Erica Spindler (19 page)

“And you don't?”

She looked at Avery, expression perplexed. “No, we don't. This is Cypress Springs not New Orleans.”

“You're saying Elaine St. Claire got what she deserved? That you're glad she's dead?”

“Of course not.” She flipped open the .357's chamber, reloaded, then snapped it shut. “Nobody deserves that. But am I sorry she's not spreading her legs for every dick in town, no I'm not.”

Avery gasped; Cherry's smile turned sly. “I've shocked you.”

“I didn't think Matt's little sister could talk that way.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Avery.”

“Sounds ominous.”

She laughed. “Not at all. You've been gone a long time, that's all.” Without waiting for a response, she sighted her tin prey and fired. One shot after another, ripping off six. Hitting her target each time.

Avery watched her, both surprised and awed by her ability. Unnerved by it as well. Particularly in light of their conversation. She shifted her gaze to Cherry's arms, noticing how cut they were. The way her biceps bulged as she gripped the gun, how she hardly recoiled when it discharged.

She'd never noticed what good shape the other woman was in. How strong she was. How strongly built. Avery supposed that was because compared to her, everybody looked big.

Truth was, she'd always thought of Cherry as a girlie-girl, like Lilah. And like her own mother had been. Avery had been the tomboy. The one who hadn't quite fit the mold of Southern womanhood. And now here was Cherry, all buff and macho, blasting the crap out of tin cans.

Cherry reloaded, turned and offered the gun to Avery, grip out. “Want to give it a try?”

Avery hesitated. She disliked guns. Was one of those folks who thought the world would be a better place if every weapon on the planet was collected and destroyed and people were forced to sit across a table from one another and work out their differences. Maybe over a latte or caffe mocha.

Cherry's smug grin had her reaching for the gun. “Okay,” she said grimly, “walk me through this.”

“It helps to plant your feet. Like this.” Cherry demonstrated. “Wrap both hands around the grip. That's right,” she said as Avery followed her directions.

“I feel like an idiot,” Avery said. “Like an Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe.”

“I felt that way at first. You'll grow to like it.”

When pigs fly
. “What now?”

“Point and shoot. But be careful, it's got some kick.”

Avery aimed at the can that looked closest to her and pulled the trigger. The force of the explosion sent her stumbling backward. She peeked at the target. “Did I hit it?”

“Nope. You might try keeping your eyes open next time.”

“Shit.”

“Try again.”

Avery did. And missed cleanly. After her sixth attempt, she handed the gun back. “My career as a shooter is officially over.”

“You might change your mind. If you stay in Cypress Springs.”

“Don't hold your breath.” She watched Cherry handle the weapon with a sort of reverence completely foreign to Avery. “What's the allure? I don't get it.”

Cherry thought a moment. “It makes me feel powerful. In control.”

“That's an odd answer.”

“Really? Isn't that what weapons are all about? Power and control. Winning.”

“And here I always thought they were about killing.”

“There are always going to be bad guys, Avery. People determined to take away what you hold dear. People without morals or conscience. Guns, the ability—and willingness—to use them are a necessary deterrent.”

Avery had argued this one before and knew she couldn't win. And a part of her knew Cherry spoke the truth. The current truth. But she was idealist enough to believe there was another way. “The only way to fight violence is with violence, that's what you're saying? React to force with greater force until we've blown the entire planet to hell?”

“The one with the biggest
boom
wins.”

Moments later, Avery drove off. She glanced in her rearview mirror. The sun was setting behind her, the sky a palette of bloody reds and oranges. Cherry stood where she had left her, standing beside her car, staring after Avery.

Her outing with the younger woman had left her feeling uncomfortable, as if she had been party to something unclean. As if she had witnessed something ugly and had done nothing to stop it.

The things Gwen Lancaster had told her about The Seven played through her head.

Anyone whose actions fell outside what was consid
ered right, moral or neighborly was singled out and warned. Before it was all over, they'd broken the civil rights of their fellow citizens in the name of righteousness, law and order.

Could the woman she had just spent the past hour with be party to that?

Absolutely. Avery didn't have a doubt about it. What she was less certain of, however, was how to reconcile the Cherry Stevens she had been witness to today with the one who had brought her breakfast her first morning in Cypress Springs. The one who had been caring, sweet-natured and sensitive.

Today, nothing about Cherry had rung true to her, from the things she had said about Elaine St. Claire to the subtly sly tone she had assumed with Avery.

