Page 78 of Poison Wood

Some things never change. Judge Mac doesn’t take kindly to trespassers, especially the feathered kind. I’d worry about neighbors, buthe doesn’t have any. The only things that hear his gunshots are deer, armadillos, and gators. And now possibly a news van at the gate.

“Rita,” my dad yells, still unseen. “Wanna take a shot?”

“Killing cormorants is illegal,” I yell back at him.

“I don’t kill ’em. I just scare ’em.”

He laughs, but I don’t laugh with him. He’s not going to be so jovial once I start talking.

“Hang on,” he yells. “I’m coming out.”

My stomach drops. Here we go.

His window snaps shut, and a moment later he’s by my side, his own cup of coffee in hand, his robe seeming to swallow him. Uno and Tres race past us for the backyard, which slopes to the water, barking at geese.

“What the hell are you doing?” I say to him.

He holds up his mug. “Enjoying my coffee.”

“Really, Dad?”

“Ah, c’mon. Let an old man have a little fun.”

“Your idea of fun is going to kill us both.” Something in my voice cracks on those words, and I look away from him.

His hand squeezes my shoulder. “I’m okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“So, I put a lock on that back gate. The one by that dirt path.”

“Probably not a bad idea given what’s at the front gate.”

“Hold them off as long as you can, Dad. I’ll help you.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he says, but the creases between his brows say otherwise. He’s worried. And he should be. He’s also wrong. There’s a lot to say. And I need to figure out where to start.

“You know it looks bad that you and the DA and the governor all had daughters at that school.”

He doesn’t respond. Just keeps his gaze on the lake as he calls Dos to jump up on his lap.

I shift gears. “With the DNA confirming Laura Smith Sanders was actually Heather Hadwick, Johnny will be released soon, Dad.”

My father pets both dogs. “He already has been.”

My breathing stops for a moment. “What? When?”

“Early this morning. Three a.m.”

I shake my head. “I knew it would be fast, but I didn’t know it’d be that fast.”

“Yeah. The new DA is in an election year. I can promise you he was working behind the scenes on that release even before the DNA came back so he could act quickly. Be the hero.”

“When were you going to share this with me?” I say, eyeing him.

“I just did.”

“Yeah, but you could have led with that.”

He stays silent. I think of the padded envelope. What else could he be keeping from me?