Microphones and Murder

by Erin Huss

  I was shocked by her outburst.

  But I could only deal with one family drama at a time—and right then, Amelia’s egotistical maniac father appeared more pressing. “We can discuss this later,” I whispered. “I don’t want Oliver to replace you, I want him because he’s tall and he can easily see what’s on the other side of this fence.”

  Camry wiped away a tear. “Oh.” She sucked in her bottom lip.

  Crap. I felt terrible. I grabbed Camry by the hand, about to tell her how much I appreciated her, but the front door opened. Instead of giving my kid sister a heart-to-heart, I slapped my hand over her mouth, threw her behind a giant bush and jumped on top of her.

  Heart-to-hearts would have to wait for a time when we weren’t trespassing.

  I watched Richard through the branches, my hand still over Camry’s mouth. He was in Birkenstocks and socks, yawning as he watered the grass, acting as if there were nothing amiss in his world. Like it was perfectly normal to water your lawn by hand at nine thirty at night.

  Once the grass was soaked, he watered the flowers under the window. Each plant got a good soaking and I could see where this was going. I shoved the recorder into my pants and waited for it.

  Water sprayed down on us. I closed my eyes and took it, saying a silent prayer of thanks that my phone was in the car, and made a plea for the safety of the recorder currently shoved in my underwear. Five minutes later, Richard deemed the bush sufficiently soaked. He wrapped the hose around his arm, set it near the garage, and went back inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

  The coast was clear.

  Or so I hoped.

  Camry and I cut through the neighbor’s yard. My shoes filled with water and sloshed with each step.

  “You’re soaked,” said Hazel as I slid into the car.

  I pulled the recorder from inside my pants. Water dripped out of the speakers. “No! No! No!”

  “...and then he went demonic and told us to get off his property...” Camry gave the play-by-play of what happened to Austin. “The door opened and it was Richard. He watered the entire yard, like he was taunting us, daring us to come out, then he hosed us down but we didn’t move.”

  Austin leaned over the seat. “I-is the recorder okay?”

  I was holding down the power button and the speakers frizzed and sparked and the light wouldn’t come on. I felt faint. “It’s broken. Richard Clark went nuts on us. Confirmed Amelia was on his cell plan. And now that footage is gone.”

  “What did she say?” Oliver asked Camry.

  She wrung out her hair. “The recorder won’t work, and Richard Clark is a whack-o.”

  “Give it to me.” Oliver snatched the recorder from my tight grasp. I watched with hope, thinking he’d do some kind of Tech Genius voodoo, but all he did was push the power button. “It won’t turn on.”

  “I know!”

  “Drive back to the house right now,” he said. “I think if I disassembled the whole thing, drain the water, and let it air dry overnight, it might work again. But we need to do it fast.”

  I was halfway down the street before he even finished. Driving like a mad woman. It was an emergency! The lemon fell off my lap and rolled across the center console over to Hazel’s seat. I’d completely forgotten about it.

  “Well that’s one ugly lemon,” Hazel said, holding it up for inspection.

  “Liv stole it form the Clark’s backyard,” said Camry.

  “Now why would you go and do something like that?”

  I turned right on University Drive and passed The Santa Maria Way Apartments.

  “Someone was staring at us through the window,” I said. “Then I saw the lemon tree and wondered if they had ugly apples back there. If they did, maybe Richard broke your window.” I stopped at a red light and watched the green bulb, willing it to turn on.

  “Richard Clark would never do such a thing,” Hazel said. “He’s such a nice man.”

  Camry leaned forward so her head was between our seats. “If you saw the Richard Clark we did, you’d have a different opinion. That man is crazy and guilty of something.”

  “If-if he was guilty why would he throw an apple from his own backyard through your w-window?” Austin asked.

  Good point.

  I turned on Bradly Ave and thought about the eyes in the window. I thought about Richard’s outburst. I thought about Amelia’s outburst at the cell store. I thought about Jeremy’s lies. I thought about Penny’s lies. I thought about the look on Carlos’ face when we told him about the apple. I thought about Austin’s advice to look at things from a different angle.

  What if the apple through the window wasn’t a warning?

  What if it was a clue?

  Detective LeClare said it was likely someone we had talked to.

  Carlos or Richard.

  We thought Carlos told Jeremy.

  Richard likely told Janet.

  Carlos, Jeremy, Richard, or Janet.

  I slammed on the breaks. Austin crashed into the back of my seat.

