Erica Spindler (21 page)

A hysterical-sounding laugh slipped past her lips. She laughed until she cried.

A
very slept little that night. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen Trudy Pruitt lying in a pool of red, eyes wide and pleading, blood-soaked mouth working. Finally, Avery had given up and climbed out of bed. After brewing a pot of coffee, she'd dragged out the box of newspaper clippings and had begun poring over them, looking for anything that didn't fit, anything that might suggest a cover-up.

Nothing in the news stories jumped out at her.

What had Trudy Pruitt been trying to tell her? What proof of her father's involvement in the Sallie Waguespack murder did she have? Had she been the bitter, unstable drunk Matt purported her to be? One who had simply chosen Avery as a vehicle for venting her unhappiness?

Avery shifted her gaze to the box of clippings.
Dammit
. If not for these she might be able to believe that.
Why, Dad? Why did you save these?

Only one person could answer that question.

Buddy.

Twenty-five minutes later Avery found herself at the ranch. She rang the bell, praying she had caught him before he left for church. If she remembered correctly, the Stevenses had most often chosen to attend the late service. They had today as well, she saw as Lilah opened the door.

“Avery,” the woman exclaimed, “I heard about what happened. Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Just shaken. Is Buddy here?”

“And Matt. We're having breakfast.”

“I'm sorry, I should have called—”

“Nonsense.” She caught her hands and drew her inside. The house smelled of bacon and biscuits. “Come on in. I'll set you a place.”

Before Avery could tell her not to bother, she was calling out for Cherry to do just that.

The men stood when she entered the kitchen. Matt took one look at her and came around the table. He caught her hands. “Are you okay?”

She forced a weak smile. “Hanging in there. Barely.”

He led her to the chair next to his. Cherry set a plate, napkin and utensils on the blue-and-white-checked place mat in front of her. “Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

The younger woman filled a mug and handed it to her. “Matt told us about last night. How horrible for you.”

Lilah passed her the tray of biscuits. “I can't imagine. I'm quite sure I would have fainted.”

Avery took a biscuit, though the thought of eating made her queasy. She swallowed hard, shifting her gaze to Matt. “How's the investigation coming?”

“We canvassed the trailer park for witnesses. The kid next door says she saw a car pull up with its lights off. Then her folks began fighting.”

“So she never saw who got out,” Avery said, disappointed.

“Or when it drove off. The crime scene techs have done their thing, but it's too soon for the evidence report. As soon as I'm done here, I've got to get back.”

“If you need any assistance from our department, son, we're ready.”

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.”

Cherry spread strawberry jam on her biscuit. “What were you doing at that awful woman's house, Avery? Why were you there?”

The table went silent. All eyes turned to her. Uncomfortable, Avery opened her mouth then shut it as Matt squeezed her knee under the table.

“I've asked Avery not to talk about that just now,” he said quietly. “As difficult as that request is, she's agreed.”

Avery silently thanked him.

Cherry pouted. She lifted her right shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “I didn't mean anything by it, I just couldn't imagine, that's all.”

Aware of the minutes ticking past, Avery looked at Buddy. “I need your help with something, Buddy. Could we talk privately?”

His forehead creased with concern. “Sure, baby girl. I was done here. Let's go to my office.”

She turned to Matt, finding the moment awkward. Feeling Cherry's and Lilah's curiosity. “If you'd like to join us—”

“You guys go on. I'll check in on my way out.”

She sent him a grateful glance, for the second time that morning touched by his understanding. By the way he seemed to know what she needed without her having to ask. He made her feel safe. Cared for.

She stood and followed Buddy to his office. He closed the door behind them and motioned to the love seat. She sat and looked up at him. “Matt told you why I was at Trudy Pruitt's last night? He told you about the calls?”

“Yes.” His frown deepened. “Why didn't you tell me this was going on?”

“What could you have done? Someone was making crank calls to me. I figured you would tell me to ignore them or change to an unlisted number.”

“When you found out who the anonymous caller was, you should have contacted me immediately.” He leaned
toward her, expression grave. “Avery, if you had shown up fifteen minutes earlier, you might be lying beside Trudy Pruitt in the morgue.”

A chill washed over her. She shuddered. She had never considered that fact.

“Trudy Pruitt ran with a rough crowd. Always did. Don't know yet who killed her, but I'll bet money it was one of them.”

Matt tapped on the office door, then poked his head in. “I'm leaving.”

Buddy waved him inside. “Come in, son.”

Matt did, shutting the door behind him and sat down.

“She said her boys didn't kill Sallie Waguespack,” Avery continued. “Said my dad was involved in a cover-up. She said she had proof.”

