Chapter Sixteen #2
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you know if there was a girl at Poison Wood, while I was there, probably our senior year, who was pregnant?”
“Wow,” Dr. Fontenot says. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious.”
She exhales. “Not to my knowledge. But you girls kept a lot of things secret, so that’s something that could have been hidden from me and the staff. If she wasn’t too far along, that is.”
“What about Crowley?” I say.
“What about him?”
“Do you know where he is? Did you keep in touch with him at all?”
“No. Last we all heard, he was in England.” She pauses again. “Rita, are you asking about Crowley because you think he could have . . . had a relationship with one of the girls?”
“I’m looking at all options.”
“Oh, no. Please tell me no.” She takes a loud breath and releases it.
“I never saw or heard anything to support that. I knew girls would sneak boys in from time to time, and I also knew you girls would sneak out, but Crowley wasn’t on my radar.
He . . . he was professional and always so respectful, and we were all shocked when we learned he was stealing from the school, but this would be .
. . so much worse.” She stops again, then says, “Have you gone to the police with this?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“That’s a big allegation.”
“I know. That’s why I want to get more information first.” I glance at the folders next to me. Her private notes. Notes she would be horrified to know were left in a basement and are now sitting in a box at my feet.
“Rita,” she says. “If this turns out to be true, you need to be careful.”
My skin starts to tingle. That’s what Laura Sanders told me. “Why’s that?” I say.
“Because the board tried to keep Crowley’s embezzlement quiet.
That’s why when he ran back to England, no one chased him.
They didn’t want the school’s reputation to get tarnished.
If it gets revealed that he was a predator, even if it was years ago, parents are going to want and deserve to know answers.
And they are going to look to that board of high-powered parents and wonder just how much they tried to cover up. ”
Now the tingling feels more like a burn. I remember my father slapping Crowley’s back at parents’ weekend. My stomach feels sick.
The hotel’s front doors slide open and usher in a shot of freezing air and six man-boys in designer jeans and loafers. They point to one of the guys and loudly declare it’s his bachelor party as if anyone else in the room cared.
“Thank you for talking with me, Dr. Fontenot.”
“You’re welcome, Rita. And I hope you’re wrong.”
“I hope I am too,” I say and end the call.
I scroll through my contacts until I find a name at the Northwest Louisiana Crime Lab.
I’m wondering if it’s possible to get DNA from a pregnancy test when I hear Detective Mulholland in my head saying obstruction of justice and Dom saying I’m not a reporter on this one.
I could send my lab expert one email—that’s it.
But I don’t.
I close my laptop and finish off my scotch as one of the man-boys spots me and smiles. The groom-to-be. I don’t smile back, but he still walks my way.
“Hey,” he says, with his own glass of scotch. “I know you.”
Shit. “Fantastic,” I say.
“You’re that news lady.”
My shoulders stiffen. News lady? Really? I open up my laptop again, hoping he’ll take the hint, but, no, this one is on a mission.
“You’re hotter in person,” he says with a crooked smile.
“You’re not,” I say.
Behind him, his little friends giggle.
“Easy,” he says. “I’m sensitive.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s my bachelor party tonight,” he says as if this is some kind of pickup line.
“Great. My condolences.”
He laughs. “I’m still available tonight.”
“No,” I say, looking him in the eye an uncomfortable amount of time. “My condolences to the woman who bought your line of bullshit.”
His face changes. He knows now I’m not playing, and he doesn’t strike me as the type women normally say no to.
“Yikes.” He sips his drink and leans in. My Taser is just on the inside of my tote. One quick move would deliver a jolt between his legs. He lowers his voice and says, “I guess you just like sleeping with your bosses, right? Isn’t that the story I heard about you?”
My jaw hardens, but I keep my face a blank slate and just stare at him.
I stare at him until he takes a step back.
Good boy. I’m used to this type of assault online.
So many cowards commented about how I slept my way to the top that I have to turn off comments when I post. It’s the anchor I drag around with me, and I kind of have to give it to this douchebag for actually having the balls to say it to my face.
“You can go away now,” I say.
Bachelor Boy frowns. “Bitch,” he mumbles as he walks back to the bar.
He doesn’t know I take that as a compliment.
Before I look back at my laptop, another guy at the bar eyes me. He’s not with them, and when I catch him staring, he blushes and looks back at his glass of white wine. The Golden Retriever. He’s following me around more than Uno, Dos, and Tres.
I’m considering walking over to him when the front doors slide open again and Carl hurries in, carrying several black bags and pulling my large suitcase. He’s followed by the very young Erin Stockwell.