Erica Spindler - In Silence

He bit the words back, then shifted the glass from one hand to the other, the nervous gesture unlike him. "Have you given any thought to keeping it? To staying in Cypress Springs? I'm growing accustomed to having you around. We all are."

She met his eyes, touched by the naked yearning she saw in them. Torn. How could she on the one hand feel such affection for these people and this community, and on the other suspect them of being party to something as despicable as murder? What was wrong with her?

"I've been thinking about it a lot," she said. "I haven't made a decision yet."

"Anything I can do to sway you?"

"Just being you sways me, Buddy." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

He flushed with pleasure. "Lilah told me you stopped by."

"I did." Avery poured herself a glass of water. "We had a nice visit."

"And you spent some time with Cherry as well."

She felt her smile slip. He saw it and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. She's turned into a damn good shot. I was awed."

"She has at that. Personally, I think she would have made a good lawman."

That surprised her. "You encouraged her?"

"I did." He sighed. "But you know how it is down here, sexual stereotypes run deep. Women are supposed to get married and have babies. And if they work, they choose a womanly profession."

Like catering. Not law enforcement. Or journalism. Her own mother had done her damnedest to convince her of that very thing.

"I do know, Buddy."

His expression softened. "You look tired."

She averted her gaze. "I'm not sleeping well." That at least was true. It was why she wasn't sleeping that ate at her.

"That's to be expected. Give yourself some time, it'll get better."

Silence fell between them, broken only by the click of the ice against the glass as Buddy took another swallow of his water. "Rickey told me you stopped by the Gazette."

She looked at him. He lowered his eyes to his hat, then returned them to her. In his she saw sympathy. "Did you get the answers you were searching for?"

Rickey had called Buddy, she realized. He knew what she had been looking at. That she had asked about The Seven.

He probably knew she had spoken with Ben Mitchell and Dr. Harris as well. Small towns kept no secrets.

Except if what she suspected was true, this town had kept a secret. A big one.

"Talk to me, Avery," he urged. "What's going on with you? I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

She thought of what her editor had said, that she should go to the people she trusted.

She trusted Buddy. He would never hurt her, she believed that with every fiber of her being.

"Buddy, can I…ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything, baby girl. Anytime."

"I spoke with Ben Mitchell, the arson investigator from the fire marshal's office. Something he said has been bothering me."

"Go on."

She took a deep breath. "He found one of Dad's slippers on the path between the house and the garage. He speculated he was wearing the other one and that it burned in the fire. Do you recall that to be true?"

Buddy drew his eyebrows together in thought. "I do. If you want the specifics, we can check my report."

"That's not-" She thought a moment, searching for the right words. "Does anything about that seem wrong to you?" At his blank expression, she made a sound of frustration. "Obviously not."

"I don't understand." He searched her gaze. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I-"

That was a lie. She did know.

Say it, Avery. Get it out there.

"I don't think Dad killed himself."

The words, the ramifications of them, landed heavily between them. For a long moment Buddy said nothing. When he met her eyes, the expression in his was troubled. "Because of this slipper thing?"

"Yes, and…and because I knew my dad. He couldn't have done it."

"Avery-"

She heard the pity in his voice and steeled herself against it. "You knew him, too, Buddy. He loved life. He valued it. He couldn't have done this, not in a million years."

"You realize," he said carefully, "if you believe this, you're saying he was murdered?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. Standing with him, looking into his eyes, she felt like a fool. She couldn't find her voice, so she nodded.

"Do you doubt I did a thorough investigation?"

"No. But you could have missed something. Dr. Harris could have missed something."

"I could make my report available to you, if that would help."

Gratitude washed over her. "It really would. Thank you, Buddy."

He was silent a moment, then as if coming to a decision, sighed deeply. "Why are you doing this, baby girl?"

"Pardon?"

"Your dad's dead. He killed himself. Nothing's going to bring him back."

"I know, I just-"

"We love you. You belong here, with us. You are one of us. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel like you belong?"

Tears swamped her. The people of Cypress Springs were her friends. They had been nothing but kind to her, welcoming her back unconditionally. The Stevenses were her second family. Now, her only family.

Being back had been good. For the first time in a long time she had felt as if she belonged. She didn't want to lose that.

She told him so, then swallowed hard. "If only I could accept…if only I didn't feel so-" She bit the last back, uncertain how she felt-or rather, which she felt most. Confused? Conflicted? Guilty?

She felt as if the last might eat her alive.

Buddy set his glass on the counter and crossed to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. She lifted her eyes to his, vision swimming. "You are not responsible for your father's death. It's not your fault."

"Then why…how could he have done it?"

He tightened his fingers. "Avery," he said gently, "you may never know exactly what happened. Because he's gone and we can't be party to his thoughts. You have to accept it and go on."

"I don't know if I can," she answered helplessly. "I want to. Lord knows-"

"Give yourself some time. Be good to yourself. Stay away from people like Gwen Lancaster. She doesn't have your best interests at heart. She's unstable."

Avery thought of the other woman. Of her accusations. Her desperation. Their very public discussion outside the Azalea Cafe.

"Matt's worried about you, too," Buddy continued. "He's working around the clock on the McDougal disappearance. McDougal wasn't the first. A couple months back, another man disappeared."

"Tom Lancaster."

"Yes." He dropped his hands, stepped away from her. "The cases are too similar for them not to be related. And the St. Claire murder coming so close on their heels…it seems a stretch to connect that as well, but we're looking at every possibility. After all, these sorts of things don't happen in Cypress Springs."

"But other sorts of things do."

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Haven't you noticed the high number of unexpected deaths around here in the past eight months? The accidents and suicides?"

His frown deepened. "Every town has its share of accidental deaths. Every town has-"

"What about Pete Trimble's death? He was a farmer all his life. How could he fall under his tractor?"

"We found a nearly empty fifth of Jack Daniel's in the tractor's cab. His blood alcohol level was sky high."

"What about Dolly Farmer? The Gazette reported she hung herself? From what I read, she seemed to have everything to live for."

"Her husband had run off with his young secretary. The Gazette didn't print that."

"What about Sal?"

"Somebody who had no business with a rifle shot him. In their inexperience, they mistook him for a deer. When they discovered their mistake, they ran off."

"So many deaths, Buddy," she said, hearing the edge of hysteria in her own voice. "How can there be so many…deaths?"