Is Anyone Listening?

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CHAPTER 1

"You never know when you'll become a victim." Tessa Conway leaned forward and put her lips close to the microphone. "Or if anyone will ever know your story." 

"Stop," I said with a laugh. "You're being overdramatic, Tessa."

"I'm selling our show, Cassidy," Tessa said. 

"Cassidy is right. Too much." Morgan Kent set a bottle of wine on the folding table we used for our podcast and sat down next to Tessa.

"It's not too much," Tessa argued. "This is what our listeners are looking for. They want to be immersed in the story. Then they'll tell their friends about our podcast, and we'll be able to monetize. We won't have to keep looking for jobs or doing boring part-time work for no money."

As Tessa and Morgan bickered, I refilled my wine glass and looked around my tiny studio apartment on the twelfth floor of a high-rise in Manhattan. In addition to a full-sized bed, I'd managed to squeeze in a couch and this folding table, which served as my kitchen table when we weren't doing our podcast, Mysteries Uncorked. We'd started the show two months ago, after the company we worked for went out of business. 

Bright Horizons, a midsize media agency, had been a great place to work for a while. But the owner had been more interested in his public persona than the bottom line and, eventually, reality had caught up. I'd done research and pitch decks, Tessa had worked in social, and Morgan in HR. Two devastating financial quarters for the company had resulted in massive company-wide layoffs that had put us all on unemployment.

While looking for new jobs, we'd decided to have some fun discussing our passion for true crime stories over bottles of wine. We'd never imagined that our informal podcast would have an audience of more than ten, but, to our shock, our numbers had grown as other true crime lovers joined us. Last week's podcast had gotten over ten thousand downloads across the various apps.  That shocking fact had brought us our first sponsor, a wine distributor, who provided free wine for our podcasts.  

Tessa thought it was just the beginning, and maybe she was right. Maybe we should start thinking bigger, because we all needed money. While we were three intelligent women with at least seven years of work experience behind us, none of us had been able to find another full-time job. Instead, I was picking up freelance writing gigs, Tessa was doing social media for a nonprofit and working as a caterer, and Morgan was editing employee manuals. 

"You agree with me, don't you, Cassidy?" Tessa asked, drawing my attention back to her. 

"Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Well, that's great. I'm trying to save us, and you're daydreaming." 

"What did you say?" 

"What I said before. We need to think bigger."

"How?" I asked. "Specifically?"

"I was talking to a former client, who has been listening to our podcast. She's smart and well-connected, and she said if we really want to break out, we need to start doing more than talking about true crime cases."

"We do more than that," I argued. "I create timelines. I go through police files."

"So do I," Morgan added. "We dig in."

"But that's where it ends."

"Where else can it end?" I asked. "We're not detectives."

"Maybe we should be. My friend said if we take the podcast on the road, visit the scene of a crime, we'll triple our audience." 

"What scene?" Morgan asked. "We mostly talk about cold cases. There's no scene anymore." 

"We go to the town," Tessa said. "We talk to the neighbors, the friends. We shake things up. It doesn't matter if we find the truth; we just have to look for it and take our fans with us."  

"You're crazy," Morgan said. "I need more wine." 

Tessa raised her brows, a question in her gaze. "Am I crazy, Cassidy?" 

"Maybe. We aren't investigators." 

"Sure, we are. You're a researcher and writer, Cassidy. You always bring the scenes alive for our listeners. And Morgan is great with psychology, understanding people and motivations. And I can charm information out of just about everyone. What's the worst that could happen? No one talks? We don't solve the crime? Who will blame us for that failure?" She paused. "No one has solved any of these crimes. But we'll bring the story back to life. We'll put people right in the thick of it. I guarantee our numbers will grow, and so will our sponsors and advertisers. That means money, real money."

Tessa was a great salesperson, but not all of her ideas panned out. Still, where was the risk? "It is interesting," I conceded.

"Not you, too," Morgan groaned. 

"I do need to make real money, or I'm going to be out of this apartment in a month, and I cannot stand the idea of asking my father for help."

"And I might have to sublet the other half of my bedroom to cover my rent," Tessa said. "I know you're not as financially desperate as we are, Morgan. You have Steven."

"He's not supporting me. We split expenses," Morgan said a little defensively. "We have to because Steven pays child support, and it's not a small amount." 

"Then this money could help you, too," Tessa said. 

