"She's alive," Avery said, fighting hysteria. "She was trying to tell me something. When I heard you, I thought you were the one…the one who did this."

He unhooked his radio, called the incident in and requested an ambulance, never taking his gaze or aim off her.

"Turn around. Hands on the wall."

She did as he ordered, the scream of sirens in the distance. Her bloody hands would leave marks on the wall, she thought, a cry rising in her throat.

The officer came up behind her. "Feet apart."

"You have the wrong idea. I found her this way." When she twisted to plead her case to his face, she found herself shoved flat against the wall, his hand between her shoulder blades. Gun to her head.

"Back off, Jones! Now!"

At the sound of Matt's voice, the deputy reacted instantly, dropping his hands, stepping back.

"Matt!" Avery cried. She ran to him, and he folded her in his arms.

"Sweetheart, are you all right?"

Avery clung to him, shaking. She managed a nod, eyes welling with tears. "The woman…is she…I thought…I heard a noise and-" She buried her face in his shoulder. "I thought whoever had done this, that he was still here."

He tightened his arms around her. "Deputy Jones?"

"Received a call from a neighbor. They heard a commotion. What sounded like a gunshot. When I arrived, I found the door open and interior ransacked. I called for assistance and made my way in here. I found the suspect kneeling over the victim."

"I found her this way!" Avery looked up at Matt. "The door was open…I called her name. She didn't answer, so I made my way in. I-"

The paramedics arrived then, interrupting her, shouting orders, pushing her and Matt toward the door. Behind them waited several more deputies, ready to process the scene the moment the paramedics gave the okay.

Holding her close to his side, Matt led her from the kitchen through the living room and outside. As they made their way out, her toe caught on the frog and it toppled into the garden. They descended the steps and crossed to two rickety lawn chairs set up around a kid's inflatable wading pool. Yellow crime scene tape had already been stretched around the perimeter of the trailer; a deputy stood sentinel, watching the group of neighbors who had come out to gawk.

"Sit," Matt said. "I have to go now. I need you to wait here. We're going to need to question you." He searched her expression. "Will you be all right?"

She nodded. "I'll be okay."

He squeezed her hands, then turned toward the deputy. "Make sure nobody bothers her. If she has any problems, come get me."

Avery watched him go, an intense sense of loss settling over her. She bit her bottom lip to keep from calling him back and sank onto the chair, the woven seat sagging dangerously.

"You all right?"

She glanced at the deputy, a baby-faced young man who hardly looked old enough to be out past ten, let alone to carry a weapon. She nodded. "The woman…is she Trudy Pruitt?"

The kid looked surprised by her question. And rightly so, she supposed, considering the circumstances. He answered anyway. "Uh-huh. Waitresses over at the Hard Eight."

The pool hall.

Avery hugged herself, the woman's image filling her head. Her vacant stare. Her slack mouth. The feel of her fingers clawing at Avery's.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, attempting to block out the images. They played on anyway. The woman's bloody mouth moving, the tiny puff of breath against her cheek. Blood, everywhere.

The paramedics came out. Avery opened her eyes at the sound. One looked her way. Their eyes met. In his she saw regret. Apology.

Her breath caught. She shifted her gaze. No stretcher.

They passed her. Climbed into the ambulance. Slammed the doors shut, the sound heavy. Final.

"Avery?"

She turned. Matt stood in the trailer doorway. She got to her feet; he started toward her.

"She didn't make it," she said when he reached her.

"No."

He caught her hands. "What are you doing here, Avery?"

She blinked, confused. "Pardon?"

"Tonight, what brought you here?"

"The woman, Trudy Pruitt. She said she had proof…about my father. And Sallie Waguespack."

His forehead creased. "Avery, sweetheart, you're not making any sense. Start at the beginning."

She drew in a deep breath, working to collect her jumbled thoughts. To fight past twin feelings of panic and confusion. "I need to sit."

He nodded and she did. He swung the second chair to face hers, then sat. He took out a small notepad. "Ready?"

She nodded. "The day of Dad's funeral I got an anonymous call. From a woman. She said that Dad had…gotten what he deserved. That I would, too. Then she hung up."

His expression tightened. "The caller you told me about the day McDougal's car was discovered in Tiller's pond?" She nodded "Go on."

"She called again just this afternoon. She said Dad had helped cover up a crime, a murder."

"Sallie Waguespack's."

"Yes. She called him a liar. And a murderer."

"And that woman was Trudy Pruitt."

"She said she had proof. She was…going to show it to me tonight."

"Did she tell you that her sons-"

"She said they didn't do it. That they were framed."

He passed a hand over his face. "Dammit, Avery…I wish you'd called me. Trudy Pruitt has been proclaiming her sons' innocence for fifteen years, to anyone and everyone who'd listen. Twice she hired investigators to review the evidence, neither investigator found anything to suggest killers other than Donny and Dylan.

"Trudy Pruitt was an alcoholic and drug abuser. Before and after her sons' deaths. She's spent her life between jail and rehab, a bitter and desperately unhappy woman."

Avery clasped her hands together. "Why my dad, Matt? Why me? Why did she choose…us?"

"Why does someone like Trudy Pruitt do anything? My guess is, your dad's wake and funeral stirred up memories. The overwhelming love and community support for you fed her bitterness. Unfortunately, we'll never know for sure what her motivations were, not now."

Because she was dead.

Murdered.

The full impact of that hit her with the force of a wrecking ball. Elaine St. Claire. Luke McDougal. Tom Lancaster. Now Trudy Pruitt.

"Who did this, Matt?"

"I don't know," he said grimly. "Not yet. I need your help, Avery."

"How? What can I do?"

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight. What you saw and heard. Every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you."

"All right." She paused a moment, collecting her thoughts, then began with arriving at the trailer park right around 10:00 p.m. "I noticed how dark the park was, that all the safety lights were out."

He made a note. "Did you pass another car on your way in?"

She shook her head. "I found Mrs. Pruitt's trailer and climbed out. I could hear music coming from a number of directions."

"Where?"

"I don't know. I assumed other trailers. I heard the couple next door fighting, a child crying."

"Next door? You're certain?"

Avery glanced in the direction of the nearest trailer. A man, woman and child stood in the doorway, staring her way. "Fairly certain."

Again he made a notation on the pad. "What about inside Trudy Pruitt's?"

"I found the door partially open. I knocked and called out. When she didn't answer, I poked my head inside. Called out again." She closed her eyes, remembering. "The living room was a mess. At first I…I thought she was a slob. I didn't…until I saw the blood…on the back wall, I didn't realize anything was wrong." She pulled in a shaky breath. "And then I saw her. Lying there."

"Did you touch anything?"

She thought a moment. "The blood on the wall. That's when I realized what it was."

"Go on."

"I went to her, reached out and touched her shoulder. She rolled onto her back."