But why would she have affected such an attitude with her? It didn't make sense. Why either alienate her or, if part of The Seven, be so open about her beliefs? Surely those involved hadn't maintained their anonymity with such transparency.

Avery drew to a stop at the crossroads, stunned with the course of her own thoughts. She was thinking as if The Seven was a given. As if they had and did exist, as if anyone could be a part of their numbers.

An ill feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, she dug through her purse, found the card with Gwen's phone number on it. She punched the number into her cell phone; on the third ring the woman's recorder answered.

“It's Avery Chauvin,” she said. “You've got my attention now. Call me.” She left the number for both her cell and parents' home phone, then hung up.

Through the open window came the sound of a gun discharging. Avery jerked at the sound. She closed the window against it and the sour-smelling breeze.

T
he Gavel entered the war room. It had been difficult to get away this Friday evening—he was late. His generals were all in place, assembled around the table. Two held the rapt attention of the others as they complained about the Gavel's leadership and the way he had handled Elaine St. Claire.

One by one they became aware of his presence. Nervous silence fell over them. Guilty silence.

He crossed to his place at the table's head, working to control his anger. He shifted his gaze from one of his detractors to the other. Their discomfort became palpable. “You have a problem, Blue? Hawk?”

Blue faced him boldly. “The situation with the outsider is worsening. We must take action.”

“Agreed.” He turned his gaze to the other. “Hawk?”

“The handling of St. Claire was a mistake.”

Shock rippled through the group. Hawk was the Gavel's biggest supporter. His ally from the beginning. His friend.

Fury took the Gavel's breath. A sense of betrayal. He kept a grip on his emotions. “What should we have done, Hawk? Allowed her to continue to sully the character of this town? To tear at its moral fiber thread by thread? Or allowed her to go to the authorities? Have you forgotten our pledge to one another and this community?”

The other man squirmed under his gaze. “Of course not. But if we'd…taken care of her as we have the others, no one would be the wiser. To have so openly disposed of her—”

“Has sent a message to others like her. We will not be discovered, I promise you that.”

Hawk opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it and sat back, obviously dissatisfied. The Gavel narrowed his eyes. He would speak with him privately; if he determined Hawk a risk, he would be removed from the high council.

“What of the reporter?” Blue asked.

“Avery Chauvin? What of her?”

“She's been talking to the other one. The outsider.”

“And asking questions,” another supplied. “A lot of questions.”

He hesitated, surprised. “She's one of us.”

“Was one of us,” Blue corrected. “She's been away too long to be trusted. She's become a part of the liberal media.”

“That's right,” Hawk supplied. “She doesn't understand what we cherish. What we're fighting to save. If she did, she would never have left.”

A murmur of agreement—and concern—went around the table. Voices rose.

The Gavel struggled to control his mounting rage. Although he didn't let on, he had begun to have doubts about Avery Chauvin's loyalty as well. He, too, had become aware of her snooping. Nosing around things she didn't—and couldn't—understand.

But he was the leader of this group and he would not be questioned. He had earned that right. If he determined Avery Chauvin represented minimal risk, he expected his generals to fall in line.

He held up a hand. His generals turned their gazes to his. “Must I remind you we are only as strong as our
belief in our cause? As our willingness to do whatever is necessary to further that cause? Or that dissension among our number will be our undoing? Just as it was the undoing of our fellows who came before?”

He paused a moment to let his words sink in. “We are the elite, gentlemen. The best, the most committed. We will not allow—I will not allow—anyone to derail us. Even one of our own sisters.”

The generals nodded. The Gavel continued. “Leave everything to me,” he said. “Including the reporter.”

A
very had expected Gwen to return her message Thursday evening, within hours of her leaving it. Instead, the next day came and went without word from her, and Avery began to worry. She tried her again. And left another message.

Just as she decided to pay a visit to The Guesthouse, her doorbell rang. Certain it was Gwen, she hurried to answer it. Instead of the other woman on her doorstep, she found Buddy.

He smiled as she opened the door. She worked to hide her dismay even as she scolded herself for it. “Hello, Buddy. What a nice surprise.”

“Hello, baby girl.” He held up a napkin-covered basket. “Lilah asked me to run these by.”

She took the basket, guilt swamping her. “What are they?”

“Lilah's award-winning blueberry muffins.”

Even as he answered, their identifying smell reached her nose. Her mouth began to water. “How is she?”

