Erica Spindler (29 page)

A
fter the sheriff's department criminalists arrived at the scene, Matt drove her out to his parents' house. As they drove across town, she detailed everything that had happened in the past few days—about her and Gwen going to Trudy Pruitt's trailer and finding Hunter's message on the woman's voice mail; discovering Gwen's name and room number scrawled on a paper by his computer; realizing that all the deaths had begun after Hunter's return to Cypress Springs; and then finding the Ziploc bag of personal items that had obviously belonged to the victims.

“It's my fault,” she said as he drew the vehicle to a stop in the driveway. “I told him about Gwen. About what we discovered. That she had interviewed Trudy Pruitt.” Her voice thickened. “I trusted him, Matt.”

He turned and drew her into his arms. Held her tightly. When he released her, she saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

She realized how hard this must be for him. Hunter was his brother. His twin.

His other half.

She brought a hand to his cheek. “Matt, I don't know what to say. I wish—”

“Shh.” He brought her hand to his mouth. “We'll
have time for this later. I have to go. Are you going to be all right?”

She forced lightness into her tone. “With Lilah and Cherry cooing and clucking over me, are you kidding?”

He glanced toward the doorway where his mother and sister waited. “I'll come by later. Okay?”

She said it was and climbed out of the cruiser. She watched him back out of the driveway, then turned and started toward the two women.

Lilah hugged her. “Avery, honey, I don't know what to say. I'm devastated.”

Cherry touched her arm. “Don't worry about a thing, Avery. If I don't have something you need, I'll go out and buy it.”

“Buddy called. He said it was arson.” Lilah shuddered. “Who would do such a thing?”

Avery didn't want to talk about it. Truth was, she had neither the energy nor heart for it.

There would be time for talking, hashing and rehashing. Time to break it to Lilah what her son had become. She prayed she wasn't around when that happened.

“Would you mind terribly if we didn't talk about it right now? I'm just…overwhelmed.”

“Poor baby. Of course I don't mind.” The woman's cheeks turned rosy. “Maybe you should lie down, take a little nap. I know everything is clearer when I'm rested.”

“Thank you, Lilah. You're so good to me.”

The woman looked at her daughter. “Why don't you take Avery up to the guest room. I'll get some towels and soap for the guest bath.”

“Sure.” She smiled sympathetically at Avery. “I'll grab you a change of clothes, in case you want to clean up.”

“Thanks,” Avery said, realizing then that she smelled of smoke.

They started upstairs. Halfway up, Lilah stopped
them. Avery glanced back. “I'm fixing baked macaroni and cheese for supper. With blueberry pie for dessert. We'll eat about six.”

Avery managed a small smile, though thoughts of eating couldn't be farther from her mind.

Cherry left her at the guest room, then returned moments later with clothes and a basket of toiletries, including a new toothbrush. Cherry held the items out. “If you need anything else, just ask.”

Avery saw real concern in her eyes. She experienced a twinge of guilt for her former suspicions about the other woman. “Thank you, Cherry, I…really appreciate this.”

“It's the least I—” She took a step backward. “Bathroom's all yours.”

“Thanks.” Avery hugged the items to her chest. “I think I…a shower will be nice.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I'll manage. Thanks for worrying about me. It means a lot.”

Avery watched Cherry hurry down the hall, then retreated to the silence of her room. As that silence surrounded her, the smell of the fire filled her head.

With it came the image of her family's home being engulfed in flames. And a feeling of despair. Of betrayal.

Hunter, how could you?

Turning, she carried the toiletries and clothes to the guest bath, which was accessible from the bedroom. A Jack and Jill-style bath, consisting of one bath and commode area, flanked on either side by individual sink and dressing areas. She locked the door that led to the other bedroom's dressing area.

A half hour later she stepped out dressed in the pair of lightweight, drawstring cotton pants and white T-shirt Cherry had lent her, the smell of the fire scrubbed from her hair and skin. She towel-dried and combed her hair, then crossed to the bed. Sank onto a corner.

She closed her eyes. Her head filled with images—of fire engulfing her home, of Gwen's name and room number scrawled on a paper by Hunter's manuscript, of blood smeared across the wall of Trudy Pruitt's trailer.

Her cell phone rang.

She jumped, startled, then scrambled across the bed for her purse. She grabbed it, dug inside for the device. She answered before it rang a third time. “Gwen, is that—”

“Ms. Chauvin?”

Her heart sank. “Yes?”

