Erica Spindler (32 page)

“T
he one?” Hunter moved his gaze between the two women. “What do you mean?”

“The one who killed Elaine St. Claire and Trudy Pruitt.” Cherry's voice shook. “He killed Avery's dad as well. At least, we think so. Dad told us before he went after them.”

“I didn't know,” Lilah whispered. “I thought…all these years, I thought I killed Sallie Waguespack. And now—” her voice broke “—and now I wish I had.”

“It's not your fault,” Cherry murmured. “You didn't know what he had become, neither did I.”

Hunter struggled to come to grips with what they were saying. Struggled not to give in to panic. “What's he become? I don't understand. What did you have to do with Sallie Waguespack's death?”

Lilah met his eyes. “I better start at the beginning.”

She told him about his father's affair, Buddy's lover's pregnancy. About going there to plead for her husband.

And about what followed.

“Until tonight, I thought I'd killed her. Buddy…he kept that secret from everyone.”

“When people began dying, he reasoned the deaths away,” Cherry interjected. “He accepted them as accidents and suicides because…the other was unthinkable.

“Avery forced him to reevaluate,” his sister continued. “Her questions. Her unshaking belief that her father hadn't killed himself. Then, when Trudy Pruitt was killed—”

“He was forced to admit what was happening,” Hunter said. “That everybody involved in the cover-up had croaked. Except him.”

“And Matt.” She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. “He knew for certain today, when he learned about Avery's mother's journals. That's why Matt set the house on fire.”

“Slow down. Avery's mother journaled—”

“Every day since she was a teenager,” Lilah said. “Avery called about them the other day, wondering if I had any idea what happened to her mother's journals. I mentioned the call to Matt.”

Cherry took over. “Avery found the journals. Her mother wrote about The Seven. And Sallie Waguespack being pregnant. Somehow Matt found out and torched her house to destroy the evidence. And now, Gwen Lancaster's missing.”

Lilah moaned. “That poor girl. I tried to warn her. I called…was going to meet her…try to convince her to go. Buddy overheard me…he kept me from…”

She dissolved into tears. Hunter looked at his sister, who continued. “Dad checked out Gwen's room, found evidence that indicated foul play. He figured Matt…that if he had her, had her cell phone. That he'd retrieved Avery's messages.”

And now he had Avery. Hunter went cold with fear.

Silence fell between them. Cherry broke it. “There's one more thing, Hunter. Matt knew about you and Avery. That you had become…romantically involved. He told Dad. He was in a rage. A cold rage. Dad was afraid for your life.”

“So he locked me up.”

“Yes. Until he could figure out what to do about Matt. How to protect him.”

“Protect Matt!” Hunter exploded. “He's a murderer! He should be behind—”

“He's his son!” she returned, cutting him off. “What was he supposed to do?”

“The right thing, dammit! People are dying!”

She fell silent. Lilah sobbed quietly. Hunter fought to get a grip on his emotions.

“What about Tom Lancaster?” he asked. “And McDougal? How do they fit in?”

“Dad didn't know for sure.” She turned onto Highway 421. “Matt was obsessed with The Seven, which could explain Lancaster. But McDougal, he didn't see a connection. There might be none.”

“What about Avery?” he demanded. “Where is she?”

“Dad thought the old hunting cabin. The one Grandpa used.”

“You've called the authorities, right?” They didn't respond and he made a sound of disbelief. “The sheriff? State police?”

“Buddy said we should keep it to ourselves. Keep it in the family.”

“Son of a bitch! Cell phone?” They shook their heads. “How many guns do we have?”

“Just the one.”

“Shit. Fucking great.”

“But Buddy's here,” Lilah said. “He'll—”

“He's in trouble. Or he would have called long before now.”

The women couldn't argue with that and they rode the rest of the way in silence. They turned onto No Name Road and moments later the access road that led to the cabin.

They reached it. Two cars sat out front—an unmarked sedan with a dome light on the dash and a CSPD cruiser.

“They're here,” Cherry said, voice quivering. She looked at Hunter. “What now?”

He thought a moment. “One of us should stay here, stand watch. Keep the car running in case we need to get out fast. Honk if there's trouble.”

Hunter and Cherry looked at their mother then at each other, silently acknowledging she was incapable of the responsibility.

