Chapter Twenty-Six
Riverbend, Louisiana
I wait on the sidewalk outside the Kingston as Erin, Carl, and I are about to go live for NCN’s eleven o’clock show.
The rain has stopped, and the wind is warm enough now to make me wish I’d worn a short-sleeve shirt under the blazer Erin let me borrow.
I haven’t been in front of the camera since Miami and doing it now without my makeup and wardrobe has me chewing my fingernails.
Erin is still in her sensible khakis with downtown Riverbend as her backdrop. She looks professional and poised, but the giddiness in her eyes at being the first to report the findings is unmistakable.
The first time I had a scoop, I felt it too. It was in Dallas, and I’d lucked out and gotten a source in the police department who gave me the address where a suspect was hiding inside another person’s home. I’d been the first on the scene, and it was the story that got NCN’s attention.
Now, watching Erin have her moment, I don’t feel the adrenaline I usually feel when I see Carl set up the camera. But I do feel something, and it’s not good.
“Almost ready,” Carl says.
I feel like I’m having a hard time taking a full breath. I thought being outside would help, but it’s only getting worse as I try to dissect the avalanche of information I’ve received in the past week, everything from Poison Wood to my mother.
“Ready,” Carl yells.
Erin nods at me but I take a step away from her. “Rita?”
“Gotta go,” Carl says.
Erin pulls her gaze from me and squares her shoulders to the camera. Carl points to her as I take another step out of the shot.
“Good morning,” Erin says. “I’m here at . . .”
I race down the street, suddenly feeling like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I rip off the blazer and try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. I walk a few steps, but my legs feel weak. I fan my face with my hand and grab my phone with the other and type out a text to Willa.
I think I’m having a heart attack.
My phone rings seconds later.
“Are you driving?” Willa says.
“No.” I start pacing. “This is heart related. I know it. I was just about to go live and now I’m sweating, and I’m having trouble breathing.”
“Okay. Slow down. Let’s assess. Could this be a panic attack?”
“I don’t have—” I start to say, and she interrupts.
“Tell me four things you can see right now.”
I look around, balling my left hand into a fist so it won’t shake. “Um. A large dump truck. A bridge. The Red River and, um, a hotel.”
Willa clears her throat. “Are you in Louisiana?”
“Um.”
“Scratch that. We’ll deal with that later. Now tell me three things you can hear. Close your eyes.”
I close my eyes. “Carl and Erin talking. Air brakes releasing. A car stereo.” My breathing starts to slow.
“Tell me two things you can touch,” she says. “Touch them.”
I open my eyes and bend down. “The sidewalk,” I say, running my fingers over the concrete. “And an iron railing.” I touch my fingertips to the cool railing by the hotel. I’m no longer sweating.
“Last thing,” Willa says. “Tell me one thing you can taste or smell.”
Erin and Carl walk up to me.
I inhale. “I smell citrus,” I say to Willa. “Maybe Erin’s shampoo.”
Erin looks at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. Then I speak into my phone again. “What the hell was that voodoo?” I say.
Willa laughs. “It’s called grounding. Do you want to talk about what you’re doing down in Louisiana?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Thank you, Willa.”
“I’m here for you,” she says.
I end the call and touch my hand to my chest. My heart rate is back to normal.
“You okay?” Erin says.
I nod.
“Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head no.
“Cool,” Carl says. “I’m starving. Can we go somewhere and eat?”
Jacklyn’s is a lively restaurant that sits above the only independent movie theater in Riverbend. We walked from the hotel and opted for a table on the balcony overlooking Main Street since the day feels more like spring than winter.
We order, and I study Erin’s chipper face.
I’m not used to playing second fiddle, but somehow Erin has made me feel fine about it.
She didn’t meet me head on. She stepped aside, and like the bull in old cartoons, I ran right past her.
And then she complimented me and has taken great interest in making sure I’m okay after my moment on the sidewalk.
That is not what I’m used to. I’m used to competition, pushing and pulling against someone to get what I want.
Carl says, “Rita was run off the road earlier. We may need to let Gautreaux and Mulholland know.”
Erin looks at me. “What happened?”
I shift in my chair. “I’m not sure, but it felt purposeful.”
“Any idea who?” she says.
I shake my head, but the image of Johnny Adair comes to mind again. This time, though, I see him with the red coat in his hand. Insurance.
“What?” Erin says, studying me.
“I spoke with Johnny Adair,” I say.
Carl gawks at me. “What?”
Erin looks at him, then back to me. Her eyes have a new spark in them. I know that look well. She’s hungry, and I’ve got the food.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
As we dig into our po’boys and salads, I tell her about following Rosalie and then following Grant and Johnny.
I pause at the part about the coat and debate protecting that information.
But protecting information can cause more problems later on.
It’s time to lean into what I built my career on, being honest. So I tell her about the coat, about Johnny saying he needs insurance.
Then I pull out my phone and show her the envelope I snapped a picture of from his mailbox.
“Carl showed me that,” she says. “Thank you for sending it.”
I examine her expression to see if she’s being sarcastic, but she’s not. She’s being sincere. It unnerves me. And the fact an honest thank-you unnerves me, unnerves me even more.
“You’re welcome,” I say, trying not to make it sound like a question.
I dig in my tote and extract something else I should have already given Erin.
“What’s this?” Erin says, taking the note from me.
“A message from Martha Lee.”
Erin reads it and looks up. “Follow the money.”
“Rosalie told me they get mailbox money,” I say to Erin.
She looks at me. “What’s that?”
“Money from natural gas wells.” I pull up my search history from last night. Google Earth and Piedmont, Louisiana.
