by Erin Huss
“Then how do you do videos?” Camry asked.
“I don’t speak. I type the instructions on the screen, and I have a guy who adds in the background music.”
Oh.
Guess there were two reasons why Oliver would keep a secret from me.
I dropped my head in my hands, unsure of what to make of this. Oliver lifted my chin, so he could see my mouth. “Are you mic’d?” he asked.
“We both have microphones on,” Camry says. “And Liv has pepper spray in her pocket.”
Oliver’s eyes cut to me. “Did she say ‘pepper spray’?”
“Damn straight. I heard you knew Amelia. Then you asked us to meet you at a hiking trail. I may be a lightweight but I’m not an idiot.”
Oliver frowned. “I had nothing to do with Amelia. And I really don’t want to be recorded.” There was pain and vulnerability in his blue eyes. and I couldn’t help but surrender.
“That’s fine.” I reached around and turned off the mic pack in my back pocket. “I won’t record.”
“Thank you.”
“But you have to tell me what happened.”
He looked around. “Right now?”
“Might as well.”
Oliver cleared his throat then eyed me suspiciously and decided to sign only, which made it harder for me. But there was no chance I could secretly record him, so I got it, “I saw Amelia at a place called Sal’s a couple of times. We talked. She was pretty, had a good sense of humor, so I asked her out. We agreed to meet Friday night at Sal’s. I showed up Friday night and she never did. While I was waiting, I got the call that my grandpa wasn’t doing well, and I came straight home. I had no idea she went missing until a couple of weeks later when I saw her picture on the news. I called the police right away and told them what I knew. I haven’t heard from them since. That’s it.”
“What time were you supposed to meet her?” I asked.
“At seven o’clock.”
Amelia was last seen at six fifteen p.m. wearing a denim skirt, black leggings, black wedges, a white shirt and vest. Sounded like date attire to me. If she never showed up to meet Oliver, then chances were something happened to Amelia shortly after she took money out of the ATM. Which meant the chances of her deciding to skip town were slim.
“What are you thinking?” Oliver asked.
“I think something happened to Amelia right after she left the bank. And I’m fairly certain that something is murder.”
My cell buzzed in my back pocket. I didn’t recognize the number. “Ugh, you answer it.” I handed the phone to Camry. “If it’s the alien lady tell her the ship should be here tomorrow.”
“Hello, Liv Olsen’s phone. This is her personal secretary speaking. How might I help you?” said Camry.
“Is there anything else?” I signed to Oliver.
“I told you all I know.”
“Does your grandma know about this?”
“Yes. She called me the night you two got in town and told me to give you an interview. And I told her I didn’t want to be involved.”
I thought back to when Hazel gasped at the dinner table. I assumed it was because her Internet famous grandson could help us by using his Internet fame to spread the word of the podcast—not because he knew pertinent case information.
I could now put together a timeline. Amelia disappeared sometime between six fifteen p.m. and seven p.m. It would have been dusk at that point, making it difficult for someone to grab her without being seen. Which made me wonder if she went willingly with someone she knew?
Oliver grabbed my attention and pointed to Camry. Her face was sheet white.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It was a reporter from the Channel Two news.” Camry handed the phone to me. “A forensic team is back at Waller Park right now collecting more samples, and the body has been identified as Amelia.”
Episode Twenty
Waller Park
We spotted the yellow tape and unmarked police vehicles near the duck pond and pulled over. Oliver, Camry and I jumped out of the car and ran to the scene where two news crews were already packing up.
“The forensic team is at work. Taking pictures, measuring the distance from the pond to where the body was found, three men with gloves are on their knees, digging around in the dirt. I can’t see much from my spot behind the police tape, but another person in a blue jacket is taking pictures. While another is gathering the ducks to keep them away,” I said into the recorder. “It appears to be the same pond that the picture of Amelia hanging in her parent’s entryway was taken at.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Oliver.
“What exactly did the reporter say on the phone?” I asked Camry. After she said the Waller Park body was Amelia, nothing else mattered. The three of us ran to my car, jumped in and said no more than two words the entire ride.
“The reporter said the forensic team was back on the scene today to collect more information, and that they had identified the body as Amelia Clark,” said Camry.
I craned my neck to look into the hole but could only see people doing their job. It was frustrating. “What more information do they need?” I asked out loud.
“I-I can answer that.”
I spun around so fast my recorder flew out of my hand. Oliver caught it mid-air and returned it to me without taking his eyes off the crime scene.
Wow.
I turned more carefully this time, holding tight to the five-hundred-dollar piece of equipment in my hand.
Standing behind me was a twenty-something aged guy. He was tall, thin, blond hair, freckles and had an under bite. He had a knit hat on despite the fact it was almost eighty degrees outside. In his hand was a recorder. The type used for dictation not for sound quality.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is A-Austin Mallor. I write for The Santa Maria Tribune.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket that stated his name was Austin Mallor, and he wrote for The Santa Maria Tribune. “I’m doing an article o-on your podcast for Sunday’s addition. Leon Ramsey told me about it. H-he was m-my godfather.”