“I'll do it,” Cherry offered. “Mom can stay with me. You take the gun.”

Lilah tried to argue; Hunter cut her off. “If there's gunfire, I don't want to be worrying about you instead of my own hide. Got that?”

“I agree,” Cherry said quickly. “Absolutely.”

She handed him the gun, butt out. “You know how to use one of these?”

He took it from her. Like his sister and brother, he had grown up handling a gun. It had been a while but some things you never forgot. He checked the chamber, saw that it carried a full round and snapped it shut. “Yeah,” he answered. “Point and shoot.”

He climbed out of the car. Weapon out, he crossed to the other vehicles and peered inside. They were empty.

He glanced back at Cherry and pointed toward the cabin. She nodded.

He made his way cautiously toward it. A traditional raised cabin, he climbed the three stairs to the front porch. Half-rotted, they creaked under his weight.

The cabin door was unlocked. He eased it open, then slipped through, pausing to listen.

It was silent. Too silent. The hair on his arms stood up. He inched across the main room, toward the kitchen. It proved empty. The small window above the sink stood open; flies buzzed around an overflowing garbage pail. He saw dirty dishes in the sink.

The cabin might be empty now, but it had been occu
pied recently. He swiveled, crossed to the bathroom. He found it as deserted as the other two rooms.

Only the bedroom remained. He made his way there, heart pounding. The first thing he saw was the bed, the nylon rope attached to the foot posts, the length coiled on the bare mattress.

Someone had been tied to the bed
. The blood rushed from his head. He laid a hand on the doorjamb for support.

Not someone. Avery
.

He shifted his gaze and froze. Peeking out from the far side of the bed was the toe of a boot. One he recognized—alligator hide, a deep green-hued black.

His father had worn those boots, made from the hide of a gator he'd caught, for twenty years.

Denial rose in him as he made his way into the room. Around the bed. His father lay facedown in a pool of blood, head twisted at an unnatural angle.

Hunter stumbled backward. Pivoting, he ran back through the cabin and onto the porch. His sister sat behind the wheel of the vehicle, door open. “Cherry,” he shouted. “Use Dad's radio, get an ambulance. Tell them an officer's down.”

She leaped out of the vehicle, alarmed. “An officer? Dad or—”

“Do it, Cherry. Now!”

Without waiting for her to comply, he returned to his father's side. He knelt beside him, felt for a pulse. Found none.

At a sound from behind him, Hunter turned. Lilah stood in the doorway, eyes on her husband. A cry spilled past her lips, high and terrible.

Cherry came up behind her and stopped dead. “Dad?” The color drained from her face. “No.” She shook her head. “No!”

Lilah made a move to go to her husband's side. Hunter
jumped to his feet, caught her in his arms, stopping her. She fought him, pummeling him with her fists, cursing him.

He held her until the fight drained out of her. He met his sister's eyes. “Help me get her outside.”

Cherry blinked. Her mouth moved. He saw that she trembled. She looked a hairbreadth from falling apart herself.

“Cherry,” he said softly, “it's a crime scene. The police—”

“We know who did it.” Her voice shook. “Matt killed Dad.”

His brother. His twin. A murderer capable of killing his own father
.

And he had Avery.

“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where's Matt taken Avery?”

His sister looked startled by his question. Confused. “I don't…know. I don't—”

“Think, Cherry! They're on foot. Where could he have taken her?”

She shook her head, her gaze riveted to their father's still form. “There's nothing out here. Nothing. Just the—”

“Canning factory,” he finished for her. “Cherry, help Mom to the car. Then call the sheriff's department and the state police. I'm going after them.”

A
very and Gwen waited by the door. Nearly an hour had passed since The Seven had found them guilty. They had made their plan; feeble though it was, it was their only chance.

“What's he waiting for?” Gwen whispered. “Where did he go?”

Avery didn't know. She had expected him to come for them right away. Perhaps he was preparing, setting the rest of his plan in motion, putting the final pieces in place. She shook her head, indicating she didn't know.

“Do you really think this will work?”

Avery heard the note of panic in her friend's voice. The edge of hysteria.
Seven against two. What hope did they have?

“What do we have to lose by fighting?” Avery countered softly, more, she realized, to convince herself than Gwen. “They're going to kill us anyway.”

