Page 8 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)

Baker Residence

Mulberry Avenue, Fayetteville, 3:30 p.m.

Bent was in a meeting.

To her credit, Vera had attempted to return his calls—not once but twice. Both times, the call went to voicemail. As she had arrived back in Fayetteville from her interesting and potentially useful trip to Huntsville, she’d called Bent’s assistant, Myra. At the moment he was on a conference call with TBI and the local brass. Apparently, a meeting between Bent, Fayetteville’s chief of police, and the mayor had been set for 3:00 p.m. According to Myra, Bent had tried to reach her so she could attend the meeting with him.

At least now she knew what his calls had been about. Nothing new on the case, unless of course something came out of the meeting. He would fill her in later. She wouldn’t mention the fact that she was exceedingly happy she’d been unavailable for the meeting. Those sorts of torturous events were just one more thing she did not miss about her former career. The politics of police work was something she could live the rest of her life without.

She stared at the mansion that stood at the end of the long driveway. Vera would wager that Elizabeth had watched this house for years in hopes it would become available. The instant the previous owner had passed away or decided to move for whatever reason, she probably rushed to any remaining family and made a ridiculously generous offer to ensure the home was hers. Nothing wrong with going after what she wanted. Elizabeth had gotten the guy she wanted too. She was an only child whose father had owned the bank her husband now owned and operated. The ambitious woman left nothing to chance.

Made sense she would do the same for her only child. He’d graduated from the University of Tennessee just as his parents had. But since returning home one year ago, the job offers from larger outlets hadn’t materialized. His work at the Elk Valley Times was a good way to gain experience for his résumé, but that would never be suitable enough for Elizabeth. She would want more for him.

Vera suspected Nolan had inherited that sense of determination from his mother. He’d shown his true colors during the investigation into the remains found on the farm. In Vera’s opinion it was absolutely plausible that he would attempt to use the Time Thief case to his benefit. What better way than to become a victim himself? What was the real perp going to do? File a complaint? Cry foul? Unless, of course, Nolan was the Time Thief. She actually had considerable difficulty seeing him in that role. It was a potential scenario, of course.

And if Nolan had taken the liberty of putting himself in the position of victim, the actual perp might very well react in a manner not consistent with his MO. Unfortunately, that was the prospect Nolan may have failed to consider. He could very well cause the real perp to commit a more egregious act to wrestle back the lost attention and regain control of the narrative.

Vera emerged from her SUV and closed the door. She shivered as the chilly air cut through her. Though the snow was gone, the wind remained sharp. Spring couldn’t come soon enough for her. Walking quickly, she headed to the front entrance of the Baker home. By the time she climbed the steps, the door had opened and Elizabeth stood in the doorway. Though to Vera’s knowledge she didn’t have an actual job, Elizabeth dressed as if she was expected at a very important meeting. Black fitted trousers and a cream-colored sweater, topped by a matching scarf that swirled around her neck like a puffy noose. Her hair and makeup were impeccable—even her red lipstick looked fresh.

“Is there news?” Her voice quivered ever so slightly.

The mixture of fear and hope on her face had Vera doubting her theory for a second or two. But then, this woman had always been a very good actress. Besides, there was a chance Elizabeth was unaware of what her son was up to—assuming he was up to anything other than being abducted. Vera would bet money she had no clue about his love life.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Vera admitted, standing in front of the other woman now.

Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Please. Come in out of the cold.”

Vera followed her inside. “You holding up okay?” Dumb question, but it was the expected one.

Elizabeth turned her hands up, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I suppose. I keep reminding myself that none of the victims have been harmed—not really, I mean—so there’s every reason to believe Nolan will be unharmed.” Her lips trembled. “But I just keep thinking about what could happen.”

Tears burst from her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

Vera stiffened, glanced along the entry hall beyond her former classmate. “Is Carl home?”

A shake of her perfectly coiffed head was the answer.

Vera surrendered to the necessary and gave the woman a perfunctory hug. “Don’t cry. We will find him, and he’ll be okay.”

“I keep telling myself that.” Elizabeth’s voice rose with the building emotion, but, thankfully, she drew back. She dabbed at her cheeks with her fingertips so as not to smear her makeup. “I just don’t know what to do with myself. I had no luck with those mug shots. Once we were back home, Carl had to rush off to the bank and a meeting he couldn’t ignore. I guess, sitting here alone, I just sort of fell to pieces.”

“It’s difficult to just stay home and wait.” Vera suffered a tiny pang of guilt about the mug shots.

Elizabeth pressed a hand over her mouth, as if holding back a sob, and nodded.

Silence lapsed, and for a moment Vera allowed it to linger, in hopes Elizabeth would pull herself together.

“Do you have a few minutes to answer a question or two?” She decided what the woman needed was a distraction. “I want to do all I can to help—if this isn’t an imposition.”

