Chapter 8

Maisy’s hovering.She knows she’s hovering and can tell it’s irritating Jordana by the way Jordana’s shoulders are bunched up. She takes a step back from the desk and the computer monitor where an analytics dashboard displays performance data for the Farley Files.

“Sorry,” she says, and she means it.

Jordana doesn’t turn around and keeps clicking the mouse at a truly impressive speed, but she does relax her shoulders. “It’s okay. I know you’re eager.”

Eager’s one word for it, Maisy supposes. She’s been like a caged panther, prowling back and forth with restless energy during the long months she hadn’t worked, while she and Jordana searched for the perfect topic for season two. So, now that they’ve decided on the disappearance of Heather Ryan, she’s desperate to run with it.

“I am. So, how’s it looking?”

They have the first interview—the one with Diana Ryan—in the can. In the queue, Maisy corrects herself. There’s no film canister involved in a digital podcast, and she’s been working to shed her dated television journalism vocabulary. They’ve been mulling over whether it’s really the best way to start their season episode, and Jordana suggested checking the stats on the trailer to see what listeners are engaging with the most.

“Well,” she says, swiveling around to look at Maisy. “Your listeners are definitely onboard with the season. Our subscriber count has increased by more than twenty percent since we released the trailer this afternoon.”

“Already?” Maisy beams.

Jordana allows herself a small smile of her own. “Yep. That’s phenomenal. This cold case angle has really struck a chord.”

She turns back and fiddles with the mouse, pulling up a heat map. “In particular, people keep replaying the bit about Amy being the last person to see her sister. Which makes sense. That fact raises a ton of questions.”

“So you think we should lead with Amy’s interview?”

Jordana eyes her closely. “You don’t sound sold on the idea.”

She’s not. She flops into her chair with a sigh. “It would be emotional, for sure. But it doesn’t add to our knowledge of that night. The truth is Amy doesn’t know anything. I’d rather hold her interview until we have something new to weave into it—something from a police report, a witness statement, or a tip.” She gives her producer a hopeful look. “Anything come in yet from the records requests?”

Jordana purses her lips and shakes her head. “No. Not yet. The FBI will probably take its sweet time. But the McKeesport police called me. They’re going to send over a courier with copies from their files. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She crossed her fingers.

“Physical copies? What year is this?”

“Tell me about it. The public information officer said they’re working to digitize case files from the last century, but it’s slow going.”

Maisy pretends the wholly accurate description of the mid-90s as the last century doesn’t cut her to the bone and makes a snap decision. “Let’s hold Amy. We’ll start with Diana. Then we’ll air Kristy. Save Amy for last.”

Of the three sisters, Diana cuts the least sympathetic figure. Maisy chalks it up to her personality. She’s not a warm and fuzzy type. But she’s articulate, clear-eyed, and precise. Her interview will be a good way to set the stage, lay out the facts, and introduce listeners to the case while Maisy and Jordana scramble behind the scenes to gather new information. The younger sisters will be able to humanize the story. Kristy, in particular, is the polar opposite of Diana—soft and unafraid to be vulnerable. She’ll engender the sympathy that Diana won’t. And Amy was with Heather that night. She’s the closest thing they have to an eyewitness.

“That works,” Jordana agrees. “And we have Rich available too, if we need him.”

“Right.”

With that decision made, they turn back to the analytics. Maisy has a surface understanding of the data, but this is the younger woman’s area of expertise. “What are we looking at?”

“Engagement. Most listeners have played the entire trailer all the way through, more than once. That’s good.”

“Great.”

Jordana points to two blips in one of the charts. “Yeah, and see these spikes? There are two listeners who’ve played the trailer more than fifty times each.”

Maisy raises one impeccably groomed eyebrow. “Fifty times?”

“They must be superfans.”

“Or they have information,” she muses.

“Or fantasies about the former WPXI weather girl,” Jordana notes dryly.

Maisy shudders, her excitement turning to dismay. “Bite your tongue. I left my stalkers behind when I left television. I hope.”

Jordana wrinkles her nose. “Well, one of them is local.”

“How can you tell?”

“They have location data enabled on their device. The zip code is 15218. Where’s that?”

“Swisshelm Park,” Maisy says automatically. All those years chasing stories have given her a detailed mental map of the city.

Jordana frowns. “Isn’t that where Amy Marino lives?”

“It is.” Now Maisy’s frowning, too. “I sincerely hope she hasn’t played the trailer about her missing sister fifty times. That seems …”

“Unhealthy?” Jordana supplies.

“Extremely.”

They’re silent for a long moment. Maisy’s imagining Amy obsessively replaying the minute-long clip and wondering what that would mean for the woman’s metal state. She suspects Jordana is, too.

After a moment, Jordana cracks, “Now I’m kind of rooting for it to be one of the guys who used to send you underwear at the station.”

“I think I might be, too.” She grimaces. “What about our other superfan? Do they have location enabled?”

“I think you’re safe from that one. They’re in Quebec.”

Maisy blinks. “Canada?”

“Is there another Quebec?”

“Quebec,” she muses. “I never would have thought.”

“We have listeners all over the world,” Jordana tells her.

“But fifty times?”

“More than fifty times,” Jordana reminds her. Then she shrugs. “Dieu seul le sait.”

Only God knows.

Maisy finishes the French Canadian saying for her. “Et le diable s”en doute.”

And the devil suspects.