Gwen stifled a sound of distress, jumped up and started after her, nearly colliding with Peg. The woman jumped back. The coffee she carried sloshed over the cup's side. With a cry of pain, she dropped the cup; it hit the floor and shattered.
Gwen apologized, but didn't stop. She made it out of the restaurant and onto the street moments after Avery.
'Wait!' she shouted. 'I haven't told you everything.'
Avery stopped and turned slowly. She met Gwen's gaze, the expression in hers resigned. 'Don't you get it? I don't want to hear anything else you have to say. I love this town and the people who live here.'
'Even if they killed your father? Would you love them then?'
For the space of a heartbeat, the other woman didn't move, didn't seem to breathe. Then she shook her head. 'I see now how desperate you are. To stoop that low. Be so…cruel. I feel sorry for you, Gwen Lancaster.'
'I can ask that question,' Gwen went on, knowing her time was limited, that the other woman would bolt any moment, 'because they killed my brother.'
'Nice try, but-'
'It was the same as with Luke McDougal. His car was found. No sign of violence. He was just…gone.'
Gwen became aware of the volume of her voice, of the number of people around. Of who might be watching…and listening. She closed the distance between them.
'Tom Lancaster,' she continued softly. 'The Gazette ran a piece about his disappearance. It was about the size of the one they ran about McDougal's. Wednesday, February 6, this year. I have my own copy but you'd probably think I found some way to manufacture it.'
Gwen glanced at the cafe's front window and found Peg there, peering out at them. She shifted her gaze. A CSPD patrolman seemed to be paying more attention to them than to the driver he was ticketing; she glanced toward the square. The old man on the bench across the street was openly watching them over the top of his newspaper.
She lowered her voice even more. 'That's how I know about The Seven, from Tom. The thesis was his. He was here researching. He got too close.'
'I think you're unstable,' Avery said, voice shaking. 'I think you should get some help.'
'Check it out. Come see me when you believe.'
CHAPTER 26
Just past dawn the next morning, Avery lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Fatigue pulled at her. A headache from lack of sleep pounded at the base of her skull. Gwen Lancaster's baldly stated question had played over and over in her head, making rest impossible.
'Even if they killed your father? Would you love them then?'
Avery rolled onto her side, curling into a tight ball. She wished she had never met the woman. She wished she could find a way to find and hold on to the peace of mind she had felt the other night after speaking with Buddy.
Why couldn't she simply believe in Buddy and Matt and the other people she loved and trusted? Why couldn't she put her faith in the various agencies that had investigated her father's death and determined it to be a suicide?
'I can ask that question, because they killed my brother.'
'Dammit!' Avery sat up. She balled her hands into fists. Des-perate people resorted to desperate measures to get their way. Gwen Lancaster was desperate, that had been obvious. So why should she believe her? Why not write her off as either a nut or a liar?
That very desperation. It rang true. Gwen Lancaster believed what she was saying. She was frightened.
Avery flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling once more. Gwen could be suffering from a psychotic disorder. Schizophrenics believed the voices they heard in their heads; their visions, the people who populated them, were as real to them as Matt and Buddy were to her. Paranoid schizophrenics believed that others plotted against them. Some functioned for years without detection.
But that didn't explain her anonymous caller. It didn't explain Luke McDougal's disappearance or Elaine St. Claire's murder.
And it certainly didn't assuage her feeling that her father could take his own life.
She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She crossed to the window and nudged aside the curtain. Cypress Springs had not yet awakened. She saw not a single light shining.
Headlights cut across the road, slicing through the dim light, bouncing off the trees and morning mist. A police cruiser, she saw. It slowed as it reached her property line, inching past at a snail's pace. Instinctively, she eased away from the window, out of sight. Silly. Without a light inside, they wouldn't be able to see her. Besides, the cruiser was no doubt Buddy's doing. Playing daddy. Watching out for her.
She rubbed her face, acknowledging exhaustion. She was being silly. Losing sleep over this. Letting it tear her apart. She should be able to go on faith. Should be able to, but couldn't. She wasn't built that way. As an investigative reporter, she tested premise against facts, day in and day out.
If she wanted to regain her peace of mind, she would have to disprove Gwen Lancaster's claims.
Avery turned away from the window and began to pace, mind working, the skills she used on her job kicking in. If this were a story she was considering, what would she do?
Begin with a premise. One she thought had merit, that would not only make a good story but also make a difference. Remedy a problem.
Like the story she had done about the flaws in the foster care system. She had exposed the problems. By doing so, she'd helped future children caught in the system. Hopefully. That had been her aim; it was the aim of all good investigative reporting.
She stopped. So what was her premise? A group of small town citizens, frightened over the growing moral decay of their community, take the job of law and order into their own hands. Their actions begin benignly enough but unchecked, become extremist. Anyone who's actions fall outside what is considered right, moral or neighborly is singled out. They break the civil rights of their fellow citizens in the name of righteousness, law and order. Before it's all over, they resort to murder, the cure becoming worse than the illness, the judges more corrupt than the judged.
It was the kind of premise she loved to sink her teeth into. One that would make a startling, eye-opening story. It spoke to her on many levels. She loved her country and believed in the principles on which it had been founded. The freedoms that had made it great. Yet, she also bemoaned the loss of personal safety, the ever- decaying American value system, the inability of law enforcement and the courts to adequately deal with crime.
But this wasn't some anonymous story she was following up, Avery reminded herself. Her role wasn't that of uninvolved, cool-headed journalist. This was her hometown. The people involved her friends and neighbors. People she called family. One of the dead was her father.
She was emotionally involved, all right. Up to her eyeballs.
Premise against facts, she thought, determination flowing through her. She wouldn't let her emotions keep her from being objective. She would stay on her guard, wouldn't be blinded by personal involvement.
And same as always, she would uncover the truth.
CHAPTER 27
Avery decided her first stop of the morning would be at the office of the Cypress Springs Gazette, located in a renovated storefront a block and a half off the square. Founded in June 1963, just months before the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, a picture of the former president still hung in the front waiting area.
She stepped through the door and a bell tinkled, announcing her presence. The front counter stood
