Avery made her way to the kitchen. She and Hunter had agreed that she would call Dr. Harris and Buddy this morning. The clock on the microwave revealed that it was not quite eight. She would wait a few more minutes before trying the man.

And before trying Gwen. Again.

Gwen hadn' t called yesterday, neither Avery's home line nor her cell. So Avery had tried the woman's cell while Hunter slept. The number had worked, but Gwen hadn't answered. She had tried early this morning with the same result.

Avery sank onto one of the kitchen chairs then returned to her feet, too antsy to sit. She began to pace. Neither time she had left a message; now she wished she had. At least Gwen would know they were still on the same side. And that she was okay.

Where was her friend? Why hadn't she called?

Avery stopped, picked up the phone and brought it to her ear, checking for a dial tone. At the welcoming hum, she hesitated then punched in the woman's cell number. It went straight to her message service, indicating she didn't have the device on.

"Gwen, hi. It's Avery. I have information. Call me."

She replaced the receiver. Now what? Call The Guesthouse, going through the operator? Try the hall pay phone? Or wait?

She decided on the last. In the meantime she would call Dr. Harris.

The coroner answered the phone himself, on the first ring. "Dr Harris. It Avery Chauvin."

"Ms. Chauvin," he said warmly. "How are you?"

"Better," she said. "Thank you for asking."

"Glad to hear it. What can I do for you this morning?"

"I'm working on a story about the Sallie Waguespack murder."

"Did you say Waguespack?"

"I did."

"My, that's an old one."

"Yes-1988. Were you coroner at that time?"

"Nope. That was during one of my hiatuses. Believe Dr. Bill Badeaux was coroner then."

"Would you know how I could contact him?"

"I'm afraid that'd be tough, seeing he passed on."

That left Buddy. He was the last one.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, forcing normalcy into her tone. "Did he pass away recently?"

"A year or so ago. Heard through the grapevine. He'd moved away from the parish way back."

A year or so. Maybe he had been the first.

Her legs began to shake. She found a chair and sank onto it.

"Ms. Chauvin? Are you okay?"

"Absolutely." She cleared her throat. She wanted to ask how the man had died, but didn't want to arouse his suspicions, especially in light of what she intended to ask next. "Did Buddy Stevens get in touch with you?"

"Buddy? No, was he supposed to?"

"He couldn't find the Waguespack autopsy report. He was going to give you a call. Probably slipped his mind."

" 'Course, the autopsy would have been done in Baton Rouge, but I'd have a copy. I tell you what, I'll pull it and give you a call back."

"Could you do it now, Dr. Harris? I'm sorry to be such a pest, but my editor gave me an unreal deadline on this story."

"I can't." He sounded genuinely sorry. "I was on my way over to the hospital when you called and it's going to take a few minutes to locate the file."

"Oh." She couldn't quite hide her disappointment.

"I tell you what, I should be back in a couple hours. I'll take care of it then. What number should I call?"

To ensure she wouldn't miss him, Avery gave him her cell number. "Thank you, Dr. Harris. You've been a big help."

She hung up, then dialed Hunter. He answered right away.

"It's Avery," she said. "A Dr. Bill Badeaux was West Feliciana Parish coroner in 1988. He died about a year ago."

"Shit. How?"

"I was afraid to come off too nosy. I figured it wouldn't be too hard to find out. One trip over to the Gazette-"

"I'll do it."

"But-"

"But nothing. You've already poked around over there. I don't want you drawing any more attention to yourself."

"You think I'm right, don't you? About The Seven?"

She heard a rustling sound from the other end of the phone, then Sarah began to bark. "I'll let you know," he said. "Where are you going to be?"

His voice had changed. Become tight. Angry-sounding. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine."

In the background Sarah was going nuts. A thought occurred to her. "Are you alone?"

"Not completely."

"I don't understand. I-"

"Stay put. I'll call you back."

"But-"

"Promise."

She hesitated, then agreed.

The next instant, the phone went dead.

CHAPTER 46

Avery showered and dressed. Made her bed and separated her laundry before throwing a load of whites in the washer. Then she foraged through the refrigerator and checked her e-mail via her laptop. She responded evasively to her editor's query about progress on her story and figured everyone else could wait.

Time ticked past at an agonizing pace. She glanced at the clock every couple of minutes. After nearly an hour, she acknowledged she couldn't stand another minute of inactivity.

Bringing both the portable and cell phone with her, she headed upstairs. As she reached the top landing, her gaze settled on the framed photographs that lined the long hallway wall. She had always jokingly called it her parents' wall of fame.

How many times had she walked past all these photos without looking at them? Without considering the fact that she was pictured in almost every one? How could she have taken her parents' love so for granted?

She stopped, pivoted to her right. Her gaze landed on a photo of her as a toddler. Her first steps, Avery thought, taking in her mother on her knees on the floor, arms out. Coaxing and encouraging her. Promising she would be there to catch her.

Avery moved her gaze across the wall. Baby pictures, school portraits, pictures from every imaginable holiday and event of her life. And in a great number of them, there stood her mother, looking on with love and pride.

She took in the photograph of her first steps once more, studying her mother's expression. The truth was, she hadn't known her mother at all. What had been her hopes, dreams and aspirations? She had longed to be a writer. Yet Avery knew nothing of her writing.

She had always blamed her mother for their distant relationship, but perhaps the fault had been hers. She'd had her father, and loving him had been so easy.

She, it seemed, was the one who had taken the easy way. The one who had settled-for a loving relationship with one parent instead of two. If only she had her mother's journals. In them resided her mother's heart and soul. Her beliefs and wishes, disappointments and fears. The opportunity to know her mother.

Her father wouldn't have thrown them out. Her mother-the woman pictured in these photographs-would not have destroyed them, even if she had given up on them.

They were here. Somewhere.

Avery started for the attic, a sense of urgency settling over her. A sense that time was running out.

She reached the attic. Scanned the rows and stacks of cartons. In one of these boxes she would find the journals. Stored with other items. Hidden beneath.

She began the search, tearing through the cartons-her mother's clothing, personal items, other books, family memorabilia.

She found them in the box housing Avery's doll collection. The dolls her mother had insisted on buying and lining Avery's bed-room shelves with-despite Avery's disdain for them.

Her mother had packed the volumes neatly, arranging the books in chronological order. The first one was dated 1965. Her mother had been seventeen. The last one dated August 1990-just as Lilah had said, her mother had given up journaling the August when Avery had gone off to university.

Avery trailed a finger over the spines with their perfectly aligned, dated labels. She stopped on the one dated January through June 1988.