  “Dude, wear your seatbelt,” said Oliver.

  Hazel touched my arm. “Liv, what is it?”

  “We need to look in the backyard right now.” I made a U-turn and Austin slammed against the back window.

  “Seatbelt,” said Camry.

  “The sooner I can take this recorder apart the better chance you have at saving it,” said Oliver.

  Crap. He was right. I slammed on the breaks. Austin crashed against the seat.

  “Why do you need to look in the backyard?” Hazel asked.

  I pulled over and switched on my hazard lights. “What if the apple is a clue and not a warning? What if the apple was meant to lead us to the backyard?”

  Austin rubbed his head. “B-but what are you going to do? Go up to the front door and ask to l-look in the backyard?”

  Camry wrung out her socks. “That’ll work. I’m sure he’ll invite us right in. Bake us cookies. Give us a tour. Brutally beat us with a butcher knife. It’ll be fun. Great idea. Let’s do it.”

  “H-how would he beat you w-with a butcher knife?”

  “Did he say butcher knife?” Oliver asked me.

  “Whatever!” Camry threw her soaked socks onto the floor. “Stab us with a butcher knife. Honestly, you people are too literal.”

  The most awful thought crept into my mind, a theory so horrendous that I couldn’t quite vocalize it. At least not yet.

  “He’s such a nice man.” Hazel was still stuck on this. If my recorder weren’t waterlogged, she’d think differently.

  Oliver got my attention. “If you think there’s something in the backyard then you need to check it out before Richard Clark has a chance to get rid of any incriminating evidence,” he signed, which made me think Oliver too had a horrendous theory about what or who was in the backyard.

  Camry pointed to Oliver. “What’d he say?”

  “He said we’re going back to the Clark’s house.” I shoved the car into drive. “Buckle up, Austin.”

  Episode Twenty-Seven

  Heart

  I parked in front of the vacant lot, unbuckled my seatbelt, shoved the pepper spray in my back pocket, grabbed my phone and turned to address the backseat crew. “I shouldn’t be more than a minute, I’m going sneak into the Clark’s next-door neighbor’s backyard—it’s vacant—and look over the fence.”

  “If Richard catches you he’ll call the police,” said Camry. “Or behead you. Man’s crazy. Also, you can’t see over the fence, shorty.”

  “I’ll jump,” I said.

  Austin shot me an incredulous look. “J-jumping is your idea of being sneaky?”

  Oliver placed a hand on my soaked shoulder. “I have no idea what anyone is saying, but I’m coming with you.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

  “Me too.”
Camry climbed out after him.

  “I-I’m in.”

  Hazel slid into the driver’s seat and clutched the wheel with both hands. “I’ll stay here and drive the getaway car.”

  “We’re not doing anything illegal,” I said. “But just in case, keep it running.”

  The four of us huddled in front of the headlights. A shiver ran down my damp back and Oliver gave me his sweatshirt. It was about twelve sizes too big, but I appreciated the gesture and rolled the sleeves up to my wrists.

  “We’re not all going up to his door,” I said and signed. “Richard is already on edge and the four of us showing up will only make it worse. Camry and I will go. Oliver and Austin, you two peek into the backyard and take video and pictures. See if there’s a honey crisp apple tree. If there is, grab an apple, but don’t go in the yard. We have nothing factual to give the police if they ask why we trespassed. Just reach over the fence and grab it.”

  “No,” Oliver interrupted. “I’m going with you. You two,” he pointed to Camry and Austin. “You go look in the backyard.”

  “But—” I started to protest.

  “Trust me, I’ve got an idea,” he signed.

  I could hear the basketball game playing in the background and turned on the recording app on my phone. The sound quality would suck but it was better than nothing. Oliver knocked and I hid my phone in the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

  “Follow my lead,” he signed.

  His lead?

  Richard opened the door. His eyes were no longer black. His demeanor calmer. I liked this Richard better.

  “Hello, how are you doing tonight?” he asked in a tone that implied he was happy to see us.

  This man gave me whiplash.

  Oliver started signing. “I am going to sign really fast. This makes people uncomfortable.”

  “Okay...good evening…” I said, pretending to interpret. “This is Oliver—” I faltered. What if Leon told Richard about Amelia’s date with Oliver Lewis? “Um...Oliver...House...He’s Oliver House.” Good one, Liv. Before Oliver came up with this grand plan he should have ran it by me. I was a horrible liar. “He is...”

  Oliver was signing so fast I had no idea what he was saying.