“And you believed her?” Buddy said.

“Frankly, I didn't want to, but I…don't you think it's weird that the same night she was going to show me proof her sons were innocent of Sallie Waguespack's murder, she was killed?”

Matt's mouth thinned. “Trudy Pruitt was involved with some dangerous characters. That involvement got her killed.”

“But—”

Matt stood. “Look, Avery, there are things you don't know. Things we've uncovered that I can't share with you. I wish I could. I hate to see you tearing yourself up over this, but I can't. I'm sorry.”

He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “I've got to go.”

Avery stared after him, surprised. Disoriented by the intimacy of the move. Disoriented, she admitted, but not displeased.

Buddy broke the silence, tone soft. “If Trudy Pruitt had this supposed proof, why did she wait until now, until you, to bring it forward?”

Avery turned back to him. She didn't have an answer for that. “She never…came to you with—”

“Of course she did. And the district attorney. And the sheriff's department. And anyone else who would listen. She had nothing, not one scrap of evidence, to support her claim of her sons' innocence.”

“I have a favor to ask, Buddy. For my own peace of mind, may I look at your files of the Waguespack murder investigation?”

“Avery—”

“She called Dad a liar, Buddy. And a murderer. Why would she do that?”

“Your daddy was the most honest, upright man I've ever known. I was proud to call him my friend.”

“Then you must understand. I feel like I have to uphold his honor. Prove him innocent.”

Buddy leaned forward. “Innocent to who, Avery?”

Not liking the answer, she curled her hands into fists. “Why did he keep that box of newspaper clippings, Buddy? Why did he kill himself?”

Buddy sighed heavily and stood. He crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “If it'll help you, baby girl, of course you can look at the files. Just let me tell Lilah to go on to the service without me.”

T
hree hours later, Avery thanked Buddy for his help. “I'm sorry I messed up your Sunday,” she said.

“You couldn't, baby girl.” He kissed her cheek. “Do you feel better now?”

She didn't. She lied.

The information in the file should have reassured her. Everything appeared to be in order. At 10:30 p.m. on the night of June 18th, 1988, Pat Greene, one of Buddy's deputies, called in, requesting assistance. Making rounds, he had seen a couple of young men fleeing Sallie Waguespack's home. He'd investigated and found the woman murdered.

From the deputy's description of them, Buddy had suspected the Pruitt boys. Donny and Dylan, who had been in trouble since they were old enough to steal their first candy bar, had been brought in on suspicion of dealing just the week before. The evidence hadn't supported charges, but it had only been a matter of time.

When Buddy and Pat had found the two young men, Donny and Dylan were high. When confronted, the boys had initiated a shoot-out and were killed. After the fact, the murder weapon was found in the drainage ditch behind their trailer, Donny's prints on it.

The CSPD had launched a full investigation, discover
ing that Donny and Dylan had been frequenting the bar where Sallie was a cocktail waitress. Drugs had been found in Sallie's house and the Pruitt boys' apartment.

It had been determined that the boys had been dealing; Sallie Waguespack had been buying. A drug deal gone bad, they'd figured. The woman had owed them money or threatened them with the cops. One witness had claimed the three had been sleeping together, further complicating the scenario. Jealousy may have been a motive. Certainly, from the way she had been killed—hacked at with a kitchen knife—it had been a crime of passion.

Avery stopped at Buddy's office door and looked back at him. “Did you ever doubt Donny and Dylan Pruitt's guilt?” she asked. “Even for a moment?”

“Never.” He ran a hand over his face, looking every one of his sixty-six years. “The murder weapon was found behind their trailer, Donny's prints on it. Sallie Waguespack's blood was found on the bottom of Dylan's shoe. Drugs were involved. We had Pat Greene, who placed them at the scene. Physical and circumstantial evidence. Can't get a much cleaner case than that.”

He was right about that. She knew enough about police work to understand the process, from arrest to prosecution.

She started through the door, then stopped and turned back once more. “I didn't see an autopsy report.”

His face puckered with confusion. “It should be there.”

“It wasn't.”

He shuffled through the folder, then returned his gaze to hers. “It's misfiled. I'll look around, give you a call when I locate it.”

“Thanks, Buddy.” She forced a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day off.”

Avery left the CSPD and minutes later found herself
at Hunter's door. Without pausing to question her own motivation, she rapped on the frame.

Sarah began to bark, the puppies to yip. Hunter appeared at the door. He looked tired. Disheveled. Irritated at having been disturbed.

“You were working,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

“What do you want, Avery?”

