"Hello, baby girl." He held up a napkin-covered basket. "Lilah asked me to run these by."

She took the basket, guilt swamping her. "What are they?"

"Lilah's award-winning blueberry muffins."

Even as he answered, their identifying smell reached her nose. Her mouth began to water. "How is she?"

"Better. Back in the kitchen." He mopped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. "Hot out there

today. They say it's going to break records."

"Come on in, Buddy. I'll get you a cold drink."

"I'm not going to lie, some ice water would be great."

He stepped inside; she motioned for him to follow her. The air conditioner kicked on. He looked around

as they made their way to the kitchen, obviously taking in the disarray, the half-emptied shelves, the

stacks of boxes. "Looks like you're making some headway," he said.

"Some." She reached into the freezer for ice, then dropped a couple cubes into a glass. She filled it with water and handed it to him. "I'm not spending as much time on it as I should be. The Realtor is champing at the bit. She has a client looking for a house like this one."

He took a long swallow of water. "It's a great house. Great location. I hate to see-"

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?"