From the other side of the door came the sound of footsteps. Avery looked at Gwen. The other woman's face had gone white. Avery nodded and moved to the far right side of the door. She took her place directly in front of it, though far enough back not to get hit when it swung open.

They heard him at the door, unlocking the padlock.
Avery tensed, readying herself. The door eased open. She held her breath, waiting for the right moment. Praying it would come.

It did. Avery lunged at him, using her body as a battering ram, aiming for his middle. As she had prayed she would, she caught him by surprise, nailing him square in the chest.

Matt stumbled. The gun flew from his hand. She heard it clatter to the floor.

“Run, Gwen!” she screamed. “Run!”

Her friend did, her feet pounding against flooring as she tried to race for the stairs. Avery expected to hear the others coming to Matt's aid, expected him to call for them; neither occurred. She wondered if they had left the building, had left the dirty work to him.

Avery regained her balance and threw herself at him again, this time knocking him down. He landed with a grunt of pain.

“Bitch!” he screamed, slamming his fist into her face. Her head snapped to the side, the explosion of pain unimaginable. She couldn't catch her breath, realized she was sobbing.

He straddled her, put his hands to her throat and squeezed. She fought as best she could, twisting, turning. Flailing her legs. Her lungs burned. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her eyes.

Let Gwen make it, she prayed. Please, God, let her make it
.

From below came the sound of something crashing to the floor. Matt eased his grip, straightening. Twisting as if to listen.

“What's going on?” Matt shouted. “Blue? Hawk? Have you got her?”

Silence answered. He released her, jumped to his feet, listening. Air rushed into her lungs. Avery sucked it greedily in, gasping, coughing.

“Hawk!” he screamed. “Talk to me.”

Avery rolled onto her side, caught sight of his gun. A half-dozen feet to her right, just behind where he stood. Tears stung her eyes. Cuffed, what could she do?

A whimper slipped past her lips. Matt turned. Looked down. He saw the weapon, saw her gaze upon it.

He looked at her and smiled. “Is that what you're wanting?” He bent and retrieved it. “It's just not fair, is it?”

She dragged herself to her feet, took a step, stumbled and went down. Still, she didn't give up. She inched herself along the floor like a worm. Unwilling to say die.

He laughed as he followed, taunting her. “Gutsy little Avery,” he mocked. “I admire you. I do. Such a shame it didn't work out between us, with my brains and your determination we would have made awesome babies.”

He stepped over her, then in front, blocking her path. She lifted her head, met his gaze defiantly.

His teeth gleamed bright white against the dark shadow of his face. He lifted the gun. “End of the road, sweetheart.”

A
very came to and found herself bound to a chair. Her head throbbed. Something liquid rolled down her cheek, then splashed onto her collarbone. Blood, she realized as what had happened came rushing back—Matt, the butt of his gun.

She was still alive. Why?

Her eyelids flickered up. Her vision swam. She made out a table, figures grouped around it, sitting in silence.

Seven figures. Matt and his generals.

One of them turned and stood. Matt. He picked up the lantern at his feet. A camping lantern, turned down low.

He lifted the lantern, brought it close to her face. She squinted against the feeble light, right eye burning. Bloody. He smiled. “You've looked better, Avery.”

A retort sprang to her lips, it came out a garbled croak.

His smile widened. “In case you're wondering, Gwen didn't make it.”

A moan escaped her, one of grief and denial. Of hopelessness.

He turned toward the table. “Gentlemen,” he said, holding the lantern high, “I have good news. Ms. Chauvin has returned to the world of the living. For how long is up to her.”

The soft glow from the lantern fell across the men sit
ting closest to her. Avery blinked, vision going in and out of focus.
It couldn't be
. She traveled her gaze, straining to make out the figures at the far side of the table.

Cadavers. In various stages of decomposition
.

A scream rose to her throat. She looked at Matt, waiting for the punch line.

It didn't come.

“Avery, I think you know Karl Wright.” He indicated a badly decomposed body directly across from her. “General Hawk to us.”

Karl Wright. Matt's oldest friend. The man Cherry loved. The man she had planned to marry
.

But he'd moved to California. He'd up and left Cypress Springs without a word to anyone but Matt.

Anyone but Matt
.

A sound of horror slipped past her lips.
Matt had killed his best friend.

