Who sent Vera flowers?
I walked closer and lifted the envelope leaning against the vase. I read the words typed across the front of the envelope: Some secrets are worth keeping. The same words from last night’s envelope.
My heart gave a thud as I ripped it open. Inside, a 1967 black-and-white mug shot of Vera. Her almond eyes cold, her long wavy hair sweeping against her shoulders. Even the scowl she wore couldn’t hide her redbone beauty. I’d never seen this picture before.
Every muscle inside me tightened. Someone had killed Sam and now they’d been close enough to Vera to harm her, too. Who was playing this sick game?
I rustled Vera awake. “Vee . . . Vee, wake up.” Vera stirred a bit before opening her eyes. “Vee, it’s me . . . Ellie. Did somebody come by to visit you today? Who left these flowers honey?”
Vera smiled. “Hey, Ellie, baby. I must have fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Vee! Who left these flowers?”
Vera craned her fragile frame in the direction of the bedside table. “Oooh . . . how pretty. Did you pick ’em?”
“I’ll be right back.” I shot from the room, my heels racing up the hall so fast that a young aide at the nurses’ station stood from her chair.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Littlejohn?” the aide asked.
“Someone’s been in Vera’s room—they left roses. Who’s been here to see her?”
“I haven’t seen anyone. Is she okay?”
I ran off without answering. I raced down the staircase to the front desk in the lobby.
“Hey, Ms. Littlejohn,” Quineisha said.
“I need to see the visitors’ log.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Did Vera have any visitors today?”
“I’m not sure. I just came on duty. Is everything okay with Ms. Henderson?”
I didn’t answer. I scanned the log from the bottom up. Only one visitor. Me. What was Jonathan’s deal?! Why was he doing this?
I ran back to Vera’s room. I was both terrified and livid. Jonathan’s little games were beyond the pale. Why was he threatening me with secrets from my past? How did he know about Willie Jay? And how did he get a mug shot of Vera that I didn’t even know about?
By the time I got back inside Vera’s room she was wide awake and eating a cup of fruit cocktail from her lunch tray.
“Hey, Ellie, baby. Did you bring me those flowers? They so beautiful.”
I gave a weary smile at Vera. Her smooth brown face lit up with pleasure. A stark contrast to the mug shot I held in my hand.
“Those flowers smell so good. Did Sammy pick ’em?”
“Yeah, Vee . . . they smell really good,” I said before falling into a chair, rubbing my left temple.
“Where is he?” Vera said.
“Who?”
“Sammy.”
I gazed at Vera and shook my head. I couldn’t explain to Vera that Sam was dead. It would only upset her, and it would be forgotten fifteen minutes after that.
“Sammy’s not here right now, Vee. He . . . he had to go away.”
He had to go away.
I started to cry as I gazed down at the crumpled picture in my hand. Vera was all I had left. I wouldn’t put another person I loved in harm’s way. Vera had saved me so many times before. Now, I had to save her.
Chillicothe, Georgia, July 1979
Martha had left the house earlier in the day, off to the Blackjack Tavern or wherever she spent her days when she didn’t want to spend them with us. Sam and I sat on the front porch steps. We’d just finished eating fish sticks and pork ’n’ beans I’d made for the two of us. I was just weeks away from leaving Chillicothe for boarding school. All I had to do now was survive the last few summer days and then I would be free of this town. I heard the putter of a car engine and glanced up from the book I was reading. A police cruiser pulled up to Willie Jay’s ranch house in the cul-de-sac. Every time I saw a police car, it rattled me and set my stomach churning.
Sheriff Coogler stepped out of the car, coughed up a big fat wad of spit onto the ground, and hiked his pants up. The day’s heat had plastered his comb-over against the thick red skin of his scalp. He waddled up to the porch and rested a thick flat foot on the third step just beneath mine.
“Willie Jay ain’t showed up for work in two days. Either of you monkeys know anything about that?”
Sam and I both shook our heads no.
“Where’s your momma?”
“She’s not here,” I said.
Coogler stared at me. “Well, where is she?”