Chapter Twenty-Four
Riverbend, Louisiana
Something feels off the next morning as I walk past the bedroom downstairs and see Debby didn’t make their bed.
I stayed upstairs the rest of the day yesterday, slipping back into avoidance mode as I read journals and googled names until I fell asleep at an insanely early hour.
Despite the hours of sleep I logged, I still feel groggy.
When I enter the kitchen, no lights are on, no food is baking, no coffee is made.
Yapping coming from the laundry room, and when I open the door, the three dogs run out wiggling.
Something’s up.
I pour coffee grounds into the coffee maker and start a pot as I punch in my dad’s cell phone number. The phone rings in my ear and in the kitchen. I look around. His cell phone is sitting on the breakfast table. I hang up and call Debby.
She answers in a sleepy voice. “Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“Well.” She clears her throat, and I hear shuffling. “Hang on.”
I pour a cup of coffee before the pot is finished, and coffee drips out and sizzles as I put the carafe back in place.
“Okay,” Debby says. “I’m here.”
“Where is here?” I say, trying not to sound as frustrated as I am.
“The hospital.”
I stop mid-sip. “What?”
“He wasn’t feeling good in the middle of the night, so I brought him to the ER, and they admitted him. Just for observation.”
“Why didn’t you get me up?”
“He said not to bother you.”
I open my mouth to unleash, then stop myself. I exhale instead. “I’m going to need you to wake me up when my father is sick enough to go to an ER.”
“I told him we should. I told him you’d be mad. But you know how he is.”
Yes, I do.
“How is he now?”
“He’s better.”
“The doctors are trying a new medication. Hopefully, he’ll get released today.”
“I want to talk to his doctor,” I say, heading back upstairs to get dressed.
“She won’t be back until later.”
“What’s her cell phone number?”
“I don’t have her cell phone number,” Debby says.
“No problem. I can get it.”
“I don’t think you need to call her cell phone, Rita.”
I dig through my suitcase and pull out a pair of jeans and slip them on. “I’m coming up there.”
“Well.”
I pause as I’m taking my pajama top off. “Well, what?”
“Why don’t you stay there and help us with the dogs.”
And in those words, I hear what she really means: Don’t come here.
“Did he tell you not to let me come up there?” I say.
“He just needs to rest is all.”
I grab a T-shirt and slip it on. This is the second time my father hasn’t wanted me in his hospital room.
Maybe he is the one in avoidance mode. I could go up there anyway.
What could he do? He’s trapped in a hospital bed.
Maybe that’s the problem. In the hospital, he loses his home court advantage.
Normally, that is something that spurs me on, but with him my normal rules don’t apply. “I’m going to need updates.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Debby. Call me as soon as the doctor sees him.”
“I will.”
We hang up, and I pad back downstairs barefoot. I refill my coffee and look around the kitchen. Now what?
I check my phone, but I don’t have any texts from Grant or Carl. My text to Katrina about meeting again has also gone unanswered even though I can see she read it.
My conversation with Rosalie keeps replaying through my head. Specifically, her reference to the girls at Poison Wood and their powerful fathers. Which gets me thinking of the conversation I didn’t have with my father yesterday.
The dogs come running up to me, wagging and whining.
I take them to the back door and let them out.
A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance.
The dogs race across the back porch and into the backyard.
The sky is light purple with deep-blue clouds in the distance.
The wind has picked up, but it’s a warm south wind.
The seasons change fast here. One minute it’s sleeting, the next pollen is budding on the pine trees.
A gust of wind blows the door out of my hand, followed by a crack of thunder that rattles the panes of the windows. I get the dogs back in as the first drops of rain start to fall; then I push the door shut and lock it.
Another clap of thunder shakes the house.
I walk to the kitchen sink and look out at the driveway. The rain is blowing sideways. I lean back against the island and tap my nails on the countertop. I need something to do.
I pull my phone from my pocket and toggle it onto speaker as it rings.
“Hello?” Katrina says.
“You avoiding me?”
“There’s no avoiding you, Rita.”
“Is Summer with you?”
“No, but I can try to call her. Conference her in.”
“Yes, please.”
“Hang on.” She puts me on hold and a second later says, “Rita? Summer?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I’m here,” Summer replies.
“Great,” I refill my coffee cup and sit at the breakfast table. “I wanted to let you know I spoke with Johnny’s sister, Rosalie Adair.”
“What?” Summer says. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Wasn’t that her at the news conference?” Summer asks.
