"In Silence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)

CHAPTER 19

Avery sat at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of her, hands curled around a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Early-morning sun streamed through the window. The screen glowed softly; the text blurred before her eyes.

She set the mug on the table and rubbed her eyes. Her head ached. She'd slept little. She'd left St. Francisville and driven blindly home, thoughts whirling. She'd been angry. Furious. That Gwen Lancaster could accuse her father of such despicable acts toward his fellow citizens. That she could suggest the people of Cypress Springs capable of spying on one another, punishing them for behavior that fell outside what a few had decided was acceptable.

Cypress Springs was a nice place to live. People cared about one another. They helped one another.

Gwen Lancaster, she had decided was either a liar or an academic hack. She had dealt with journalists like that. They started with a story someone told them, something juicy, outrageous or shocking. Like the one the bartender told Gwen Lancaster about a picture-perfect small town that turns to vigilantism to combat crime.

Great hook. A real grabber. They proceeded on the premise that it was true and began collecting the "facts" to prove it. Tabloid journalism cloaked in the guise of authentic journalism. Or in Gwen Lancaster's case, academia.

The group of seven men at the wake. Watching Gwen Lancaster. The one laughing.

Avery shook her head. A coincidence. A group of men, friends, standing together. Admiring an attractive woman. One making a sexual comment, then laughing. It happened all the time.

She turned her attention to the computer screen. She had realized she knew little more about vigilantism and extremism than what Gwen had told her and had spent the night researching both via the Internet.

She'd done searches on vigilantism. Crowd mentality and social psychology. Fanaticism. She had read about the Ku Klux Klan. Nazism. Experiments in group behavior.

Extremist groups had been much in the news since the Septem- ber 11, 2001, attacks on the United States by the al-Qaeda terrorist organization. Her search had led her there and to pieces written in the aftermath of Timothy McVeigh's bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City in 1995. And others concerning the 1993 FBI shootout with the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas.

What she'd found disturbed her. Any idea or belief, it seemed, could be taken to an extreme. The amount of blood spilled for God and country staggered. A chief motivator, she'd learned, was fear of change. The intense desire to keep the world, the order of things, the way it was.

Folks were scared. And angry. Real angry. The town was turning into a place they didn 't like.

People stopped taking their community, their quality of life for granted. They realized that safety and a community spirit were worth working for. People started watching out for each other.

Avery stood and crossed to the sink. She flipped on the cold water, bent and splashed her face. How frightened had the people of Cypress Springs been? Enough to take the law into their own hands?

Could this be why her father had clipped and kept all those articles?

Avery ripped off a paper towel, dried her face, then tossed the towel into the trash. As much as she wanted to discount everything Gwen Lancaster had told her, she couldn't. Because of that damn box.

Gwen Lancaster knew something about her father that she wasn't telling. Why else would she have wanted to talk to the coroner about Phillip's death? Avery couldn't imagine he would have been able to shed any light on The Seven or her father's involvement in the group.

The coroner could answer questions about her father's death, not life.

That was it, Avery realized. Gwen Lancaster doubted the official explanation of Dr. Phillip Chauvin's death.

And Avery was going to find out why. First, she needed to locate the woman.

She crossed to the phone and dialed the ranch. Buddy knew everybody in this town, even outsiders. He answered.

"Hi, Buddy, it's Avery. Good morning."

"Baby girl. Good morning to you, too." Pleasure radiated from his voice. "How are you? We've been so worried, but wanted to give you some space."

"I'm hanging in there, Buddy. Thanks for your concern. How's Lilah?"

"She's good. Come by for dinner. Anytime."

"I will. Got a question. You know everyone around here, right?"

"Pretty much. Figure it's my job."

"I'm trying to find a woman named Gwen Lancaster. She's only been here a couple of weeks, tops."

"Pretty blonde? Writing some sort of paper?"

"That's her."

"You might check The Guesthouse. Why're you looking for her?"

Avery hesitated. She didn't want to lie. But she didn't want to let on what she was thinking. Not yet. She settled on a partial truth. "She was asking some questions about Dad, I want to find out why."

"That's odd. What kind of questions?"

"I thought it odd, too."