I gave Austin the once over. Leon never mentioned he had a godson who worked for the paper.
He also never mentioned that he was dying.
I guess it was fair to say I didn’t know much about Leon Ramsey.
“I’m Liv Olsen, nice to meet you. I’m sorry about Leon. He seemed like a nice man.”
“Th-thank y-you.”
“Do know what they’re doing here?”
“Th-they’re taking soil samples.”
“And they identified the body as Amelia today?”
“N-no they didn’t identify a-anyone. It’s a rumor I-I started.”
Camry decided to step in. “What is wrong with you?”
If Austin were a cartoon character, he would have had hearts protruding from his eyeballs. Camry poked him in the chest with her finger and he stumbled backwards.
I was interpreting the exchange for Oliver. He rolled his eyes.
“H-hold on, I can explain,” said Austin.
“Then spit it out,” Camry said with a warning glare.
Austin stuttered through the specifics.
Here’s what happened: Austin had been covering the decomposed body in the park story. According to Austin’s contact, they were able to decipher from initial inspections that the remains belonged to a female, late teens/early twenties and had been there at least ten years. Which, of course, I already knew. Austin posted to Twitter that he thought the body at Waller Park was Amelia Clark. Mistaking it as fact, Channel Two re-tweeted his tweet, and thus the rumor was born.
“Th-this will only help generate buzz for your podcast,” said Austin, as if he did us a favor.
“He’s an idiot,” signed Oliver.
�
�W-what did he just say?” Austin asked me. “Sorry, I don’t speak deaf.”
Camry slapped her forehead.
“It was irresponsible for you to post speculation on Twitter when you write for the paper,” I said to Austin. “What if her family read it?”
“H-hear me out. A-Amelia Clark is the only missing person from the area to fit the description. It-it’s a strong possibility this is her.”
“Yes, we already know that.” We drove all the way here just to get information we already had. I hadn’t been to the crime scene yet because I wanted to wait until we knew for sure it was Amelia. Seeing the forensic team felt too real. Too gruesome. Too finite. Too awful. I was furious.
“When will we know the identity?” Oliver asked.
“O-oh wow, dude, sorry, I didn’t know you could...talk English,” Austin said.
“He’s an idiot,” signed Oliver.
Austin asked me to translate.
“It’s called interpret not translate,” I said. “When will they release the identity?”
“M-my source said they should know in a few days. And he is telling m-me exclusively.”
“Oh yeah?” Camry had her finger pointed, ready to stab. “Who is your source?”
“I c-can’t give you that.”
“Then I can’t believe you.” Camry waved him away. “Shoo. Shoo.”
“Hold on, let’s not be too hasty,” I said, mostly to Camry. Ten seconds ago, I wanted to nut-punch Austin, but it would be beneficial to have a contact at the newspaper. Especially a contact who had a contact because, as it stood, I was contact-less.
“Did you want to interview me for your article?” I asked. “We could do it now, since we’re already here.”
“O-o-o-okay.”
Episode Twenty-One
Who is Janet Clark?
“What’s this round metal thing for?” Hazel tapped the round metal thing over the microphone, otherwise known as a pop filter.
“It prevents plosives,” I said. “Normally when you speak into the microphone we can hear breathing from the nose or mouth and the ‘b’ and ‘p’ sounds spike in the waveform.”
“Well, aren’t you fancy.” Hazel shifted around in her chair to address the group. “You all need anything else?”
“No” was the collective answer. Everyone was gathered around the dining table eating berry pie while I set up for the interview. And by all, I meant Hazel, Oliver, Camry, and Austin—he’d been following Camry around since we left the park two days ago.
What we knew about Austin Mallor:
-He had a master’s degree in journalism from USC.
-He was twenty-six.
-He grew up in Santa Maria.
-He was bullied as a child for his stutter and now mentors children at the Boys & Girls Club.
-He only stuttered when he was nervous.
-Camry made him nervous.
-He owned a beanie in every color.
-He didn’t know Amelia, but he’d been to CinnaMann’s.
-He lived in his parent’s guesthouse.
-Both of his parents worked for the police department.
Which made Austin Mallor my new best friend. He got bonus points for being fun and knowledgeable. And he liked berry pie, which saved Camry and I from having to eat two slices each.
It felt good having everyone here. When I started this journey, I knew it would be hard. At the time, I thought the biggest stress would be possible career suicide and financial ruin. Now, I had the added pleasure of worrying about our safety. More specifically, Hazel and Camry’s safety. Getting involved in Amelia’s case wasn’t their idea. It was mine. Having Austin and Oliver around eased my mind a bit. Not because they were big strong men there to protect us (Camry could easily take Austin), but because there was safety in numbers.
I hoped.
Hazel slipped the headphones over her ears, careful not to disturb her hair. “Do you want me to speak in my normal voice?”
“Yes, and speak directly into the microphone.” I sat behind my laptop. “Pretend we’re having a conversation.”
“If you want, I can speak in my sexy voice,” she said.
The room fell silent and we all stared at Hazel.
