by Erin Huss
“Podcast,” I said.
“It sounds good, right?” Camry was beaming. Just as she was the first three times she heard it.
Oliver peeked up from the script. “I’m impressed.”
I couldn’t help but blush at all the praise. Until Austin opened his mouth.
“I-it’s decent,” Austin said, his eyebrows pinched.
Smile gone.
Decent?
What an awful, awful word.
Camry went puce. I worried she’d leap over the table and mangle Austin, so I sat on her lap to keep her put.
“Why is it only decent?” I asked Austin, attempting to keep the hurt out of my voice.
“I-I think the editing is good, but you sound too stiff.”
I fell to the ground as Camry jumped from the chair and pointed her finger at Austin’s nose. “You can keep your negative comments to yourself. My sister has put all her money and time into this project, and yes maybe she sounds like she’s got a stick stuck up her—”
“Hey now!” I stood up. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. If there’s a problem tell me. When this goes live listeners will not sugarcoat their reviews.”
The room fell silent while everyone inspected the floor. I looked to Oliver. He lifted his palms. “I’m not the person to ask. It reads good.”
I looked at Austin. “Why is it decent?”
“I-I like most of it. It’s your interviews. You sound b-bland. Your narrative is good, though.”
“It’s because I’m trying to stay neutral not reactive,” I said, feeling a bit on the defense. According to Mara Lancer and Wikipedia, that’s how an interview should be done. Neutral.
Neutral is not bland.
Neutral is…is…well…bland.
Dammit.
He was right. The interview portion sounded stiff. Like I was reading from a script.
I could do one of two things with this realization. One: lump it. Or two: record my own reactions and insert them, almost like in a book when you’re reading the character’s inner thoughts.
That could work.
I slammed my laptop closed, yanked the cord from the wall, and wrapped it around my hand.
“You’re not quitting are you?” Camry said. “It’s really not that bad, Liv. It’s only the interview part. I’m sure no one will notice.”
“Of course I’m not quitting!” I shoved my laptop under my arm. “I’ll be in my studio if anyone needs me.”
Recording, editing, re-editing, polishing, and resubmitting the episode to my hosting site, Audio Ninja, wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.
It was harder.
But somehow I managed to do it without having an emotional breakdown. And when it was all said and done—episode one wasn’t too bad. Which was one step above terrible.
Austin Mallor had a keen ear.
He was a keeper.
I’d been sitting crisscross for the last three hours and I couldn’t feel my feet. Giving my toes a good wiggle, I unfolded my legs one at a time, and a tingling sensation traveled down my calves. The same creepy doll was in the corner smiling at me, her eyelids half closed like she’d just been wine tasting.
I used the top of a dollhouse to help me to my feet when there was a tap on the door, and I fell back down. “Come in,” I said.
Another tap.
“Come in!”
Another tap and I realized it was Oliver. I slid the door open and there he was with a plate in hand and a lopsided grin on his face. “Grandma said you have to eat. Roast beef sandwich, garlic mashed potatoes and a butter casserole.”
“What the heck is a…” I didn’t know the sign for butter. “A butter casserole?”
“Lots of butter, sour cream, Ritz crackers, cheddar cheese, cream of celery soup, more butter, and green beans. It’s the only way I’ll eat green beans.”
“That sounds good. I’m starving. My stomach wasn’t used to going so long without food anymore.” Oliver helped me to my feet. Except my feet weren’t quite ready to bear weight and I face planted into Oliver’s chest. Ouch.
I think I broke my forehead.
Oliver didn’t flinch, instead he set the sandwich on the nightstand and ushered me to the bed. “Did you hurt your ankle?”
“I’m fine. My legs fell asleep, that’s all,” I signed.
He sat beside me. The mattress sunk under his weight and I slid closer until our arms touched.
“Did you make your show not boring?” he signed.
“You thought it was boring?” I asked out loud.
“I said, ‘blah’ not boring.”
Oh. I didn’t know there was a sign for blah. “It’s not blah anymore.”
“You look like you know what you’re doing.” He winked.
“Not too bad for an amateur?”
“Not bad at all,” he said without signing and lifted my chin until I looked straight at him. Without any warning he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were sweet and firm and his breath was hot and salty.
Holy crap.
I’m kissing Oliver!
His mouth opened mine. His hand was on my face, in my hair, he gently maneuvered my head to deepen the kiss. My breath caught in my throat as his arm creeped around my waist and pulled me closer. I reached under his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscle under my fingertips. In one swift motion, I was on my back, his mouth still on mine. He reached under—
“Well don’t mind me,” came a voice from the door.
I froze. Oh please no! No. No. No. Please, please, when I open my eyes don’t let it be Hazel standing at the door, watching me make out with her grandson, in her guest suite, on her guest bed, where her little grandchildren sleep.
Oliver moved his lips to my neck and I dared to open an eye.
Yep, it was Hazel.
And now I may die.
