“How was it having to cover the property taxes on all of this on your own?”
“What do you care?” she says.
“I actually do care.”
“Right,” she says. “That’s your guilt talking.” She sips from her water. “You don’t need to worry, though. As soon as our mailbox money came in, Johnny and I were set. We don’t need your charity.”
I sit up straighter. “What mailbox money?”
She cocks her head to one side. “Haynesville. Like everyone else.”
I know all about Haynesville. Everyone in this part of the state knows about it. It’s the reason the Cadillac dealership in Riverbend ran out of new cars in one day. A natural gas shale that covers nine thousand miles of land in Louisiana, Arkansas, and Texas and, once made practical to extract in 2008, triggered a gold rush mentality. Landowners with mineral rights became instant millionaires. My father was one of those landowners. Energy companies descended on this area like buzzards to roadkill. And they paid a fortune. Millions. Per acre.Mailbox money, residents called the checks that flowed in once the gas started flowing out. But not everyone profited the same. Underserved neighborhoods where the residents didn’t understand the thick legal documents presented to them ended up with far less.
“I didn’t realize it came down this far,” I say.
She shrugs. “Just far enough.”
“And it’s still paying out?” I say.
“Guess so. Checks keep coming.” She squints at me. “You followed me to my home to talk about my mineral rights?”
I shake my head. “I’m trying to figure out what happened the night Heather Hadwick ran off.”
“You and Johnny both. He’s spent seventeen years trying to figure it out.”
“Is that why he sent you to Poison Wood the other day?”
She doesn’t bite. “I said that was none of your business.” She shifts on her seat. “You think it’s smart for you to be here now?”
“No,” I say. “But I need answers, and I’m not sure where else to get them.” I study her dark eyes a second. “Do you know anything about the skull found at the school?”
“Excuse me?” She stands up and towers over me. Her height, while not as great as Johnny’s, is still impressive. “You accusing me of something?”
“Not at all,” I say.
Her expression shifts from anger to curiosity, and she sits back down. “All I know is you girls were all trouble, and I told my brother not to work over there. I told him no good would come from it.” Her voice sharpens. “That school took him from me. You girls, with your daddies protecting you, took him from me. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forgive it either.”
“What do you mean our fathers protecting us?”
She scoffs. “What do you think I mean. One of you girls set Johnny up. Called your high-powered parents and next thing I know my brother’s in prison. Sins of the fathers, sins of the daughters.”
“That’s not fair, we—”
“Oh, none of this is fair. Seventeen years ago when I was talking, nobody was listening. Now I think they’re gonna listen. I told them then and I’ll tell you now, my brother walked in after the fact. Wrong place, wrong time. All I’ve ever wanted is for the truth to come out.”
Rosalie and I have more in common than I thought. Her anger is warranted. She lost someone, too, and like me, she’s been digging for the truth in order to help her family. What has it cost her? It’s possibly cost me my career.
“We both want the truth,” I say, thinking she sounds a lot like Erin’s source. I lean closer. “What do you remember about Archibald Crowley?”
Her expression shifts again. A new emotion in her eyes, fear.
“Get out of my house,” she says in a quiet voice. A voice that scares me more than if she were yelling.
“Rosalie—”
“Get out.” She stands and points to the door. “You come in here with all your questions and you haven’t once asked how Johnny is doing? How he’s sleeping? If he’s happy he’s out.” Her rage is palpable.“He’s not well. He sleeps on the floor because the bed is too soft. He may be free, but you all robbed him of his happiness.”
Dazed, I step out onto the porch and turn back to her. “I should have asked about him. I’m sorry.”
