are.”
Vera followed her down an aisle, wondering what in the hell made her say extension cord.
“White? Brown? Black?” the cashier asked. “We have several lengths.”
When she stopped in front of an array of extension cords, Vera frowned. “White. Six feet, I guess.”
The cashier snagged one and passed it to Vera. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
The walk back to the cash register had her stomach tying in knots. Holding her breath, Vera paid for the item.
“Anything else, hon?” The cashier tucked the receipt into the bag with the extension cord, then handed it to Vera. Before Vera could say a word, the redhead pointed a finger at her and smiled. “I know you, you’re Eve’s big sister, Vera.”
Well that answered the question of whether Eve knew the woman. “I thought you looked familiar.” What was one more lie in the grand scheme of things. Lies and fibs were simply a way of life for cops and private investigators. And Boyett sisters, apparently.
“Opal Carmichael.” She gave Vera a knowing nod. “That Eve is a pure miracle worker when it comes to the dead. I can’t tell you how many friends and relatives she’s prepared and somehow managed to make them look so natural. Everyone brags on her work.”
Vera smiled. It was good to hear nice things said about her sister. She had worked hard to earn the respect of this community. “We’re very proud of Eve.”
Opal leaned forward as if she were about to tell a state secret. “I reckon it’s Eve’s calling. She makes everyone look even better dead than they did when they were living.” Her eyes got way bigger. “She really has a special gift, for sure.”
“She does. Well, thank you, Opal.”
“You have a good day!” Eve’s former classmate called after her.
It was way too late for any part of this day to be deemed good—outside Carmichael’s enthusiastic praise for Eve.
Vera had endured a car ride all the way to Nashville and back with the snobby son of the woman who had made her life miserable back in high school, then she’d been puked on by her poor little pregnant sister.
This was not a good day by any measure of the definition, and she didn’t expect it to get any better.
She hoped it wasn’t about to get worse. Vera hurried to her SUV. When she was settled in her seat and had started the engine so the cool air would blow on her face, she dared to examine the receipt.
The digital clock on her dash read 4:52 p.m. The receipt showed 4:50 p.m.
Her heart sank. Adding the time it took her to get out of the store and into her SUV, the time was right. Which meant Luna was wrong about the time she left the hardware store.
How could that be?
Her cell vibrated on the console with an incoming call. Vera let it go to the car speaker. Valeri Erwin.
“Shit.” She tapped the Accept Call button. “Vera Boyett.”
“Vera, this is Valeri. I need to talk to you in person right now. Can you come to my place.”
“Are you there?” She might have tossed too much snark into the question, but she knew Erwin had been home earlier and chose not to acknowledge Vera’s presence. Plus she had just suffered through the worst possible news. Vera was in no mood to be patient or nice.
“Well, yes. That’s why I asked you to come over.”
“Be right there.” Vera ended the call. What was it about that woman that got on her nerves so? Maybe the knowledge that she was a lying, conniving little self-serving gold digger. At least that was where the background research was pointing so far.
Open mind, Vee. Sometimes even the devil himself has an excuse.
She shoved the thought of the receipt out of her head and did what she had to do.
Erwin Residence
Washington Street, 5:15 p.m.
Vera glanced at the door to the apartment where she’d interviewed the young mother who hadn’t wanted to give her name.
It was all quiet in her apartment now. Same with the neighbor across the hall.
Vera climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on Erwin’s door.
The one on the right side of the staircase.
The downstairs tenant had said Erwin lived on that side.
For all Vera knew, she could have had the whole floor.
But this was the door that had opened when Vera was here.
The sound of the floor creaking on the other side of the door told Vera the woman was peeking through the security peephole. Vera resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a bad habit she’d developed since her return to the county. Along with worsening grammar and way more swearing.
One, then two locks released before the door opened. Erwin’s face looked flushed. Her eyes were wide. “Thank you for coming.”
Erwin stepped back far enough for Vera to squeeze through the door. The woman could be so strange sometimes.
“What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?
” Vera crossed her arms and waited. She was beyond ready to go home so she could stand in her backyard and scream at the top of her lungs for a good ten minutes or so.
Or maybe take a nice long run to work off some of this tension.
Except she had a concussion, and she couldn’t do that.
“You want to have a seat?”
Though Erwin had a very nice apartment with lovely furnishings and well-done decor, Vera had no desire to stay a moment longer than necessary. At least not until she had a search warrant. It was time they went that route with or without compelling evidence. All they had to do was convince a judge.
“I have a meeting.” Not exactly a lie. Bent was cooking dinner for her. “Can we just get to whatever it is you have to tell me?”
“Oh sure.” Erwin nodded emphatically. Today she wore a baggy tee and jogging pants, and her hair looked in need of a wash—nothing at all like her usual put-together self.
“So I went to the mansion this afternoon right after lunch to see if I could pick up a few files from the office.” She looked heavenward with an exaggerated eye roll and shook her head to punctuate it.
“Trying to take care of the business from here is nearly impossible.”
This was exactly why Vera had to break the eye-roll habit. It was not a good look on anyone. Particularly when accompanied with other overdone gestures.
“I’m sure Bent can arrange to have a deputy accompany you to the house for whatever work materials you need.” Was that all she had to say? For Pete’s sake. Vera had no time for her theatrics. This could have been covered in a phone conversation.
“That would be great, because the deputy on duty today wouldn’t let me in. But that isn’t the reason I called you. As I was about to leave, a man showed up, demanding to talk to you.”
A frown worked its way across Vera’s brow, likely deepening the permanent lines time itself had inscribed there. “What man?”
“He said his name was Larry Parson, and he was looking for his brother.” Her eyes got even wider, if that was possible. “You know, the one Alicia was probably fooling around with. Her ex. The one who was murdered at the cabin.”
Vera held up a hand. “Okay. What time was this?”