I pushed Oliver off and he fell to the floor. “Hazel, um...” I smoothed down my hair and pulled my shirt down. “I’m...I’m...” at a loss for words.
Oliver stared at me, bewilderment dancing in his eyes, until I pointed to Hazel and then he looked like a teenager caught sneaking Victoria’s Secret catalogues. “Grandma,” he said as he adjusts errr...things.
I knew without looking that my cheeks were as red as the hair on my head.
Hazel pointed to the lock on the door. “Please use it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, still looking at the ground, feeling like a sheepish sixteen-year-old.
“And if things get serious, there are condoms in the bathroom.”
Oh dear.
Oliver bit his bottom lip and nodded. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“Good. Now, I came up to tell you that Austin is on the phone with his contact at the police station. They’ve confirmed the identity of the body in the park.”
I was off the ground and out the door before Hazel finished her statement. I flew down the stairs, sliding down three at a time (on accident) and ran into the dining room where Austin was sitting at the table on his phone. Camry was standing over him, with her hand covering her mouth like she was either going to scream or puke.
“R-right. O-okay.” Austin looked stricken. “Y-you sure...Oh...Okay.”
Oliver came running in behind me. The two of us grabbed hold of the back of a chair, staring at Austin, catching our breath, and waiting.
Austin finally hung up and lowered the phone to his chest. “N-not sure if this is good news or bad.”
Episode Twenty-Two
Two Lies and a Dog
The body recovered in the park had been identified as eighteen-year-old, Brinkley Douglas. A UC Santa Barbara student last seen April 10, 2001.
I didn’t know how to take the news.
Was I relieved that it wasn’t Amelia?
Relieved she was no
t murdered and buried near a duck pond? Relieved because this meant she could still be alive?
Or was I disappointed it wasn’t Amelia?
It had been over a decade, chances were she was dead, which meant her body was somewhere. Unless her remains were found, there would be no justice.
I was sad another young girl was gone. I was happy it wasn’t Amelia...too many emotions.
When I don’t know how to feel, I work.
Which was good, because there was still that whole career suicide and financial ruin aspect to deal with.
“There’s too much to do.” I paced the length of Hazel’s dining room, signing as I talked. “We still haven’t found out who the real HJZoomer22 is. The first episode comes out Monday and I don’t have the second one finished. We have hundreds of messages in our inbox and not enough time to read them all. There’s so much promotion to do—”
Camry blocked my pacing path. “Stop and take a breath.” She sucked air in through her nose and pushed it out through her mouth to show me how it was done.
I took a breath. Didn’t help. So I went back to pacing.
“D-delegate,” said Austin. “What can we do?”
“Sure. I’ll do whatever I can,” Oliver offered.
“Oh I bet you will.” Hazel walked in from the kitchen holding a teakettle and a tray of scones. “I caught these two going to third base upstairs in the bedroom. The door was wide open for all to see.”
Camry choked on her scone.
“Or was it home base?” Hazel said with a musing tilt of her head. “I get my bases mixed up. It’s been too long since I played baseball.”
I’m dying.
“Home plate is sex,” Camry choked out and pounded on her chest. “Third is like...almost sex.”
“I-I’ve never been past second,” said Austin.
Hazel brought a hand to her heart. “Oh you sweet thing, that’s so sad.”
“Y-you’re telling me.”
Camry was still working the chunk of scone out of her throat.
“What base is heavy petting?” Hazel addressed the table.
“How about them Dodgers?” said and signed Oliver.
“You would talk baseball,” said Camry, still coughing.
“Drink something, dear.” Hazel poured Camry a cup of tea. “We don’t need you dying on us. I think you’re Austin’s only hope at getting to third.”
“Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “No more baseball talk. If you need clarification on bases, please use Google. Now about episode two—”
“Got it.” Austin held up his phone. “S-says here second base is kissing and above the shirt petting.”
Oh my gosh.
“A-and th-third base is petting below the—”
“Hey now!” I interrupted before he got any further. “And for the record, no one went to third.”
“And there’s no chance we are either.” Camry pointed to Austin. “So don’t be getting any ideas.”
Oh geez.
“Did you all still want to help?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. Not that there’s anything wrong with two grown adults consensually playing baseball, but having this conversation in front of Oliver’s grandma was about three levels outside my comfort zone.
“Don’t be so uptight, Liv.” Camry gave me a hug from behind. “We’re only joking.”
“Sh-she’d be less uptight if she went to home plate,” added Austin.
Hazel doubled over in laughter and gave Austin a high five.
“Are you all done?” asked Oliver.
“One more. One more.” Hazel flattened out the front of her apron. “Dang it, I forgot. It’ll come to me. Go on.” She lowered herself into a seat, still smiling.
“Anyway, if you want to help I would be honored and touched, but I can’t pay you. I can’t pay any of you. Not even a dollar,” I said.
“I can do whatever you need,” said Oliver.
“A-a-and he means whatever,” added Austin.
Camry gave him an air high five.
