Page 67

“And don’t even think about trying to poke me into a hole with this group,” Vera tacked on.

Eve worked up a smile. “I would never do that. I’ll put you in an urn on my mantel so I can talk to you about everything until Suri or somebody puts me in one right there beside you.”

Vera hugged her. “Don’t get too excited, I plan on being around for a long time.”

Assuming whoever was playing the Messenger game didn’t get the jump on her.

25

Las Trojas CantinaRedstone Drive, Fayetteville, 6:55 p.m.

Vera parked in the lot and waited. She could see Eric just inside the door, waiting for her. But there was something she needed to confirm before she went inside, and to do that she had to wait.

About ten seconds after she’d parked, another car slid into a slot a few spaces away. Then she waited some more. A full half minute later, and no one had emerged from the vehicle. She smiled. She had been right. Satisfied, she climbed out of her SUV and secured it. Rather than walk toward the entrance of the restaurant, she moved in the direction of the other vehicle. Black—of course—two door and quite sporty. The windows were tinted, but she was far too confident in her conclusion to be put off by the lack of visibility.

Vera walked right up to the driver’s window and rapped on the glass.

It powered down, and a man of twenty-five or so, maybe thirty, stared up at her without saying a word. The look on his face told her all she needed to know. He’d been caught, and his boss was not going to be happy about it.

“Deputy ...?” She sent him a questioning look.

He exhaled, stared forward. “Kershaw.”

“Deputy Kershaw,” she said, “I’ll be in the restaurant for a couple of hours, give or take, and then I’ll be heading home. Did the sheriff assign you to keep an eye on my house tonight as well?”

“Until further notice, ma’am.”

“I guess I’ll see you later, then.” With that, she headed toward the entrance of the restaurant.

The hostess smiled. “Welcome. How many in your party?”

“She’s with me,” Eric announced, appearing at Vera’s side. He ushered her toward the dining room. “I have a table already, and our waitress is on standby.”

Eric was always fully prepared for every occasion. Had never allowed a “play it by ear” moment in his life. He’d likely already tipped the waitress well to ensure she appeared the moment Vera arrived.

The table was in the corner farthest from the small crowd already seated in the dining room. Vera would wager no one would be seated close to them.Never leave anything to chancewas her old friend’s motto.

When they’d settled, the waitress took their drink orders. Vera decided she was due a margarita. Maybe two, depending on how long the evening lasted and just how much Eric was willing to share. He ordered a margarita as well.

Once they were alone, he leaned forward. “I just had a call from Agent Alcott. He tried to visit Solomon again this afternoon,” he said in a hushed tone.

Vera wasn’t surprised. The FBI would want to put to rest any notion of this situation beingtheMessenger or someone who had worked with him. The possibility might make them look bad and would certainly raise questions and have reporters nosing around. The copycat scenario was much more palatable from their perspective.

“Have you heard how the meeting went?”

“Solomon refused to see him. Insisted he had nothing to say to the agent.”

Not a complete surprise. “He never liked Alcott.”

Eric nodded. “But he did have a message he wanted to pass along.”

The waitress arrived with two rather large glasses rimmed with salt and festooned with lemon slices. So maybe one would be her limit. Vera sipped the tangy drink. “Hmm. Nice.” She licked the salt from her lips. “What was the message?”

Eric ignored his own drink. “He said he had something to tell you, but he would only pass it along in person.”

Wasn’t she the lucky one? “Really?” She indulged in another, deeper swallow. “He wants to see me. Interesting.” Not really. The Messenger had had some bizarre fascination with her from the beginning. The idea that it still lingered made her more than a little uncomfortable. “If it helps with our case, I’m happy to oblige.”

The prospect had made sense back then. She fit the profile of his preferred victim. But, if she was completely honest with herself, it had felt like more. Eve had touched on it when they talked at the cemetery, but Vera would never admit as much out loud. On some level she understood there was a connection between her and Solomon ... a knowing. Vera had only felt that deeper connection to a perp a couple of times. Explaining it to anyone would be like attempting to describe the shape and texture of air. It was impossible to put into words. She downed more of her margarita.