If he noticed her evasiveness, he didn't let on. "Good luck then. Let me know if you need anything else."

Avery thanked him and after promising to stop out for dinner in the next night or two, hung up. She started upstairs to dress. As far as she was concerned, there was no time like the present to call on Gwen Lancaster, ungodly hour or not.

A mere twenty minutes later, Avery crossed The Guesthouse's wide, shady front porch. The Landry family had owned The Guesthouse for as long as she could remember. They had converted the huge old Victorian, located right across from the square, into a guesthouse in the 1960s when they neither needed nor could afford to maintain the structure as a single-family residence.

The family occupied two-thirds of the first floor; the upstairs had been converted into four units consisting of a bedroom/sitting room combination, a kitchenette and bath. The remaining third of the main floor housed the same as the rooms above, with the addition of a small, separate parlor.

She stepped inside. The small registration area occupied the far end of the foyer. The young woman behind the desk looked up and smiled. The next-generation Landry, Avery thought. She was a mirror image of both Laurie, one of Avery's friends, and her older brother, Daniel.

"Hi," Avery said, crossing to the desk. "I bet you're Danny's daughter."

"I am." The teenager popped her gum. "How did you know?"

"I grew up here. Was a friend of your aunt Laurie's. You look just like your dad."

The girl pouted. "Everybody says that."

"I' m looking for Gwen Lancaster. I think she's staying here."

"She is. She's in 2C."

"Thanks." Avery said goodbye, then climbed the stairs. Room 2C was located on the left side of the hall, at the end. She reached the door and knocked, hoping it was still early enough to catch her in.

It was. Gwen opened the door, still bleary-eyed with sleep. She had awakened her, Avery realized without apology.

She laid a hand on the door, just in case the other woman tried to slam it on her. "Why are you so interested in my father's death? I want to know the truth. The whole truth."

The woman gazed unblinkingly at her a moment, then opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come on in."

Avery did. Gwen shut the door behind her, then yawned. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks. I'm full up."

"Sorry, but I need a cup." She motioned toward the small seating area. "I'll be back in a jif."

True to her word, in less than five minutes Gwen sat across from her, cup clutched in her hands. Avery didn't even give her time to sip. "What you told me yesterday was bullshit. Talking to the coroner about my father's death would tell you nothing about his supposed role in The Seven. Obviously, you're interested in his death. Why?"

Gwen met her gaze. "Okay, the straight shit. I wonder if your dad's death was a suicide."

An involuntary sound slipped past Avery's lips. She brought a hand to her mouth and stood, turning her back to the other woman, struggling to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," Gwen murmured.

Avery shook her head but didn't turn. "Why?" she asked. "What makes you think-"

"For such a small town, Cypress Springs suffers a disproportionate number of suicides."

Avery turned. Met the woman's eyes. "Excuse me?"

"The population of Cypress Springs is around nine hundred. Correct?" Avery agreed it was. "In the last eight months, six of her citizens have taken their own lives. A rather large number, particularly for a community that purports to be such a great place to live. To give you an idea how huge that is, the annual total for Louisiana is 1.2 per thousand, per year. To stay within the state average, Cypress Springs should have about 1.2 suicides annually."

"Your figure can't be right."

"But it is. In addition," the woman continued, "there've been a number of strange disappearances."

"Disappearances?" Avery repeated.

"People picking up and moving in the night. No word to anyone. Not to family or friends." She took a sip of coffee. "The accidental death rate is also high. Hunting accidents. Car wrecks. Drownings. Most of them in the last year."

"And before that?"

"Much lower. All categories."

Avery struggled to assimilate the information. To place it in the framework of what she believed to be true. "I'll have to check this out myself."

"Be my guest."

She fell silent a moment. Craziness. What she was thinking was insanity. "Why would someone want to kill my father?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking he knew too much."

"About The Seven?"

"Yes."

"Then what about you?"

Gwen seemed startled by the question. "What do you mean?"

"It seems to me that you might know too much about this group. If it actually exists, that is."

"It exists," Gwen said, following her to her feet. Avery saw that she shook. "And they're getting bolder. Not even trying to cover up their work with an accident."

"What are you talking about?"

"The murder. Elaine St. Claire. I believe The Seven is responsible."