chapter six

chase

Meghan was going to be late.

Unless she’d changed a lot in the past few years, this wasn’t like her. It was eight minutes from the official unveiling of the STEAM room, a space dedicated to science, technology, engineering, arts, and math activities. A small crowd was already gathering in the youth department, where the library staff members had formed a half-circle around Owen Gardner and his business partner. They were the guys who created and funded the entire project.

With my equipment already set up and ready to go, I made my way over to the window facing the parking lot—and there was Meghan’s car. Empty.

And I knew exactly where to find her.

The archives department was in the basement of the library. Along with old, official records and photos, it was where they kept the microfilm readers and bound volumes of the Woodvale Times . For the past few years, Meghan had been working on helping the librarians digitize old newspapers. For fun. If I had to guess, this was one of her favorite places to be, second only to the creepy graveyards she frequented.

And sure enough, there she was, standing at a mahogany table with one of the old volumes of bound newspapers spread open in front of her. Frowning, she ran a finger along one of the yellowed pages. Without looking up at me, she said, “She froze to death.”

“Who?”

“Fannie. She was feeding her chickens during a blizzard, fell down in a snow drift, and died of hypothermia.”

“Oh. Bummer.”

Meghan glared at me from beneath her bangs. As she closed the worn leather book and added it to the stack at the edge of the table, the light from the green desk lamp caught the tears glistening in her eyes. “She lived alone,” she said with the slightest quiver in her voice. She shook her head, sticking her pen inside the spiral coils of her notebook. “I can’t stop thinking about how long she was lying there like that before someone found her.”

Aw, jeez. Not this right now. Willing myself not to roll my eyes, I said, “I’m sure she led a very happy, fulfilling life before she froze to death. Anyway, let’s–”

“She was twenty-nine.”

“That was well past middle-aged back then. Look, our interview’s upstairs in a couple of minutes. Wanna maybe push the morbs aside for a little bit?”

The corners of her brows pushed inward. “The morbs?”

“It’s Victorian slang for being all melancholy and emo, basically.” I stood in front of her with my hands on my hips, trying not to grin at the way she scowled. “And that fits you to a T, doesn’t it, Wednesday?”

“Stop calling me that,” she said, lifting her laptop bag from the chair beside her. Meghan’s irritation only fueled my desire to double-down on the nickname. I made a mental note to change her name to Wednesday in my contacts on my phone as we made our way up the stairs together. That would help me remember to call her that as often as possible.

When we neared the top of the stairs, Meghan stopped dead in her tracks, whispered “shit,” and began frantically arranging her bangs.

“What’s the matter?”

She ignored me, pulling her phone from her bag to look at her face with the selfie camera. She was using my body to hide herself, I noticed. But from who? I looked over my shoulder to scan the room and spotted Owen close-by, deep in conversation with the library director.

Oh, for the love of…

I shook my head at her. “You know he’s married, right?”

“Who?” she asked, pushing her eyelashes upward with her curved pointer finger.

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to look good for Owen Gardner.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She dropped her phone back into her bag and watched him closely, her eyes shifting to the side. “Who’s the guy with him?”

She was staring at Owen’s business partner, whose long hair was pulled back into the most pretentious-looking man-bun. He looked like he was trying too hard to emulate Kurt Cobain. “He works for Owen. I don’t remember his name. Want me to ask him for you?”

“I’ll ask him myself, thankyouverymuch,” she said, finally walking again. She didn’t have to ask him his name, however, because Owen introduced him as Mason Reed, his “right-hand man” during his little spiel before opening the door to reveal the new room. They gave us a little tour of the space, showing us all the STEAM toys they’d funded or even built themselves. The focal point of the room was a large table with an interactive touch screen top, where Mason opened a digital sketch app and effortlessly drew Mickey Mouse. The librarians all giggled and complimented him, but none of them were as impressed as Meghan, who scooted right up beside him as she said, “Oh my gosh, you make it look so easy. How did you learn to draw like this?”

Mason, shooting a quick side-glance at Owen, shrugged. “Years of practice.”

