9. Cami
Cami
P ulling my ringing phone from my bag I look at the number on the screen and frown. There’s no name so it’s not in my contacts and with Dad’s warning about my biological mother possibly seeing me and trying to make contact, I’m unsure if I should answer.
Except this isn’t the first time I’ve received a call from an unknown number this week. Since the interviews started going live each night I’ve fielded numerous calls about rights to air them and job offers. And honestly, I’m tired.
It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve been on the go since before the sun came up but in spite of my urge to ignore it, I swipe to answer and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello.”
“Is this Cami Nelson?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Hi, Ms. Nelson. My name is William Dalton and I’m principal of Hannon Grove high school. I’ve got Whitney Higgison in my office. Her father isn’t answering his phone, and she assures me you’re able to come collect her.”
“Of course, but why. What’s wrong? ”
“Nothing too bad. Her car has a couple of flat tires and only one spare.”
“Oh. Okay.” I glance at my watch. “You’re on Barker, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m downtown, at the FNB building. It will take me about fifteen minutes to get there, is that okay?”
“Yes. I’ll be here until after six. And she’s happy to wait in my office.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can.”
“See you when you get here.”
Hanging up, I drop the phone back in my bag as I snap my laptop shut. I have no idea why Whitney chose to call me or how she got my number, but I do know most of the Rogues are out of town at an away game. And that thought brings up another one.
Who is Whitney staying with while her father is away?
From everything I know about Beckett, he wouldn’t leave her at home alone even if she’s almost an adult. Especially after the few instances of photographers hanging around outside the arena and her school.
Not that I have first-hand knowledge of the photographers. Oakley called two days ago and asked if I knew who was still hunting for information and how they might stop it from happening moving forward.
I gave her the same suggestion I gave Beckett last week, give them what they want before they know they want it.
I pointed out posting pictures on their social media accounts and adding the fact he’s a single dad to his bio on the team website would be another way to keep them at bay.
Honestly, I don’t know why they would be lying in wait to get pictures of Whitney or Beckett with her. I haven’t been paying attention to any gossip doing the rounds with other reporters, but then sports isn’t my area of expertise.
Making a mental note to message Bas to find out if he’s heard anything, I shove my laptop in my bag and grab my keys from the top drawer of my desk. A desk that won’t be mine after this week. Neither will the office be mine.
Now that I’m working for the paper as a freelance journalist I can work from anywhere, and while I’ll miss chatting with Deb from reception, I’ve never formed friendships with my colleagues. It doesn’t help when your dad owns the network we all work for.
It took years for everyone to feel comfortable with the owner’s daughter working beside them. Not that I blame them. In the beginning I did get a job here because of who I was. But I started at the bottom. And I haven’t moved further up the ladder than feature writer because I don’t want to. I like diving into a story and bringing it to life.
Dana says I should write biographies or even fiction, but I like the short form of feature articles and I don’t always write about people. Just last month I did an article about the history of Baton Rouge’s river industry. So few of the men and women who worked in the heyday of the shipping industry are left to talk to and it’s a part of my hometown’s history that I didn’t want to see slip away.
“Hey. You heading out early?”
I look up to see Deb in my doorway. “Yes. Did you need something?”
“No. Was just passing by on my way to get a coffee when I saw you packing up.” She steps into the room and shuts the door. “I wanted to have a quick word before you leave.”
“Can it wait ’til tomorrow? I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“Oh, you’re not packing up, packing up?” She glances around my office.
“No. Not for a few more days.”
“Okay, yes, it can wait until tomorrow. Why don’t we head down the street to that Mexican place for lunch around one?”
Smiling, I shoulder my bag. “Sounds great.”
“Good.” With a smile she opens the door and holds it. “I’ll let you get out of here. ”
“Thanks.” I pass her and don’t stop, just look back over my shoulder and ask, “Can you lock that for me?”
“Sure. Talk tomorrow.”
“See you then.” Without a second thought to what Deb could want to talk about, I head for the elevators.
At this time of day, pedestrian traffic is light in the elevators and the parking garage, so it only takes me five minutes to be on my way. And seven minutes after that I’m pulling into the school parking lot and right up beside what I’m assuming is Whitney’s car. Frowning, I see the front passenger tire is flat as a tack.
Switching off the car and climbing out, I walk around to the other side of Whitney’s car to see the rear tire is as flat as the front one on the other side. It seems odd that the opposite tires are flat. If she’d run over something, wouldn’t tires on the same side be flat?
I don’t bother looking closer, I’ll get the tow company’s opinion on it when they come to collect the car. Turning, I head for the front of the admin building. Once I’m inside out of the heat, it’s a simple task to find the principal’s office.
It’s directly on the right after you come through the doors. And through the large window behind a desk I assume belongs to the principal’s secretary I can see Whitney, head down, fingers tapping away at a laptop, and I have to smile.
