Erica Spindler - In Silence

He drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "Maybe she was counting the deaths of The Seven? Maybe she was the one bumping them off? Maybe one of the last two killed her first?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. Unless she had an accomplice. These deaths were made to look like accidents. There was a level of sophistication I don't believe Trudy Pruitt capable of."

"If she had an accomplice, who would that be? Someone who thought as she did. Someone with an ax to grind against Cypress Springs or a group of her citizens."

Avery thought a moment, then shook her head. "Then who killed Elaine St. Claire? Not Trudy Pruitt, they were friends. She told Gwen that The Seven were responsible for Elaine's death."

"Maybe The Seven are the ones who killed Sallie Waguespack."

"That doesn't work because the way I understand it, the Waguespack murder was the catalyst for the formation of The Seven."

"But you don't know that for sure."

She made a sound of frustration. "No, dammit. All I have is speculation."

"And a growing number of dead." He stood and crossed to her. "Let's back up again. Who could have known the truth about Sal-lie Waguespack's death?"

"The Pruitt boys. Buddy. Pat Greene. My dad, because Trudy Pruitt implicated him."

"Trudy herself," he offered. "Maybe whoever prepared Sallie for burial."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

She crossed to the counter, to her notebook. She ran a finger down the column of names, mouth moving as she silently read them.

He watched her, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "What?"

She lifted her gaze to his. "Everyone we named is dead, Hunter. Except your dad."

The words landed heavily between them. Hunter stared at her, his world shifting slightly. "That can't be."

"It is." She held the steno pad out and he saw that her hand trembled. "Take a look."

He shook his head, but didn't reach for the notebook. "Do you realize what you're saying?"

She nodded slowly, face pale.

Either Buddy Stevens was a killer. Or next in line to die.

"Look at the list," she said again. "Pat Greene, Dad, Kevin Gallagher, Trudy Pru-"

"I don't give a damn about your list!" The words exploded from him. "You've gone around the bend with this thing, Avery. Way past rational."

She took a step back, expression hurt. "This doesn't mean your dad's the one. He could be in danger, Hunter. If so, we need to warn him."

It was bullshit. Nothing went on in this town without his dad knowing, never had. Who better than the chief of police to orchestrate a cover-up? Who better than a lawman to arrange deaths to look like accidents?

Hunter tipped his face to the ceiling, thoughts racing. Reviewing the things they had discussed, the key players in the Wagues-pack investigation.

But why? After all these years? Had someone threatened to blow the whistle on them all?

That didn't make sense. His father killing old friends in an effort to quiet them fifteen years after the fact didn't make sense.

Someone else was the perpetrator.

His dad was in danger.

He looked at Avery. "What about the coroner? Is he on your list?"

"Dr. Harris. No, he's not." She glanced at the steno pad as if to reconfirm her answer, then looked back at him. "Dr. Harris has been the parish coroner on and off for twenty-eight years."

"Was he coroner in 1988?"

"I don't know. If he was-"

"Then Dad's not the last."

Gwen's eyes snapped open. Heart pounding, she scrambled into a sitting position. She had been dreaming about her brother. He had been trying to warn her.

As the effects of the dream began to fade, a chill slid down her spine.

Something was wrong.

Gwen moved her gaze over the dark room, stopping on the window. From outside came the sound of rain. A sudden, blinding flash of light.

She jumped, then laughed softly at herself. At her jitters. The storm had awakened her. She glanced at the bed stand. The clock's face, usually a reassuring glow in the night, was dark.

The power had gone out.

Gwen climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

She stopped as her foot landed in something wet. She looked down at the floor, confused. How-

A breeze stirred against her ankles. She looked back at the window. It was closed. Locked.

The bathroom window. It faced the side yard. The big oak tree.

Lightning illuminated the room. She lowered her gaze. Water, she saw. A trail of it from the bathroom to the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at the half-open bathroom door. The darkness beyond.

Someone, waiting.

A cry spilling past her lips, she bolted forward. He burst from the bathroom. Grabbed her from behind. One strong arm circled her waist; a gloved hand covered her mouth. Tightly. She was dragged backward.

He held her pinned against his chest. She fought as best she could, kicking out, trying to twist free of her assailant's grasp. He was too strong. His grip was so tight over her nose and mouth she couldn't breathe. She grew light-headed. Pinpricks of lights danced before her eyes.

He bent his head close to hers. His labored breath was hot against her ear. He wore a ski mask. The fuzzy knit tickled her cheek.

"You have been judged, Gwen Lancaster. Judged and found guilty"

The Seven. They had come for her.

As they had come for Tom.

Terror exploded inside her. It stole her ability to think. To resist. Was this what it had been like for Tom? In the moments before the end, had he thought of her? Their parents? Or had the fear stolen his ability to do that as well?

Don't give in, Gwen. Keep your head.

It was as if Tom had spoken to her. The sound of his voice moved over her, calming, steadying. She had to keep her wits about her, not fall apart. Everybody made mistakes. Slipped up. He would, too.

She needed to be able to act at that moment. She forced herself to relax.

"We warned you," he hissed. "Why didn't you go? Why did you have to involve others? Now it's too late for you."

Others.

Avery.

She heard what sounded like regret in his voice. She tried to respond, to apologize, to beg for one last chance. Her words came out in pitiable whimpers against his hand.

"I really am sorry," he murmured, forcing her forward, toward the bathroom. "Sorry for the abominable state of the world that makes this necessary. Sorry you were dragged into something that wasn't your battle. But this is war. In war collateral damage is inevitable."

Collateral damage. The unfortunate but unavoidable loss of life.

Had he said the same to Tom? The others?

They reached the bathroom. He forced her through the door, shutting it behind them. Lightning flashed. What it illuminated sent fear spiraling through her. A black plastic drop cloth laid out in the old-fashioned claw-footed tub. Several lengths of rope. A knife, its jagged edge gleaming against the black plastic.

She dug in her heels, fighting him in earnest. The mistake wasn't coming, she realized. He had thought this through, every detail.

What of Avery, she thought dizzily. Had she been killed already? Had she suffered the knife as well?

She didn't want to die.

Tears flooded her eyes. Her vision blurred. She didn't want to die this way.

He made a sound of disappointment. "This isn't about me. Or you. It's so much bigger than either of us." He forced her closer to the tub. "I know what you're thinking. That Cypress Springs is too small and inconsequential for what happens here to make a difference in the world. You're wrong. Consider what happens when you toss a pebble in the pool, how that little plunk affects the entire pool in ever-widening ripples. So too with us.

"Our influence is spreading. We're branching out into other small communities. Finding others who think as we do. Others who are sick of the filth. The drugs. The moral decay that has spread to every nook and cranny of this country. Others who believe the end justifies the means."