Page 69 of Poison Wood

Her voice is softer than I remember. I always pictured her as this looming tyrant who judged us, but her voice sounds ... compassionate.

“What can I do for you?” she says.

I sit up straighter. She’s thrown me. I always expect to go in with a fight. This woman is doing the opposite. “I’m sure you know what I’m calling about.”

“Poison Wood,” she says.

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay. Is this conversation professional or personal?”

I take another sip of scotch and set it on the table, and say, for the first time ever about a story, “Personal. This will all be off the record.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you know if there was a girl at Poison Wood, while I was there, probably our senior year, who was pregnant?”

“Wow,” Dr. Fontenot says. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious.”

She exhales. “Not to my knowledge. But you girls kept a lot of things secret, so that’s something that could have been hidden from me and the staff. If she wasn’t too far along, that is.”

“What about Crowley?” I say.

“What about him?”

“Do you know where he is? Did you keep in touch with him at all?”

“No. Last we all heard, he was in England.” She pauses again. “Rita, are you asking about Crowley because you think he could have ... had a relationship with one of the girls?”

“I’m looking at all options.”

“Oh, no. Please tell me no.” She takes a loud breath and releases it. “I never saw or heard anything to support that. I knew girls would sneak boys in from time to time, and I also knew you girls would sneak out, but Crowley wasn’t on my radar. He ... he was professional and always so respectful, and we were all shocked when we learned he was stealing from the school, but this would be ... so much worse.” She stops again, then says, “Have you gone to the police with this?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“That’s a big allegation.”

“I know. That’s why I want to get more information first.” I glance at the folders next to me. Her private notes. Notes she would be horrified to know were left in a basement and are now sitting in a box at my feet.

“Rita,” she says. “If this turns out to be true, you need to be careful.”

My skin starts to tingle. That’s what Laura Sanders told me. “Why’s that?” I say.

“Because the board tried to keep Crowley’s embezzlement quiet. That’s why when he ran back to England, no one chased him. They didn’t want the school’s reputation to get tarnished. If it gets revealed that he was a predator, even if it was years ago, parents are going to want and deserve to know answers. And they are going to look to that board of high-powered parents and wonder just how much they tried to cover up.”

Now the tingling feels more like a burn. I remember my father slapping Crowley’s back at parents’ weekend. My stomach feels sick.

The hotel’s front doors slide open and usher in a shot of freezing air and six man-boys in designer jeans and loafers. They point to oneof the guys and loudly declare it’s his bachelor party as if anyone else in the room cared.

“Thank you for talking with me, Dr. Fontenot.”

“You’re welcome, Rita. And I hope you’re wrong.”

“I hope I am too,” I say and end the call.

I scroll through my contacts until I find a name at the Northwest Louisiana Crime Lab. I’m wondering if it’s possible to get DNA from a pregnancy test when I hear Detective Mulholland in my head sayingobstruction of justiceand Dom saying I’m not a reporter on this one. I could send my lab expert one email—that’s it.