proclaiming her sons' innocence for fifteen years, to anyone and everyone who'd listen. Twice she hired investigators to review the evidence, neither investigator found anything to suggest killers other than Donny and Dylan.

"Trudy Pruitt was an alcoholic and drug abuser. Before and after her sons' deaths. She's spent her life between jail and rehab, a bitter and desperately unhappy woman."

Avery clasped her hands together. "Why my dad, Matt? Why me? Why did she choose...us?"

"Why does someone like Trudy Pruitt do anything? My guess is, your dad's wake and funeral stirred up memories. The overwhelming love and community support for you fed her bitterness. Unfortunately, we'll never know for sure what her motivations were, not now."

Because she was dead.

Murdered.

The full impact of that hit her with the force of a wrecking ball. Elaine St. Claire. Luke McDougal. Tom

Lancaster. Now Trudy Pruitt.

"Who did this, Matt?"

"I don't know," he said grimly. "Not yet. I need your help, Avery."

"How? What can I do?"

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight. What you saw and heard. Every detail, no matter

how insignificant it might seem to you."

"All right." She paused a moment, collecting her thoughts, then began with arriving at the trailer park right around 10:00 p.m. "I noticed how dark the park was, that all the safety lights were out."

He made a note. "Did you pass another car on your way in?"

She shook her head. "I found Mrs. Pruitt's trailer and climbed out. I could hear music coming from a

number of directions."

"Where?"

"I don't know. I assumed other trailers. I heard the couple next door fighting, a child crying."

"Next door? You're certain?"

Avery glanced in the direction of the nearest trailer. A man, woman and child stood in the doorway,

staring her way. "Fairly certain."

Again he made a notation on the pad. "What about inside Trudy Pruitt's?"

"I found the door partially open. I knocked and called out. When she didn't answer, I poked my head

inside. Called out again." She closed her eyes, remembering. "The living room was a mess. At first I...I

thought she was a slob. I didn't...until I saw the blood...on the back wall, I didn't realize anything was

wrong." She pulled in a shaky breath. "And then I saw her. Lying there."

"Did you touch anything?"

She thought a moment. "The blood on the wall. That's when I realized what it was."

"Go on."

"I went to her, reached out and touched her shoulder. She rolled onto her back."

"She was on her side?"

"Yes. She tried to speak to me."

He straightened slightly. "What did she say?"

Avery's eyes welled with tears. "She never...I couldn't make anything out. I heard a noise...and got frightened. I thought maybe the killer was still in the house and now-" She struggled past the emotion welling up in her. "Her hand...she-"

Avery glanced down at her hands. Blood stained the tops of the fingers of her right hand. "Touched mine.

Like she needed my at tention. Like she needed to tell me something important."

"It might have been nothing more than the need for human contact," he said gently. "She was dying, Avery."

"Now we'll never know."

"Other than Deputy Jones, did you hear anything?"

"The radio playing."

"And that's it?"

She couldn't tear her gaze from her bloodstained fingers. "Yes."

"If you think of anything else, call me. No matter how insignificant you might believe it is." He closed the

notepad. "Promise?"

"I will."

"Avery?" She looked up. "Call me if you need anything else. Even just to talk. I'm here for you."

She swallowed hard. "Thank you, Matt."

"I'll have one of my deputies follow you home. Are you up to driving?"

She said she was and Matt called one of his deputies over, gave him directions, then accompanied her to

her vehicle.

"I was by your house earlier. Dropped something off."

"For me?"

"In light of this, I wish to hell I..." He swore. "My timing stinks." He opened her car door. "I'll call you

tomorrow."

She found what Matt had referred to on her front porch. Flowers. A beautiful spring bouquet. The card read: Thinking of you and me. Dancing under the stars. Matt.

A hysterical-sounding laugh slipped past her lips. She laughed until she cried.

CHAPTER 34.

Avery slept little that night. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen Trudy Pruitt lying in a pool of red, eyes wide and pleading, blood-soaked mouth working. Finally, Avery had given up and climbed out of bed. After brewing a pot of coffee, she'd dragged out the box of newspaper clippings and had begun poring over them, looking for anything that didn't fit, anything that might suggest a cover-up.

Nothing in the news stories jumped out at her.

What had Trudy Pruitt been trying to tell her? What proof of her father's involvement in the Sallie

Waguespack murder did she have? Had she been the bitter, unstable drunk Matt purported her to be?

One who had simply chosen Avery as a vehicle for venting her unhappiness?

Avery shifted her gaze to the box of clippings. Dammit. If not for these she might be able to believe that.

Why, Dad? Why did you save these?

Only one person could answer that question.

Buddy.

Twenty-five minutes later Avery found herself at the ranch. She rang the bell, praying she had caught him

before he left for church. If she remembered correctly, the Stevenses had most often chosen to attend the late service. They had today as well, she saw as Lilah opened the door.

"Avery," the woman exclaimed, "I heard about what happened. Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Just shaken. Is Buddy here?"

"And Matt. We're having breakfast."

"I'm sorry, I should have called-"

"Nonsense." She caught her hands and drew her inside. The house smelled of bacon and biscuits. "Come on in. I'll set you a place."