“Aren’t you all hilarious.” I sat down with a cup of tea and took a sip when I realized it wasn’t tea at all. It was hot apple cider. I loved cinnamon and apple together…huh?
Camry interrupted my train of thought. “Interesting podcast posse we’ve got here.”
Austin laughed. “Y-yeah, we’re like a podcasting posse of misfits. We got the old lady, the deaf guy, a-and the pretty one, a red head for a boss, and I’m s-socially awkward.”
“That’s not fair, Austin,” said Camry. “Liv is socially awkward, too.”
The hours flew by. We were closing in on midnight, and I had my headphones on, listening to the interview with Jeremy, taking note of when to insert reactive commentary. Camry was on the computer, doing what? I was afraid to ask. The less I knew the better so I couldn’t be forced to testify. Austin was combing through Leon’s notebooks, looking for new information. Hazel kept us fed. Oliver was updating our social media and filtering through leads sent in. He’d even added a forum to our website for listeners to discuss episodes.
A nice feature.
Now all we needed was listeners.
I removed my headphones and massaged the back of my neck. “How’s everyone doing?”
Oliver stretched his arms above his head. “I scheduled a tweet to go out Monday, and I added the link to your site to the bottom of my YouTube bio.”
“Th-that’s right. You’re the local YouTuber. We ran an article on you l-last year.”
“He’s an Internet star.” Hazel placed another tray of cookies on the table. “And real smart. Did I tell you he installed Wi-Fi in my bathrooms?”
“Yes,” we all said.
“Well then.” She pursed her lips and scooted back to the kitchen.
It suddenly dawned on me that I’d yet to look up the famous Internet star grandson. The one I went to second base with. I minimized Adobe and clicked on YouTube and searched “Oliver Lewis.”
Holy hell!
Hazel was right.
Oliver was Internet famous.
Five million subscribers.
Million!
My first thought: good for him!
My second thought: that’s a lot of potential listeners.
Oliver shrugged it off like it was no big deal, but I was impressed.
Hazel came from behind and took the plate where my avocado toast used to be. “Are you all about ready to call it a night? I can’t keep these eyes of mine open for another minute.”
“Just about.” I closed my laptop.
“H-hold on.” Austin sat up straighter with Leon’s notebook in hand. “D-didn’t you say that you got an anonymous tip that HJZommer22 was really Scottydog00?”
Camry and I shared a look.
“Yeah, an anonymous tip.” I traced the natural wood swirls on the table, refusing to make eye contact. He couldn’t know about Camry.
“Why? Did you find the email address in there?” Camry asked.
“No, but L-leon had a discussion with Penny Scott who worked at Direct Dental. Could she b-be Scottydog00?”
“To be honest, I feel stupid for not asking that question earlier,” I said. “Her last name used to be Scott.”
“And Jeremy said the last time he saw Amelia she was crawling on the ground to hide from Penny,” Camry added.
“The last time we saw Amelia was on the surveillance video, crawling on the ground.”
I had an epiphany. My brain worked through epiphanies better when my feet were moving, so I got up and paced. “Penny Scott, Scottydog00. Zero, zero. Does it say how old Penny was when Leon interviewed her?”
Austin scanned down the page. “Says here she was w-was twenty-five.”
Twenty-five in 2008. Twenty-five minus eighteen, carry the three...
“Why are you making that weird face?” asked Camry. “You look constipated. Are you constipated? ’Cause you look it?”
“Did someone say constipated?” Hazel poked her head around the corner. “I’ll get the prunes.”
“I’m not constipated,” I said in a huff. “I’m trying to do math.”
Oliver handed me his phone, which was opened to the calculator app, and I crunched the numbers.
“Aha!” I turned to show everyone the final sum, 2000. “She was Penny Scott age twenty-five in 2008, which meant she was eighteen in 2000, which means she likely graduated in 2000, which means it’s highly possible her email could have been Scottydog00.”
I dropped the cell like it was a mic and walked away, except I rammed my shin into a hutch and remembered that was Oliver’s phone not mine. Oops.
“Smooth,” said Camry. “And if you’re done, I’d like to point out that on Penny’s Facebook page it says she graduated in 2000 and her public bio says she loves dogs more than people. Doesn’t seem like a stretch that her email address would be Scottydog00.”
“W-why would she post the video?” asked Austin. “What’s the motive?”
“You know who we should ask?” said Camry.
“Penny,” I said.
“No, Jeremy. Let’s send him a message.” Camry’s fingers flew around the keyboard. “Whoa…whoa…whoa…hold the phone. Look!”
We all gathered around and stared over her shoulder. Listed under Jeremy’s friends was a familiar picture. Camry clicked on it.
It was Carlos standing at the beach, holding the hands of his little girl.
Carlos and Jeremy were friends?
“They live in the same city,” said Oliver. “They both knew Amelia. Why wouldn’t they be friends?”
“Because Jeremy said he didn’t know Carlos,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that I asked him multiple times.”
I slipped on my headphones and pulled up my interview with Jeremy.
Me: “Do you know Carlos Hermosa?”
