"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?"

"That's life, baby girl," he said gently. "People die."

"But so many? So close, so tragically?"

He caught her hands, squeezed her fingers. "If not for your father, would any of this seem out of the

ordinary to you? If not for the imaginings of a woman in the throes of grief, would any of those deaths have seemed suspicious?"

Was that woman Gwen Lancaster? Or her?

Dear God, how far gone was she?

Her eyes welled with tears. She fought them from spilling. One slipped past her guard and rolled down her cheek.

Buddy eased her against his chest and wrapped his big, bearlike arms around her. "Gwen Lancaster is in a lot of pain. Her brother disappeared and is more than likely dead. I feel for her, I do. Lord knows how much losing my best friend hurt, I can only imagine how she must feel."

He drew slightly away, looked into her eyes. "People in pain do things, believe in things...that just aren't true. As a way to lessen the pain. To justify their own actions or ease their own guilt. Trust the people you love. The people who love you. Not some woman you don't even know."

He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "This is a small town, Avery. People around here get their backs up easily. Stop playing the big-city investigative reporter or they'll forget you're one of them and start treating you like an outsider. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

Avery swallowed hard, confused. His words, gently spoken though they had been, smacked of a threat.

A warning to cease and desist. "I don't understand. Are you saying-"

"A bit of friendly advice, baby girl. That's all. A reminder what small-town folks are like." He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then stepped away from her. "You're family, Avery, and I just want you to be happy."

CHAPTER 32.

Avery stood at her front door for a long time after Buddy left. She felt numb, disconnected. She gazed out at nothing, the things Buddy had said playing over in her head. Would anything Gwen said to her have made her suspicious if she hadn't be in the throes of grief? Sal's death would have been a terrible tragedy, one of those freak occurrences that made one ask, "Why?"

Dolly Farmer another victim of the breakdown of the family, Pete Trimble a drunk-driving statistic. What did she believe? She rubbed her throbbing temples. How could she be so easily swayed? One moment believing the people f Cypress Springs were involved in a conspiracy of discrimination and murder, the next sucked in by an emotionally unstable woman with a questionable agenda. She had always been so firm in her beliefs, so self-confident. She had been able to access the facts, make a decision and move on.

Avery dropped her hands. Is this how a breakdown began? One small confusion at a time? A bout of tears, mounting indecision, a feeling of drowning that passed only to return without a moment's notice? Becoming aware that the air-conditioning was being wasted, she closed the door, turned and wandered back to the kitchen. Her gaze landed on Buddy's nearly empty water glass.

What did she want to believe?

In the people she loved and trusted. In those who loved her.

And that her father hadn't taken his own life.

Therein lay the source of her conflict.

The phone rang. She turned toward it but made no move to pick it up. The caller let it ring nine times

before hanging up. A moment later it rang again. Someone needed her. To speak to her.

Her father had needed to speak to her.

She hadn't taken his call.

She leaped for the phone, snatching the receiver off the base. "Hello?"

"Avery? It's Gwen."

Not now. Not her. She fought the urge to slam down the phone.

"I just got your message," the woman continued. "I drove to New Orleans to see my mother." She

paused. "Avery? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I'd like to get together as soon as possible. When can you-"

"I'm sorry, Gwen, I can't talk about this just now."

"Are you all right?"

If she could call falling apart at the seams all right. "Yes, fine. I just...this isn't a good time."

"Are you alone?"

Avery heard the concern in the other woman's voice. She could imagine what she was thinking. "Yes."

"You sound strange."

"I think I made a mistake."

"A mistake? I don't understand."

"I can't do this. I feel for you, Gwen, I do. I understand loss, I'm swimming in it myself. But I can't be

party to your far-fetched notions. Not anymore."

"Far-fetched? But-"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"I'm all alone, Avery. I need your help." The other woman's voice rose. "Please help me find my brother's

killer."