In Silence

by Erica Spindler

  She turned. Their eyes met. He sent her a sleepy, pleased smile. "No breaking and entering today?"

  She didn't blink. "We need to talk."

  "Guess not." Hunter crossed to the door, pushed it open. From the corner of his eye, he saw her bend and scratch Sarah behind the ears. "Come on in. I need coffee."

  He headed for the coffeemaker. She didn't wait for him to reach it. "You called Trudy Pruitt the day she was killed. Why?"

  Son of a bitch. Not good.

  "A little intense for this time of the morning, aren't we, Avery? It's not even eight."

  "I asked you a question."

  He filled the coffeemaker's carafe with water, then poured it into the reservoir. "Yeah, but you didn't ask it very nicely."

  "I'm not playing a game here."

  He turned, met her eyes. "She called me. I don't know why because she got my machine. I returned her call. That's it."

  He measured dark roast into the filter, slid the basket into place and switched on the machine. That done, he crossed to stand directly in front of her. "And where, exactly, did you get that information? From Matt? Was he trying to poison your mind against me?"

  "You don't need any help in that department."

  "And here I thought you'd still respect me in the morning."

  Angry color shot into her cheeks. "We talked about her, Hunter. You and I, we talked about her calls to me…that I was there that night. You never said anything. Do you have any idea how damning that looks?"

  "I don't really care how it looks, Avery."

  She curled her hands into fists. "You don't care, do you? You wear your indifference like some twisted badge of honor."

  The coffeemaker gurgled; the scent of the brew filled the air. "What do you want me to say?"

  "I want you to tell me the truth."

  "I was writing. She called, left a message. Truthfully, I didn't remember she was Dylan and Donny's mother. Not until later. I assumed she was calling about legal representation. Why else? Other than a vague recollection of the name, I didn't have a clue who she was. That's the truth, believe it if you want."

  "Why didn't you mention she called, when we were talking about her? She was murdered, Hunter!"

  He laid his hands on her shoulders. "What would it have brought to the equation? I never even spoke to the woman."

  She shrugged off his hands. Took a step away. "You told me to get my proof, Hunter. I went there, to her trailer to look for it."

  "When?" he asked, her words, the ramifications of them hitting him like a sledgehammer.

  "Last night. Late."

  He made a sound of disbelief. "Do you know how stupid that was, Avery? A woman was murdered there. What if the killer had come back? Looking for the same thing you were. Or to relive the kill?"

  He pressed his point, seeing that it was having its intended effect-scaring her. "The percentage of killers who do just that is high, so high that police manuals suggest staking out a murder scene as an effective investigative strategy."

  She looked shaken, but didn't back down. "I found your message. It's on her machine, okay? The woman saved it."

  He thought of Matt. His brother was already hot to pin Elaine St. Claire's murder on him. Why not this murder as well?

  He looked at the ceiling. "Shit."

  "Care how things look now, Hunter?"

  He swung away from her, crossed to the cupboard. He selected a mug, then filled it. Took a sip. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Was there anything else you wanted to grill me about this morning?"

  She opened her mouth as if to answer, then shut it, turned and started for the door.

  He followed her. "I take it you're not staying for coffee."

  "Go to hell."

  Careening out of control. Children screaming.

  "Been there, done that."

  Her steps faltered. She stopped but didn't turn.

  He stood directly behind her, so close he could hear her breathing, smell the fruity shampoo she used. He longed to touch her. To coax her back into his arms. Tell her everything, anything that would convince her to stay.

  "And that's supposed to make me feel what?" she asked softly, voice vibrating with emotion. "Sorry for you? You think there's anyone alive who hasn't experienced real pain? Personal tragedy?"

  "I wasn't asking for your pity. I was being honest."

  "Well, bully for you."

  She pushed the screen door open. Stepped out into the alley. And ran smack-dab into Matt.

  "Avery!" Matt caught her arm, steadying her. "What are you doing here?"

  "Ask your brother." She glanced back at Hunter, standing at the door. "Maybe he'll give you a straight answer."

