All the answers she sought were here, she thought, pulse quickening. About Sallie Waguespack's death and her father's part in it. Perhaps ones about The Seven, their formation.

But other answers were here as well. Ones to personal questions, personal issues that had plagued her all her life.

Sallie Waguespack could wait, she decided, easing the volume dated 1965 from its slot. Her mother could not.

Avery began to read. She learned about a girl raised by strict, traditional parents. About her dreams of writing. She learned that her mother had been a deeply passionate woman, that she had often been afraid, that in her own way she had rebelled against her parents' strict upbringing.

Through her mother's words, Avery relived the day she met Phillip Chauvin, their first date. Their courtship, wedding. The first time they made love. Avery's birth.

Avery struggled to breathe evenly. She realized her cheeks were wet with tears.

Her mother had given up a lot to be a wife and mother.

But what she had gotten in return had been huge.

She had loved being a mother. Had loved being Avery's mother. She had described with pride her daughter's determination. That she was different from the other girls-that she seemed insistent on marching to her own tune.

She baffles me. I put a bow in her hair and when I'm not looking, she rips it out. Today Avery won first prize in the parish-wide essay contest. She read her essay to the class. I hid my tears. Her talent takes my breath away. Secretly, I smile and think, "She got that from me. My gift to my precious daughter."

Avery wiped tears from her cheeks and read on, this time from the 1986 journal.

She breaks my heart daily. Doesn't she know I want the world for her? Doesn't she know how frightened I am of losing her?

And then later she poured out her heart.

I've lost her. She and I have nothing in common. She turns to her dad, always. They laugh together, share everything. I often think I made a huge mistake. If I'd pursued my writing, we would have had something in common. Maybe then she wouldn't look at me as if she thought I had no purpose in her life. That I had wasted my life.

Avery selected the last volume next-1990, the year she had graduated from high school.

Where did I go wrong? How did she and I grow so far apart? She's leaving Cypress Springs. I begged her to stay. Even as I thought of my own choices, my mistakes and regrets, I pleaded with her. I shared my dreams, but it is too late.

Avery closed the book, hands shaking, fighting not to fall apart. She had accused her mother of not loving her. But her mother had loved her deeply. Avery had accused her of trying to change her, of trying to mold her into someone different, something other than who she was.

But her mother had understood and admired her for the person she was, different from the other girls, the one who had never fit in.

In truth, her mother had never fit in either. Not with her own parents. Not with her community. Not with her daughter.

She and her mother had been just alike.

Avery pressed her lips together, holding back a sound of pain. If only she had read the journals before her mother died. If only she had let go of her pride.

She had wanted to. She'd been sorry for the way she'd acted, the way she had hurt her mother. Instead of acting on the emotion, she had let pride control her. She had been so certain she was right.

So, she had stayed away. Nursed her feeling of self-righteous indignation.

And had missed out on so much. Time with her mother and father. Now it was too late.

To be with them. But not for justice for Sallie Waguespack and the Pruitt brothers.

She located the appropriate volume and flipped through to the entry for June 19, the day after Sallie Waguespack's murder.

That poor woman. And pregnant, too. It's too horrible to contemplate.

Her mother had then gone on to describe other, mundane events.

Avery frowned, her investigative instincts kicking into over-drive. Pregnant? Nothing else she had read had mentioned the woman being pregnant. Avery flipped ahead, looking for another reference.

She didn't find one. Could her mother have been mistaken? That didn't seem likely. Where had she gotten her information?

Maybe from her husband, Avery thought. The local general practitioner. Perhaps Sallie Waguespack's physician. Probably.

So why had that information been kept from the public?

Avery read on, heart racing, realizing that all the answers she sought were here, in her mother's words.

Phillip was quiet today. Something is terribly wrong but he won't speak of it.

And then later,

Phillip and Buddy argued. They aren't speaking and it pains me that such good friends are being torn apart by something like this.

Something like what? Avery wondered. Sallie Waguespack's murder? Had they been on opposite sides of the tide of public opinion?

Avery found no further mention of conflict between the two friends or about the murder or investigation until a passage that caused her heart to skip a beat.

Buddy has involved himself in something…a group. There's seven of them. Something secret. I heard him trying to convince Phillip to join.

Avery stopped, working to collect her thoughts. Buddy a member of the original Seven? Trying to convince her father to join? She read on.

Phillip went out tonight; he met with that group, The Seven. He seemed troubled when he returned. I'm concerned… Everything is different now. Everything has…changed.

Avery glanced at her watch, shocked to see that nearly two hours had passed already. There were so many journals yet to read. She needed another pair of eyes.

Hands shaking, she dug in her pocket for the paper she had scrawled Gwen's cell number on. She dialed the number, left a message and stood, a ripple of unease moving over her. Where was Gwen?

To hell with stealth, she decided, hurrying for the attic stairs, stopping when she reached them. Turning, she darted back to the boxes of journals. She bent, collected the ones from 1988 and 1990, then ran for the stairs.

Minutes later, journals stuffed into her handbag, she backed her SUV down the driveway. She reached The Guesthouse in no time at all, parked in front and hurried up the walk. As she made a move to grab the doorknob, the door opened.

Avery jumped backward, making a sound of surprise.

Her old friend Laurie stepped through.

"Avery," she said, looking startled. "This is so weird. I was just thinking about you. I've meant to call or stop by, but it's been nuts around here what with Fall Festival and-"

"Don't worry about it. It's good to see you."

Laurie glanced at her watch. "I'd love to chat, but I'm late."

"Actually, I stopped by to see Gwen Lancaster. Is she in?"

Laurie drew her eyebrows together. "Gwen Lancaster? The woman in 2C?"

"Yes. Is she here?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her today."

"When's the last time you did see her? It's important."

The other woman frowned. "I don't know…I don't keep tabs on our guests."

Realizing how she sounded, Avery forced a laugh. "Of course you don't. If she's not there, could I leave her a note?"

"Sure, Avery. No law against that." She hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder, started off, then stopped and looked back at Avery, eyes narrowed. "Gwen Lancaster's not from around here. How do you know her?"

Avery lifted a shoulder in feigned nonchalance. "We met down at the Azalea Cafe. Hit it off."

"Oh." Laurie frowned slightly. "Her brother's the one who disappeared. Tom. He stayed with us, too."

"I'd heard that."

"A girl can't be too careful, Avery."

Chill bumps raced up her arms. Had that been a warning? A threat?

Or nothing at all but small-town gossip?