“Better. Back in the kitchen.” He mopped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. “Hot out there today. They say it's going to break records.”

“Come on in, Buddy. I'll get you a cold drink.”

“I'm not going to lie, some ice water would be great.”

He stepped inside; she motioned for him to follow her. The air conditioner kicked on. He looked around as they made their way to the kitchen, obviously taking in the disarray, the half-emptied shelves, the stacks of boxes. “Looks like you're making some headway,” he said.

“Some.” She reached into the freezer for ice, then dropped a couple cubes into a glass. She filled it with water and handed it to him. “I'm not spending as much time on it as I should be. The Realtor is champing at the bit. She has a client looking for a house like this one.”

He took a long swallow of water. “It's a great house. Great location. I hate to see—”

He bit the words back, then shifted the glass from one hand to the other, the nervous gesture unlike him. “Have you given any thought to keeping it? To staying in Cypress Springs? I'm growing accustomed to having you around. We all are.”

She met his eyes, touched by the naked yearning she saw in them. Torn. How could she on the one hand feel such affection for these people and this community, and on the other suspect them of being party to something as despicable as murder? What was wrong with her?

“I've been thinking about it a lot,” she said. “I haven't made a decision yet.”

“Anything I can do to sway you?”

“Just being you sways me, Buddy.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

He flushed with pleasure. “Lilah told me you stopped by.”

“I did.” Avery poured herself a glass of water. “We had a nice visit.”

“And you spent some time with Cherry as well.”

She felt her smile slip. He saw it and frowned.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. She's turned into a damn good shot. I was awed.”

“She has at that. Personally, I think she would have made a good lawman.”

That surprised her. “You encouraged her?”

“I did.” He sighed. “But you know how it is down here, sexual stereotypes run deep. Women are supposed to get married and have babies. And if they work, they choose a womanly profession.”

Like catering. Not law enforcement. Or journalism. Her own mother had done her damnedest to convince her of that very thing.

“I do know, Buddy.”

His expression softened. “You look tired.”

She averted her gaze. “I'm not sleeping well.” That at least was true. It was
why
she wasn't sleeping that ate at her.

“That's to be expected. Give yourself some time, it'll get better.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the click of the ice against the glass as Buddy took another swallow of his water. “Rickey told me you stopped by the
Gazette
.”

She looked at him. He lowered his eyes to his hat, then returned them to her. In his she saw sympathy. “Did you get the answers you were searching for?”

Rickey had called Buddy, she realized. He knew what she had been looking at. That she had asked about The Seven.

He probably knew she had spoken with Ben Mitchell and Dr. Harris as well. Small towns kept no secrets.

Except if what she suspected was true, this town had kept a secret. A big one.

“Talk to me, Avery,” he urged. “What's going on with you? I can't help if I don't know what's wrong.”

She thought of what her editor had said, that she should go to the people she trusted.

She trusted Buddy. He would never hurt her, she believed that with every fiber of her being.

“Buddy, can I…ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, baby girl. Anytime.”

“I spoke with Ben Mitchell, the arson investigator from the fire marshal's office. Something he said has been bothering me.”

“Go on.”

She took a deep breath. “He found one of Dad's slippers on the path between the house and the garage. He speculated he was wearing the other one and that it burned in the fire. Do you recall that to be true?”

Buddy drew his eyebrows together in thought. “I do. If you want the specifics, we can check my report.”

“That's not—” She thought a moment, searching for the right words. “Does anything about that seem wrong to you?” At his blank expression, she made a sound of frustration. “Obviously not.”

“I don't understand.” He searched her gaze. “What are you thinking?”

“I don't know. I—”

That was a lie. She did know.

Say it, Avery. Get it out there.

“I don't think Dad killed himself.”

The words, the ramifications of them, landed heavily between them. For a long moment Buddy said nothing. When he met her eyes, the expression in his was troubled. “Because of this slipper thing?”

“Yes, and…and because I knew my dad. He couldn't have done it.”

“Avery—”

She heard the pity in his voice and steeled herself against it. “You knew him, too, Buddy. He loved life. He valued it. He couldn't have done this, not in a million years.”

“You realize,” he said carefully, “if you believe this, you're saying he was murdered?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Standing with him, looking
into his eyes, she felt like a fool. She couldn't find her voice, so she nodded.

“Do you doubt I did a thorough investigation?”

