Page 3 of Poison Wood
The phone shuffles, and Debby says, “Hon, this is Debby.” I shut my eyes a moment. Who else would it be? “Your dad and I are eatin’ supper. He’ll have to call you back. Okay?” Her voice is calm, but I recognize the undertone that tells me however I answer, we’re done here.
I exhale. “Sure.”
“Okay, bye-bye,” she says in a chipper voice and ends the call.
I open my phone again and look at the second name on my short favorites list. The other man in my life.
Carl Frost answers on the second ring.
“I was wondering when you were going to call me. Dom said you got a lead.”
The adage “News travels fast” was never more true than in a newsroom.
“You didn’t need me to tag along?” he says.
“No.” My answer came out quicker than I intended. “I mean, I think you coming along would spook my source.” I don’t need to drag Carl into this if at all possible.
“Do you have a wireless mic?” he says. “Just in case the source agrees to talk on camera.”
“Of course.” Even though I’m not sure I want Laura Sanders talking on camera, I’ll still ask. If she is going to talk, I want her talking to me. I even packed the pounds of makeup I need to be camera ready. Fail to plan, plan to fail.
“Rita, what’s the safety factor?”
Be careful, Rita.
“It’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of that.”
He sighs. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s not Broken Bayou, Carl. I’m not even in Louisiana. I’m in Florida.”
“Now I really want to tag along. I could use a little beach time.”
“Not that kind of trip.”
“Never is.”
“It’ll be okay. If anything feels off, I’ll bail.”
“Promise?”
Carl is a former NFL offensive lineman who was sidelined after a devastating leg injury. He was paid to see threats coming, protect his quarterback. Those instincts have bled over onto me on more than one occasion. But he wasn’t there to protect me in Broken Bayou. Something I think he’s not forgiven himself for yet.
I glance down at my crossed fingers. “I promise.”
“You’re crossing your fingers, aren’t you?” Carl says.
I can’t help but laugh. Carl knows me better than anyone. My work husband who is actually more like a work brother. That happens in this business. Years in the trenches covering death will bond you to someone, but we never once crossed that professional line. It’s always been just a friendship. Carl is married, has two daughters he adores, and does this job for the same reasons I do, to bring justice for women who’ve becomevictims. I know Carl’s wife is not my biggest fan, though. I understand. Even though Carl and I are completely platonic, I’m still the other woman in his life. A woman he spends a lopsided amount of time with. A woman who is constantly leading him toward danger.
“You okay?” Carl says when I don’t answer him.
“Yeah. Just tired. I feel like I haven’t slept in six months.”
“Nightmares?”
“Carl.”
“Rita.”
