Another longtime neighbor. The woman waved, pulled her car over and climbed out. She hurried up the driveway, short gray curls bouncing.

She reached Avery and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Avery hugged her back. "Thank you, Mary."

"I wish I'd gone to Buddy or Pastor Dastugue, but I...didn't. And then it was too late."

"Go to Buddy or Pastor about what?"

"How odd your daddy was acting. Not leaving the house, letting his yard go. I tried to pay a visit, bring him some of my chicken and andouille gumbo, but he wouldn't come to the door. I knew he was home, too. I thought maybe he was sleeping, but I glanced back on my way down the driveway and saw him peeking out the window."

Avery swallowed hard at the bizarre image. It didn't fit the father she had known. "I don't know what to say, Mary. I had no... idea. We spoke often, but he didn't...he never said...anything."

"Poor baby." The woman hugged her again. "I'm bringing some food by later."

"There's no need-"

"There is," she said firmly. "You'll need to eat and I'll not have you worrying about preparing anything."

Avery acquiesced, grateful. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"I see I'm not the first."

"Pardon?"

The woman pointed. Avery glanced in that direction. A basket sat on the stoop by the door.

Avery retrieved it. It contained homemade raisin bread and a note of condolence. She read the brief, warmly worded note, tears stinging her eyes.

"Laura Jenkins, I'll bet," Mary Dupre said, referring to the woman who lived next door. "She makes the best raisin bread in the parish."

Avery nodded and returned the note to its envelope.

"You're planning a service?"

"I'm meeting with Danny Gallagher this afternoon."

"He does good work. You need help with anything, anything at all, you call me."

Avery promised she would, knowing that the woman meant it. Finding comfort in her generosity. And the kindness she seemed to encounter at every turn.

She watched the woman scurry down the driveway, a bright bird in her purple and orange warm-up suit,

waved goodbye, then collected Laura Jenkins's basket and carried it to the kitchen.

The last thing she needed was more food, but she sliced off a Piece of the bread anyway, set it on a napkin and placed it on the kitchen table. While she reheated the last of the coffee, she retrieved the cardboard box from the foyer.

She had figured the box would contain photos, cards or other family mementos. Instead, she found it filled with newspaper clippings.

Curious, Avery began sifting through them. They all concerned the same event, one that had occurred the summer of 1988, her fifteenth summer.

She vaguely remembered the story: a Cypress Springs woman named Sallie Waguespack had been stabbed to death in her apartment. The perpetrators had turned out to be a couple of local teenagers, high on drugs. The crime had caused a citizen uproar and sent the town on a crusade to clean up its act.

Avery drew her eyebrows together, confused. Why had her father collected these? she wondered. She picked up one of the clippings and gazed at the grainy, yellowed image of Sallie Waguespack. She'd been a pretty woman. And young. Only twenty-two when she died.

So, why had her father collected the clippings, keeping them all these years? Had he been friends with the woman? She didn't recall having ever met her or heard her name, before the murder anyway. Perhaps he had been her physician?

Perhaps, she thought, the articles themselves would provide the answer.

Avery dug all the clippings out of the box, arranging them by date, oldest to most recent. They spanned, she saw, four months- June through September 1988.

Bread and coffee forgotten, she began to read. As she did, fuzzy memories became sharp. On June 18, 1988, Sallie Waguespack, a twenty-two-year-old waitress, had been brutally murdered in her apartment. Stabbed to death by a couple of doped-up teenagers.

The Pruitt brothers, she remembered. They had been older, but she had seen them around the high school, before they'd dropped out to work at the canning factory.

They'd been killed that same night in a shoot-out with the police.

How could she have forgotten? It had been the talk of the school for months after. She remembered being shocked, horrified. Then...saddened. The Pruitt brothers had come from the wrong side of the tracks-actually the wrong side of what the locals called The Creek. Truth was, The Creek was nothing more than a two-mile-long drainage ditch that had been created to keep low areas along the stretch from flooding but ultimately had served as the dividing line between the good side of town and the bad.

They'd been wild boys. They'd gone with fast girls. They'd drunk beer and smoked pot. She'd stayed as far away from them as possible.

Even so, the tragedy of it all hadn't been lost on her, a sheltered fifteen-year-old. All involved had been so young. How had the boys' lives gone so terribly askew? How could such a thing happen in the safe haven of Cypress Springs?