She hesitated, put off by his surliness. “May I come in?”

He pushed opened the screen, moved aside. She stepped into the kitchen—and was immediately surrounded by squirming puppies. Sarah stood by her master's side, eyes pinned on Avery.

“They're getting big,” Avery murmured. She squatted and the puppies charged her, licking her hands, butting each other out of the way. “They're so cute.”

“If there's a point to your visit I'd appreciate your getting to it.”

Her cheeks heated. She straightened. Met his eyes. “Did you hear what happened?”

“You mean Trudy Pruitt's murder?”

“Yes. And that I was there.”

“I heard.” His mouth thinned. “Even those of us who reside outside the chosen circle are part of the gossip chain.”

“Never mind. You're such an asshole.” She swung around to go. “I'm sorry I came here.”

He caught her arm. “Why did you, Avery? Why do you keep coming around?”

“Let go of me.”

He tightened his grip. “You came for something. What do you want from me?”

She didn't know, dammit
. She tilted up her chin, furious. At herself. At him. “I don't want anything from you, Hunter. Maybe I'm here because unlike everyone else, I'm not willing to give up on you. Maybe I still see something in you that everyone else has forgotten.”

“Bullshit.”

“Believe what you want.” She yanked her arm free, took a step toward the door.

He blocked her path. “I'd pegged you for being more honest than this, Avery. You want something from me. Spit it out.”

“Stop it, Hunter. Let me go.”

He moved closer, crowding her. “Why not run to Matt? Isn't he your
boyfriend?
”

He put a nasty emphasis on the last. She wanted to slap him. “Shut up.”

He took another step forward; she back. She met the wall. “What would you give to have your father back, Avery?”

His question took her by surprise. Disarmed, she met his eyes. “Anything. I'd give anything.”

“What do you want, Avery?” he asked again. He cupped her face in his palms. “Do you want me to tell you he loved you? Do you want me to tell you it's not your fault? Absolve you of guilt? Is that why you're—”

“Yes!” she cried. “I want to wake up to discover this has all been a nightmare. I want to have taken my father's call that last day…I want to stop hating…myself for…I want—”

The words stuck in her throat; she brought her hands to his chest. Curled her trembling fingers into his soft T-shirt. “I want what I can't have. I want my father back.”

For long seconds, he gazed at her, expression dark with some strong emotion. Finally, he swore and dragged in a shaky breath. “He loved you, Avery. More than anything. Every time we were together, he talked about you. How proud he was of you. Proud that you'd had the guts to follow your dreams. That you'd done so well. He took pride in your courage. Your strength of will.”

A cry slipped past her lips. One of relief. Of an immeasurably sweet release from pain. Tears flooded her eyes.

“His suicide, it wasn't about you, Avery,” he went on. “He was at peace with where you were in your life.”

He dropped his hands, stepped back. “Go on. Get out of here. You got what you wanted. I can't give you anything else.”

She hesitated, reached a hand out. Laid it on his forearm. “Hunter?” He met her eyes. “Thank you.”

He didn't reply. She dragged her hand down to his, laced their fingers. Slowly, deliberately, she brought his hand to her mouth, opened it and pressed a kiss to his palm.

He trembled. Ever so slightly. Revealing himself. What he wanted.

He wanted her.

And in that moment, she realized she wanted him as well. Without thoughts of consequences or tomorrows, she drew him closer, against her. She tilted her face up to his.

She saw the desire in his dark gaze. And the vulnerability. The combination took her breath.

She brought his hand to her chest, just above the swell of her left breast.

“Avery, I don't—”

“Yes, you do.” She leaned closer. “And I do, too.”

She kissed him then. Deeply. Without hesitation. She wanted him, he wanted her. Simple.

He kissed her back. In a way that left no question who would lead. Not breaking their kiss, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He carried her to his bed, laid her on it. For a moment, he stood above her. Holding her gaze.

Her lips tipped into a small, contented smile. She reached up, caught his hands and drew him down to her.

That moment proved the calm before the storm. Passion exploded between them. They tugged at one another's clothes, zippers and buttons, clinging panties.
Greedy. Impatient to feel the other's naked body against their own.

They made love, she on top of him. She orgasmed with a cry she worried might be heard at the Piggly Wiggly next door.

She collapsed against his chest. Beneath her cheek his heart thundered. She had always wondered, all those years ago, what kissing Hunter would be like. What being with him would be like.

Now she knew. And she wondered why she had waited so long to find out.

“I hated that.”

She lifted her head and met his eyes. “Me, too.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “I could tell.”

She rubbed her forehead against his bristly chin. “You have anything to eat in this place?”

