Erica Spindler (7 page)

“And not any car. A Mercedes. Tough to lose one of those around here.” Matt pursed his lips. “But why would this woman lie?”

“We see a lot of that in journalism. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes of fame. To feel important. Or in this woman's case, maybe to rationalize why her boyfriend hasn't called.”

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly time for her meeting at Gallagher's. She stood. “I've got to go. Danny Gallagher is expecting me in at two.” She looked at Buddy. “Thanks for taking all this time to talk to me, I appreciate it.”

“If something comes to mind, I'll let you know.” He came around the desk and kissed her cheek. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I always am.”

“Good girl.”

Matt touched her arm. “I'll walk you out.”

They exited the station and stepped into the bright midday sun. Avery dug her sunglasses out of her handbag. She slipped them on and looked up to find him gazing at her.

“What were you and Dad talking about?”

“A box of newspaper clippings I found in Dad's clos
et. They were all concerning the same event, the Sallie Waguespack murder.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“It doesn't?”

“That's the story that blew this little burg wide open.”

“I hardly remembered it until I read those clippings today.”

“Because of Dad, I lived it.” He grimaced. “The night of the murder, I heard him with Mom. He was…crying. It's the only time I ever heard him cry.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I feel like such an ostrich. First Dad, now learning this. I wonder—” She bit the words back and shook her head. “I need to go. Danny's expecting—”

“You wonder what?” he asked, touching her arm.

She let out a constricted-sounding breath. “I'm starting to wonder just what kind of person I am.”

“You were young. It wasn't your tragedy.”

“And what of now? What about my dad? Was that my tragedy?”

“Avery, you can't keep beating yourself up about this. You didn't light that match. He did.”

But if she had been here for him, would he still have done it?

“I've got to go, Matt. Danny's waiting.”

She started off. He called her name, stopping her. She turned.

“Next Sunday? Spring Fest?”

“With you?”

He shot her his cocky smile. The one that had always had her saying yes when she should have been saying no. “If you think you could take an entire day of my company?”

She returned the smile. “I think I could manage it.”

“Great. I'll give you a call about the time.”

Pleased, she watched him head back to his cruiser. In
that moment, he looked sixteen. Full of the machismo of youth, buoyed by a yes from the opposite sex.

“If you're not serious, just stay away. Just…stay…away.”

Her smile slipped as she remembered Cherry's warning. Avery shook off the ripple of unease that moved over her. She was being ridiculous. Cherry was a sweet girl who was worried about her brother. Matt was lucky to have someone who cared so much about him.

T
he Gavel called the meeting to order. All six of his generals were in attendance. Ready to do battle. To lay down their lives for their beliefs and their community.

Each believed himself a patriot at war.

He surveyed the group, proud of them, of his selections. They represented both the old and new guard of Cypress Springs. Wisdom invigorated by youth. Youth tempered by the wisdom of experience. A difficult combination to beat.

“Good evening,” he said. “As always, I appreciate the sacrifice each of you made to be here tonight.”

Because of the nature of the group, because some would not understand their motives—even those who stood to benefit most from their efforts, indeed, their sacrifice—they met in secret and under cover of late night. Even their families didn't know the location or true nature of these meetings.

“I have bad news,” he told the group. “I have reason to believe Elaine St. Claire has contacted a Cypress Springs citizen.”

A murmur went around the table. One of his generals spoke. “How certain are you of this?”

“Quite. I saw the letter myself.”

“This is bad,” another said. “If she's brazen enough to
contact someone in Cypress Springs, she very well might contact the authorities.”

“I plan to take care of it.”

“How? Isn't she living in New Orleans?”

“She can destroy us,” another interjected. “To leave Cypress Springs is to lose the safety of our number.”

The Gavel shook his head, saddened. New Orleans had been the perfect place for her. Sin city. Anything went.

But, it seemed, she hadn't been able to help herself. No doubt, the passing months had dimmed her fear, had lessened the immediacy of the danger. It was human nature, he acknowledged. He hadn't been surprised.

He was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of the warning system they had devised. Warnings rarely worked. Or only proved a short-term deterrent.

“She's in St. Francisville now,” he said.

“Better,” a general murmured. “We have friends there.”

“We won't need them,” the Gavel said. “I've planned a trap. A carefully executed trap.”

“Lure her back to Cypress Springs,” General Blue said. “Once here, she's ours.”

“Exactly.” He gazed from one face to another around the table. “Are we in agreement, shall I set the trap?”