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe she talked to you,” Kat says.
“She did.”
“What did she say?” Kat sounds worried.
I sip my coffee. “She said we’re to blame.”
“Us?” Summer scoffs. “What the hell?”
“She referenced the girls at Poison Wood who had powerful fathers to get them out of trouble.”
“My dad never got me out of trouble,” Summer says.
“No shit,” Kat replies. “Your mom did.”
“There’s something else,” I say, interrupting Summer before she can retort.
“What?” Kat says.
“Do either of you know if any girls were pregnant while we were at Poison Wood?”
“Oh my God,” Kat’s voice sounds truly surprised. “No way.”
I set my coffee mug on the table. “I think it’s a possibility.”
Summer says, “Anything is a possibility when it comes to that school.”
I push my chair back and stand. “Do you know something, Summer?”
There’s a short silence; then she says, “Maybe.”
“What?” Kat says as I walk to the kitchen sink. “You know someone who was pregnant?”
“I said maybe,” Summer says.
I pour the rest of my coffee down the sink. “Who?”
“Lisbeth Warrington.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kat says. “Who would have sex with her?”
My coffee threatens to come back up.
“Oh my God, Kat.”
“How do you know that, Summer?” I say.
Summer’s voice is so low I can barely hear her response. “I overheard her crying right before Halloween, saying she had to get rid of it. That if her parents found out, they’d kill her. I assumed that’s why, you know, she jumped.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Did you tell the police this back then?”
“No,” Summer says. “I didn’t even tell y’all. I didn’t tell anyone. I was . . . freaked out about the whole thing.”
I rinse my coffee mug in the sink and set it aside. This day is starting with a bang.
“Do you know anything about what happened to Heather in Florida?” Kat says, bringing us back to the present.
“It’s being called a homicide,” I say. “That’s all I know.”
My phone buzzes with another call, but I ignore it.
“I don’t like Johnny being out,” Summer says. “He still feels dangerous to me.”
“He looks dangerous.”
Kat’s not wrong. I think about him coming close to hitting me with that SUV. “Yes, he does.”
“But Johnny didn’t kill Heather,” Summer says. “He was still in prison.”
“He could have had someone kill her,” Kat says.
“Maybe.” I study the sheets of rain falling on the front driveway. “But I’ve seen a lot of crimes over the years, and statistics say it’s someone Laura . . . Heather knew. Usually a boyfriend or husband.”
The word husband brings an image of Marshall Sanders and his daughter to mind, and with that visual comes the one of the letter in Johnny’s mailbox with the P.O. Box and the Miami postmark. GWC. Grey Wolf Capital. Why hadn’t that clicked sooner?
“Hang on,” I say. I open my browser and search for the Grey Wolf website. It’s glossy and pretentious and screams money. I click the portfolio tab and don’t see anything that indicates they have holdings in Louisiana.
“Rita?” Kat says.
“Give me a second.” I tap out a message to Carl.
Have Erin check Grey Wolf Capital. Possibly sending money to the Adairs.
Then I send a picture of the envelope to Carl as well.
Saw this yesterday.
A message comes back immediately:
I’m not even going to ask where you saw it.
My phone buzzes a second time. I look at the number but don’t recognize it, so I let it go to voicemail.
“I’m back,” I say to Kat and Summer.
“Johnny’s the one who benefited from Heather dying,” Kat says. “Got him out of prison.”
“That’s true,” I say. “Listen, I need to go, but I would still like the three of us to get together in person.”
“Sure,” Kat says.
“I thought we were leaving,” Summer whines.
“We have time to visit before we leave, Summer,” Kat says in her take-charge voice.
My phone buzzes a third time, and this time I think the number could be Rosalie’s. “I’ll text you both later. I gotta go.”
I answer the incoming call as I head to the laundry room to feed the dogs.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Rita Meade?”
Shit, it’s not Rosalie. It’s a man. I scoop food into the dogs’ bowls. “Yes.”
“This is Ethan Langley with People magazine.”
“No comment,” I say, walking back to the kitchen.
I’m about to end the call when he says, “I thought you might want to comment on your mother’s death.”
I crack my neck and work to control the thundering pace of my heart. “Excuse me?”
“The falsified death certificate.”
I end the call and set my phone on the counter as if it were made of plutonium. I stare at it like it will apologize to me for the words I just heard come out of it. What the hell?
The house creaks around me. The dogs chew their bones under the kitchen table. I gaze at my father’s empty chair.
You owe me.