“Sorry!” Stacia’s gravelly voice comes through the intercom. “I’ve been sleeping all day.”
I push the white button. “No worries—coming up!”
Then I run up the red-brick stairs to do my best to convince our star witness to help us. She answers the door dressed in a long-sleeved black “Groove for St. Jude” shirt with hot pink lettering and hot pink terrycloth shorts.
Her long hair is tied up on top of her head in a messy bun, and mascara is smudged around her half-closed eyes when she lets me through the door. “Girl, have you ever been on a three-day cruise?”
“No.” I exhale a nervous laugh.
“It’s like a seventy-two hour party.” She scoops coffee grounds into a cone-shaped plastic cup with a flat bottom, which she sets on top of a mug and pours boiling water through. “I need a B-12 shot.”
“Sounds like some party!” I try to keep my tone optimistic.
She’s got to say yes to driving to Little Rock with us. I’ll find her a B-12 shot. I’ll find her any shots she wants, if only she says yes.
“You have no idea how wild thirty-five cheerleaders get on a boat.” She moves the plastic cone off her mug and takes a big sip of black coffee, then she exhales a grunt, does a shiver, and blinks her eyes wide at me. “Whoot! That’ll do it. Now, talk to me about this Knox situation.”
I take a deep breath, blinking my eyes, and doing my best to infuse my tone with positivity… as I launch into the story.
* **
“Doesthis Jada person know we’re coming?” Stacia is dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt and slim black pants.
Her pale blonde hair is pulled back in a low, sleek ponytail and dark sunglasses sit on her nose.
We’re thirty thousand feet above the earth, strapped into buttery tan-leather seats flying from New Orleans to Little Rock on Spencer’s private jet.
Our ETA is 10 am, and I’m leaning forward as if I’ll make the small plane get there faster.
I called Knox this morning to tell him what we’re doing. I couldn’t go another day without hearing his voice. He said he’d had a bit of a party last night, not knowing he’s meeting today via Zoom with his aunt Liv and the lawyer representing Jada this afternoon.
He still sounded ready, and I know we’re both operating ona lotof adrenaline right now.
My hope is we’ll appeal to Jada’s sentimentality this morning, and by this afternoon, he won’t even need that meeting. That’s my hope anyway. I’m leaving the rest to Coco and Lindsey and the Fireside Ladies.
“I reached out to Miss Allen as a representative of a friend of Christine’s mother,” Spencer says.
I squint one eye shut, replaying what he just said. “You’re representing Stacia?”
“Yes, that’s the plan, and she agreed to meet with us.” He’s wearing a crisp tan suit, and he falls somewhere between the stern businessman he is at work and the serious fellow who meets the public at antiques shows.
Although, Mom has often commented that he could be more approachable at those events. A notion he instantly dismisses.
“Then I’ll just tell her what Bonnie told me?” Stacia slidesher large, dark sunglasses higher up her nose, and I hope she’s feeling better this morning.
“Yes.” Spencer’s tone is all business.
“You think that will do it?” Stacia looks from him to me.
“Lord, I hope so.” My voice is quiet, and I smile.
“Either way, I’m prepared to handle her on whatever terms she requires.”
My lips tighten, and I glance at Spencer then at Stacia. Her brows rise, and she puckers her lips, but she nods like she’s onboard.
I look down at my hands clasped in my lap. I know Spencer means he’s ready to hand over a wad of cash if it’ll get Cricket back in our arms, but I still want to believe Jada isn’t after a payout. I want to believe she cares about her family.
Lake Conway is a half-hour drive from Little Rock. We’re surrounded by tall trees. Stacia is on her phone in the backseat, and mine lights up.
