Page 89 of Poison Wood
Instead of responding, she slams the door in my face.
I walk past Rosalie’s white sedan toward the long driveway to the truck. Grooved scratches run the length of it. Scratches like the ones on my father’s truck. The ones caused by branches on narrow trails like the one I found, leading to the back gate.
Once back at the truck, I take out my phone and start typing notes on everything Rosalie said. My mind is numb and reeling at the same time. My hand is shaking. She is throwing around dangerous accusations, and from the sound of it, she’s ready to throw them around publicly. Even worse, she called me out.
I open my phone and send a text to Carl. I need to talk to Erin again.
I start the truck, put it in reverse, and back away from Rosalie’s locked gate. When I do, I notice another gate, a few yards down in the direction Rosalie nodded when she spoke of Johnny’s land. I ease down the road toward it. A rustedPosted: No Trespassingsign hangs on the barbed wire fence, but unlike Rosalie’s gate, this gate is open.
I turn the truck around in the narrow space so I’m facing out, not the dead end. A black mailbox sits on a leaning, weatherworn wooden base next to the gate. I pull up next to it and roll down my window. The mailbox opens with a loud squeak. I look around. Going through someone’s mail is illegal. But I’m just going to have a quick look.
I pull out a small stack of mail as the truck idles. A grocery store flyer, a hunting catalogue, a book of coupons all addressed toCurrent Resident. I start to put them back in the mailbox when a white envelope falls from inside the pile into my lap.
I look down at it. Definitely not junk mail. I pick it up. This one is addressed to Johnny Adair. The return address: GWC and a P.O. Box. But it’s the postmark over the stamp that has my breath catching in my throat. This letter was sent from Miami, Florida.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Piedmont, Louisiana
Saturday, February 16, 2019
1:09 p.m. CST
A sound coming from the woods snaps me back to attention—the sound of an approaching car.
I open my phone and take a picture of the envelope, then shove the mail back in the mailbox as the sound gets closer. It’s coming from the dirt driveway leading away from the gate.
I shut the mailbox and press the gas pedal. The truck lurches forward, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake. One I hope dissipates before that car makes it to the mailbox. I steer the truck right onto the narrow road that led me to Rosalie’s. At the stop sign I turn left, then pull into the parking lot of the Dollar General and hunch down in the driver’s seat.
A moment later a black SUV pulls up to the stop sign. It looks like the one Johnny Adair climbed out of earlier. I grab my sunglasses from my tote and put them on. I’m glad I’m in this old truck. Unlike that SUV, my vehicle fits right in here.
The SUV turns right. Back toward Poison Wood. As it drives south, I back the truck out of the parking space. Decision time.
I look left toward home, look right toward the black SUV that is getting smaller and smaller.
Again I think about making those same mistakes. But talking to Rosalie didn’t turn out to be a mistake at all. If anything, it started the momentum building. And I never stand in the way of momentum.
I turn right and stay a good distance behind them on the two-lane road cutting through the national forest. There are very few cars out here and none between us.
As we get closer to the driveway that leads to the school, the SUV’s brake lights illuminate. My heart rate quickens, and I take my foot off the gas. The black SUV whips onto the rutted driveway to Poison Wood. I exhale and turn in as well.
When I make it to the opening where the school sits, there’s no SUV. I park the truck and kill the engine. I grab my stun gun from my tote and climb down from the truck. With my phone in one hand and the stun gun in the other, I walk up to the front of the old school. Male voices come from the back of the building.
I walk around the south side, but I keep my distance from the stone wall next to me. It’s like I can feel an energy coming off it, something toxic I don’t want to absorb. As I ease closer to the corner, the voices become clearer. I pause, listen. I can’t make out words, but I can make out inflection. It’s Grant, and the other voice sounds a lot like Johnny Adair.
I put my thumb on the red button on the side of my Taser, and I step around the corner.
The black SUV is parked off to one side. Grant and Johnny are standing next to it.
Grant sees me first, and his mouth falls open. Johnny turns away from whatever he’s looking at in the woods, and his eyes widen as if he wishes he were the one holding a weapon.
“Hello, Grant,” I say to Grant; then I look at Johnny. “Hello, Johnny.”
“What are you doing here?” Grant says.
“You and I will talk about that later,” I say. “For now, I’d like to talk to Johnny.”
Johnny’s eyes dart in every direction.
