"Spindler, Erica - In Silence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)

Dead. Her dad was dead. Between the time her father had called her and the next morning, he had killed himself. Gone into his garage, doused himself with diesel fuel, then lit a match.

How could you do it, Dad? Why did you do it? You didn 't even say—

The short scream of a police siren interrupted her thoughts. Avery turned. A West Feliciana Parish sheriff's cruiser rolled up behind her Blazer. An officer stepped out and started toward her.

She recognized the man by his long, lanky frame, the way he moved and held himself. Matt Stevens, childhood friend, high-school sweetheart, the guy she'd left behind to pursue her dream of journalism. She'd seen Matt only a handful of times since then, most recently at her mother's funeral nearly a year ago. Buddy must have told him she was coming.

Avery held up a hand in greeting. Still handsome, she thought, hatching him approach. Still the best catch in the parish. Or maybe that title no longer applied; he could be attached now.

He reached her, stopped but didn't smile. "It's good to see you, Avery." She saw herself reflected in his mirrored sunglasses, smaller than any grown woman ought to be, her elfin looks accentuated by her pixie haircut and dark eyes, which were too big for her face.

"It's good to see you, too, Matt."

"Sorry about your dad. I feel real bad about how it all happened. Real bad."

"Thanks, I...I appreciate you and Buddy taking care of Dad's—" Her throat constricted; she pushed on, determined not to fall apart. "Dad's remains," she finished.

"It was the least we could do." Matt looked away, then back, expression somber. "Were you able to reach your cousins in Denver?"

"Yes," she managed, feeling lost. They were all the family she had left—a couple of distant cousins and their families. Everyone else was gone now.

"I loved him, too, Avery. I knew since your mom's death he'd been...struggling, but I still can't believe he did it. I feel like I should have seen how bad off he was. That I should have known."

The tears came then, swamping her. She 'd been his daughter. She was the guilty party. The one who should have known.

He reached a hand out. "It's okay to cry, Avery."

"No...I've already—" She cleared her throat, fighting for composure. "I need to arrange a...service. Do the Gallaghers still own—"

"Yes. Danny's taken over for his father. He's expecting your call. Pop told him you were getting in sometime today."

She motioned to the cruiser. "You're out of your jurisdiction."

The sheriff's department handled all the unincorporated areas of the parish. The Cypress Springs Police Department policed the city itself.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Guilty as charged. I was hanging around, hoping to catch you before you went by the house."

"I was heading there now. I just stopped to...because—" She bit the words back; she'd had no real reason for stopping, had simply responded to a whim.

He seemed to understand. "I'll go with you."

"That's really sweet, Matt. But unnecessary."

"I disagree." When she tried to protest more, he cut her off. "It's bad, Avery. I don't think you should see it alone the first time. I'm following you," he finished, voice gruff. "Whether you want me to or not."

Avery held his gaze a moment, then nodded and wordlessly turned and climbed into the rented Blazer. She started up the vehicle and eased back onto Main Street. As she drove the three-quarters of a mile to the old residential section where she had grown up, she took a deep breath.

Her father had chosen the hour of his death well—the middle of the night when his neighbors were less likely to see or smell the fire. He'd used diesel fuel, most probably the arson investigators determined, because unlike gasoline, which burned off vapors, diesel ignited on contact.