“Did she say sexy voice?” Oliver signed to me.
I nodded.
He grimaced.
“Oh, this I’ve got to hear.” Camry put her pie down and rubbed her hands together.
“What do you want me to say?” Hazel asked.
“Tell us your name, age and how long you’ve lived in Santa Maria.” I clicked record. “Whenever you’re ready.” I bit my lip to keep from cracking a smile.
Hazel first rolled her shoulders, then leaned into the mic and said, “Hello, my name is Hazel Susana Lewis.” Hazel was right. She did have a sexy voice. It was a low, lush, sultry sound. “I have lived in Santa Maria for fifty years.” She sensually drawled out the “s” in years.
If I closed my eyes, I saw a mature woman with jet-black hair, crimson nails filed to a point and a low-cut dress. When I opened them, I saw Mrs. Claus.
“How was that?” Hazel asked.
I couldn’t formulate a response.
Oliver screwed his face into a question mark.
“Your grandma has a sex phone operator voice,” I signed to him.
“I’m okay not hearing that.” Oliver licked his fork clean and went to the kitchen to put his plate in the sink.
“She would be good for n-narrative,” said Austin. “You know how podcasts have a different person say, ‘last time on Cold in America.’”
“He’s right,” I said to Hazel. “You have a great speaking voice. Can you say, ‘last time’...pause...‘on Missing or Murdered.’”
She leaned into the microphone. “Last time...on Missing or Murdered.”
I had chills.
“Maybe a little less sexy. We don’t want to give the impression this is a geriatric porno,” Camry added.
Good point.
Hazel tried again and it was perfect.
Next she talked about the mood in Santa Maria after Amelia disappeared—using her normal voice. According to Hazel, the local consensus around town was that Amelia had taken off. Many thought she was either on drugs or suffered from depression. Some thought she’d runaway to kill herself.
This was before the car with all her personal belongings and traces of blood on the seat and steering wheel were found. That’s when people began to worry she’d been hurt. After a few weeks, the chatter dissipated, press coverage stopped, and people concentrated on surviving in a city hit hard by a bad economy.
Hazel went on to tell the story of when she asked Janet Clark about the parade committee.
“Had you ever seen Janet Clark at the bakery?” I asked.
“I’ve never seen Janet Clark anywhere. Not the grocery store. Not the mall. Not at any restaurants. If I hadn’t seen her with my own two eyes that day, I’d swear she didn’t exist.”
“Would you say she’s shy?” I’d yet to hear from Detective LeClare, and I didn’t know if I’d use the information about Janet possibly being in Santa Maria. Austin said I’d need at least one more source to confirm this before I could use it. But Austin was a journalist.
I was not.
Hazel crinkled her nose. “I’d say she’s more odd than shy.”
“Have you ever had any other interactions with her aside from that one time?”
“Yes, I stopped by after Amelia went missing to see how she was doing. I normally don’t show up empty handed, but John had just died.” She stopped to cross herself. “And she owns a bakery, so it’s not as if she needed more sweets. I thought what she could use was a friend, someone to talk to, someone to keep her company. She actually allowed me into her entryway that time, and she told me they were dealing wi
th things the best they could but asked me to please respect their privacy.”
“So she wasn’t as abrupt with you that time?”
“No, I guess not. She was nicer but...I don’t know. There’s something about Janet Clark that rubs me the wrong way. Their house was too clean.”
“Did that strike you as odd?”
“When my daughter passed—” She crossed herself. “—I could barely get out of bed, let alone clean my house. Then again, grief looks different on every person.”
I exchanged a look with Camry. When we stopped by the Clark’s house, the piano in the entryway was dusty and the picture of Amelia had cobwebs on the corners. Maybe Janet cleaned when she was grieving.
Or maybe she cleaned when there was something to hide.
Once Hazel’s interview was done, I twisted in my chair to work out a kink in my lower back. The sun had since set, and Hazel closed the blinds and flipped on the above light on her way to the kitchen. I could smell dinner simmering—a pot roast with veggies and mashed potatoes—and my stomach grumbled.
Austin walked in from the bathroom and pulled out a chair. “H-how many episodes do you have edited?”
“Episode one is done. Two is almost finished, three is outlined, but I’m waiting for them to identify the remains before I move on to episode three. If it’s Amelia, we’ll spend less time on where did Amelia go? And more time on who killed her and buried her in the park.”
Austin jotted this down on a notepad. He was still working on the article set to release in the Sunday paper, which was perfect, because on Monday Missing or Murdered was set to go live.
I’d never been so:
Nervous
Excited
Happy
Freaked
Frightened
And nauseous in all my life.
I played the first full episode for the group, giving Oliver a script to read. Forty-three minutes and twenty-two seconds of my heart and soul.
I listened with one eye shut, scared to see everyone’s reactions.
As the outro played Hazel gave my shoulders a squeeze and kissed the top of my head. She had a confection sugar and maple aroma that reminded me of my own grandma who passed when I was ten. “I’m so proud of you girls. This sounds like a real professional radio show,” she said.