“A loaded question.”

“Funny. Got any homemade chocolate cake?”

“Sure. Baked it this morning.”

She grinned, feeling young, randy and totally irresponsible. “How about a PB&J?”

“Got something even better.”

He rolled them both out of bed. He gave her one of his T-shirts to wear. The soft white fabric swallowed her. She glanced at its front. “Party hard on Bourbon Street?”

“From the old days.”

She followed him to the kitchen, Sarah at their heels, the puppies on hers. Avery leaned against the counter while he made them both PB&M—peanut butter and marshmallow cream—sandwiches, then poured two big glasses of cold milk.

Whole milk, she saw.
Talk about irresponsible
.

They sat at the tiny dinette and dug in. “My God, this is good,” she said, mouth full. She washed it down with a long swallow of the creamy milk.

“Awesome, isn't it? Worth shouting about.”

He wasn't talking about the milk. Or the sandwiches. She flushed and shifted her gaze. He laughed softly, stood and went to make himself another sandwich.

“Want another?” he asked.

“Not if I want to be able to snap my pants tomorrow. But thanks.”

He fixed his and sat back down. “Earlier, you said something about wishing you had taken a call from your dad. What did you mean?”

She laid the last of her sandwich carefully on the plate. “That last day, before Dad…died, he called. I was on my way out. Meeting a source, one who'd finally agreed to talk to me.”

Her voice thickened; she cleared it. “I heard Dad's voice on the recorder and I…I thought, I'd call him later. My source couldn't wait, but my father…he'd always be there.”

Hunter reached across the table and touched her hand. “I'm sorry, Avery.”

“If only I could go back, take that call.”

“But you can't.”

Silence fell between them. Hunter broke it. “Why were you at Trudy Pruitt's last night?”

“Remember the caller I told you about? The woman who said Dad got what he deserved?” He nodded. “She called again. A couple of times. She said Dad was a liar. And a murderer.”

“Your dad? Avery, you can't honestly belie—”

She stopped him. “That woman was Trudy Pruitt. Donny and Dylan Pruitt's mother.”

“They're the ones who killed that woman.”

“Sallie Waguespack.” Sarah whined and laid her head on Avery's lap. Avery scratched her behind the ears. “She claimed they didn't do it. That they were framed.”

“Of course she did. She was their mother.”

“She said Dad was part of the cover-up. That she had proof.”

“And?”

“She was killed before she could give it to me.”

“And you think she was murdered because of that proof?”

“It's crossed my mind. It's an awfully big coincidence, she lives all these years, contacts me and gets herself killed.”

He was silent a moment. “And you believe whoever was involved with your dad in this frame-up killed him then Trudy Pruitt?”

She leaned forward. “You ever heard of a group called The Seven?”

He frowned. “My mother was part of a civic organization called The Seven something or other.”

“How about a woman named Gwen Lancaster? Ever heard of her?” He shook his head. “Her brother, Tom Lancaster?”

His expression altered subtly. “That name's familiar but I can't place from where.”

“He disappeared in February this year. Similar situation to McDougal. A Cypress Springs outsider. No sign of violence, but the police suspected foul play. The
Gazette
ran the story on the sixth.”

“That's right.” He paused as if remembering. “The big difference between the two, of course, was the car. Lancaster's was left out in the open. McDougal's had been hidden. Which to me suggests the two are unrelated.”

“Unrelated? Two young men disappear from the same small community, barely eight weeks apart and you don't think those disappearances are related?”

“Modus operandi, Avery. Criminals tend to repeat their crimes, how they carry out those crimes. If a murderer leaves a body out in the open the first time, they'll
do it the second, then the third. Basic investigative technique.”

She shook her head. “Trudy Pruitt, Elaine St. Claire, Tom Lancaster, Luke McDougal. If I accept your definition, we're dealing with four different killers.”

“McDougal may very well have chosen to go missing. People do it all the time. Coming on the heels of Lancaster is a coincidence. Or clever planning from a man intent on disappearing.”

“For heaven's sake.” She made a sound of frustration. “Three killers then. In a town that has had only a couple of murders in a decade?”

He pushed his plate away. Sat back. “Okay, you're obviously up to your elbows in this. You tell me.”

She began at the beginning, with Gwen Lancaster. She told him about how they'd met, the things she had told Avery about a group called The Seven. And about her brother Tom, who had disappeared while researching the group.

“At first I didn't believe her. The idea of a vigilante-style group operating in Cypress Springs seemed ludicrous. According to Gwen, the original group disbanded after only a few years, but are operating again. Willing to murder to achieve their goals.”