Which was the question the rest of the citizenry had wondered as well, Avery realized as she shuffled through the articles. They fell into two categories: ones detailing the actual crime and investigation, and the lion's share, editorials written by the outraged citizens of Cypress Springs. They'd demanded change. Accountability. A return to the traditional values that had made Cypress Springs a good place to raise a family.

Then, it seemed, things had quieted down. The articles became less heated, then stopped. Or, Avery wondered, had her father simply stopped collecting them?

Avery sat back. She reached for the cup of coffee and sipped. Cold and bitter. She grimaced and set the cup down. Nothing in the articles answered the question why her father had collected them.

She had lived through these times. Yes, her parents had discussed the crime. Everyone had. But not to excess. She had never sensed her father being unduly interested in it.

But he had been. Obviously.

She glanced at her watch, saw that it was nearly noon already. Perhaps Buddy would know the why, she thought. If she hurried, she should have plenty of time to stop by the CSPD before her two o'clock appointment with Danny Gallagher.

CHAPTER 6.

Cypress Springs police headquarters hadn't changed in the years she had been gone. Located in an old

storefront downtown, a block off Main in back of the courthouse, it resembled a hardware store or feed and seed more than a modern law enforcement center.

Avery entered the building. The whirling ceiling fans kicked up fifty years of dust. The sun streaming

through the front window illuminated the millions of particles. The officer on desk duty looked up. He was so young, he still sported a severe case of adolescent acne.

She stopped at the desk and smiled. "Is Buddy in?"

"Sure is. You here to see him?"

"Nope, just wanted to see if he was here."

The kid's face went slack for a moment, then he laughed. "You're teasing me, right?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"That's okay. Are you Avery Chauvin?"

She nodded. "Do I know you?"

"You used to baby-sit me. I'm Sammy Martin. Del and Marge's boy."

She thought a moment, then smiled. As a kid, he had been an absolute terror. Interesting that he had

decided to go into law enforcement. "I never would have known it was you, Sammy. Last time I saw you, you were what? Eight or nine?"

"Eight." His smile slipped. "Sorry about your dad. None of us could believe it."

"Thanks." She cleared her throat, furious with herself for the tears that sprang to her eyes. "You said Buddy was in?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll tell him you're here." He turned. "Buddy! Got a visitor!"

Buddy shouted he'd be out in a "jiffy" and Avery grinned. "Fancy intercom system, Sammy."

He laughed. "Isn't it, though. But we make do."

His phone rang and she wandered away from the desk. She crossed to the community bulletin board,

located to the right of the front door. Another one just like it was located in the library, the post office and the Piggly Wiggly. Cypress Springs's communications center, she thought. That hadn't changed, either.

She scanned the items tacked to the board, a conglomeration of community information flyers, Most Wanted and Missing posters and For-Sale-by-Owner ads.

"Baby girl," Buddy boomed. She turned. He came around Sammy's desk, striding toward her, boots thundering against the scuffed wooden floors.

"I was afraid you'd be at lunch."

"Just got back." He hugged her. "This is a nice surprise."

She returned the hug. "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Sure." He searched her expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. I wanted to ask you about something I found in my dad's closet."

"I'll try. Come on." He led her to his office. Cluttered shelves, battered furniture and walls covered with

honorary plaques and awards spoke of a lifetime of service to the community.

Avery sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. She dug out the couple of clipped articles she had

stuffed into her purse and handed them to him. "I found a box of clippings like these in Dad's bedroom closet. I hoped you'd be able to tell me why he'd kept them." He scanned the two clippings, eyebrows drawing together. He met her eyes. "Are you certain your dad collected them and not your mom?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not one hundred percent. But Dad had removed everything else of Mom's from the closet, so why keep these?" "Gotcha." He handed the two back. "To answer your question, I don't know why he saved them. Even considering the nature of the case, it seems an odd thing for him to do."

"That's what I thought. So, he wasn't involved with the investigation in any way?"

"Nope."

"Was he Sallie's physician?"

"Could have been, though I don't know for sure. I'd guess yes, just because for a number of years he was Cypress Springs's only general practitioner. And even after Bobby Townesend opened his practice, then Leon White, your daddy remained the town's primary doctor. People around here are loyal and they certainly don't like change."

She pursed her lips. "Do you remember this event?"