Elizabeth stared at her in confusion or something on that order, then blinked it away. “Of course. I ... I can’t seem to maintain any level of focus.” She waved toward the other end of the hall. “I need tea. Would you join me?”

Vera smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

The entry hall cut through the center of the house, with the usual rooms on either side. French doors stood open, revealing the expected soaring ceilings and shiny original hardwoods in the extravagantly appointed parlor, library, and dining room. Lots of antiques and exquisite pieces adorned the rooms. The space at the rear of the house on the first floor had been opened up to create a generous kitchen and lounge area. Perfect for entertaining. Exactly what Vera would have expected of a home belonging to Elizabeth Baker.

She slid onto a stool at the large island while Elizabeth lit the flame under the kettle. The woman of the house settled two delicate cups and matching saucers on the marble counter and returned to another cupboard for a canister.

“My favorite,” she said, opening the container with trembling fingers.

The scent of peppermint reached Vera’s nose.

“I have peppermint tea,” Elizabeth explained, with a wobbly smile, “every afternoon. I so love it.” She placed a bag in each cup. “I loved the candy as a child, but”—she smoothed a hand over her black-clad hip—“unnecessary sugar is a no-no, especially after you reach a certain age.”

Vera doubted the woman, who was only two years older than her, had consumed a grain of sugar since she was ten years old. Back then she’d been a little plump. The talk in the school cafeteria was that her mother put her on a diet. Vera really couldn’t say if the rumor was true, but the girl had lost all that weight, and her whole personality had changed. Not surprising. If Vera gave up sugar, she would turn unpleasant too.

“I wish I had your willpower.”

The kettle started to sing, and Elizabeth turned off the flame. She poured the steaming water into the cups. “Look at all you’ve accomplished.” She flashed a brighter smile at Vera. “You survived losing your mother and a perfectly terrible stepmother. You were at the top of your class in everything you set out to do.” She set the kettle aside. “Why, look at what you achieved in Memphis. Amazing, just amazing. All of it. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Except for the last part, Vera didn’t say. The cutting-edge team of investigators she’d helped build had been disbanded after one killed another and then herself. So much for being amazing. The media frenzy afterward had destroyed all credibility related to the specialized team.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Elizabeth said. “You’re thinking that what happened before you moved back here negates all that you accomplished. Well, Carl and I have discussed it at length, and we are certain none of it was your fault. You just took the fall. It happens all the time. There always has to be a scapegoat.” Tears gathered in her red-rimmed eyes once more. “Nolan said the same thing.”

Except they were all wrong. It had been Vera’s job to spot potential issues. She should have noticed the trouble before it became a tragedy.

“Tell me more about Nolan,” she said, moving on. She hadn’t come here to talk about herself and definitely not about her past.

Elizabeth removed the tea bag from her cup with one of the delicate spoons that Vera hadn’t noticed she had placed next to each cup. “He’s brilliant. Really.” She met Vera’s gaze, paused a moment to gather herself. “I know I sound like a bragging mama, but it’s true. In time, he’ll find his place and make a name for himself. His father and I will support him every step of the way.”

“He never wanted to go into banking, like his grandfather and father?”

She sipped her tea. “Oh no. Never. Nolan has a wonderful relationship with his father, but he has always had his sights on the media. In fact, when he was a child, all he talked about was becoming an actor.” She let go a beleaguered breath. “His father and I did all possible to dissuade him from that idea. Finally, when he was about ten years old, he watched an exposé on a serial killer by ...” She frowned, as if attempting to call the name to mind. “Ah, yes. Patricia Patton presented it. I think it launched her career to the next level.”

The name and the time frame bored into Vera’s skull like a bullet. “The Messenger.” The hiss of air was barely audible ... the words not really words at all, more a desperate expulsion of sound.

“Yes,” Elizabeth enthused. “That big case you solved. What? Twelve ... no, thirteen years ago!”

Vera snapped from the haze of disbelief that had swaddled her. It was the same every time. Whenever the subject of the Messenger came up ... it seemed to knock her into that place of shock and disbelief. With good reason. She closed out the sounds and images that attempted to fill her mind. It was her first big case as a detective ... a serial-killer case. Not just any serial killer, either. One who had evaded the police and the FBI for a decade.

She forced a smile. “Wow. How interesting that he zeroed in on one of my cases.”

“Well.” Elizabeth took another sip of her tea, reminding Vera that she hadn’t touched her own. “It was likely because Carl and I were absolutely enthralled by the investigation. I think everyone in town who knew you or your family was captivated. You were one of us, and suddenly you were this big hero.” Though her eyes remained red and puffy, the tears had dried, and she even managed a decent smile.

“Well, thank you.” Vera focused on removing the tea bag from her cup and properly tucking it on the saucer as Elizabeth had. She downed a gulp of the hot liquid, let the burn recenter her, then cleared her throat. “It was a ... strange time.”

