Page 32

Bent was right behind her as she took the final step and turned toward the kitchen.

“You want to explain to me what’s going on?”

More coffee wouldn’t help, so she stalled a few feet from the kitchen doorway. Food damned sure wouldn’t provide any relief, either, so no need to go to the kitchen. She wasn’t a stress cook like Luna. She’d always thought she wasn’t a stress drinker like Eve, but then last night had seemed to disprove that conclusion.

Vera opted to go to her mother’s library rather than stand in the entry hall and have this unavoidable conversation. “I’d made detective,” she began. “Thirteen years ago. The chief really wanted me on the admin side, but I was determined to be an investigator. Reluctantly, he caved, and I was assigned to the homicide division. Being at the bottom of the food chain seniority-wise, I always got the shit tasks and cases. The ones no one else wanted to deal with—meaning the routine stuff. The easy-to-solve, ‘anyone can figure it out’ sort. But then a few months later, I arrived at a routine scene that changed everything.”

Why the hell was she even talking about this? The person—whoever left that message—could NOT be him.

“The Messenger.” Bent’s jaw worked for a moment. “That’s how you got involved with the case.”

Just hearing him say the name made her gut clench.

“I made an impression pretty quickly.” Vera nodded. “The first message I received from him was left on the mirror in my bathroom—like this one. My apartment was a low-end one, so breaking in wasn’t difficult. He used laundry detergent to write the words on the mirror so that when I took a shower, the steam covered the glass save for where the detergent was—revealing his message to me.” She blinked, took a breath. “I see you, Detective.”

Biggest mistake of his fucking life. Vera was the one who figured out who he was and nailed his ass.

This is not him. Nope. Can’t be.

“I was stationed in Europe during that time,” Bent said, “but I followed both you and Eve on social media. The bastard’s in prison, right?”

“He is.” Vera reminded herself to keep her cool. She did not want Bent to see her lose it. “This morning, while I waited for you to arrive, I called a friend in Memphis, who confirmed it for me.”

Riverbend Maximum Security Institution was in Nashville. Not nearly far enough away to suit Vera. When she’d been in Memphis, at the time of his sentencing, she’d been glad he would be hundreds of miles away from her.

But now that she was back in Fayetteville ... he wasn’t nearly far enough away.

Why was she still thinking about him? She ordered herself to stop.

“Tell me about him.”

But Bent kept wanting to hear more ...

Vera took a breath. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hold off going there until there’s reason to. Anyone could have read about him and decided to do this. I haven’t exactly been a local favorite. And if someone who’s holding a grudge knows I’m helping on this case, it may have stirred up those feelings.”

“For now,” Bent allowed, his expression stony. “But if anything like this happens again, we are going there.”

“Thanks.” With effort, Vera pushed the worries about the writing on her mirror aside. “Did Conover have any news on Owens’s shack or Nolan’s apartment?” Bent had already told her there was no news on Nolan Baker, but he hadn’t been specific as to the case overall.

“There were no prints at all on the newspaper clippings in the bedroom,” Bent told her. “But the poster-board drawings were covered with Owens’s prints. There’s still a lot to go through from the shed out back and in the shack itself. As for Nolan’s apartment, nothing so far that we didn’t expect. His prints. His parents’. No word back yet about his laptop. Nothing unexpected on his cell phone.”

There hadn’t been any calls to or from Teresa Russ on his cell phone. Vera had checked. No voicemails either. Thank God.

“There were prints on that window at the old hospital where the blind was removed and then on the one where it was installed.”

Vera perked up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. No match yet. Conover and I were at the old hospital when you called.”

“Sorry.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I could have waited ... I just got spooked.”

“Never wait, Vee. Always trust your instincts.” Bent put a hand to her back and ushered her toward the entry hall. “You should eat and have more coffee.”

He knew her too well. “That would mean I’d have to cook.”

“I’ll cook. An omelet sound okay? Assuming you have the fixings.”

She scoffed. “Why don’t I go grab a few things from my greenhouse garden?”