Page 2 of Dead Man's Hollow
“Did you hear me? Get out of here.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t find Heather. I can’t leave her here.”
He swears. His chest is heaving from exertion. He locks eyes with her. “Go. I’ll look for her.”
She hesitates. Rich’s older brother is a rookie cop. He joined the force as soon as he was old enough. That’s probably how Rich knows the cops are on their way. And it’s not like Jimmy’s gonna arrest his own brother. Right?
“Go.”
She squeezes his arm. “Thanks, Rich. Last time I saw her, she was talking to some guy at the big fire. He doesn’t go to school with us.”
He frowns. “The Black guy with the fade and the earring?”
She hadn’t noticed an earring, but she nods.
“Okay. I’ll find her. Now, go.”
She runs.
ChapterTwo
Maisy Farley scrollsthrough the emails in the Farley Files inbox. Her fingernails tap out a rhythm as she opens, skims, deletes. She spends just a few seconds on each message, scanning the words only long enough to ascertain the gist before moving on to the next. She’s been at this task for nearly two hours, and so far, has little to show for it.
After raising her arms overhead in a quick stretch, she breathes out a sigh and runs her hand over the unruly knot that barely contains her blonde curls before glancing across the small table at her producer. Jordana has taken on the task of weeding through the podcast’s social media messages.
Bless that girl,she thinks. She’s warned her that while they’re both equally unlikely to come across a tip with the makings of a juicy story, Jordana’s far more apt to encounter the unsolicited, very much unwanted pictures of male genitalia that their listeners inexplicably seem to think they crave. She grimaces at the thought.
“You finding anything, sugar?” she asks.
Jordana meets her eye with a wry expression. “You mean other than dick pics and offers to be your sugar daddy?”
“Yeah, other than that.”
“Just the stray cold call marketing request.”
“Do any of the sugar daddies seem promising?” she deadpans.
The younger woman’s eyes go wide for an instant, then she giggles. “I thought you were serious for a second.”
“I noticed.” Maisy raises her arms overhead and arches her back, stretching again. “You know, I thought the tip line at the TV station was a bust, but at least we got enthusiastic cranks. I haven’t even seen so much as an Elvis sighting or an alien abduction.”
Jordana laughs again, softly, then wearily pushes her chair back. She rolls her neck from side to side, then pops her knuckles, pulling on the joints one by one.
“Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Maisy pauses while Jordana watches her face. Her mama always told her it would give her arthritis and big, swollen, ugly knuckles. But she doubts that’s true. And she suspects Jordan’s not overly concerned with attractiveness of her knuckles.
“It sounds like it hurts,” she says lamely.
“Well, it doesn’t. It’s a relief. I’m releasing built-up synovial fluid, Maisy. The cracking noise is bubbles popping.”
“Synovial fluid?” she parrots.
“It’s a non-Newtonian fluid that cushions joints.”
She stares at the college student. “Like oobleck?”