Silence followed her words as we sipped our wine and considered her suggestion. Finally, I said, "I'm willing to entertain the possibility of taking the show on the road."

"Great! We need a good story, something that will resonate with our listeners," Tessa said, an excited light in her eyes now that I was on board. "You've been researching cases, Cassidy. Is there anything you've seen that would be worth digging into? How about a missing person?"

"A missing woman," Morgan interjected as her eyes lit up. "Someone around our age, our listeners' age."

"Exactly. Someone who disappeared, someone like us," Tessa added.

A shiver ran down my spine at her words, making me wonder if we were about to take a step we might regret. But we needed to take a risk to get to the next level. "I'll look through my files when we're done with tonight's podcast. We don't have to decide anything right now." 

"But we do need to record tonight's show," Morgan interjected. "I have to be home by nine. So, let's get started, Tessa, and lower the temp this time."

Tessa made a face at Morgan. "Fine, I'll be less dramatic, but not too much, because our listeners love tension and mystery, and we have to give them what they want, or they won't come back." 

We turned on our microphones, and I checked the camera on my laptop. The light in front of us cast a soft glow over our faces, and we looked pretty good. Tessa was the perfect one to be in the middle, her silky, straight blonde hair standing out between my wavy dark-brown hair and Morgan's sleek auburn shade. We were as different in personality as we were in looks, but the listeners seemed to think that made us more interesting, because we often didn't agree on potential villains when we speculated about the cases we covered. 

"You want to count us down, Cassidy?" Tessa asked.

"Sure. Three, two, one…"

Tessa's smile broadened as she gazed into the camera. "Happy Wednesday. Welcome to Mysteries Uncorked, where we pop the cork on true crime's most fascinating cases. I'm here with my amazing friends, Cassidy and Morgan, and today's case is very intriguing. What would you think if I told you that a man found naked on the Santa Monica Pier ten years ago was not the Navy SEAL that everyone thought he was? In fact, he'd killed that Navy SEAL seven days earlier…"

"And that Navy SEAL was his best friend," I put in. 

"It's amazing how friendship could turn to murder," Tessa said with a wicked smile. "I couldn't imagine killing either of these two."

"I can," I said sarcastically. 

"Well, thanks," Morgan said dryly. "Although I'm sure that comment was directed to Tessa."

"Nice," Tessa quipped. "But we're not talking about us. Let's get back to the case." 

"I don't think it's surprising at all that a friendship could lead to murder," Morgan said. "Most crimes have a personal element." 

"That's true," I said. "It's just like they say—love and hate are two sides of the same coin."

As Tessa continued with the story, Morgan and I brought up other interesting twists that we'd discovered about the case, and the hour passed in a flash. Throughout the podcast, I could see the comments flowing in faster than usual. Every week, our audience grew and became more engaged. 

"Before we say goodnight," Tessa said, pausing to give both me and Morgan a questioning glance, which I knew really wasn't a question. I could see the intent in her bright blue eyes. "Should I tell them about our upcoming project, ladies?"

"Nothing to say just yet," I replied. 

"It's too early," Morgan agreed.

"Just a little tease then," Tessa said. "As you know, we love talking about cases in the news, but we think it might be time to take our show on the road. Stay tuned for more details." She paused. "Until next time." 

We picked up our almost empty wineglasses and clicked them together. Then I turned off the camera and let out a breath. While I enjoyed making the podcast, I was always a little relieved when it was over. It was fun to talk about cases with my friends, but the growing audience increased the pressure to turn this fun project into a serious business. 

"That was good," Tessa said. "Now we just need to find the right case to investigate in person. Let's start looking through the files."

Morgan stood up. "Sorry, I can't do it now. I promised Steven I'd be back by nine." 

"No problem," I told her. "It might take us a while to find the right case."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Morgan said, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. 

"I need wine and food before we start researching," Tessa said. "Do you want to order from that Thai place down the street?"

I picked up my phone. "On it." After ordering our favorites, I got up and grabbed a baggie of veggies from the fridge, poured ranch dressing into a small bowl and took it to the table. 

"Thanks." Tessa immediately reached for a carrot. "I didn't have time to grab dinner before I came over."

"Me, either. Food will be here in ten minutes." 

Tessa refilled our wine glasses, finishing off the bottle. "Morgan seemed stressed tonight. This is why I don't date men with children and ex-wives. It's far too complicated."