The generals didn't hesitate. They had learned nothing good came with lack of conviction. Weakness opened the door to destruction.

The Gavel nodded. “Consider it done. Next? Any concerns?”

Blue spoke again. “A newcomer to Cypress Springs. An outsider. She's asking questions about The Seven. About our history.”

The Gavel frowned. He'd heard, too. Outsiders always posed serious threats. They didn't understand what The Seven were fighting for. How seriously they took their
convictions. Invariably, they had to be dealt with quickly and mercilessly.

Outsiders with knowledge of The Seven posed an even more significant danger.

Damn the original group, he thought. They'd been weak. They hadn't concealed their actions well. They hadn't been willing to take whatever measures were required, no matter the consequences to life or limb.

Too touchy-feely, the Gavel thought, lips twisting into a sneer. They'd bowed to internal fighting and the squeamishness of a few members. Bowed to a member who threatened to go to the American Civil Liberties Union and the Feds. And to any and all of those prissy-assed whiners who were sending this country to hell in a hand-basket.

It made him sick to think about it. What about the rights of decent, law-abiding folks to have a safe, morally clean place to live?

That's where he and his generals differed from the original group. The Gavel had chosen his men carefully. Had chosen men as strong-willed as he. Men whose commitment to the cause mirrored his own in steadfastness and zeal.

He was willing to die for the cause.

He was willing to kill for it.

“The outsider,” the Gavel asked, “anyone have a name yet?”

No one did. A general called Wings offered that she had just moved into The Guesthouse.

The Gavel nodded. Her name would be easy to secure. One call and they would have it.

“Let's keep an eye on this one,” he advised. “She doesn't make a move we don't know about. If she becomes more of a risk, we take the next step.”

He turned to Hawk, his most trusted general. The man inclined his head in the barest of a nod. The Gavel
smiled. Hawk understood; he agreed. If necessary, they would take care of this outsider the way they'd taken care of the last.

Determination flowing through him, he adjourned the meeting.

T
he Azalea Café served the best buttermilk pancakes in the whole world. Fat, fluffy and slightly sweet even without syrup, Avery had never stopped craving them—even after twelve years away from Cypress Springs. And after a weekend spent preparing her childhood home for sale, Avery had decided a short stack at the Azalea wasn't just a treat—it was a necessity.

She stepped into the café. “Morning, Peg,” she called to the gray-haired woman behind the counter. Peg was the third-generation Becnal to run the Azalea. Her grandmother had opened the diner when her husband had been killed in the Second World War and she'd needed to support her five kids.

“Avery, sweetheart.” She came around the counter and gave Avery a big hug. She smelled of syrup and bacon from the griddle. “I'm so sorry about your daddy. If I can do anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”

Avery hugged her back. “Thanks, Peg. That means a lot to me.”

When the woman released her, Avery saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “Bet you came in for some of my world-famous pancakes.”

Avery grinned. “Am I that transparent?”

“You ate your first short stack at two years old. I
remember your daddy and mama like to have died of shock, you ate the whole thing. Every last bite.” She smoothed her apron. “Have yourself a seat anywhere. I'll send Marcie over with coffee.”

The nine-to-fivers had come and gone, leaving Avery her choice of tables. Avery slipped into one of the front window booths. She looked out the window, toward the town square. They had begun setting up for Spring Fest, she saw. City workers were stringing lights in the trees and on the gazebo. Friday night it would look like a fairyland.

A smile tipped the corners of her mouth. Louisianians loved to celebrate and used any opportunity to do so: the Blessing of the Fleet on Little Caillou Bayou, the harvest of the strawberries in Pontchatoula, Louisiana's musical heritage in New Orleans at the Jazz Fest, to name only a few. Spring Fest was Cypress Springs' offering, a traditional Louisiana weekend festival, complete with food booths, arts and crafts, music and carnival rides for the kids. People from all over the state would come and every available room in Cypress Springs would be booked. She had gone every year she'd lived at home.

“Coffee, hon?”

Avery turned. “Yes, thanks.”

The girl filled her cup, then plunked down a pitcher of cream. Avery thanked her, added cream and sugar to her coffee, then returned her gaze to the window and the square beyond.

The weekend had passed in an unsettling mix of despair and gratitude, tears and laughter. Neighbors and friends had stopped by to check on her, bringing food, baked goods and flowers. The last time she'd seen most of them had been at her mother's funeral and then only briefly. The majority had stayed to chat, reliving times past—sharing their sweet, funny, outrageous and precious memories of her father. Some, too, shared their
regret at not having acted on his bizarre behavior before it had been too late. The outpouring of concern and affection had made her task less painful.