Avery shifted her gaze to the cadaver to the right of Karl. Less decayed than all but one of the others, the corpse appeared to be that of a young man. A Tulane University sweatshirt, logo partially obliterated by blood, hung on the decomposing form.

“Tom Lancaster,” Matt offered, seeing the direction of her gaze.

They found his car, abandoned. His body was never recovered.

Avery moved her gaze again, this time to the other nearly intact corpse.

Luke McDougal missing, his car found empty.

That first day, she remembered, down at the CSPD, the missing persons flyers on the bulletin board. There'd been several.

Too many for such a small community.

Avery's teeth began to chatter. She fought falling apart.
Matt inducted members to The Seven through murder
.

She found her voice, though it trembled. “Tell me how
it went down, Matt? Did you just happen upon Luke McDougal, broken down by the side of the road and offer him a ride? Is that when you decided to recruit him?”

Matt smiled. “Not on sight, of course, but soon after. One of the generals had recently defected, I needed a replacement. I offered him a lift and discovered we saw eye to eye, General Blue and I.”

Defected? How did that happen? she wondered, hysteria rising up in her. When the bodies became so badly decayed, they could no longer stay propped up in a chair? When they disagreed too vocally with their leader?

Matt looked at the corpse that had been Luke McDougal and smiled. He paused as if listening to something the man said, then nodded and chuckled. “I completely agree, Blue.”

Avery watched the exchange, the full realization of what was happening hitting her. Matt believed them to be alive. He heard them speak, vote for life or death, offer comment.

He returned his attention to her. “General Lancaster was more difficult to convince. At first, he didn't understand our cause. But I could see that he wanted to. And that he could be a wonderful addition to our number.

“In the end he believed wholeheartedly in our cause. When I explained the group's vision, there were actually tears in his eyes. He begged to be a member. He pledged his total allegiance to us. Gwen would be proud of him, he has become a tremendous asset.”

Avery pictured Tom Lancaster begging. Willing to pledge and promise anything to save his own life.

Having no idea that becoming one of The Seven equaled a death sentence.

“And of course, you know Sal.” Matt turned, smiled and nodded toward another corpse. “Our member of the old guard.”

“Sal?” she repeated. “But he was…shot. Waked and buried—”

In a closed-casket ceremony
.

Matt switched the bodies. But with whose?

“General Wings,” Matt murmured. “He faked his own death, Avery. He decided to devote his life to our cause.” He turned and smiled at the half-decapitated corpse. “I've been grateful for his dedication. His wisdom has proved invaluable to us.”

Matt arched his eyebrows, then nodded and turned back to her. “Just so you know, he has been your champion through this whole thing.”

“Who's buried in Sal's casket, Matt? Just some poor slob you picked up?”

“A worthless, homeless drunk. A nobody whose life I gave purpose, Avery.” He motioned to the final two figures at the table. “Generals Beauregarde and Starr, outsiders who were drawn to our cause.”

“So this is it?” she said, voice shaking. “The infamous Seven. A group formed—” she paused to rest “—to counter the crime wave in Cypress Springs resorts to murder. Seems to me, the cure is worse than the illness.”

“You sound just like your bleeding-heart father. He ruined the original Seven, reduced them to a system of little more than tattletales and whiners. I wasn't about to allow him to ruin us.”

“How did you do it?” she asked. “How did you kill him?”

“It was easy. Phillip wanted to believe me a malleable weakling who would bend to his wishes—the way Buddy and the other Seven had all those years ago. So he underestimated me.”

“He trusted you. You knew that. You knew he would open the door to you in the middle of the night. Even though he was groggy from the sleep medication he'd taken before going to bed.”

She narrowed her eyes, hate rising up in her, nearly choking her. “Medication you knew he was taking. How?
He never locked the doors…Did you go through his medicine cabinet?”

Matt laughed, the sound pleased. “It didn't take even that much effort. Heard it from Earl over at Friendly Drugs.”

One of The Seven's network of eyes and ears
.

Matt glanced at his generals, then back at her, expression disgusted. “I see what you're thinking. That Earl had no right discussing your dad's private business. People like you never understand. Private business is a nice euphemism for immoral self-indulgence. Human weakness. Such self-indulgences corrupt. They spread from citizen to citizen like a disease, until a whole community is infected.”

