"What?"

"My notes!"

Gwen leaped toward the door, yanked it open and raced into the bedroom.

Avery followed. Watched as she tore through the debris littering the floor, looked under the bed and in the armoire, expression frantic.

"Gone. Everything is gone. My notes. Interview tapes." She sank to her knees. "They get away with murder."

"No, they don't. We won't let them." Avery crossed to the woman. "I believe you. God help me, but I do. Together, we can beat them."

Gwen shook her head. "We can't beat them. No one can."

"That's what they want us to believe. That's how they've gotten away with this for so long." She held out a hand to help the other woman up. "Tell me exactly what happened tonight, everything you've learned so far. I'll do the same. Together, we'll figure this out. We'll go to the state police or the FBI. We can do it, Gwen. Together."

"Together," Gwen repeated, taking Avery's hand, getting to her feet, returning with her to the bathroom. There, Gwen explained the events of the day, from the woman's call to finding the gutted cat and running for what she assumed was her life.

Avery thought a moment. "And you have no idea who the woman was?"

"None."

"Did she call on the pay phone in the hall?" Gwen shook her head. "So she had to go through the front desk. Did you ask-"

"Yes. They said they didn't know who it was. Said they assumed it was a friend of mine from out of town."

"But you don't believe that?"

"I don't believe anything anymore." She laced her fingers. "What about you?"

Avery began with the first anonymous call. "She said Dad got what he deserved. That I would, too. Before that call I was struggling with the idea of Dad killing himself. After it-"

"You didn't buy it at all."

"Yes. She called a couple more times. She accused Dad of being a liar and a murderer, of helping frame her boys for Sallie Wagues-pack's murder. She said she had proof."

"Why did you believe her? Everything you've told me about your dad-"

"I found this box of newspaper clippings in Dad's closet. They were all from the summer of 1988. All concerning Sallie Wagues-pack's murder."

"His having them supports Trudy Pruitt's claim."

"Not necessarily. Her murder was the biggest thing to ever hit this town. It was a shock, a wake-up call. He was civic-minded. He probably followed the story because he-"

"Avery," she interrupted gently, "he clipped all those newspaper articles and kept them for fifteen years. There has to be a reason. Something personal."

Avery knew she was right. She had thought the same all along. But no way had he been an accomplice to murder. No way. She told Gwen so.

The other woman didn't argue. "When did you learn your caller was Trudy Pruitt?"

"The same afternoon she was killed. I goaded her into telling me her name. I promised that if she showed me proof of her claims, I'd make it right. That I'd find a way to exonerate Donny and Dylan. We set up a meeting for that night."

Avery pulled in a deep breath. "She was still alive…she tried to tell me something but died before she could."

Gwen's expression altered. "Didn't you know? They cut out her tongue."

"Are you…that can't…" But it was true, Avery realized, picturing the woman's face, her bloody mouth.

They fell silent. Gwen broke it first. "Seems to me that shoots the whole random-act-of-violence thing to hell."

Avery winced at her sarcasm. Shifted the subject. "Buddy let me look at his records of the Waguespack murder. Everything seemed in order, but I keep coming back to that box of clippings. And my belief that Dad wouldn't take his own life. And now, all the deaths." A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed past it. "Who are these people, Gwen? Who are The Seven?"

"Put it together, Avery." She leaned toward her. "You're a reporter…who fits the profile?"

When Avery didn't respond, Gwen filled in for her. "They're probably all men. Though, obviously, since a woman lured me out tonight, women are part of the group. They're no doubt longtime Cypress Springs residents. Pillars of the community. Men who are looked up to. Ones in influential positions or ones who have influence." She paused. "Like your dad."

"He would never have been party to this. Never, he-"

Gwen held up a hand, stopping her. "It's the only way this would work. I guess them all to be mature, forty and up. Maybe way up, if the members of today's Seven are the same, or partly the same, as the past's.

"And," she finished, "if today's group mirrors the one of the 1980s, they have many accomplices in the community. Like-minded citizens willing to spy for them. Break the law for them."

Avery frowned. "The past and the present, they're intertwined. The group from the 1980s, Sallie Waguespack's death. I just don't know how."

"What do you think Trudy Pruitt's proof was?"

"I don't know. But if it was for real, the way I figure it, there's a chance it's still in her trailer."

Gwen moved her gaze over Avery, her expression subtly shifting to one of understanding. "And you're thinking we should go find it?"

"If you're up fo it."

"At this point, what do I have to lose?"

They both knew, both were acutely aware of what they could lose.

Their lives.

"Besides," Gwen murmured, smile sassy, "I've got a pair of black jeans I've been dying to wear."

CHAPTER 38

Avery parked the SUV just outside the trailer park and they walked in. Neither spoke. They kept as much as possible to the deepest shadows. Unlike the previous evening, Avery was grateful for the blown-out safety lights.

They reached Trudy Pruitt's trailer. The yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front, sagging in the center, forming an obscene smile. Avery shivered despite the warm night.

"How are we going to get in?"

"You'll see." She quickly crossed to the trailer. Instead of climbing the steps, she stepped into the garden. The frog figurine was just where she had expected it to be. She picked it up, turned it over, opened the hidden compartment and took out a key. "My bet is, this is a key to her front door."

"How did you know that was there?"

"I noticed the figurine, thought it was concrete until I accidentally knocked it off the porch. Why else would someone have a fake concrete frog on the front steps?"

"Good detective work."

Avery lifted a shoulder. "Journalists notice things."

They climbed the steps, let themselves in. Avery retrieved her penlight, switched it on. Gwen did the same. No one had cleaned up the mess. In all likelihood, even when the police gave the okay, there would be no one to clean it up. She averted her gaze from the bloody smear on the back wall.

From her back pocket, she took the two pairs of gloves she had picked up at the paint store that afternoon. She handed a pair to Gwen. "This is still a crime scene. I don't want my prints all over the place."

Gwen slipped them on. "We get caught, we're in deep shit."

"We're already in deep shit. Let's start in the bedroom."

They made their way there, finding it in the same state of chaos as the front room: the bed was unmade, the dresser drawers hung open, clothes spilling out. Beer cans, an overflowing ashtray, newspapers and fashion magazines littered the dresser top and floor.

They exchanged glances. "Wasn't a neat freak, was she?" Gwen murmured.

Avery frowned. She moved her gaze over the room, taking in the mess. "You're right, Gwen. The killer didn't make this mess, Trudy Pruitt was simply a slob."

"Okay. So?"

"Last night I thought the place had been ransacked. Now I realize that wasn't the case. Why search the living room but not the bedroom?"

"What do you think it means?"