Erica Spindler - In Silence

"About the past. The way it was between us."

"I'm glad." He dropped his face close to hers. "Because it was good. And it could be good again. Very good."

"I wish I could be as certain. So much has changed, Matt. We've cha-"

He brought a finger to her lips. "I'm a patient man. I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer."

Gwen stared at the front page of the Gazette's Wednesday edition, her morning cup of coffee cooling on the bedstand. Not the headline story about Peggy Trumble's winning entry in the annual Spring Fest bake-off, but the one at the bottom, tucked into a corner, almost an afterthought: Car Hauled Out of Tiller's Pond.

She skimmed the piece for the third time. The story-hardly more than a blurb-went on to report how Avery Chauvin and Hunter Stevens had discovered a car abandoned in Tiller's Pond. The vehicle had been hauled out and found to be empty.

It was the last line of the piece that shook her to the core.

The owner of the vehicle, New Orleanian Luke McDougal, who had been heading from nearby Clinton to St. Francisville, had been reported missing by his girlfriend three weeks before. Anyone with information should call the West Feliciana Parish Sheriff's Department.

No body. Just like her brother.

Gwen's legs shook so badly she had to sit. She sank onto the edge of the bed and brought a hand to her mouth. A suicide. A murder. And two disappearances. The Seven were responsible for all three, she hadn't a doubt. Dr. Phillip Chauvin had been killed because he'd known too much about The Seven. Elaine St. Claire had been killed because of her lifestyle. Her brother had gotten too close to the group.

What about Luke McDougal? She shifted her gaze to the Gazette. According to the article, he had been passing through town. So what was his connection to the group? Was there a connection?

There had to be. McDougal's disappearance was too similar to her brother's. Car found, seemingly abandoned. No sign of its owner or of foul play.

Avery Chauvin had been at the scene. So had Hunter Stevens. Gwen drew her eyebrows together, curious. She had seen the man's name in connection with another news piece recently. She searched her memory a moment.

He had found Elaine St. Claire's body.

That was odd, even for a community as small as Cypress Springs. It seemed to her that the coincidental and unexplainable were piling up. As were the bodies-even if no one but she saw it.

She could be next.

Avery Chauvin had told her the same thing, though at the time it hadn't frightened her. Now she wondered if the woman meant the words as a warning. Or a threat.

Gwen fought the urge to flee. Fought to come to grips with the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. She had trusted Avery, even though she had known nothing about her. She had automatically assumed she could because Avery had only recently returned to Cypress Springs. And because of her father's suicide.

That hadn't been smart. Avery Chauvin could be sympathetic to The Seven. Their cause. Her father very well may have taken his own life, she had no physical evidence proving otherwise, just a gut feeling.

Gwen recalled Avery's surprise and denial to her assertions about The Seven. Her obvious, nearly palpable relief when Gwen had suggested her father's death might have been other than suicide. As if relieved to have an ally.

Avery could be in cahoots with The Seven, but she thought not.

Gwen stood and crossed to the window, lifted one of the blind's slats and peered out at the brilliant morning. People moved about- on their way to school, work, on errands. City workers were still cleaning up from the weekend festival, removing lights, combing the square for the last remnants of trash.

Though no one as much as glanced her way, she felt as if she was being watched. Her comings and goings recorded. Who she spoke with noted.

Action against her was being planned.

Shuddering, she stepped away from the window. She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. She had been too vocal about The Seven. Had asked too many questions of too many people. She hadn't used caution.

In her zeal to uncover her brother's fate, she had put herself in harm's way. Just as her brother, in his zeal to prove his thesis, had. Would she, like Tom, simply disappear? Who would come looking for her if she did? Or would her end come via suicide? She could see the headline now: Sister, Despondent Over Disappearance of Brother, Takes Own Life.

Who would doubt she'd done it? Not her mother, who had slid so deeply into depression herself that she could hardly get out of bed in the morning. Not the shrink she had seen, who had prescribed antidepressants, then lectured her for not taking them.

Don't get paranoid. Just be careful.

She needed an ally. She needed someone she could trust. Someone who belonged here, in this community. Someone the citizens of Cypress Springs trusted. Who could poke around and ask questions. Someone skilled at ferreting out facts. A person who had a compelling, personal reason for wanting to help her.

Only one such person came to mind.

Avery Chauvin.

Gwen quickly showered and dressed. She towel-dried her hair, grateful for her no-fuss cap of curls, slapped on a touch of makeup, grabbed her handbag and darted out. Avery, she'd noted, had taken to jogging early then stopping for breakfast at the Azalea Cafe.

It was a bit late, but if she was lucky she would catch Avery as she was leaving the cafe.

She was better than lucky, Gwen saw, spotting Avery through the cafe's picture window-it looked as if the other woman had just gotten her pancakes. She was deep in an animated conversation with Peg, the Azalea's owner.

Gwen stepped into the restaurant. At the jingle of the door open-ing, both the cafe's owner and Avery looked her way. Avery's smile faded.

Gwen pasted on a friendly smile and crossed to the booth. "Morning, Avery."

"Morning." She returned her attention to the other woman in an obvious rebuff.

They'd ended their last conversation if not on a friendly note, then one of growing respect. Avery had begun to believe in The Seven.

What had changed since then?

"Sit anywhere, hon," Peg interjected. "I'll be right with you."

Gwen hesitated, then nodded, choosing the table across the aisle from Avery. When the woman finished, she turned and took Gwen's order.

She asked for an English muffin and coffee, then watched Peg make her way back to the counter. When she reached it, she glanced back at Gwen, frown marring her forehead. Finding Gwen watching her, she smiled cheerfully and headed for the kitchen.

When the woman disappeared through the swinging doors, Gwen turned to Avery. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

Avery dug into her pancakes, not glancing her way.

"I really need to talk to you. It's important."

Avery looked at her then. "I don't want to talk to you. Please leave me alone."

"Did you have the chance to check out the facts I gave you when we spoke last?"

"I didn't realize you gave me any facts. I seem to remember unsubstantiated opinion and half-truths."

"If you would check-"

"I don't care to discuss this.'

"Did they get to you? Is that what's happened? Did they threaten you with-"

Avery cut her off. "I don't know if you're delusional or just mean-spirited, but I've had enough."

"I'm neither, I promise you that. As a journalist-"

"I'm a good journalist. I test premise against facts. I don't twist the facts to make them sensational. I don't bend them to fit my own personal needs."

"If you would just listen."

"I listened too much already." Avery leaned toward her. "What you told me about The Seven were untruths. Yes, The Seven existed, but not as you described them. Yes, they were a group of civic-minded residents. But not a secret tribunal that spied and passed judgment on their fellow' citizens. They called themselves Seven Citizens Who Care. They started a drug and alcohol awareness program in the schools and tried to get families back to church. My pastor was a member, for heaven's sake. So was Lilah Stevens. I suggest you check your facts, Ms. Lancaster."