The one and only time I found myself in the principal’s office in high school, I was not looking as relaxed as Whitney.
No, I was shaking in my shoes waiting for Dad to arrive because Oakley had gotten us into trouble for letting out all the mice in the science labs.
The memory has me smiling in spite of the grounding I got after Dad took me home.
Tapping on the doorframe I wait for the principal to stand before stepping inside.
“Cami Nelson?”
“Yes.” I walk to his desk and hold out a hand. “Thank you for contacting me. ”
“Sure. Whitney would have done it herself but her phone is dead.” He smiles at Whitney as she packs away her things. “And it’s been a pleasure talking with her. We’ve been discussing the history of the area and what things I think she and her father might enjoy exploring.”
“Mr. Dalton has lived here his whole life.” Whitney zips up her backpack and puts it over one shoulder. “He was telling me the house we live in was once owned by a man who had plantations further south and a shipping line that used to carry his cotton up and down the Mississippi River to the rest of the country and the world.”
“You should talk to Oakley about that if you’re interested. Her family owns one of the biggest shipping companies in the country.”
“Really? Cool.” Turning to the principal she says, “Thanks for letting me use your phone and for letting me sit in here out of the heat.”
“I’d say any time, but I don’t want you to have flat tires again.”
“Me either.” Grinning, she turns to me. “Can you take me home now? I’m going to leave the car here and wait for Dad to get back tomorrow.”
“No need to wait. I’ll have a tow company come get it tonight so my mechanic can get it fixed tomorrow. If we’re lucky, it’ll be done before your dad gets home and then he won’t have to worry about it.”
“Okay, that would be great. I’ve got a credit card to use for payment.”
“We’ll worry about that when we pick the car up tomorrow. I’ve been going to the same guy since I was a teenager. He’s trustworthy and trusts me to pay after he does the work.” Facing the principal again I hold out my hand. “Thanks again for taking care of her.”
“You’re welcome. When I saw her out there beside her car, I offered to help with changing the tire but then we realized it wasn’t only the front one that was flat. And it was too hot to be out there for however long it took for someone to come.”
“Well, thanks. We’ll get out of your way now.” Putting a hand on Whitney’s back, I urge her out of the office. It isn’t until we get outside the building that I ask, “Why did you call me and how did you get my number?”
“Should I not have called you?”
“No. Yes, of course you should, I’m just wondering how I’m the one you thought of.”
“Ms. James gave me a list of Rogue people to call if Dad’s playing away or even here and I can’t get hold of him. The top four are the owners of the Rogues.”
“Huh. Makes sense, I guess. And everyone but me is out of town at the game.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, let me call my mechanic and get your car sorted. Then I’ll take you home—wait, are you staying on your own?”
“No, I’m staying with the lady next door. She’s ninety-two and about half my size but apparently Dad thinks I’m safer with her than on my own.”
The eye roll she does has me holding in a laugh. “Do you need to call her and tell her you’re running late?”
“No. I was supposed to go home and get ready for school tomorrow before heading next door. She’s not expecting me until dinner time.”
“All right. How about this? We get your car sorted, then we hit the grocery store, and I’ll cook for all three of us at your house, and if we can get hold of your dad, we’ll see if he’s okay with me staying with you overnight. That way you don’t have to drag all your stuff next door and you’re not putting your neighbor out.”
“I like that plan.”
I have no idea where the idea of staying with Whitney came from. I know Beckett isn’t my biggest fan and I’m not even sure he’ll agree to it, but I’ll cook for Whitney and their neighbor no matter what Beckett decides .
We have to wait thirty minutes for the tow truck to arrive and we spend that time sitting in my car with the engine and air running. There’s no shade in the school parking lot and the sun has spent all day baking the ground and parked cars to the point you can see heatwaves rising off the blacktop.
When the tow driver—Gary—looks at the car and scratches his head, I’m reminded of my own puzzlement on seeing the two flat tires. I want to question him about it but I don’t want to say anything in front of Whitney in case it’s just a coincidence and not something nefarious like I’m thinking.
After Oakley told me about the photographers hanging around, I pushed it and any concern I had for Whitney and Beckett aside. But now I have to wonder if I should have taken more notice.
I spent some time when we first came out here looking around to be sure no one was hanging around with a camera in hand. Seeing no one I relaxed and enjoyed getting to know Whitney better.
I already liked her after our first meeting and I told Beckett he should be proud of the woman he’s raised. What I didn’t tell him is I’m proud of him for raising her on his own. I don’t know their full story—no one does—but what I do know, and what I can speculate on, is that he’s a shining example of what a father should be. Single or otherwise, he’s one of the most dedicated, loving fathers I’ve ever met.
And I know I shouldn’t take things at face value, that anything could be happening behind closed doors, but I don’t think I’ll find anything scandalous about Beckett and Whitney Higgison.