  "I don't understand."

  She shook her head, stood on tiptoe and kissed Matt's cneek. "Call me later, Matt. I've got to go."

  CHAPTER 41

  Hunter watched Avery go. She had asked Matt to call her later. Why? To make certain he knew about the call on Trudy Pruitt's answering machine? Or because they were sleeping together?

  "What was Avery doing here?"

  Hunter faced his brother. "Nothing kinky. Unfortunately."

  A muscle in his brother's jaw twitched. "Prick."

  "So I've been called on more than one occasion." One corner of his mouth lifted. "This seems to be my morning for visitors. Lucky me."

  Matt moved his gaze over him, taking in the fact he wore nothing but a pair of shorts, that he had obviously not been out of bed long. "What did she mean, about getting a straight answer out of you?"

  Hunter leaned against the door frame, mug cradled between his palms. "I haven't a clue."

  "Bullshit."

  He lifted the mug to his lips, sipped. "Believe what you will. It's a free country."

  "How free?"

  "I don't follow."

  "Maybe you're one of those Americans who believe your personal freedoms entitle you to trample on the freedoms of others? Maybe even take the law into your own hands? Or take a life?"

  Hunter laughed. "I'm a lawyer. I uphold the law."

  "Funny, that's what I do, too."

  "What can I do for you, Matt?"

  "I'm here on official business, Hunter."

  "And here I'd thought you might be wanting a brotherly chat. I'm devastated."

  Matt ignored his sarcasm. "May I come in?"

  Wordlessly, he stepped away from the door. Matt entered the kitchen. He moved his gaze over the room, then brought it back to Hunter. "Where were you night before last? Between nine and ten-thirty?"

  The night Trudy Pruitt was murdered.

  Hunter folded his arms across his chest. "I was here. Working."

  "Alone?"

  "With Sarah."

  "Sarah?"

  Hunter nodded in the direction of the dog. "And her pups."

  A look of annoyance passed over his brother's face. "You seem to spend an awful lot of time here, alone."

  "I like it that way."

  "You hear about Trudy Pruitt?"

  "Yeah."

  "You know the woman?"

  "Nope. Not personally."

  "Not personally. What does that mean?"

  "I'd heard of her. I knew who she was. Who her kids were."

  Hunter waited. This was where Matt would call Hunter a liar, challenge his story, throw up the message on the recorder. If he had checked Pruitt's answering machine.

  And if he did, this was where Hunter would lawyer-up.

  "Mind if I have a look around?"

  Hunter laughed, the sound humorless. His brother and his crew of small-town constables had just flunked crime scene investigation 101. "Yeah, I mind. You want a look around, you get a search warrant."

  "Expect it."

  "Want to tell me why you're so interested in me?"

  "You'll know soon enough."

  "Right. You don't have dick. Go fish someplace else."

  Matt shook his head. "For a lawyer, you're not very smart."

  "And for a cop, you're
not very observant."

  "I don't have time for this." Matt made a sound of disgust and turned toward the door. "I'll see you when I've got that warrant."

  "You'd love to pin this on me, wouldn't you, Matt? For a lot of different reasons, all of which have nothing to do with guilt or innocence."

  His brother stopped. But didn't turn. "Name one."

  "Avery."

  The barb hit his mark, Hunter saw. His brother stiffened. Swung to face him. "Stay away from her. She's too good for you."

  "At least we agree on something. A miracle."

  "You're such an asshole. I can't believe you're my brother."

  "Your twin," Hunter corrected. "Your other half."

  Matt laughed, the sound tight. "We're nothing alike. I believe in family and community, hard work, loyalty."

  "Just that I'm alive pisses you off, doesn't it?"

  "Stay away from Avery."

  "Why should I? She doesn't belong to you anymore. You let her go."

  Matt flexed his fingers, longing, Hunter knew, to take a swing at him. How many times as kids had they argued, then come to blows, determined to beat the other senseless.

  Even so, they had been a team then. Now, they were adversaries.

