His other half.
She brought a hand to his cheek. "Matt, I don't know what to say. I wish-"
"Shh." He brought her hand to his mouth. "We'll have time for this later. I have to go. Are you going to be all right?"
She forced lightness into her tone. "With Lilah and Cherry cooing and clucking over me, are you kidding?"
He glanced toward the doorway where his mother and sister waited. "I'll come by later. Okay?"
She said it was and climbed out of the cruiser. She watched him back out of the driveway, then turned and started toward the two women.
Lilah hugged her. "Avery, honey, I don't know what to say. I'm devastated."
Cherry touched her arm. "Don't worry about a thing, Avery. If I don't have something you need, I'll go out and buy it."
"Buddy called. He said it was arson." Lilah shuddered. "Who would do such a thing?"
Avery didn't want to talk about it. Truth was, she had neither the energy nor heart for it.
There would be time for talking, hashing and rehashing. Time to break it to Lilah what her son had become. She prayed she wasn't around when that happened.
"Would you mind terribly if we didn't talk about it right now? I'm just…overwhelmed."
"Poor baby. Of course I don't mind." The woman's cheeks turned rosy. "Maybe you should lie down, take a little nap. I know everything is clearer when I'm rested."
"Thank you, Lilah. You're so good to me."
The woman looked at her daughter. "Why don't you take Avery up to the guest room. I'll get some towels and soap for the guest bath."
"Sure." She smiled sympathetically at Avery. "I'll grab you a change of clothes, in case you want to clean up."
"Thanks," Avery said, realizing then that she smelled of smoke.
They started upstairs. Halfway up, Lilah stopped them. Avery glanced back. "I'm fixing baked macaroni and cheese for supper. With blueberry pie for dessert. We'll eat about six."
Avery managed a small smile, though thoughts of eating couldn't be farther from her mind.
Cherry left her at the guest room, then returned moments later with clothes and a basket of toiletries, including a new toothbrush. Cherry held the items out. "If you need anything else, just ask."
Avery saw real concern in her eyes. She experienced a twinge of guilt for her former suspicions about the other woman. "Thank you, Cherry, I…really appreciate this."
"It's the least I-" She took a step backward. "Bathroom's all yours."
"Thanks." Avery hugged the items to her chest. "I think I…a shower will be nice."
"Are you going to be all right?"
"I'll manage. Thanks for worrying about me. It means a lot."
Avery watched Cherry hurry down the hall, then retreated to the silence of her room. As that silence surrounded her, the smell of the fire filled her head.
With it came the image of her family's home being engulfed in flames. And a feeling of despair. Of betrayal.
Hunter, how could you?
Turning, she carried the toiletries and clothes to the guest bath, which was accessible from the bedroom. A Jack and Jill-style bath, consisting of one bath and commode area, flanked on either side by individual sink and dressing areas. She locked the door that led to the other bedroom's dressing area.
A half hour later she stepped out dressed in the pair of lightweight, drawstring cotton pants and white T-shirt Cherry had lent her, the smell of the fire scrubbed from her hair and skin. She towel-dried and combed her hair, then crossed to the bed. Sank onto a corner.
She closed her eyes. Her head filled with images-of fire engulfing her home, of Gwen's name and room number scrawled on a paper by Hunter's manuscript, of blood smeared across the wall of Trudy Pruitt's trailer.
Her cell phone rang.
She jumped, startled, then scrambled across the bed for her purse. She grabbed it, dug inside for the device. She answered before it rang a third time. "Gwen, is that-"
"Ms. Chauvin?"
Her heart sank. "Yes?"
"Dr. Harris. I apologize for it having taken so long for me to get back to you, I had some trouble locating the information you needed."
Avery frowned, confused. Dr. Harris? Why was he-
Then she remembered-the autopsy report. Her call to the coroner that morning seemed a light-year ago.
"Ms. Chauvin, are you there?"
"Yes, sorry. It's been a rough day."
"And I'm afraid my news won't make it any better. There was no autopsy performed on Sallie Waguespack."
"No autopsy," she repeated. "Aren't autopsies always performed in the case of a murder?"
"Yes, I'm surprised as well. That said, however, because of the circumstances, the coroner determined an autopsy unnecessary."
"The coroner has that option?"
"Certainly." He paused a moment. "With a typical homicide, the lawyers will require one. The police or victim's family."
"But the Waguespack murder wasn't a typical homicide."
"Far from it. The perpetrators were dead, there would be no trial. No lawyers requiring proof of cause of death. The police had plenty of evidence to support their conclusion, including the murder weapon."
"An open and closed case," she murmured. Perfect for a setup. Everything tied up nice and neat.
"Would you have made that call, Dr. Harris?"
"Me? No. But that's my way. When it comes to the cessation of life, I don't take anything for granted." He paused, cleared his throat. "I have one more piece of information that's going to surprise you, Ms. Chauvin. Dr. Badeaux wasn't the coroner on this homicide."
She straightened. "He wasn't. Then who-"
"Your father was, Avery. Dr. Phillip Chauvin."
CHAPTER 51
Avery sat stone still, heart and thoughts racing, cell phone still clutched in her hands. Dr. Harris had explained. Dr. Badeaux had employed two deputy coroners, all West Feliciana Parish physicians, all appointed by him. The coroner or one of his deputies went to the scene of every death, be it from natural causes, the result of accident, suicide or homicide.
The night of the Waguespack murder, Dr. Badeaux had been winging his way to Paris for a second honeymoon. Her dad had been the closest deputy coroner. When Dr. Badeaux had returned, Sallie Waguespack had been in the ground. He had accepted his deputy's call and it had stood for fifteen years.
"My boys didn 't kill that Sallie Waguespack. They was framed."
"Your father got what he deserved."
Trudy Pruitt had been telling the truth. Her sons had been framed. And her father had been a part of it.
Betrayal tasted bitter against her tongue. She leaped to her feet, began to pace. She couldn't believe her father would do this. She'd thought him the most honorable man she had ever known. The most moral, upright.
The box of clippings, she realized. That was why he had saved them all these years. As a painful reminder.
What he'd done would have eaten at him. She hadn't a doubt about that. All these years…had he feared exposure? Or had he longed for it?
That was it, she thought. The why. He hadn't been able to live with his guilt any longer. But he hadn't killed himself. He had decided to come clean. Clear the Pruitt boys' names. And he had been murdered for it. But why had he done it? For whom had he lied? His best friend. Sheriff Buddy Stevens.
Avery squeezed her eyes shut. Buddy had lied to her. The day she'd gone to see him, about having found the clippings. She had asked him why her father would have followed this murder so closely, why he would have kept the box of news stories all these years. She had asked if her dad had been involved with the investigation in any way.
Buddy had claimed he hadn't had a clue why her father would have clipped those stories, that her father hadn't been in any way involved in the investigation.
He'd been up to his eyeballs in this. They both had been. She recalled the words in her mother's journal. That after the murder everything had been different. That her father and Buddy's relationship had been strained. Hunter had claimed that their fathers never even spoke anymore.