And Meghan’s flirtation didn’t stop there. As the guys continued showing off all the new STEM tools, she remained hyper-focused on Mason. Her forwardness may have gone undetected by everyone else, but I could see right through her. She never took her eyes off of him, and she smiled more in those ten minutes than I’d seen from her in years. Unlike the pseudo-smile she often plastered on her face to seem professional, this was genuine.

When she bit her bottom lip as Mason spoke about their launch of STEAM Saturdays for local middle schoolers, I’d had enough. I rolled my eyes as I touched her elbow, whispering, “I’m going to try to get a wide shot of just the two of them. Will you scoot back a little?”

And just like that, her smile faded, or rather, it jumped from her face to mine. Oh, how I enjoyed making her move out of my way. She listened, taking a few steps back, so I could capture a wider shot. I let the camera roll and stood to the side of it, listening to the library director outline all the STEAM programming they’d be able to offer now. And it was all thanks to Owen’s company, STEM for the Win .

Owen stared down at his feet as the director bragged about him, nodding a polite thank you. Something I’d noticed about Owen Gardner in the handful of times I’d interviewed him over the years was that he was always quick to credit other people—all while downplaying his own success. He was still humble, despite having all that money and a huge following. Anyone else would’ve let it get to their head.

A few months ago, when Sean and I asked him to participate in the Comic Con, he stayed on the Zoom call with us for an hour, sharing a bunch of ideas for the event. He came up with the idea to record a live podcast during the convention, interviewing Sean and me about the science behind paranormal investigating. He’d been promoting the whole event a little on his own platform, too, which had to have been the reason for the boost in ticket sales.

With all of this in mind, I approached him after the presentation as the rest of the attendees broke into smaller groups to interact with all the new STEM toys. Meghan was seemingly distracted by Mason’s artwork on the table, so I saw this as a good opportunity to ask Owen something that had been on my mind since the first time we spoke. “Hey, can I pick your brain for a second?”

Owen crossed his arms. “Sure, but you might not find much there.”

I chuckled as I zipped my camera bag. “No, I think you’ve got exactly the information I need. See, Sean and I have been working on building a YouTube following for a couple of years now, and I feel like we could be growing so much faster. You started your channel after we did and yours has obviously exploded. How’d you do it? What advice do you have?”

He inhaled, absentmindedly looking ahead at Mason, who had pulled out his phone to show Meghan some more of his art. “I think luck has a lot to do with it,” he said, turning to me. “And the fact that I had the podcast first. Sort of a built-in audience there.”

“That grew really fast too, though, right? Why do you think that is?” I swallowed, realizing I was starting to sound a little desperate. “Is there a particular strategy that you think really contributed to your success?”

He thought for a minute. “Honestly, I saw the feedback I was getting, saw what people liked, and leaned into that. People like my self-deprecating humor, I guess. For you and Sean, I’d say it’s the dynamic between the two of you, the way you’re complete opposites. You’re calm and collected, while Sean’s–”

I couldn’t help but interrupt. “Wait. You actually watch our stuff?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Owen said with a little laugh. “My wife and I have watched a lot of your videos. We liked the one where you guys took a boat out to that haunted pond and Sean dropped the paddle.”

Trying not to smile like a dork, I cursed Sean under my breath. “I didn’t think we’d ever make it out. I almost killed him for that.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. You’re entertaining people with that kind of banter, so keep it up.”

We were both distracted by a loud “aww!” coming from Meghan, who had scooted even closer to Mason to look at his phone. I stopped talking to Owen to listen in on their conversation. “That’s your daughter?”

Meghan stared at Mason’s face as he said, “Yeah, she begged me to draw her as a mermaid surrounded by jellyfish, and, well, she’s my boss, so…” He glanced over at Owen, and I thought I caught his eyes widen slightly, like there was a silent exchange of words between them. At first, I took it to mean he was attracted to Meghan. Because, I mean, why wouldn’t he be? But then, shoving his phone in his back pocket, he took a small step away from her and said, “I’m working on a canvas of her and my girlfriend right now with both of them as mermaids. I’m not sure which one of them’s going to love it more.”

There was a slight downturn in the corners of Meghan’s lips, almost as imperceivable as Mason’s look of desperation seconds ago. I thoroughly enjoyed it, though. The guy had to work in that he had a girlfriend because it was obvious to all four of us standing there that she was attempting to flirt with him.