But more, it had made her feel less alone.

Avery had forgotten what it was like to live among friends, to be a part of a community. Not just a name or a P.O. box number, but a real person. Someone who was important for no other reason than that they shared ownership of a community.

Avery sipped her coffee, turning her attention to her dad's funeral. Danny Gallagher had recommended Avery wake her father Wednesday evening, with a funeral to follow the next morning. He had chosen that day so the
Gazette
could run an announcement in both the Saturday and Wednesday editions. The whole town would want to pay their respects, he felt certain. This would offer them the opportunity to do so.

Lilah had insisted on opening her home for mourners after the service on Thursday. Avery had accepted, relieved.

Two days and counting.

Would burying him enable her to say goodbye? she wondered, curving her hands around the warm mug. Would the funeral give her a sense of closure? Or would she still feel this great, gaping hole in her life?

The waitress brought the pancakes and refilled her coffee. Avery thanked her and not bothering with syrup, dug in, making a sound of pleasure as the confection made contact with her taste buds.

In an embarrassingly short period of time, she had plowed through half the stack. She laid down her fork and sighed, contented.

“Are they as good as you remember?” Peg called from behind the counter.

“Better,” she answered, pushing her plate away. “But if I eat any more I'll burst.”

The woman shook her head. “No wonder you're so scrawny. I'll have Marcie bring your check.”

Avery thanked her and turned back toward the square. She began to look away, then stopped as she realized that Hunter and his mother were standing across the street, partially hidden by an oak tree, deep in conversation.

Not a conversation, Avery saw. An argument. As she watched, Lilah lifted a hand as if to slap her son but he knocked her hand away. He was furious; Avery could all but feel his anger. And Lilah's despair.

She told herself to look away. That she was intruding. But she found her gaze riveted to the two. They exchanged more words but as Hunter turned to walk away, Lilah grabbed at him. He shook her hand off, his expression disgusted.

Lilah was begging, Avery realized with a sense of shock. But for what? Her son's love? His attention? In the next moment, Hunter had strode off.

Lilah stared after him a moment, then seemed to crumble. She sagged against the tree and dropped her head into her hands.

Alarmed, Avery scooted out of the booth, hooking her handbag over her shoulder. “Peg,” she called, hurrying toward the door, “could you hold my check? I'll be back later.”

She didn't wait for the woman's answer but darted through the door and across the street.

“Lilah,” she said gently when she reached the other woman. “Are you all right?”

“Go away, Avery. Please.”

“I can't do that. Not when you're so upset.”

“You can't help me. No one can.”

She dropped her hands, turned her face toward Avery's. Ravaged by tears, stripped of makeup, she looked a dozen years older than the genteel hostess of the other night.

Avery held out a hand. “At least let me help you to your car. Or let me drive you home.”

“I don't deserve your kindness. I've made so many mistakes in my life. With my children, my—” She wrung her hands. “God help me! It's all my fault! Everything's my fault!”

“Is that what Hunter told you?”

“I've got to go.”

“Is that what Hunter told you? I saw you arguing.”

“Let me go.” She fumbled in her handbag for her car keys. Her hands shook so badly she couldn't hold on to them and they slipped to the ground.

Avery bent and snatched them up. “I don't know what he said to you, but it's not true. Whatever's wrong with Hunter is not your fault. He's responsible for the mess of his life, not you.”

Lilah shook her head. “You don't know…I've been a terrible mother. I've done everything wrong. Everything!”

Lilah attempted to push past; Avery caught her by the shoulders. She forced the woman to meet her eyes. “That's not true! Think about Matt. And Cherry. Look how well they're doing, how happy they are.”

The older woman stilled. She met Avery's eyes. “I don't feel well, Avery. Could you take me home?”

Avery said she could and led Lilah to her sedan, parked on the other side of the square. After helping the woman into the front passenger seat, Avery went around to the driver's side, climbed in and started the vehicle up.

The drive out to the ranch passed in silence. Lilah, Avery felt certain, possessed neither the want nor emotional wherewithal to converse. Avery pulled the sedan into the driveway and cut the engine. She went around the car, helped Lilah out, up the walk and into the house.

At the sound of the door opening, Cherry appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked from her mother to Avery. “What happened?”

“I'm all right,” Lilah answered, an unmistakable edge in her voice. “Just tired.”

Cherry hurried down the stairs. She took her mother's arm. “Let me help you.”

“Please, don't fuss.”

