Page 20 of Dead Man's Hollow
DIANA (voice shaking): Our parents died last year. First Mom, and then two months later, Dad. Until the day they died, they never stopped waiting for Heather to walk through the door. They wouldn’t move to a smaller house because they were afraid she’d find her way home and they’d be gone. They never changed their phone number. They never took another vacation. I’m not sure if they even went out to dinner again or went to a movie theater. They just … waited. Their pain is in the past now, but Heather has sisters, nieces, and nephews. We still love her and care about her. So no matter what happened, we want to know. We need to know.
(Outro music.)
Okay, listeners. You heard Diana. Someone out there knows what happened that night in the woods. Maybe you think it’s an unimportant detail, maybe it’s even something you shared with the police thirty years ago, but nothing ever came of it. The police have given me access to the cold case file. We’re reopening it and want to hear any leads you can share. Anything at all. My producer Jordana and I promise to follow up on every tip and run down every piece of information to figure out what happened to Heather Ryan.
Next week on Dead Man’s Hollow, the disappearance of Heather Ryan, we’ll be talking to the youngest Ryan sister, Kristy Ryan Kaminski.
Until then, be good to each other and to yourselves. This is Maisy Farley for The Farley Files.
ChapterThirteen
Michelle rapson Lynn’s kitchen screen door.
“Come in,” a voice—not Lynn’s—shouts from inside.
She pushes open the door and crosses the threshold, pausing to pet Whiskers, who winds around her ankles purring.
Lynn’s preteen, Talia, glances up from the kitchen table where she’s seated; her fingers are flying over the keys of her Chromebook. “Hi, Michelle.”
“How’s school going, kiddo?”
She sighs. “They’re killing us with homework.” Then she yells toward the front of the house, “Mom, Michelle’s here!”
“TellMrs. BolandI’ll be down in a minute,” her mother calls back.
Michelle and Talia roll their eyes at each other. Michelle’s known Talia since she was born. She was at the hospital when the girl entered the world and probably changed almost as many of her diapers as her mother has. Talia’s been calling Michelle by her first name since she could speak, but that’s Lynn. Always trying to be proper.
Lynn jogs down from the second floor and into the room, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Her bright purple walking shoes are laced up, double-knotted, and she grabs a water bottle and her hand weights from the counter.
“Mrs. Boland and I are going to take our walk now,” she tells Talia. “When you finish your homework, you can help yourself to some brownies. They’re cooling on the stove.”
She kisses her daughter on the forehead. Talia smiles up at her. “Double chocolate?”
“Of course. Dad’s in his office on a videoconference until eight o’clock, so try not to disturb him. I don’t know where your brother is. I’ve got my phone if you need me.”
Lynne hands Michelle a bottle of water like she always does even though they both know Michelle will leave it unopened like she always does, and they head for the door.
“Bye, Mom. Bye, Michelle,” Talia calls, putting emphasis on Michelle’s name.
Michelle laughs, and Lynn shakes her head.
“That girl.”
“That girl is just fine,” Michelle tells her as they crunch down the gravel walkway to the front of the house.
They try to take an evening walk three times a week after dinner. Some nights they do it near Michelle’s house and sometimes they walk around Lynn’s development or the nearby park that’s home to a large lake.
“Lake?” Lynn asks.
Michelle nods and they turn toward the lake. They fall into a rhythm—quick strides, arms pumping.
“Well?” Michelle says. “Did you listen?”
Lynn gives her a look. “Of course I did. You?”
“I finished up in the car on the way over. And Diane is either full of crap or completely clueless.”
They both laugh.
