Page 41 of Poison Wood
Evidence that is starting to look like it sent an innocent man to prison for seventeen years. A decision that could haunt my father for a long time.
I finish off the last sip of my scotch and disentangle myself from the dogs. They jump off the bed and follow me to the stairs.
If I’m involved in this story, I can help mitigate the damage to my father. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve this right now. His health is fragile. For once, I can be the one to help him, not the other way around. But as I reach the bottom floor, a knot starts forming in my gut. Gristle twisted around doubt and what-ifs. What if the honorable Judge Mac Meade does lie sometimes, when he thinks it would protect someone he loves?
A noise comes from the living room off the kitchen. It takes me a minute to figure out one of the dogs is growling.
“Here, boy,” I say. Two dogs come running, but the third is still out of sight.
He growls again. I follow the sound to the French doors that lead to the backyard. I open one, and all three dogs bolt into the dark, barking. Something in the woods across the lake catches my attention. A light. No, two lights, like headlights.
I remind myself the gates closed after I came in, but my heart rate still kicks up.
Then the lights extinguish, and the dogs stop barking and run back to me.
I shut the door and lock it, then walk to the kitchen, where my father’s shotgun is still propped against the far wall. I’m debating a call to 911 when the back door swings open and the dogs run for it, barking again.
“Hi, boys,” Debby says from the back hallway.
I exhale. “Was there anyone else driving around out there on the property?” I ask when she walks into the kitchen. “Thought I saw headlights across the lake.”
She shakes her head and shrugs off her coat. “Just me out there.” She walks to the electric kettle and turns it on, then pulls out honey and chamomile tea. “Want one?” she says.
“No thanks.” I hold up my empty glass. “I shot past chamomile already.”
I refill my glass in the bar and circle back to the kitchen table, where Debby is sitting, drinking her tea and looking exhausted.
“How’s my dad?”
She looks up at me. “I’m worried about him.” She rubs her face. “You know first the universe whispers, then it taps, then it punches. Your father got his punch.”
And it’s not done punching, I think.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Carl.
“I’m heading up,” I say to Debby as I answer the call.
“Rita,” he says. He sounds out of breath.
“I know Erin’s there,” I say. “Dom told me.”
“Ah, Rita. This thing is taking on a life of its own. It’s crazy here.”
“Hang on.” I race up the back stairs and lock my bedroom door behind me.
I clear my throat. “I can imagine it is crazy.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He’ll probably be home soon,” I say.
“Good. Good.” There’s a pause and he says, “I know you know about Laura’s alias.”
“Mulholland?” I say.
“Mulholland,” he repeats. Then he says, “If the DNA comes back and confirms Laura Sanders was an alias for Heather Hadwick, Erin and I will be coming to Riverbend.”
I’m not surprised, but hearing it tightens a vise around my stomach. “I want to be included,” I say.