“Mother—”

“I don't want to talk about it.” She eased her arm from her daughter's grasp. “I have a headache and…” She turned toward Avery. “You're an angel for bringing me home. I hope I didn't interfere with your plans.”

“Not at all, Lilah. I hope you feel better.”

“I need to lie down now. Excuse me.”

Cherry watched her mother make her way slowly up the stairs. When she had disappeared from view, she swung to face Avery, obviously distressed. “What happened?”

“I don't know.” Avery passed a hand over her face. “I was at the Azalea, in one of the window booths. I looked out and there was your mother and Hunter—”

“Hunter!”

“They were arguing.”

Her expression tightened. “Son of a…Why won't he leave her alone? Why won't he just go away?”

Avery didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Cherry shook with fury. She strode to the entryway table, yanked up the top right drawer and dug out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Her hands shook as she lit the smoke. She crossed to the front door, opened it and stood in the doorway, smoking in silence.

After several drags, she turned back to Avery. “What were they arguing about?”

“That I don't know. She wouldn't say.”

Cherry blew out a long stream of smoke. “What
did
she say?”

“That she had made a mess of her life. Of her children's lives. That everything was her fault.”

Cherry squeezed her eyes shut.

“I told her it wasn't true,” Avery continued. “I told her Hunter's problems were his own.”

“But she didn't believe it.”

“Actually, it seemed to calm her.”

“Hallelujah.” Cherry moved out onto the porch, stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray hidden under a step, then returned to the foyer. “There's a first.”

“I take it this has happened before.”

“Oh, yeah. He hadn't been back in Cypress Springs twenty-four hours before he started shoveling his shit her way. All of our way, actually. You wouldn't believe some of the things he said. The things he accused us of.”

Cherry sighed. “It doesn't matter how well Matt and I are doing, all she can focus on is Hunter and his troubles. And somehow it's all her fault.”

“What happened to him, Cherry? Hunter used to be so…kind. And funny.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don't know. None of us do.”

“It began that summer, didn't it? That summer Sallie Waguespack was killed.”

Cherry looked sharply at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it was that summer he and Matt started fighting. Just after they'd gotten their driver's licenses.” She paused. “It's when Hunter seemed to…change.”

Cherry didn't comment; Avery filled the silence. “I wouldn't have thought of it except for all the clippings I found in Dad's closet.” She quickly explained how she had found the box, sorted through it then questioned Buddy about the contents. “Truthfully, I'd forgotten the incident.”

“Why do you think one had anything to do with the other?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you think that murder has anything to do with Hunter?”

Avery blinked, surprised by the other woman's assumption. “I didn't. I was just placing it in a time frame.”

Cherry rubbed the spot between her eyes with her thumb, in obvious discomfort. “I was just a kid, I hardly remember it all. But it was…a time of upheaval. Everybody was upset. All the time, it seemed.”

She dropped her hand and met Avery's eyes. “For whatever reason, Hunter's changed. He's not one of us anymore. As much as it hurts me to admit, I can't imagine what it does to Matt. They're twins, for God's sake. Once they were as close as two people could be.”

Cherry shivered slightly and closed the door. “To his credit, Matt's gone on. So have Daddy and I. But Mother can't seem to…let go.” She paused. “It's been much worse since Hunter came back to Cypress Springs. Before, we could forget, you know? Out of sight, out of mind. Even Mom. I think she consoled herself with his professional success.”

Out of sight, out of mind
. Avery understood. In a way, she had done that with her father. She had told herself he was happy, that he had a nice comfortable life. Now she had to live with just how wrong she'd been.

“Then home he came,” Cherry continued, “with a shit-load of bad attitude and so many chips on his shoulder it's amazing he can walk upright.”

“Why, Cherry? The other night your dad said Hunter almost lost his license to practice law. Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah, I know. He had it all and he blew it. That's what happened. Professional success. Money, brains. A family who loved him. And he's blown it all to hell.

“You know what he's doing?” she asked. “The man's gone from practicing corporate law at one of the top firms in the South to taking the odd divorce and bankruptcy case in Cypress Springs. I don't get it. He's working and
living down in what used to be Barker's Flower Shop, one block off the square. At the corner of Walton and Johnson. Remember it?”

Avery indicated she did.

“You already know what I really think about why he came back to Cypress Springs.” She didn't wait for Avery to reply. “He's come back to hurt us. To punish us for some imagined sin or slight against him.”

Cherry glanced toward the stairway thinking, Avery knew, of her mother. “And what's really sad is, he's succeeding.”