“Dr. Harris. I apologize for it having taken so long for me to get back to you, I had some trouble locating the information you needed.”

Avery frowned, confused.
Dr. Harris? Why was he
—

Then she remembered—the autopsy report. Her call to the coroner that morning seemed a light-year ago.

“Ms. Chauvin, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry. It's been a rough day.”

“And I'm afraid my news won't make it any better. There was no autopsy performed on Sallie Waguespack.”

“No autopsy,” she repeated. “Aren't autopsies always performed in the case of a murder?”

“Yes, I'm surprised as well. That said, however, because of the circumstances, the coroner determined an autopsy unnecessary.”

“The coroner has that option?”

“Certainly.” He paused a moment. “With a typical homicide, the lawyers will require one. The police or victim's family.”

“But the Waguespack murder wasn't a typical homicide.”

“Far from it. The perpetrators were dead, there would be no trial. No lawyers requiring proof of cause of death. The police had plenty of evidence to support their conclusion, including the murder weapon.”

“An open and closed case,” she murmured.
Perfect for a setup. Everything tied up nice and neat
.

“Would you have made that call, Dr. Harris?”

“Me? No. But that's my way. When it comes to the cessation of life, I don't take anything for granted.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I have one more piece of information that's going to surprise you, Ms. Chauvin. Dr. Badeaux wasn't the coroner on this homicide.”

She straightened. “He wasn't. Then who—”

“Your father was, Avery. Dr. Phillip Chauvin.”

A
very sat stone still, heart and thoughts racing, cell phone still clutched in her hands. Dr. Harris had explained. Dr. Badeaux had employed two deputy coroners, all West Feliciana Parish physicians, all appointed by him. The coroner or one of his deputies went to the scene of every death, be it from natural causes, the result of accident, suicide or homicide.

The night of the Waguespack murder, Dr. Badeaux had been winging his way to Paris for a second honeymoon. Her dad had been the closest deputy coroner. When Dr. Badeaux had returned, Sallie Waguespack had been in the ground. He had accepted his deputy's call and it had stood for fifteen years.

“My boys didn't kill that Sallie Waguespack. They was framed.”

“Your father got what he deserved.”

Trudy Pruitt had been telling the truth. Her sons had been framed. And her father had been a part of it.

Betrayal tasted bitter against her tongue. She leaped to her feet, began to pace. She couldn't believe her father would do this. She'd thought him the most honorable man she had ever known. The most moral, upright.

The box of clippings, she realized. That was why he had saved them all these years. As a painful reminder.

What he'd done would have eaten at him. She hadn't a doubt about that. All these years…had he feared exposure? Or had he longed for it?

That was it, she thought. The why. He hadn't been able to live with his guilt any longer. But he hadn't killed himself. He had decided to come clean. Clear the Pruitt boys' names.

And he had been murdered for it.

But why had he done it? For whom had he lied?

His best friend. Sheriff Buddy Stevens.

Avery squeezed her eyes shut. Buddy had lied to her. The day she'd gone to see him, about having found the clippings. She had asked him why her father would have followed this murder so closely, why he would have kept the box of news stories all these years. She had asked if her dad had been involved with the investigation in any way.

Buddy had claimed he hadn't had a clue why her father would have clipped those stories, that her father hadn't been in any way involved in the investigation.

He'd been up to his eyeballs in this. They both had been.

She recalled the words in her mother's journal. That after the murder everything had been different. That her father and Buddy's relationship had been strained. Hunter had claimed that their fathers never even spoke anymore.

What could cause such a serious rift between lifelong friends?

The answer was clear. For a friend, her dad had gone against his principles. Afterward, he had hated both himself and his friend for it.

That poor woman. And pregnant, too
.

Pregnant. With whose baby?

Avery didn't like what she was thinking. She glanced toward the doorway. Lilah was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. She would know. Like her mother, she had lived through it. Had watched as best friends grew distant, then to despise one another.

Avery grabbed her handbag, with the two journals tucked inside, and slipped into her shoes. She went to the bedroom door and peeked out. The house was quiet save for sounds coming from the kitchen.

She slipped into the hall and down the stairs. From the study came the sound of Cherry and Buddy, talking softly. Avery tiptoed past the closed door and headed to the kitchen.

Lilah glanced over her shoulder at her and smiled. Avery saw that she was grating cheese. She wore a ruffled, floral apron—a flour smudge decorated her nose and right cheek. The blueberry pie, pretty as a picture from
Bon Appétit
, sat cooling on a rack by the oven.