I nodded, popping a slice of cucumber into my mouth. "It wouldn't be my first choice, but I guess you love who you love."

"Or you choose to love someone else," Tessa said dryly. 

"Speaking of choosing someone, did you hear from that guy you went out with on Saturday?"

"Nope. He gave me the usual, had a great time, let's do it again speech, and then nothing. I'm over dating, Cassidy." 

"I hear you."

She gave me a more serious look. "I'm also over not having a real job and real money. That's why we need to make this podcast work."

"I get it." I paused, glancing down at my phone. "Our food is here. I'll go down and get it. Then we'll figure out our next case." 

An hour later, we'd finished our late dinner and were deep into our computer files. But as I read through all the cases that I'd made notes on in the last few months, they all seemed wrong—too big or too scary or too far away. I was beginning to think our idea was only great in theory, not in practice. 

Then the name of a town jumped out at me—Stonecross, Maine. I let out a breath of surprise. 

"Did you find something?" Tessa asked, looking up from her computer. 

"I—I'm not sure." My gaze ran down the news article about a woman who had gone missing a year ago in the small town of Stonecross. She'd last been seen at the Stonecross Inn. Now I remembered why I'd saved this story. 

"Cassidy?" Tessa's questioning gaze brought my head up.

"It's…nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing. What's the case?"

"A year ago. Natalie Warren, thirty, from New York City, vanished after a three-day stay—checking out two days early from the Stonecross Inn in Stonecross, Maine."

"That sounds good," Tessa said with excitement. "Natalie is only a few years older than us. She's from New York. And Maine isn't that far away. Plus, the town name makes it sound kind of gothic."

"We can't go there," I said flatly.

Tessa's eyes widened in surprise. "Why on earth not?"

"Because…we can't. I can't."

"I don't understand. What's the problem?"

"My father was born in Stonecross, Maine."

"Really? But why is that a problem?"

"My father left when he was eighteen and has never been back. There was some family drama that he refuses to speak about."

"Is that family still in Stonecross?" 

"My grandmother runs the Stonecross Inn."

"Where the girl disappeared? Oh, come on, Cassidy. That's a crazy coincidence. This is our case. Every sign is pointing in that direction. You'll have the inside track with your grandmother. You'll be able to get information no one else can."

"I won't, Tessa. I've never met my grandmother. And my father would kill me if I went there. Whenever I asked about my grandmother, he refused to tell me anything except that his mother would never meet me unless it was over his dead body." 

"Okay," Tessa said slowly. "I see what you're saying, but aren't you curious as to why you can never meet your own grandmother?"

"Of course, I'm curious. But my father is my only family, and he barely tolerates me. I can't cut the last connection I have to him."

"Does he have to know? You don't see him that often, do you?"  

"A few times a year," I conceded. "But somehow he'll find out."

"How would he? Does he listen to our podcast?"

"God, no! I told him about it when we first started it, and he dismissed it like it was nothing."

"Then I don't see how he'll know. You're twenty-eight years old, Cassidy. Do you really need to factor your father into this? If you want to meet your grandmother, why shouldn't you? And she must be pretty old by now. Maybe it's time to connect before it's too late."

"He told me to forget about her a long time ago. If I go to Stonecross, he'll feel like I betrayed him."

"Now who's being dramatic, Cassidy? What on earth could your grandmother have done that was so horrible?"

"I don't know, but it was something."

"Don't you think it's time you found out what that was? And this isn't just about you, remember? This is about looking into the disappearance of a young New York woman, who disappeared from your grandmother's inn. What if we could find out what happened to her and bring her family closure?"

"Technically, she didn't disappear from the inn. She checked out, and no one saw her again."

"Either way, your grandmother is right in the middle of this case."

I frowned. "Even if I did agree to dig into this with you, I still don't see how we're going to find out what happened to this woman. Obviously, the police and her family looked for her."

"Maybe a year ago. Cold cases tend to crack as time passes. And when you put a bright light on a dark corner, sometimes the rats scurry out. You've always said your dream was to be a real journalist. Here's your chance."

I groaned. "Can't I be a real journalist somewhere else besides Stonecross?"

Tessa smiled. "Of course, but fate is leading you back to your past. I don't see how you can say no to that." 

"Then I guess I'm going to say yes."