probably cypress.
She drew her vehicle to a stop, searching the area for other signs of life. She found none. Not a light, vehicle or movement. She lowered her window a crack, shut off her engine and listened. The call of the insects and an owl, chirping frogs. Some creature running through the brush.
Nothing that spoke to the presence of another human.
Show time.
Gwen took a deep breath. Her heart beat hard against the wall of her chest. She struggled for a semblance of calm. She had to keep her head. Her wits about her. How could she hope to outsmart a killer if she couldn't think? If she couldn't accurately aim the gun because her hands shook?
She retrieved her jacket, put it on. She slipped her hand into the right pocket to reassure herself the gun was there. The metal was smooth and cool against her fingertips.
She opened the car door, choosing to leave the keys in the car's ignition. She wanted them there in case she needed to make a quick escape.
Gwen stepped out. The wind stirred the mostly naked branches of the oak and gum trees. The sound affected her like the scrape of fingernails on a blackboard.
She rubbed her arms, the goose bumps that raced up them. 'Hello,' she called. An owl returned the greeting. She waited. The minutes ticked past. She shifted her gaze to the cabin.
Her caller could be there. Waiting.
She could be dead. Another Trudy Pruitt.
Gwen didn't know why that thought had filtered into her brain, but it had. And now, planted there, she couldn't shake it.
Minutes passed. Eleven o'clock became eleven-fifteen. Eleven-thirty.
Midnight.
Do it. Check out the cabin.
Or go. And never know.
She turned to the building. She stared at it, knees rubbery with fear. She couldn't not check. What if the woman was there and hurt; she would need help.
Gwen put her hand in her pocket, closed her fingers around the gun's grip and started forward, acknowledging terror. The Lord's Prayer ran through her head, the familiar words comforting.
Our Father who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
She reached the porch steps. She saw then that they were in disrepair. She grabbed the handrail, tested it, found it sturdy and began to pick her way up the steps.
She reached the porch. Took a step. The wood groaned beneath her weight. She quickly crossed. Made the door. Hand trembling, she reached out, grasped the knob and twisted.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
On earth as it is in-
The door swung open. Taking a deep breath, she peered inside. Called out, voice barely a whisper. She waited, listening. Letting her eyes adjust to the absolute dark.
As they did, several large forms took shape. Furniture, she realized, taking a tentative step inside. A couple broken-down chairs. A shipping crate serving as a coffee table. Things left behind by previous residents, she decided.
She picked her way inside, blindly, calling herself a dozen different kinds of idiot. What was she trying to prove? Nobody was here. She had been sent on a wild-goose chase. Somebody's idea of a joke. A sick joke.
She turned. A baglike white shape in the doorway up ahead caught her eye. She made her way cautiously toward it. Not a bag, she saw, a white sheet, drawn up and knotted to form a kind of pouch.
She gazed at the package with a sense of inevitability. Of predestination. Whoever had contacted her had predicted her every step. Keeping the rendezvous. Waiting. Coming into the cabin. Finding this package.
And opening it.
She squatted and with trembling fingers untied the knot, peeled away the sheet.
Revealing a cat. Or rather, what had been a cat. A tabby. It had been slit open and gutted. Gwen brought a hand to her mouth; stomach lurching to her throat. The creature's sandy-colored fur was matted with blood, the sheet soaked.
She reached out. And found the blood was tacky.
This had been done recently. Just before she had been scheduled to meet her informant.
The Seven gave one warning. If it wasn't heeded, they took action.
She had gotten her warning.
Something stirred behind her. Someone. Gwen sprang backward, whirled around. The cabin door stood open; nothing-or no one-blocked her path. Panicked, she ran forward. Through the main room and onto the porch. Her foot went through a rotten board. She cried out in pain, stumbled and landed on her knees.
Clawing her way to her feet, she darted toward her car. She reached it, yanked open the door and scrambled inside. Sobbing with relief, she started the vehicle, threw it into Reverse and hit the gas. When she reached the main road, she dared a glance back, terrified at what she would see.
The deserted country road seemed to mock her.
CHAPTER 37
Avery parked her car around the corner from The Guesthouse. She cut her lights, then the engine as she glanced quickly around. The square appeared deserted, its surrounding businesses dark. Cypress Springs retired early and slept soundly.
Just as she had planned for.
She meant to collect Gwen and head to Trudy Pruitt's trailer to have a look around. If Gwen refused, which was entirely possible, considering how Avery had treated her, she would go alone.
Avery had decided on this course of action after leaving Hunter. He had told her to get her proof and that's just what she meant to do. She had planned carefully. Had assembled everything she and Gwen would need: latex gloves, penlights, plastic Ziploc bags. And finally, her courage.
Now, to convince Gwen they were on the same team. She had tried the cell phone number the woman had given her. She had repeatedly gotten a reply stating the cell number she had called was no longer in service. Contacting the other woman by land line required having The Guesthouse management ring her room or calling the pay phone in the hall. She hadn't wanted to do either.
Nor had she wanted to be seen paying her a visit. Which left a chance encounter or stealth.
During the drive there, she had kept careful watch in her rearview mirror. She had not wanted to be followed. She had not wanted the wrong set of eyes to see her arriving at Gwen's.
The wrong set of eyes? Cloak-and-dagger driving maneuvers? Secret meeting?
She was losing her mind. Spiraling into a kind of paranoid schizophrenia, one in which she suspected her home of being watched, her phone of being bugged. One in which every smiling and familiar face hid a secret agenda.
A nervous laugh flew to her lips. She wanted the truth. No, she needed it. And she would do whatever was necessary to get it.
She thought of Hunter. Of the afternoon spent with him, in his bed. The experience felt surreal to her. As if she had dreamed it.
What had she done? Consummated some ancient passion she hadn't even consciously acknowledged? How could she be with Hunter when Matt was the one she had always wanted? What had she been thinking?
Obviously, she hadn't been thinking. She had acted on emotion. And physical urges.
She closed her eyes, thinking of the past, her relationship with Hunter. With Matt. All those years ago, had she chosen Matt because Hunter took her out of her safety zone? Because he had always pushed her, both emotionally and intellectually?