“You look refreshed,” she said brightly.

“At least I don't reek of smoke anymore.”

“There's something to the whole comfort-food thing, don't you think?” She turned back to her grating. “Macaroni and cheese, chicken pot pie, tuna casserole. Good, old-fashioned stick-to-your-ribs stuff. Just thinking about it makes one feel better.”

If only it was so easy, Avery thought, watching her work. If only life were so simple. Like something out of
Life
magazine in the 1950s. Or an episode of an old TV show.

Life wasn't like that, no matter how much she longed for it to be. The picture Lilah presented was wrong. She saw that now. A deception. An illusion.

A picture-perfect mask to hide the truth from the world.

But what was the truth?

Avery opened her handbag and drew out the journal from 1988. “Lilah,” she said softly, “I need to ask you something. It's important.”

The woman glanced at her. Her gaze dropped to Avery's hands. “What's that?”

“One of my mother's journals. I found it in my parents' attic.”

“But I thought your father had gotten rid of them.”

“No. Mother had packed them away. They were almost all lost in the fire.”

Lilah's expression altered slightly. Her gaze skittered from Avery's to the journal. “Not that one.”

“No. Or one other.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Yes.” Avery carefully slid it back into her purse. “I discovered something interesting in this journal, Lilah. I wanted to ask you about it.”

“Sure, hon.” She went to the refrigerator and retrieved a jug of milk. She filled a measuring cup full. “What do you need to know?”

“Whose baby was Sallie Waguespack carrying?”

The measuring cup slipped from her fingers. It hit the countertop and milk spewed across the country-blue Formica. With a small cry, she began mopping up the mess.

“Lilah?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Whose baby was it?”

Lilah's movements stilled. The kitchen was silent save for the steady drip drip of milk dropping onto the tile floor.

“They're all dead now, Lilah. Everyone connected with the Waguespack murder investigation. All of them but Buddy. Do you know how damning that is?”

Lilah whimpered. Avery took a step toward her. “What really happened that night? Buddy, my dad, Pat Greene, they were all in on it. All covering up for somebody. Who was it, Lilah? Who?”

Avery grabbed her arm. “Those boys were framed, weren't they? They didn't kill Sallie Waguespack.”

Lilah's mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Avery shook her. “Those boys were sacrificial lambs. It's in the journal, Lilah! I discovered it this morning. You were the
only person I mentioned the journals to. Who did you tell? That's why my house was torched, to destroy the evidence!”

A sound of pain escaped Lilah's lips. “No. Please, it's not—”

“Stop protecting him, Lilah. You have to come clean. You have to make this right.” She lowered her voice, pleading. “Only you can do it, Lilah. Only you can—”

“It was Buddy's baby!” she said, the words exploding from her. “He betrayed me, our children. This town. By day, Mr. Morality. Lecturing about how the citizens needed to take action, restore Cypress Springs to a God-fearing, law-abiding place to live. By night fornicating with that…with that cheap whore!”

Her tears came then, deep wrenching sobs. She doubled over. Her small frame shaking with the force of her despair.

“And she became pregnant.”

“Yes.” Lilah looked up, expression naked with pain. “That's when Buddy confessed to me what had been going on, that the woman was pregnant. I hadn't…I never—”

She bit the words back but they landed between them—
She hadn't known. She never suspected
.

Avery's heart went out to the other woman. She had always thought the Stevenses had the perfect marriage. Apparently, Lilah had thought so, too.

“She was going to make trouble for him. She wanted to ruin him. Make it public. Shame him…all of us.”

Lilah met Avery's gaze, calm seeming to move over her. “I couldn't have that. I couldn't have my family exposed to his filth. I couldn't let that happen.”

“What did you do?” Avery asked softly, though she already knew.

“I went to see her. To beg her to keep quiet. To do the right thing.” An angry sound escaped her. “The right
thing? I was so naive. Sallie Waguespack wouldn't know the right thing if it hit her with a sledgehammer.

“She laughed at me. Called me pathetic. The stupid little
housewife
.” Lilah fisted her fingers. “She bragged about how she seduced him, about the…sex they had. She bragged about being pregnant. She promised that before she gave up Chief Raymond ‘Buddy' Stevens, she would drag him and his family through the mud.

“We were in the kitchen. I was crying, begging her to shut up. I saw a knife on the counter.” Lilah's eyes took on a glazed look. “I didn't do it on purpose. You have to believe me.”