  "What do you have to offer her?" Matt challenged. "Nothing. You're a broken-down drunk who-"

  "A former drunk. There's a difference, brother." He took a step toward the other man. "Don't you see it? She and I are the same. We never fit in here. We never will."

  Matt trembled with fury. This time it was he who took a step forward. "All these years, is this what it's been about, Hunter? Avery? Jealousy? Over what I am and what I had?"

  "Had. You said it, Matt. No longer. You chose Cypress Springs over her."

  "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

  Hunter closed the remaining distance between them. They stood nose to nose, his twin's fury, his lust for blood palpable. Hunter recognized it because the same emotion charged through him.

  "Make me," Hunter said.

  "You'd love that. You'd scream police brutality. Get my badge."

  "I'm not built that way. Take a punch. It's on me."

  His brother didn't move. Hunter knew exactly where to push, how. They'd grown up together, knew each other's strengths-and weaknesses. Ever so softly, he clucked.

  "Afraid?" he taunted. "Chicken? Remember when we were kids? You wouldn't fight unless you knew you could win. Guess the big tough sheriff's not so tou-"

  Matt's fist caught the side of Hunter's nose. Blood spurted. Pain ricocheted through his head, momentarily blinding him.

  With a sound of fury, Hunter charged his brother. He caught him square in the chest, sending them both flying backward. Matt slammed into the refrigerator. From inside came the sound of items toppling.

  "You son of a bitch!" Matt shoved him backward. "You have nothing to offer her! You threw away everything you ever had. Your family and community. Your career. Reputation. You're pathetic!"

  "I'm pathetic? That's the difference between us, bro. The way I look at it, you threw away the only thing that really mattered."

  Hunter twisted sideways, destabilizing the other man. They went down, taking the assortment of plates and glasses that had been drying on the rack by the sink with them. They crashed to the floor, the crockery raining down on them.

  Hunter reared back, smashed his fist into his brother's face. Sarah barked, the sound high, frenzied. Matt grunted in pain; retaliated, catching Hunter in the side of his head.

  Sarah's bark changed, deepened. She growled low in her throat.

  The sound, what it meant, penetrated; Hunter glanced toward the circling dog. "Sarah!" he ordered. "Heel!"

  Matt used the distraction to his advantage, forcing Hunter onto his back. Glass crunched beneath his bare shoulders. A hiss of pain ripped past his lips as the shards pierced his skin. Sarah made her move.

  She leaped at Matt, teeth bared. In a quick move, Matt rolled sideways, unsheathed his weapon and aimed at the dog.

  "No!" Hunter threw himself at Sarah, plowing into her side, knocking her out of harm's way. They landed in a heap; she whimpered in pain, then scrambled to all fours.

  Hunter jumped to his feet, shaking with rage. "You're a maniac."

  Matt eased to his feet, holstered his weapon. "It would have been self-defense. The bitch could have torn me apart."

  "Get the hell out of here." Hunter wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand, aware of blood running in rivulets down his back. "You're not worth it, Matt. Not anymore."

  Expression impassive, Matt tucked in his shirt, smoothed back his hair. "Two was always too many, wasn't it, Hunter? Two of us, just alike?"

  "That's bullshit." He crossed to the sink. Yanked a paper towel off the roll, soaked it in cold water, then looked back at the other man. "You're blind, Matt. You don't have a clue."

  "You're the one who's blind. Blinded by jealousy. For me, my relationship with Mom and Dad. Because of Avery."

  Hunter's gut tightened at the grain of truth. Matt had always been the leader of the two, the charismatic one, the one everybody gravitated to: girls, the other kids, teachers. Even their parents and Cherry.

  "I always loved you," Hunter said softly. "No matter what. I was proud you were my brother."

  "Now who's shoveling the shit?"

  "You've got to open your eyes, Matt. When it comes to Dad, our family, this town, you don't see anything as it really is."

  "Better being a blind man than a dead one."

  "Is that a threat, Sheriff Stevens?"

  Matt laughed. "I don't have to kill you, Hunter. You're already dead."

