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community leader during that time."
Her meaning sank in and Avery stiffened. "You're saying you believe my father might have been a part of
this Seven?"
"Yes."
Avery stood. She realized she was shaking. "He wasn't," she said flatly. "He would never have been a
part of something like that. Never!"
"Wait, please!" She followed Avery to her feet. "Hear me out. There's "
"I've heard enough." Avery snatched her purse off the picnic bench. "There's a difference between
thinking you're honorable and being honorable. And you know that, Ms. Lancaster. My father was a
highly principled, moral man. A man others looked up to. A man who dedicated his life to helping others.
To doing right, not to self-righteousness. It's an insult to his memory, to all he was, to suggest he would
be party to this extremist garbage."
"You don't understand. If you would just "
"I do understand, Ms. Lancaster. And I've listened quite enough." Avery backed away. "Stay away from
me. If I find out you're prying into my father's life or death again, I'll go to the police. If I hear you're
spreading these lies, I'll go to a lawyer."
Without waiting for the woman's reply, Avery turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 19
Avery sat at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of her, hands curled around a mug of freshly brewed
coffee. Early-morning sun streamed through the window. The screen glowed softly; the text blurred
before her eyes.
She set the mug on the table and rubbed her eyes. Her head ached. She'd slept little. She'd left St.
Francisville and driven blindly home, thoughts whirling. She'd been angry. Furious. That Gwen Lancaster
could accuse her father of such despicable acts toward his fellow citizens. That she could suggest the
people of Cypress Springs capable of spying on one another, punishing them for behavior that fell outside
what a few had decided was acceptable.
Cypress Springs was a nice place to live. People cared about one another. They helped one another.
Gwen Lancaster, she had decided was either a liar or an academic hack. She had dealt with journalists
like that. They started with a story someone told them, something juicy, outrageous or shocking. Like the
one the bartender told Gwen Lancaster about a picture-perfect small town that turns to vigilantism to
combat crime.
Great hook. A real grabber. They proceeded on the premise that it was true and began collecting the
"facts" to prove it. Tabloid journalism cloaked in the guise of authentic journalism. Or in Gwen
Lancaster's case, academia.
The group of seven men at the wake. Watching Gwen Lancaster. The one laughing.
Avery shook her head. A coincidence. A group of men, friends, standing together. Admiring an attractive
woman. One making a sexual comment, then laughing. It happened all the time.
She turned her attention to the computer screen. She had realized she knew little more about vigilantism
and extremism than what Gwen had told her and had spent the night researching both via the Internet.
She'd done searches on vigilantism. Crowd mentality and social psychology. Fanaticism. She had read
about the Ku Klux Klan. Nazism. Experiments in group behavior.
Extremist groups had been much in the news since the Septem- ber 11, 2001, attacks on the United
States by the al-Qaeda terrorist organization. Her search had led her there and to pieces written in the
aftermath of Timothy McVeigh's bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City in 1995.
And others concerning the 1993 FBI shootout with the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas.
What she'd found disturbed her. Any idea or belief, it seemed, could be taken to an extreme. The amount
of blood spilled for God and country staggered. A chief motivator, she'd learned, was fear of change.
The intense desire to keep the world, the order of things, the way it was.
Folks were scared. And angry. Real angry. The town was turning into a place they didn 't like.
People stopped taking their community, their quality of life for granted. They realized that safety and a
community spirit were worth working for. People started watching out for each other.
Avery stood and crossed to the sink. She flipped on the cold water, bent and splashed her face. How
frightened had the people of Cypress Springs been? Enough to take the law into their own hands?
Could this be why her father had clipped and kept all those articles?
Avery ripped off a paper towel, dried her face, then tossed the towel into the trash. As much as she
wanted to discount everything Gwen Lancaster had told her, she couldn't. Because of that damn box.
Gwen Lancaster knew something about her father that she wasn't telling. Why else would she have
wanted to talk to the coroner about Phillip's death? Avery couldn't imagine he would have been able to
shed any light on The Seven or her father's involvement in the group.
The coroner could answer questions about her father's death, not life.
That was it, Avery realized. Gwen Lancaster doubted the official explanation of Dr. Phillip Chauvin's
death.
And Avery was going to find out why. First, she needed to locate the woman.
She crossed to the phone and dialed the ranch. Buddy knew everybody in this town, even outsiders. He
answered.
"Hi, Buddy, it's Avery. Good morning."
"Baby girl. Good morning to you, too." Pleasure radiated from his voice. "How are you? We've been so
worried, but wanted to give you some space."
"I'm hanging in there, Buddy. Thanks for your concern. How's Lilah?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]