“Go on, Lilah. Tell me everything.”

“I picked up the knife and I…stabbed her. Again and again. I didn't even realize…until…the blood. It was everywhere.”

Avery took a step back, found the counter, leaned on it for support. “So Buddy took care of it for you,” Avery whispered.

“Yes. I didn't ask him to. He told me to stay put, that he would take care of everything. But I didn't understand what that meant…didn't know until…the next day.”

He framed the Pruitt boys. Manufactured the evidence against them and covered up the evidence against his wife
.

He called upon his best friend to help. Pat Greene and Kevin Gallagher, too
.

“I've had to live with that all these years. The guilt. The self-hatred. Those boys…what I did—”

She curved her arms around her middle, seeming to fold in on herself. “We were all so close back then. The best of friends. Buddy begged your daddy to lie, to make the medical facts agree with the evidence. To not request an autopsy. It was easy because the Pruitt boys were dead.”

“And nothing would have to stand up to the scrutiny of a trial.”

“Yes. Phillip couldn't live with the guilt at what he'd done. That's why he did it. Why he killed himself. I wish to God I had the guts to do the same! My children…my friends, I ruined everything!”

The kitchen door flew open. Buddy charged through, Cherry behind him, expression stricken.

“Enough!” he roared, face mottled with angry color.

Lilah cringed. Cherry rushed to her mother's side, drew her protectively into her arms.

Avery turned to the man she had once thought of as a second father. “It's too late, Buddy. How could you?”

“I never wanted you to know, Avery,” he said, tone heavy with regret. “Your father didn't want you to know.”

Avery trembled with anger. With betrayal. “How do you know what my father wanted? You used your friendship to force him to lie!”

He shook his head. “I only wanted to protect my family. You understand that, don't you, Avery? What happened wasn't Lilah's fault. I couldn't allow her to go to jail for my mistakes. My sins. Your father understood. Sallie's death was a crime of passion, not premeditated murder.”

“Pat Greene didn't see the Pruitt boys leaving Sallie Waguespack's that night, did he?”

“No. I told him I did. Confessed to having an affair with her. Asked him to help me out. Because of how it looked.”

“And he believed you?”

“He was my friend. He trusted me.”

She made a sound of derision. “And the murder weapon in the ditch behind their trailer—”

“I planted it. The prints on the weapon and the blood on Donny's shoe as well. Pat didn't know.”

She had looked up to him. Loved him. To know he had done this hurt. Her vision swam. “And Kevin Gallagher?”

“Kevin prepared Sallie for burial. All he knew was she was pregnant. I asked him to keep it quiet. Why exacerbate the situation? Why smear the poor woman's name any further?”

“And my dad?”

He drew a heavy breath. “Your daddy was hard to convince. In the end, he did it not just for me, but for Lilah and the kids.”

“Those two boys,” she whispered. “They were—”

“Trash. Delinquents. Only nineteen and twenty and had been busted a half-dozen times each. For drugs, attempted rape, drunk and disorderly conduct. They were never going to amount to anything. Never going to contribute anything to society but ills. To sacrifice them to save my family, it wasn't a difficult decision.”

“You don't get to play God, Buddy. It's not your job.”

His mouth twisted. “Your daddy said the same. I guess that old saying about the apple not falling far from the tree is true.”

“What about Sal?” she asked. “Why include him, Buddy? You needed the
Gazette
, but for what? Swaying public opinion?”

“He wasn't included. He thought the crime went down exactly as officially reported. But I was able to use Sal and the
Gazette
as a way to focus the public's attention on the social context of the crime. Whip them into a state of outrage over the crime rate, the immorality of the young, the drug epidemic, and take their attention away from the crime itself.”

“You bought into your own spin, didn't you?” Avery all but spat the words at him. “And The Seven was born. You and your buddies all got together to decide what was appropriate behavior and what wasn't. You took the law into your own hands, Buddy. You and your group became judge and jury. And things got out of hand.”

“It wasn't like that. We loved this community, all of us
did. We had—have—its good at heart. We only want to make life better, to keep things the way they had been. We keep watch on our friends and fellow citizens. Monitor the important things. If need be, we pay a friendly visit. Use a little muscle if necessary.”

“Muscle? A palatable euphemism for what? A brick through the window? The threat of broken bones? Financial ruin through boycotts? Or just good old-fashioned cross burnings on the front lawn? What's the criteria for a death penalty in Cypress Springs?”