Page 35 of Dead Man's Hollow
“Same answer.”
“Yikes, bro actively interfered with the investigation into his sister-in-law’s disappearance. I wonder what the mood is at the Marino house today?” Jordana muses.
“Judging by the tone of Amy’s voice, she’s mad as a wet hen.”
Jordana nods at that, then says, “Hey, let’s make a stop before we drive out to the hollow.”
“Did you change your mind about lunch?” Maisy is ever-hopeful.
“No. We’re gonna pop in at my old high school.”
She glances at her passenger. “Feeling nostalgic?”
“What? No. I was on the yearbook staff. There’s an archive of old yearbooks. We’re going to ask to borrow the one for 1994.”
A grin breaks across Maisy’s face. “You’re a genius.”
“I know. I’ll do the talking.”
When they arrive at the school, Maisy parks and follows the younger woman’s lead as they navigate building security and the front office staff. Watching Jordana charm her way into the building, Maisy’s tickled to realize the college student not only has Sasha’s determination, she has some of Maisy’s charisma and extroversion, too.
They stick their name tags to their blouses and wind their way through the mostly empty halls and up a staircase. Jordana pauses in front of a closed door and gives it a quiet knock before pushing it open and sticking her head in.
“Mrs. Marshall?” she calls.
Maisy hears a woman inside exclaim in surprise. “Jordana Morgan, is that you? Get in here, young lady!”
Jordana laughs and pulls Maisy into the room alongside her. A woman with thick dark hair shot through with silver streaks pushes a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses up to the crown of her head as she hurries from a desk that holds a massive computer monitor to cross the room and envelop Jordana in a hug. Then she stands back and holds her at arm’s length to inspect her.
“Look at you.” Her eyes trace an invisible line on the ceiling as she counts off the years. “Did you graduate college last year?”
“I would have, but I did the five-year bachelors/masters program, so I just came from my last final.”
The woman beams. “Congratulations! Now, if I remember correctly you planned to major in communications.”
“I did, with a concentration in journalism.”
“Do you have a job lined up?”
Jordana uses the opportunity to turn and introduce Maisy. “Actually, I already have a job. I’ve been working since last year as the producer of the Farley Files. This is my boss, Maisy.”
“You don’t need to introduce Maisy Farley to me. It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she says as she pumps Maisy’s right hand between both of hers. Her hands are soft and warm, and the scent of vanilla lotion wafts through the air.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Marshall,” Maisy says.
“Call me Shannon. I remember when you first came to town. You were the weather girl. You had the sweetest southern accent.”
Maisy thinks she detects a hint of an accent herself. “You’re not a native Pittsburgher either, are you, Shannon?” she asks.
“Guilty as charged. I moved here from Michigan in 1989. I started out teaching middle school, then transferred here two years later and have been here ever since.”
She turns back to Jordana. “What a coup. Producing a podcast. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. You always were so driven.”
Jordana blushes faintly.
“The podcast was Jordana’s idea,” Maisy tells the proud teacher.
“And a brilliant one at that.” Excitement sparks in Shannon Marshall’s eyes. “Is that why you’re here? The podcast?”
