Page 37 of Dead Man's Hollow
“It’s possible there’s a connection,” Maisy agrees. “But we can’t get ahead of ourselves. We have to focus onthisstory.”
If there’s one thing she learned working in television journalism, it’s that reporters who follow rabbit trails get distracted. Single-minded purpose gets the story.
“So Andre Newport doesn’t deserve justice?” Jordana presses.
“Of course he does. If his disappearance is related to Heather’s, it’ll come out in our investigation. And if it’s not related, we’ll cover his case for our third season. You have my word. But right now, we’re investigating the disappearance of Heather Ryan. One thing at a time.”
“Okay. I get it,” Jordana says grudgingly.
“Did you get ahold of those two women yesterday—Lynn and Michelle?”
“I left them both messages. You know, sometimes it takes people a few days to decide whether they want to go on the air.”
Maisy nods. Earning the trust of a witness is a delicate dance, requiring patience and empathy. Luckily, she has both in spades. She puts the car in gear and pulls out of the space.
“Our next order of business is to go out to Dead Man’s Hollow and see the location for ourselves.”
“I have an idea about that. Like you said, Dead Man’s Hollow isn’t going anywhere. We should save that and do Amy’s interview there. Imagine the emotional impact of having her tell the story of that night in the place where she last saw her sister.”
Maisy squeals. “Iloveit! We’ll have to run it by Amy beforehand. I don’t want to ambush her.”
“We could stop by and talk to her now,” Jordana says casually.
Maisy’s not fooled. “And, let me guess, we could just happen to show her the yearbook while we’re there.”
“Great idea,” Jordana says wide-eyed, feigning surprise.
“It actually isn’t a half-bad idea. And maybe we can talk to Rich, too. Get some background on the fight. But not today. We need to get Kristy’s interview recorded first.”
Beside her, Jordana slumps her shoulders in silent disappointment. The gesture triggers a memory of Maisy’s own utter frustration as a newly minted graduate with a journalism degree, big goals, and endless ambition. There she was, ready to dig her teeth into a political scandal, cover breaking news, or provide in-depth analysis of key social issues. Instead, she was told she had to prove herself, then relegated to standing in front of a green screen to deliver the weather forecast while wearing a tight dress and a pretty smile. Single-minded purpose is all well and good. But Jordana’s a resource, and she’s underutilized.
“Tell you what. Kristy’s place is just around the corner from Amy’s. I’ll do the interview while you drive over and talk to Amy—and Rich, if he’s there.”
“Really?” Jordana eyes her with surprise.
“Really. Things are heating up. There are two of us, so there’s no reason you can’t do the legwork on some of this stuff while I meet with Kristy.”
Excitement gives way to concern. “Are you sure you can record without me? You won’t forget to do a mic check, right?”
Maisy casts her a sidelong glance. “Darlin’, I was recording interviews when you were learning multiplication and division. Respect your elders.”
ChapterTwenty
“I’m going to be sick.”
Amy thrusts the yearbook back into the producer’s hands and runs past her to the powder room. She makes it just in time, heaving up her lunch. When she’s sure her stomach is empty, she splashes cool water on her cheeks, gargles with the mouthwash Evan keeps under the sink in case his girlfriend stops by unannounced, and wipes the tears from her eyes. A quick glance in the mirror establishes she looks as shaken as she feels, but there’s no help for that.
She straightens the hem of her shirt, takes a deep, not entirely steady breath, and returns to the family room where she left Jordana. The younger woman hasn’t moved. She’s standing near the couch, staring down at the old yearbook.
When Amy walks in, she looks up. “Are you okay?”
Amy wets her dry lips and nods. “I need a glass of water. Can I offer you anything?”
She looks like she’s about to say no, but after a pause, she says, “I’d love some water, too.”
Grateful for a task, something, anything, to focus on instead of the boy smiling out at her from the old yearbook, Amy hurries to the kitchen and fills two glasses with water from the pitcher in her fridge. Jordana trails into the room behind her.
Amy hands her a glass, and she takes a drink. “Thank you. So is it safe to assume you recognize Andre?”
