Trudy made some sort of notations, here in the margin."

The woman had used a series of marks to count. Four perpendicular hatchet marks with another crosswise through them. Beside it she had written "All but two."

"Five," Gwen murmured. "What do you think she was counting?"

"Don't know for certai-" She swallowed, eyes widening. "My God, five plus two-"

"Equals seven. Holy shit."

"She was counting the dead. Dad was number five. There are, or were, two left."

"But who were they?"

"On the phone she said there weren't many of them left. That they were dropping like flies."

"People who knew the truth."

"Gotta be."

Avery carefully leafed through the remaining pages of the paper. Nothing jumped out at her. She carefully folded the page with her father's photo and Trudy Pruitt's notations, then slipped it into a plastic bag. They searched the living room next, checking the undersides and linings of the chairs and sofa, behind the few framed photos, inside magazines. They found nothing.

"Kitchen's next," Avery murmured, voice thick.

"That's where...it's going to be bad." Gwen paled. "I've never-" They exchanged glances, and by

unspoken agreement, Avery took the lead.

Using tape, the police had marked where Trudy had died. A pool of blood, dried now, circled the shape.

Several bloody handprints stood out clearly on the dingy linoleum floor.

Her handprints.

Avery started to shake. She dragged her gaze away, took a deep, fortifying breath. "Let's get this over

with."

Avery checked the freezer. It was empty save for a couple unopened Lean Cuisine frozen meals and a

half-dozen empty ice trays. The cabinets and pantry also proved mostly bare. They found nothing taped to the underside of shelves, the dining table or trash barrel.

"Either she never had any proof or the killer already picked it up," Avery said, frustrated.

"Maybe her proof was in her head," Gwen offered. "In the form of an argument."

"Maybe."

Gwen frowned. "No answering machine."

Avery glanced at her. "What?"

"Everybody's got an answering machine these days." She pointed at the phone, hanging on the patch of

wall beside the refrigerator. "I didn't see one in the bedroom, either. Did you?"

Avery shook her head and crossed to the phone, picked it up. Instead of a dial tone, a series of beeps greeted her. She frowned and handed the receiver to the other woman.

"Memory call," Gwen said. "It's an answering service offered through the phone company. I have it."

"How do you retrieve the messages?"

"You dial the service, then punch in a five-digit password. The beeps mean she has a message waiting."

"What's the number?"

"Mine's local. It'd be different here. Sorry."

Avery glanced around. "My guess is, Trudy wrote that number down, that it's here, near the phone. So

she wouldn't have to remember it." She slid open the drawers nearest the phone, shuffled through the mix of papers, flyers and unopened mail.

"Look on the receiver itself," Gwen offered. "Until I learned mine, that's where I taped it."

Avery did. Nothing had been taped to either receiver or cradle. She made a sound of frustration and looked at Gwen. "No good."

"Tom had the service," she murmured. "He programmed it into his-"

"Speed dial," Avery finished for her, glancing at the phone. Sure enough, the phone offered that feature, for up to six numbers. She tried the first and was connected to the Hard Eight.

She gave Gwen a thumbs-up, then tried the second programmed number, awakening someone from a deep sleep. She hung up and tried again.

The third proved the winner. A recording welcomed her to "her memory call service."

"Got it," Avery said, excited. "Take a guess at a password."

"1-2-3-4-5." ".

Avery punched it in and was politely informed that password was invalid. She tried the same combination, backward. She punched in several random combinations.

All with no luck. She hung up and looked at Gwen. "What now?"

"Most people choose passwords they can easily remember, their anniversary, birthday, kid's birthday.

But we don't know any of those."

"Oh yes we do," Avery murmured. The date Trudy Pruitt had never forgotten. The one she might use as

a painful, self-mocking reminder. "June 18,1988. The night Sallie Waguespack was murdered and her

sons were killed in a shoot-out with the police."

Avery connected with the answering service again, then punched in 0-6-1-9-8-8. The automated operator announced that she had five new messages waiting and one saved message.

Avery gave Gwen another thumbs-up, then pressed the appropriate buttons to listen to each. The recording announced the day, date and time of call, then played the message. The woman's boss at the bar, pissed that she hadn't shown up for work. Several hangups. A woman, crying. Her soft sobs despairing, hopeless. Then Hunter. He said his name, gave his number and hung up.

Avery's knees went weak. She laid her hand on the counter for support. Hunter had called Trudy Pruitt the last afternoon of her life. Why?

"What's wrong?"

Avery looked at Gwen. She saw by the other woman's expression that her own must have registered shock. She worked to mask it. "Nothing. A...a woman crying. Just crying. It was weird."

"Replay it."

Avery did, holding the phone to both their ears, disconnecting the moment the call ended.

"The woman who called me sounded as if she had been crying," Gwen told her. "What if they were one

and the same?"

"What time did she call you?"

Gwen screwed up her face in thought. "About five in the afternoon."

Avery dialed, called up the messages again. The woman had called Trudy Pruitt at four forty-five. Avery

looked at Gwen. "A coincidence?"

"A weird one." Gwen frowned. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know. I wonder if the police have listened to the messages."

"They could be retrieving them directly from the service. After all, the calls could be evidence."

"Or the police might have missed them, same way we almost did. Let's get out of here," Avery said.

They left the way they'd come, reaching the SUV without incident. Avery started the engine and they

eased off the road's shoulder. She didn't flip on her headlights until they'd gone a couple hundred feet.

She couldn't stop thinking about Hunter having called Trudy Pruitt. Why? What business could he have