“No. But you could have missed something. Dr. Harris could have missed something.”

“I could make my report available to you, if that would help.”

Gratitude washed over her. “It really would. Thank you, Buddy.”

He was silent a moment, then as if coming to a decision, sighed deeply. “Why are you doing this, baby girl?”

“Pardon?”

“Your dad's dead. He killed himself. Nothing's going to bring him back.”

“I know, I just—”

“We love you. You belong here, with us. You are one of us. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel like you belong?”

Tears swamped her. The people of Cypress Springs were her friends. They had been nothing but kind to her, welcoming her back unconditionally. The Stevenses were her second family. Now, her only family.

Being back had been good. For the first time in a long time she had felt as if she belonged. She didn't want to lose that.

She told him so, then swallowed hard. “If only I could accept…if only I didn't feel so—” She bit the last back, uncertain how she felt—or rather, which she felt most. Confused? Conflicted? Guilty?

She felt as if the last might eat her alive.

Buddy set his glass on the counter and crossed to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. She lifted her eyes to his, vision swimming. “You are not responsible for your father's death. It's not your fault.”

“Then why…how could he have done it?”

He tightened his fingers. “Avery,” he said gently, “you may never know exactly what happened. Because he's
gone and we can't be party to his thoughts. You have to accept it and go on.”

“I don't know if I can,” she answered helplessly. “I want to. Lord knows—”

“Give yourself some time. Be good to yourself. Stay away from people like Gwen Lancaster. She doesn't have your best interests at heart. She's unstable.”

Avery thought of the other woman. Of her accusations. Her desperation. Their very public discussion outside the Azalea Café.

“Matt's worried about you, too,” Buddy continued. “He's working around the clock on the McDougal disappearance. McDougal wasn't the first. A couple months back, another man disappeared.”

“Tom Lancaster.”

“Yes.” He dropped his hands, stepped away from her. “The cases are too similar for them not to be related. And the St. Claire murder coming so close on their heels…it seems a stretch to connect that as well, but we're looking at every possibility. After all, these sorts of things don't happen in Cypress Springs.”

“But other sorts of things do.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Haven't you noticed the high number of unexpected deaths around here in the past eight months? The accidents and suicides?”

His frown deepened. “Every town has its share of accidental deaths. Every town has—”

“What about Pete Trimble's death? He was a farmer all his life. How could he fall under his tractor?”

“We found a nearly empty fifth of Jack Daniel's in the tractor's cab. His blood alcohol level was sky high.”

“What about Dolly Farmer? The
Gazette
reported she hung herself? From what I read, she seemed to have everything to live for.”

“Her husband had run off with his young secretary. The
Gazette
didn't print that.”

“What about Sal?”

“Somebody who had no business with a rifle shot him. In their inexperience, they mistook him for a deer. When they discovered their mistake, they ran off.”

“So many deaths, Buddy,” she said, hearing the edge of hysteria in her own voice. “How can there be so many…deaths?”

“That's life, baby girl,” he said gently. “People die.”

“But so many? So close, so tragically?”

He caught her hands, squeezed her fingers. “If not for your father, would any of this seem out of the ordinary to you? If not for the imaginings of a woman in the throes of grief, would any of those deaths have seemed suspicious?”

Was that woman Gwen Lancaster? Or her?

Dear God, how far gone was she?

Her eyes welled with tears. She fought them from spilling. One slipped past her guard and rolled down her cheek.

Buddy eased her against his chest and wrapped his big, bearlike arms around her. “Gwen Lancaster is in a lot of pain. Her brother disappeared and is more than likely dead. I feel for her, I do. Lord knows how much losing my best friend hurt, I can only imagine how she must feel.”

He drew slightly away, looked into her eyes. “People in pain do things, believe in things…that just aren't true. As a way to lessen the pain. To justify their own actions or ease their own guilt. Trust the people you love. The people who love you. Not some woman you don't even know.”

He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “This is a small town, Avery. People around here get their backs up easily. Stop playing the big-city investigative
reporter or they'll forget you're one of them and start treating you like an outsider. You wouldn't like that, would you?”

Avery swallowed hard, confused. His words, gently spoken though they had been, smacked of a threat. A warning to cease and desist. “I don't understand. Are you saying—”

“A bit of friendly advice, baby girl. That's all. A reminder what small-town folks are like.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then stepped away from her. “You're family, Avery, and I just want you to be happy.”