his forehead. “In my entire career, I’ve only investigated a handful of murders. Sallie Waguespack’s was the first. And the worst.”
He hesitated a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “But the trouble started before her murder. From the moment we learned that Old Dixie Foods was considering opening a factory just south of here. The community divided over the issue. Some called it progress. A chance to financially prosper. A chance for businesses that had always fought just to survive to finally have the opportunity to grow, maybe even turn a profit.
“Others predicted doom. They predicted the ruination of a way of life that had stood for a century. A way of life disappearing all over the South. They cited other Southern communities that had been changed for the worse by the influx of big business.”
He laid his hands flat on the desk. She noticed their enormous size. “The topic became a hot button. Friendships were strained. Working relationships, too. Some families were divided on the issue.
“I admit I was one of those blinded by the idea of progress, financial growth. I didn’t buy the downside.”
“Which was?”
“The influx of five hundred minimum-wage workers, many of them unmarried males. The housing and commercial support system that would have to be created to accommodate them. How they would alter the social and moral structure of the community.”
“I’m not certain I understand what you mean.”
“This is a community devoted to God and family. We’re a bit of an anachronism in this modern world. Family comes first. Sunday is for worship. We live by the Lord’s commandments and the Golden Rule. Put a couple hundred single guys on the street on a Friday night, money in their pockets and what do you think is going to happen?”
She had a pretty good idea—and none of it had to do with the Golden Rule. “And my father?” she asked. “Where did he stand on the issue?”
Buddy met her eyes. His brow furrowed. “I don’t remember for sure. I’m thinking he saw the downside all along. He was a smart man. Smarter than me, that’s for certain.”
After a moment, he continued. “In the end, of course, the town had little recourse. The factory was built. Money began pouring into Cypress Springs. The town grew. And people’s worst predictions came true.”
He stood and turned toward the window behind his desk. He gazed out, though Avery knew there was little to see—just a dead-end alley and the shadow of the courthouse.
“I love this town,” he said without looking at her. “Grew up here, raised my family here. I’ll die here, I suspect. Those four months in 1988 were the only time I considered leaving.”
He turned and met her eyes. “The crime rate began to climb. We’re talking the serious stuff, the kind of crimes we’d never seen in Cypress Springs. Rape. Armed robbery. Prostitution, for God’s sake.”
He released a weary-sounding breath. “It didn’t happen overnight, of course. It sneaked up on us. An isolated crime here, another there. I called them flukes. Pretty soon, I couldn’t call them that anymore. Same with some of the other changes occurring in the community. Teenage pregnancies began to rise. As did the divorce rate. Suddenly, we were having the kind of trouble at the high school they had at big-city schools—alcohol, drugs, fighting.”
She vaguely recalled fights, and somebody getting caught smoking pot in the bathroom of the high school. She had been insulated from it all, she realized. In her warm, protected womb.
“It must have been difficult for you,” she said.
“Folks were scared. And angry. Real angry. The town was turning into a place they didn’t like. Naturally they turned their anger on me.”
“They felt you weren’t doing enough.”
It wasn’t a question but he nodded anyway. “I was in over my head, no doubt about it. Didn’t have the manpower or the experience to deal with the increased crime rate. Hell, our specialty had been traffic violations, the occasional barroom brawl and sticky-fingered kids shoplifting bubble gum from the five-and-dime. Then Sallie Waguespack was killed.”
He returned to his chair and sank heavily onto it. “This town went ballistic. The murder was grisly. She was young, pretty and had her whole life ahead of her. Her killers were high on drugs. There’s just nothing easy about that scenario.”
“Why’d they kill her, Buddy?”
“We don’t know. We suspect the motive was robbery but—”
“But,” she prodded.
“Like I said, she was young and pretty. And wild. They ran in the same crowd, frequented the same kinds of places. The Pruitt boys knew her. Could have been that one—or both—of them were romantically involved with her. Maybe they fought. Maybe she tried to break it off. Won’t know any of that for sure, but what I do know is, the evidence against them was rock solid.”
He fell silent. She thought a moment, going over the things he had told her, trying to find where her father fit in. If he fit in. “What happened then, Buddy?”
He blinked. “We closed the case.”
“Not that, I mean with the community. The crime rate.”
“Things quieted down, they always do. Some good came of Sallie’s death. People stopped taking the 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. Caring more. Service groups formed to help those in need. Drug awareness began being taught in the schools. As did sex education. Counseling was provided for those in need. Instead of condemning people in crisis, we began to offer help. The citizens voted to increase my budget and I put more officers on the street. The crime rate began to fall.”
“My first thought upon driving into town was how unchanged Cypress Springs seemed.”
“A lot of effort has gone into maintaining that.” He smiled. “Would you believe, tourism has become our number one industry? Lots of day-trippers, people on their way to and from St. Francisville. They come to see our pretty, old-time town.”
She wondered if that was a hint of cynicism she heard in his voice.
“What about the canning plant?”
“Burned a couple years back. Old Dixie was in financial difficulty and didn’t rebuild. Without job opportunities, those without other ties to Cypress Springs moved. If you’re looking for an apartment, there’re plenty of vacancies.”
Avery smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Old Dixie went belly-up last year. The burned-out hulk’s for sale. Myself, I can’t see anyone buying it. It’s a stinking eyesore on the countryside. And I mean that literally.”
She arched an eyebrow in question and he laughed without humor. “Just wait. You haven’t been here long enough to know what I’m talking about. When conditions are just right—the humidity’s high, the temperature’s warm and the wind’s blowing briskly from the south, the sour smell of the plant inundates Cypress Springs. Folks close their windows and stay inside. Even so, it’s damn hard to ignore.”
“Makes it hard to forget, too, I’ll bet.” Avery wrinkled her nose. “Does the town have any recourse?”
“Nope, company’s Chapter 7.” He leaned toward her. “Can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip. Waste of time to try.”
Avery fell silent a moment, then looked at Buddy, returning to the original reason for her visit. “Why did Dad clip and save all these articles, all these years, Buddy?”
“Don’t know, baby girl. I just don’t know.”
“Am I interrupting?” Matt asked from behind her.
Avery turned. Matt stood in the doorway, looking official