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 mymomentonthe 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.
