Back downstairs, she found Bent on the front porch.
“Find anything?” he asked.
She nodded. “I did. In the guest room where Parson and his potential girlfriend were staying, there’s a packet of what looks like cocainein one of the pillowcases. I didn’t touch it, but that may have been one of the drugs of choice this weekend.”
“I’ll have Conover have a second look just in case he missed anything else.”
Vera winced. “Maybe say you found it.” She preferred staying on the good side of the deputies, particularly Conover. In her experience it was never helpful to get on a cop’s bad side.
“I can do that.” He hitched his head toward the door. “You done?”
“For now. I’m anxious to meet Valeri Erwin and hear firsthand what she has to say.”
While Bent locked up and resealed the scene, Vera headed for his truck. Whatever happened in this cabin—she turned back to study it as she opened the passenger side door—it had started well before Wilton and his guests arrived.
What Vera needed next was motive. Then the rest would fall into place.
The drive back to the main house seemed strange, considering there was no one else anywhere on the hundreds of acres surrounding them. All the official vehicles were gone at this point. Bodies removed, the scene processed. Conover would be back for a second sweep later today or tomorrow. No employees except Erwin had come to the property at all today. No other family—evidently there was none. No vehicles moving about. No lawn work or housework. Nothing. Leaving a vast property silent except for the breeze and the birds.
It was almost unnerving.
But that deafening silence abruptly shattered as they drove through the main gate, exiting the property.
A sporty sedan waited, parked crossways in the road, blocking their path. A man, arms folded over his chest, leaned against the driver’s side door.
“What the hell?” Bent muttered.
Vera squinted to identify the interloper.Nolan Baker.
Irritation instantly flamed. “What’s he doing here?” Dumb question. He was here for the story.
Bent sent her a look. “He showed up this morning with a handful of other reporters but left for the hospital when the bodies were removed.” Bent shoved the gearshift into Park. “He must have heard you and I were headed back this way.”
Vera rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking to him.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Bent climbed out of the truck and headed for the younger man.
Nolan Baker, son of Vera’s nemesis back in high school, cared about only one thing: himself. Well, himself and catching that big break, but ultimately those were one and the same. Sadly for him, that had not happened as of yet. He was still writing for his small-town newspaper. Nothing wrong with that unless your mother was Elizabeth Bogus Baker (also known as Boggie back in high school). The woman expected the moon and sun out of her son, just like she’d expected her high school football star husband to end up in the NFL. Didn’t happen.
Sucked to be so dependent upon other people’s success for your happiness.
Nolan had inherited his mother’s arrogance and doggedness. Made him a good reporter, she supposed. But it did absolutely nothing for his personality.
She clenched her teeth as she watched Bent instruct Baker to leave. He would, of course. But he would be back ... over and over again until he got the story.
Especially now. Thomas Wilton was a big deal. The story would go national, for sure. It was just the sort of mystery that reporters would do anything to capture. Three dead. One in a coma. The motive unclear. Money, sex, drugs.
Vera was confident about one thing. This was no sudden, random act. The kills went down far too easily with hardly any resistance, which meant one of two things: Either the victims knew their killer, or this was a well-planned execution that no one saw coming.
7
Erwin Residence
Washington Street, 4:15 p.m.
Vera tried again to kick off this round. “Ms. Erwin—”
“Remind me again why you’re asking me questions.” Erwin looked from Vera to Bent and back. “I’ve seen you in the newspaper, but I didn’t know you worked with Sheriff Benton.”