She almost winced. Strange time ? Was that the best she could come up with?

Christ.

“Anyway,” her hostess went on, “your media success was Nolan’s inspiration. I think he’s followed you ever since. I know Carl and I have.”

More tea slid down Vera’s throat. The taste wasn’t so bad, but primarily Vera needed to do anything to make the dryness go away.

“Anyway.” Elizabeth waved a hand in the air, as if erasing the most recent part of the conversation. “I’m sure you’re aware what a celebrity you are around here. Your incredible ability is the reason I knew we needed you to find him.” That shine was back in her eyes, and she seemed to need a moment before she could go on.

Vera cleared her throat, but the thickening sensation and the dryness lingered. “I imagine Nolan has been captivated by the Time Thief as well.”

Elizabeth stared into her cup. “Sadly, yes. He’s been utterly focused on the case. You may or may not read the paper, but he’s written pieces on every abduction. Interviewed the victims at length.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if hoping to hold back the tide.

Vera had known about Nolan’s articles. Though she didn’t spend a lot of time watching or reading the news—not since the tragedy in Memphis—Bent had brought her up to speed. He’d mentioned Nolan’s close following of the ongoing investigation once or twice over the past few weeks.

For several seconds Elizabeth said nothing. Vera wondered if she was waiting for her to respond to that last comment. In her experience it was better to delay and see what the other person said next. No one liked the spans of silence during a conversation ... especially if that person was leaving out pertinent details related to the conversation. In this case, the pause might very well be emotionally driven.

“I’ve been asking myself all morning,” Elizabeth went on, as Vera had known she would, “if he somehow veered too close.” Her gaze lifted to Vera’s. “Nolan firmly believes the person behind these abductions is someone local.”

No question. “Did he ever mention any names? Maybe someone he spoke with more than once?”

“Just one.” Elizabeth shivered visibly.

Vera’s instincts sharpened. Her fingers tightened on the delicate handle of the teacup. She forced her hand to relax rather than risk breaking it.

“You may or may not remember him, but he was in my class.” Elizabeth flattened her palms on the cool marble. “Fisher Owens. He was one of those guys who spent all his time totally zoned out on one drug or the other. Most recently I heard he was into crystal meth.”

Vera did remember him ... vaguely. Bent hadn’t mentioned him, and the guy’s name and face hadn’t been on the case board. “What made Nolan suspect Owens was involved?”

“The few people who associate with Fisher know he has this bizarre fixation on extraterrestrials. He talked about it even back in high school. Evidently he still does—ad nauseam. Nolan felt he fit the profile for the person behind these incidents.”

Ah, yes. Another armchair detective. The endless parade of crime shows over the years had far too many people believing they could profile perps as well as the cops could. This affliction was particularly prominent in reporters—ones exactly like Patricia Patton, who believed she knew more than the police or anyone else.

Vera kicked the woman out of her head. Patton was just another of her bad memories from Memphis. Like a buzzard, she showed up circling wherever she smelled potential trouble.

“Did he give you any other specifics on why he believed Owens was the one?” Vera felt confident there was nothing to the scenario, but she never allowed her personal feelings to get in the way of an investigation. Well, most of the time, anyway. There had been a failure or two in her time. Then again, considering her hostess, this could be one of them.

“He said Fisher had newspaper clippings and notes about the victims all over his wall in that shack where he lives. He told Bent.” She shook her head, looked heavenward. “Bent is a good sheriff, but sometimes he can be ...” She sighed. “Well, you know.”

Vera knew exactly what she meant. Sometimes Bent didn’t do a good job of covering how little tolerance he had for people like Elizabeth and, no doubt, her son. Still, once Vera pushed past defending him, she did wonder why he hadn’t mentioned Owens. And why the guy’s photo hadn’t been on his board.

“You have Fisher’s address?”

Elizabeth spouted it off as if she frequented the place.

“Since I’m working with Bent on this one, I will follow up on it.” Vera stood, forced a smile into place. “Thank you for the tea.”

Elizabeth reached across the island and clutched Vera’s hand. “Find my son, Vera Mae. Please. This was not supposed to happen. He—” Her eyes rounded with something like surprise or shock. She blinked. “He ... he has this bright future, and I can’t bear the thought of losing him.”

Vera promised she would do all in her power, then made her exit. All the way to her SUV, she kept wondering what Elizabeth had almost let slip.

Once she was on the street headed away from the Baker home, she pulled over in the parking lot of the Whiskey Creek Grille. She put the address into her GPS to confirm the directions. She hadn’t lived in Fayetteville in a very long time until a few months ago. She was still finding her way around, to some degree. A check of her cell showed Bent had returned her call. If she told him her plan, he would demand to go with her.

If Fisher Owens was a tweaker, chances were he wouldn’t be very forthcoming with the sheriff around. Vera would unquestionably have better luck alone.

Only one way to prove her theory.