Save Her Soul (Detective Josie Quinn #9)(88)

Lana shook her head. “I don’t think so. I was thinking about it, and I don’t know that I have any information. I just think, you know, Beverly wanted attention.”

“That makes sense,” Josie said. “It would explain a lot of her behavior.”

Lana nodded. “Beverly felt like her mom didn’t really want her. It started when we were in middle school after she heard her mom on the phone, talking about her. Beverly never knew who Vera was speaking with, but she said things like, ‘this is not what I signed up for’ and ‘come get her because I can’t handle her anymore.’”

Josie held her mug in both hands. “Did Beverly speculate as to who Vera might have been talking with?”

“Yes,” said Lana. The screen blipped momentarily and then she came back into focus. “Beverly believed Vera was talking to her dad, but Vera would never talk about the call or tell Beverly anything about her dad. After that, Beverly was sad and angry.”

“And her behavior got even worse,” Josie said. She felt an acute ache in her chest. Poor Beverly had been a child entering one of the most difficult phases of growing up—being a pre-teen—when she’d overheard her mother telling someone she didn’t want her anymore. Asking that someone to come get her. But no one had come for her. Certainly, no father figure. Instead, she had died a horrible death, buried alone beneath a house and forgotten. Her own mother knew about her horrible ending and hadn’t even reported it. The ache in Josie’s chest hardened into something else. Resolve. She didn’t care what she had to do. She’d figure out who killed Beverly and make sure he or she was brought to justice.

Quietly, Paige said, “I think few things are worse than feeling unwanted, especially when you’re a child.”

“You’re right,” Josie said.

Lana spoke again. “Beverly hated Vera after that. Vera would never tell her the truth. Beverly did everything she could to make Vera tell her who her dad was but Vera refused.”

“Did Beverly ever mention a man named Silas?” Josie asked.

“Not that I recall,” Lana said. “Oh, I meant to tell you, I remembered that one of the last times I talked to Beverly she was worried and upset about something. I asked her what was going on. She said Vera had found out about everything; that she knew everything—like, about the baby and the father’s identity. She said Vera was going to kill her. She couldn’t figure out how Vera found out the father’s identity. She said Vera didn’t even know the guy. That’s all I remember. Sorry.”

Josie smiled. “No need to be sorry. You’ve been really helpful.”

Paige and Lana chatted for a few more minutes while Josie finished her coffee. Paige walked her to the door. Before Josie could open it, Paige said, “I’m sorry we weren’t more help.”

“It’s no problem,” Josie said. “I actually enjoyed being here. It’s been a tough few days. You and Lana are good company.”

Paige said, “You don’t have to leave, you know. You’re welcome to stay. Talk, if you’d like. I’m a pretty good listener.” With a laugh, she gestured toward the other side of her house where Josie knew her office was located.

“Oh,” Josie said. “I don’t—I’m not—therapy isn’t really for me.”

“It’s usually the people who say that who could benefit from it the most, you know,” Paige said, a warm smile on her face.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Josie said. “I went to high school with your daughter. I’m here about a case…”

Paige nodded. “Fair enough. But we could just talk. I’ll go first. Sometimes I worry that Lana doesn’t believe me when I tell her how proud I am of her because I am always so concerned about her safety and her health. I feel like a terrible mother. I am proud of her, but I wish she was here, closer to me, not half a world away in an underdeveloped country. It’s selfish and yet, sometimes I can’t help it. But I really am proud of what she’s doing. I think she’s amazing.”

“Have you told her that?”

Paige laughed. “Of course. We’ve fought about it many times. I don’t think she believes anything I say at this point. I’ve lost all credibility. Remember when you were a teenager and you would go through stages where nothing felt right? You felt awkward and maybe a little ugly, and your mom—”

“My grandmother,” Josie corrected, her voice catching on the word.

Paige nodded. “Your grandmother. Maybe she told you that you were beautiful and perfect? Did you believe her?”

In fact, Lisette had used those very words on several occasions, as well as many others. Her favorite thing to tell Josie in those low teenage moments of self-esteem crisis was that Josie was “extraordinary.”

“No,” Josie said. “I didn’t believe her for one second. But I’m glad she said it.”

Paige nodded. She looked at the floor, smiling. Suddenly wanting to fill the silence, Josie said, “My grandmother gave me some news yesterday, and I’m not really handling it all that well. I don’t want to talk about it because—” She broke off.

Paige said, “Because then you’ll have to deal with it.”

Josie nodded.

“Is she okay? Your grandmother?”