She went to work on the napkin. "Silly, Avery. Of course not."

"I stopped by the Gazette this morning," Avery said. "Rickey Plaquamine offered me a job."

"Outstanding." Lilah leaned forward, expression eager. "And? Did you takejt?"

"Told him I'd think about it."

She pretended to pout, though Avery could see she was delighted she hadn't outright declined the offer.

"We'd all be thrilled if you decided to make Cypress Springs your home, Avery. But no one more than Matt." She brought her tea to her lips, sipped then patted her mouth with her napkin. "Buddy told me you and Matt seemed to be enjoying yourselves at Spring Fest."

Avery thought of the other night, of dancing with Matt under the stars. Of how comfortable she had felt, how relaxed. Although she hadn't seen him since, he had called every day to check on her.

She smiled. "We did. Very much."

Avery offered nothing further, though she could tell the woman was eager for details. And assurances, Avery supposed. About her and Matt's future. Ones that she was unable to make.

"Rickey looked great. He said he and Jeanette just had their third."

"A handsome boy. Fat. All their babies have been fat." Lilah leaned toward Avery, twinkle in her eyes. "It's all the ice cream Jeanette eats during her last trimester. Belle from the Dairy Barn told me Jeanette came every day, sometimes twice a day, for a double-swirl hot-fudge sundae."

A smile tugged at very's mouth. Poor Jeanette. Small-town living-life in a fishbowl.

Avery refocused their conversation. "Until today, I hadn't known Sal was gone. I was so shocked. Dad knew how I felt about Sal, I'm surprised he didn't tell me."

Lilah opened her mouth, then shut it. "This year," she began, struggling to speak, "it's been difficult. Our friends…so many of them…passed away."

Avery stood and crossed to the woman. She bent and hugged her. She felt frail, too thin. "I'm sorry, Lilah. I wish I could do something to help."

"You already have, sweetheart. By being here."

They chatted a couple moments more, then Lilah indicated she needed to rest. They stood. Avery noticed the woman wasn't quite steady on her feet. It alarmed her to see her this way. Just over two weeks ago, she had seemed the picture of health.

They reached the foyer. Lilah kissed Avery's cheek. "Stop by again soon."

"I will. Feel better, Lilah."

Avery watched as the woman made her way up the stairs, noticing how tightly she gripped the handrail, how she seemed to lean on it for support. She found it hard to believe that seasonal allergies would cause this dramatic change in the woman, though she had no real frame of reference for that belief since she had been one of the lucky ones who had been spared them.

Hunter had claimed his mother was addicted to painkillers and booze. Substance abuse took a terrible toll on health and emotional stability. Could that be what she was seeing?

Cherry appeared in the study doorway, to Avery's left. "Mother's going up to nap?" she asked.

"Mmm." Frowning, Avery shifted her gaze to Cherry. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. The allergy medicine takes it out of her."

"You're certain? She's not having any other problems, is she?"

"Of course not. Why do you ask?"

"I'm concerned. She was so strong just two weeks ago."

"Her bouts are like this." Cherry shrugged. "Mom just doesn't bounce back like she used to."

Avery lowered her gaze. Cherry held a gun, some sort of revolver. She returned her gaze to the other woman's. "Not to be too nosy, but why the-"

"Gun? I'm heading out to the practice range."

"The practice range?" Avery repeated, surprised. Girls in rural Louisiana grew up around hunting and guns, though they were less likely to know how to use one than to bake a peach pie from scratch. "You shoot?"

"Are you kidding? With Matt and Dad as role models? How about you?"

"I'm a bunny-hugging pacifist."

"You want to come along anyway?"

"Why not?"

Avery followed Cherry into her father's study. His gun closet stood open. It held no less than a dozen guns and rifles. Cherry helped herself to a box of bullets, closed and locked the closet. She slipped the key into her pocket, fitted her revolver in its case and snapped it shut.

"Ready?"

She nodded and they headed out, Avery following in her own car. The gun ranges was actually a cleared field ten miles outside of town, not far from the road to the canning factory. On the edge of the field sat a dilapidated chicken coop and three bales of straw,. each set a dozen feet apart, standing on end. The land looked what it was: abandoned and overgrown.

They climbed out of their cars. "This was part of the Weiners' farm, wasn't it?" Avery asked.

"Yup. Sold the whole thing to Old Dixie Foods. Moved up to Jackson."

Avery wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

"The canning factory. Wind's just right for it today." Cherry opened the gun case, took out the gun and began to load it. "Give it a minute, you get accustomed to the smell."

Avery had a hard time believing that. "What kind of gun is it?"

"Ruger.357 Magnum with a six-inch barrel."

"The Dirty Harry gun, right? From the films?"

"Close. Detective Harry Callahan carried the.44 Magnum." She laughed. "Even I don't need that much firepower."

Avery watched as Cherry slid six bullets into the chamber, then snapped it shut. "What do you shoot at?" she asked.

"Whatever. The chicken coop, tin cans, bottles. Dad has a hand-operated skeet thrower, sometimes we shoot skeet. For that we use a hunting rifle or shotgun."

To that end she popped open her trunk and took out a cardboard box filled with tin cans. While Avery watched, she crossed the field and set the cans on top of the straw bales and along the chicken coop's window ledges and roof.

She jogged back. She checked her gun, aimed and fired, repeating the process six times. The cans flew. She missed the last and swore.

She glanced at Avery. "I heard what you asked Mom about. That old group, the CWC."

"Do you remember it?"

"Sure. I remember everything about that time."

Avery frowned. "It's so weird, because I don't."

Cherry reloaded the revolver's chamber. "That's not so weird. My family's the reason I remember so clearly."

"It was a rough time, your dad said."

"Rough would be an understatement."

She fell silent a moment, as if lost in her own thoughts. In memories of that time.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot." Cherry grinned. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"Did you know Elaine St. Claire?"

"Who?"

"The woman who was murdered."

Cherry sighted her mark. She pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded from the gun. She repeated the process five more times, then looked at Avery. "Only by reputation."

"What do you mean?"

Cherry cocked an eyebrow. "Come on, Avery. By reputation. She'd seen more mattresses than the guy down at the Sealy Bedding Barn."

Avery made a sound of shock. "The woman's dead, Cherry. It seems so callous to talk about her that way."

"I'm being honest. Should I lie just because she's dead? That would make me a hypocrite."

"Ever hear the saying 'Live and let live'?"

"That's big-city crapola, propagated by those intent on maintaining status quo and contentment of the masses. You have to live with the bottom-feeders."

"And you don't?"

She looked at Avery, expression perplexed. "No, we don't. This is Cypress Springs not New Orleans."

"You're saying Elaine St. Claire got what she deserved? That you're glad she's dead?"

"Of course not." She flipped open the.357's chamber, reloaded, then snapped it shut. "Nobody deserves that. But am I sorry she's not spreading her legs for every dick in town, no I'm not."