Meghan noticed my grin as we walked out of the youth department moments later. “What are you so happy about?”

“Nothin’.”

We descended the stairs to the main floor of the library, where the faint smell of old books was almost overpowered by the scent of the coffee from the cart by the circulation desk. I stopped by the cart on my way out to pour myself a little paper cup of coffee and creamer.

“Want some?”

Meghan made a face. “I have better coffee in my car.”

“You’re a coffee snob,” I said, taking a careful sip of the hot beverage as I made my way to the door, opening it for her. This tiny, chivalrous gesture seemed to annoy her, and she took the heavy door from me with a sigh. “You’re the one who waited for me,” I pointed out. “Did you forget how to open a door?”

“No, I wanted to make sure I got the chance to tell you how amusing it was to watch you fanboy over Owen Gardner,” she said as we made our way down the sidewalk toward our cars.

I almost choked. “Oh, really? It was just as entertaining to watch you throw yourself at his business partner. How’s it feel to be rejected by a guy with a man-bun?”

“Excuse me?” She turned on her heel to look me in the eyes. “What are you even talking about?”

“C’mon. You were flirting with the guy as he inched farther and farther away from you. Hands-down the highlight of my day.” I smirked at her over my coffee cup. “Maybe my whole week.”

She rolled her eyes. I totally had her; she couldn’t deny it, and we both knew it. “At least I’m putting myself out there. Haven’t seen you date anyone new in a while.”

“You don’t know my life.”

“Yeah? Are you seeing someone?” Meghan put one hand on her hip. We’d both come to a complete stop on the sidewalk between the stone building and the row of cars in the parking lot. This library was one of the oldest buildings in the county, with a half-wall made of stone and wrought iron enclosing a small courtyard between two wings of the building. It was honestly a little creepy—no wonder Meghan felt so at home here.

I adjusted my backpack and shot her a casual grin, deciding to turn her inquiry into a joke. “Wow. I’m flattered, but I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, fuck all the way off,” she muttered, turning back around.

“I was going to just fuck halfway off, so thanks for clar–”

“Sounds like you. Always doing things half-assed.”

I laughed as I followed her down the sidewalk. “Oh really? Like what?”

Meghan came to such an abrupt stop, I nearly bumped into her, spilling some of my coffee between us on the pavement. Her eyes dropped from my face to my shirt. “Getting dressed, for starters. Could there be any more wrinkles on that shirt?”

I smirked. This was fun. “Gotta get the girlfriend first if I want to have neatly pressed clothes,” I joked, rubbing my hand down the front of my cotton t-shirt which looked fine to me when I pulled it off the chair this morning–the spot where I kept all of my not-quite-clean, not-quite-dirty clothes.

She knew the misogynistic comment was a joke, but she dropped her mouth open anyway, pretending to be offended. “Wow. Is that what your Tinder bio says? No wonder you can’t get a date.”

Damn, she didn’t miss a beat. “Something like that. ‘You iron my clothes, I help you iron out your problems.’”

Meghan let out a cold laugh, her eyes locking onto mine. The sound pierced right through me, shifting the mood from playful to something else entirely. Even the air around us felt cooler as she mumbled, “Because you’re sooo good at that.”

I struggled to form a reply. It was easier to argue with her when we were just playing around, but when it started to get personal, that was usually when I took a step back. I never liked hashing out the problems we had in our relationship. It would only waste our time. I knew when to tuck my tail between my legs and retreat.

Thankfully, we were interrupted by the sound of a sniffly nose coming from a nearby bike rack. We both turned toward a blond preteen boy balancing on his bike, eating from a bag of Doritos and staring at us like we were primetime entertainment

“Um. Shouldn’t you be in school right now?” Meghan asked.

With a bratty scowl, the kid said, “None of your business, lady.”

Her mouth dropped open, but the kid’s reply made me snicker. “Yeah,” I said. “Mind your business, lady.” The delinquent-looking kid in the black zip-up hoodie and I exchanged a nod, which made Meghan roll her eyes and stomp off toward her car.

“What’s her problem?” the kid asked, his mouth full of chips.

I sighed and took a long sip of my coffee, listening to the sound of Meghan’s engine struggling to turn over. Shaking my head, I said, “She never listens to me. That’s her problem.”