  CHAPTER 42

  Avery decided to spend the morning going through her parents' attic, separating things she wanted to save from those she would donate to charity or toss. If she ever intended to put the house up for sale, it had to be done. Besides, she needed something to occupy her hands while she mentally reviewed the events of the past few days.

  The pieces fit together; she just hadn't figured out how. Not yet. This was no different from any story she had ever tackled. A puzzle to be solved, assembled from bits of information gleaned from a variety of sources. The meaning of some of those bits obvious, others obtuse. Some would prove unrelated, some surprisingly key.

  In the end, every story required a cognitive leap. That ah-ha moment when the pieces all fell into place-with or without the facts to back them up. That moment when she simply knew.

  Avery climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, she glanced toward her parents' bedroom. At the unmade bed. She stared at it a moment, then turned quickly away and started toward the end of the hall and the door to the attic stairs. She unlocked and opened the door, then headed up.

  It was only March, but the attic was warm, the air heavy. During the summer months it would be unbearable. She moved her gaze over the rows of neatly stacked boxes, the racks of bagged clothes. From hooks hung holiday decorations: wreaths, wind socks and flags, one wall for each season. Evenly spaced aisles between the boxes.

  So neatly organized, she thought. Her mother had been like that. Precise. Orderly. Never a hair out of place or social grace forgotten. No wonder the two of them butted heads so often. They'd had almost nothing in common.

  Avery began picking through the boxes. She settled first on one filled with books. While she sorted through them, she pondered the newspaper she and Gwen had found in Trudy Pruitt's bedroom, the woman's cryptic notation. The hatchet marks. The words All but two. Trudy Pruitt had been counting the dead. Avery felt certain of that.

  All but two who knew the truth about the Waguespack murder? It made sense in light of what she had said on the phone, that those who knew were dropping like flies. But, she could also have been counting the passing of people she hated. Or ones she feared. Or people she believed responsible for her sons' deaths.

  The last rang true, made sense. Trudy Pruitt had been consumed by that event, that had been obvious to Avery. Had she found the note
that had been written on the article about her father's suicide before the woman's murder, she would have considered Trudy Pruitt a suspect in his death as well as that of the others.

  But she hadn't. Nor did she believe the woman had been smart or sophisticated enough to have pulled off the murders. Not alone, anyway.

  Avery's fingers stilled. An accomplice. That could be. Perhaps the accomplice had decided Trudy Pruitt had outlived her usefulness. Or had become a liability.

  Hunter. He'd left a message for her. Had he simply been returning the woman's call, as he claimed?

  His explanation was plausible. She wanted it to be true. Wanted it in a way that was anything but uninvolved. Anything but unemotional.

  Avery squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to recall exactly what he'd said in the message. His full name and phone number. Not that he was returning her call.

  But if they had been accomplices, surely he wouldn't have had to identify himself, the woman would have recognized his voice. And surely he wouldn't have identified himself with his full name, Hunter Stevens. Nor, she supposed, would he have had to give her his number.

  She frowned, shifting absently through the box of books, most of them westerns. Her dad had loved the genre. He'd eaten them up, chewing through the paperback novels as fast as publishers could put them out.

  Her mother had read, too. Not as voraciously, however. In truth, the book Avery remembered seeing her mother with most had been her journal. She had carried one everywhere, doggedly recording the moments and events of her life.

  Her mother had dreamed of being a writer. She had shared that before Avery left for college. They had been arguing about Avery's decision to leave Cypress Springs-and Matt-behind.

  At the time, Avery hadn't believed her mother. Now, she wondered.

  She recalled the scene clearly. Her mother had shared that tidbit in the context of making choices in life. She had expected her daughter to follow in her footsteps-be the traditional Southern woman, wife and mother, community volunteer. She had expected Avery to acknowledge what was important.

  Chasing a dream wasn't. A career wasn't.

  She had urged her to marry Matt. Start a family. Look at her, she had said. Where would Avery be if she had chased a career instead of marrying her father?