I zoom in and scan the area until I locate the road that leads to the Adairs’ property.
Then I put in 3D mode. I can’t find a date on the images, but I do see Rosalie’s mobile home.
I keep moving the image. It shows nothing but green forest. No wells, no abandoned pads.
Nothing to indicate something was drilled on that land.
But one thing I do see is that their land backs up to Poison Wood.
The school’s massive shape stands out on the flat ground around it.
I turn it so Erin can see too and point to the image. “No wells.”
“Maybe they drilled after this was shot,” she says, looking at the screen.
“Rosalie said it was Haynesville, though. Haynesville happened in 2008.”
“So how does Grey Wolf connect to the Adairs?” Erin says.
“Heather Hadwick,” I say. “What if she’s sending the checks through her husband’s company?”
“What kind of woman would let Johnny stay in prison and think paying his sister could cleanse her conscience?” Erin says.
“A very wealthy and very troubled one.”
“If she was paying the Adairs with Grey Wolf funds, that’s not going to be good for that company,” Erin says. “Pretty risky of her.”
“Wouldn’t be that risky to the Heather I remember.”
“Did Rosalie Adair have beef with Crowley?” Erin says.
“Possibly,” I say, thinking of the fight Summer and Kat mentioned overhearing. “But what I heard is hearsay. It would need to be verified.”
“Who else could have had an issue with him?”
“Maybe whoever that pregnancy test belonged to,” I say. Meadow had written in her diary that Heather had climbed in her bed and whispered she knew everything. Is this the everything Heather knew? That one of her classmates was pregnant?
Carl frowns. “I will celebrate that man’s death if that turns out to be the case.”
I know he’s thinking about his daughters, and I have no doubt he would do whatever it took to protect them.
The thought that a young girl wasn’t protected will eat at him.
It eats at me too. It scratches at something that makes me ask, How did I miss this?
If Crowley was a predator, why was I spared?
I want to believe if he had tried anything with me, I would have fought like hell and told someone and had him arrested.
But that is the thought of a woman who has clawed her way to the top of her profession.
A child, even a teenager, doesn’t think like that.
They guard and bury and let shame make decisions for them.
“Let’s go through who else was there during the Thanksgiving break.
The police have narrowed down the window for his death to that week.
No way his body would have been under the gravel if it had happened later.
So he came back to the school for something.
My guess is he came back that week, thinking it would be empty. ”
I nod. “I agree. But it wasn’t empty.”
“Barbara O’Connor is in memory care at a local retirement home,” Erin says. “She’s not going to be much help. But she was promoted after he left, correct?”
I nod again.
“So if she’d already been promoted,” Erin says, “I’m not sure what her motive would have been.” She opens her phone and scrolls a moment then looks back up. “Martha Lee?”
“I don’t see it,” I say.
Erin nods. “So we’ve got Barbara, Martha, Johnny, Katrina, Summer, Heather, and you. And I keep going back to Heather. If she killed Crowley, it would have been a strong enough reason for her to run and stay gone.”
“Has Mulholland given you any details on Laura Sanders and her death?”
“Water in the lungs,” Erin says. “So Laura went into the ocean alive.” She shrugs. “Could be suicide.”
“Then why would she have asked me to come to Miami?” I say.
“Could have been an accident.”
“Interesting timing on that accident.”
“Exactly,” Erin says.
Carl’s cell rings, and we pause.
He answers it on speaker. “Carl Frost.”
“This is Chief Duplantis in Natchitoches. Are you with Erin Stockwell?”
“I’m here, chief,” Erin says.
“Been trying to reach you,” he says.
Erin examines her phone. “Shit. My phone was still on silent. What’s going on?”
“A new piece of evidence has come in,” the chief says.
“What?” Erin and I say it at the exact same time.
“A red coat.”
“Carl and I are going to pack up and head south tomorrow,” Erin says as we walk back to the hotel. “Set up camp closer to the source.”
Now that school is dragging everyone back to it, not just those of us that had to live in it.
Erin’s eyes are still bright; her makeup still looks fresh even after this long day. Her youth is showing, and even though I’m not considered old in the real world, in this world I feel like a dinosaur next to Erin. Poison Wood hasn’t left its mark on her yet. Yet.
“How’d the story do when it aired?” I say as we all walk into the lobby.
“Crazy good,” she says with a smile. “This one’s got legs.” She and Carl head for the hotel door. “We’ll keep you in the loop,” she adds.
“Thanks.” I stop at the valet stand and the attendant jogs up. I hand him my ticket and scan my phone. There’s one long text message from Debby that covers the dogs, dinner, someone named Otis Montgomery and his pet parrot, and my dad coming home from the hospital.
I press my temples and breathe through my throbbing headache.
I’m sure he’s seen the news, but it’s Debby who messaged me, not him.
I wonder if People magazine has called him as well.
At some point, I have to discuss with him what I found in his study, but for now that will need to be compartmentalized.
Too many other things are fighting for attention.
“Rita!”
I look up, and a flashbulb goes off. Three reporters thrust microphones into my face.
“What happened at Poison Wood?”
“Did you kill Archibald Crowley?”
“Why haven’t you ever publicly discussed your mother’s death?”
The valet brings the truck around, and I push my way to the driver’s side.
“Did your father protect you, Rita?”
“Have you apologized to Johnny Adair?”
I slam the door shut and look away from the flashbulbs.
I fumble with the gear shift and manage to get it into drive and punch the gas with no regard for how close they are.
One of them bangs on the back window, and I jump and scream as I lurch into the light traffic, rooting for my phone and shooting off a text.
We need to meet. As soon as possible.
I send the address and gun it.