She fought to keep her tone controlled. It wavered slightly and she cursed the telltale show of vulnerability. “And as not only sheriff but son of Cypress Springs' chief of police, you heard everything, didn't you? It was easy. You knew every citizen's every step? You made it your business to know.”

He puffed up, proud. “Mail. Medications. Police calls. What they ate and drank, when they had sex.”

“And Elaine St. Claire's weakness?”

“Promiscuity.”

She died of internal injuries. An artificial phallus had been inserted into her, it had torn her to shreds
.

“What about Pete Trimble?”

“Poor old Pete. Chronic D.W.I. He refused to give up the bottle, refused our efforts to get him into a program.”

Drunk, he was crushed by his own tractor
.

She thought of the kids who had overdosed, the one into auto-eroticism who had hung himself. Of Trudy Pruitt's tongue cut out of her head. Avery understood. “Their mode of death mirrored their crime.”

He inclined his head. “They died as they lived, a fitting punishment, we believe.”

Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed past it. “And my dad? The others involved in the Waguespack cover-up? What were their crimes? Knowing too much?”

“Treason,” he said softly, regretfully. “They began to talk amongst themselves. Began speculating about Sallie Waguespack's death and the way their good friend Chief Stevens told them it went down. They began speculating that someone had retooled The Seven. Before they could be silenced, they went to Phillip.”

“Retooled The Seven?”

“We are the elite, Avery. The best, operating in secret, willing to do whatever necessary to protect what we hold dear. What the original group was supposed to be.”

“Cypress Springs' very own version of Delta Force?”

“I like that analogy.”

“You would. And the group of seven men at Dad's wake and funeral, who were they?”

“Nobody. Nothing but an unfortunate number of men standing together.”

She processed that, then went on. “My dad figured out what was going on?”

“To a degree. But he made a mistake, he thought Dad was the one. Behind it all. He had decided to go to the D.A. about Sallie Waguespack. He went to Lilah first, to prepare her.”

“And she told you.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “After his suicide, she assumed that he hadn't been able to do it and had killed himself instead. She understood guilt, you see. How it ate at a person.”

Avery curled her hands into fists, cuffed behind her back. “So you woke him up in the middle of the night. He opened the door and you immobilized him with a stun gun.”

A look of surprise, then respect, crossed his features.

“You had everything ready in the garage,” she continued. “The diesel fuel, the syphoning hose.”

He inclined his head. “It's not easy to get away with murder these days, forensic science being what it is. The tazer leaves no detectable mark but offered me the time I needed to carry out my plan. That he was groggy from the sleep medication helped.”

Tears choked her. She struggled to force the image of her father from her mind, force out what she imagined were his last thoughts. The way he had suffered.

“How did you know?” he asked. “What made you so certain?”

“The slipper,” she said. “It was wrong.”

“It fell off when I carried him to the garage. A detail I shouldn't have ignored.”

“Even without the slipper, I wouldn't have bought the story. My father valued life too much to take his own.” She paused. “Unlike you, Matt. Someone disagrees with your politics and you kill them. You're no better than a terrorist.”

Color flooded his face. She had angered him. His voice took on the tone of a teacher speaking to a rebellious student. “In a war, Avery, there are only two sides. The good guys and the bad guys. For a cause or against it. They were against us. So they were eliminated.”

“And who's been watching you, Matt? Who's been keeping tabs on your activities? Making certain your behavior doesn't veer outside the appropriate?”

She had caught him off guard, she saw by his momentary confusion. “My generals, of course,” he answered. “I'm not all-powerful, Avery. I don't want to be. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“They're dead, Matt. Your generals are rotting corpses. No one is monitoring you, and if they do, you kill them in the name of the cause.”

“You're not helping yourself, Avery. We reevaluated and were prepared to make you an offer. Of an opportunity. Join us. You're smart, courageous. Use those qualities to better the world.”

The children's story
Peter Pan
popped into her head, the place in the tale when Captain Hook offers to spare Wendy's and the Lost Boys' lives—
if
they join him, become pirates. Avery had always admired Wendy's bravery. The courage of her convictions in the face of certain death.

Wendy hadn't died. Peter had saved her.

There would be no Peter Pan to save her, Avery acknowledged. Only the courage of her own convictions.

“You have three minutes to decide, Avery.” He set his watch. “And the clock's ticking.”