  Richard huffed a sigh, growing impatient.

  “He’s...he’s the...um... he’s the executive producer. He’s here to apologize for...for...what happened earlier.”

  Richard wasn’t buying it. “You got a deaf guy working on a podcast?”

  “Deaf people can do anything hearing people can do,” I said. “He’s an Internet star, a famous YouTuber with over five million subscribers.”

  Oliver grabbed my attention. “They’re at the backyard fence.”

  Right.

  “Anyway, Oliver House says...that he’s sorry for the trouble and to please extend our apologies to Mrs. Clark.”

  “Who is at the door?” came a voice from inside. A woman appeared from the hallway. Her hair was long and gray. Her face crinkled and pale. She was wrapped in a paisley robe with slippers on her feet. I recognized her from the photograph. I recognized her eyes.

  It was Janet Clark.

  “Is this about the podcast?” she asked.

  Oliver stopped signing.

  “Hi, Mrs. Clark,” I said after a moment. “I’m Liv Olsen, one of the executive producers on Missing or Murdered.”

  “I gathered that.” Janet pulled the belt around her waist tighter. “What I don’t understand is why you are at my doorstep this late. Didn’t my husband tell you we want nothing to do with this silly radio show?”

  “It’s a podcast, and it’s only going to help shed more light on Amelia’s case.”

  “Nothing you’re doing will help find my daughter.” She stood behind her husband.

  “She’s right.” Richard draped a protective arm around his wife. “We’d like you to leave.”

  Janet glared at me. “Please leave,” she said.

  I gulped, unsure of what to make of Janet Clark and looked to Oliver for help. He did have the super human ability to read facial expressions after all.

  “They’re back at the car,” he signed, with no mention of Janet.

  Not sure of what else to say or do, I lowered my phone. “We’ll leave. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “I think we all can agree tonight got a little heated,” Richard said.

  A little heated?

  That’s like saying the sun is a little hot.

  “We miss our daughter.” Richard pulled Janet closer and she leaned into her husband. “It’s a hard situation and I hope you can understand.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Oliver and I walked back to the car without a word. Hazel was behind the wheel. Austin and Camry were in the backseat. I got in the passenger side and turned around.

  “Well?” I asked.

  Austin held up a honey crisp apple that looked exactly like the one thrown through the window. Which wasn’t exactly incriminating but it was something.

  “Did you see anything else?” I asked.

  Camry showed me a picture she’d taken on her phone of pebbles formed in the shape of a heart on the ground. “Where was this?” I asked.

  Camry looked as if she’s about to be cry. “It’s at the base of the apple tree. Looks an awful lot like a makeshift gravestone.”

  “Also,” said and signed Oliver. “Both Janet and Richard are lying.”

  Episode Twenty-Eight

  What To Do Now?

  Facts:

  -We have a picture of pebbles in the shape of a heart.

  -We have a deaf guy claiming to have a super-human ability to read body language.

  -We have a guy who is stuttering through the story of the time he broke into a vacant house’s backyard. With my step—I mean, little—sister talking over him.

  -We have a twenty-seven-year-old woman, who looks twelve, wearing a sweatshirt that goes to her knees, and has a theory.

  -And we have an apple.

  It was no wonder Detective LeClare would only speak to us through the one-inch gap between her door and frame. “How did you know my home address?” she asked.

  We all looked at each other.

  “It’s a matter of public record,” said Camry. She stood behind me with an emergency blanket wrapped around her shoulders—the one from my roadside kit. “I’m freezing and my shirt is see-through. That’s an emergency!” is what she’d said when she ripped open the kit with her teeth.

  “Did you ever talk to Dr. Deb Naidoo?” I asked LeClare, to change the subject.

  With a sigh of defeat, LeClare stepped outside and closed the door behind her. She had on a Fullerton State University shirt stretched over her belly, a pair of gray sweatpants on and she still looked like she could grace the cover of Sports Illustrated. “I’ve left two messages and sent a colleague to the clinic you said she worked at. She wasn’t there,”

  Dang it.

  “Look, Liv,” LeClare said in a way that meant bad news is to follow. “Between you and me and...” she looked around at Hazel, Austin, Oliver, and Camry. “Are you recording this?”

  “No,” I said. “This is beyond the podcast.”

  LeClare rocked from side to side. “I don’t discount anything you’re saying. Richard Clark has always felt too accommodating to me. Too nice. Too manipulative. I just don’t have enough proof to do anything about it.”

  “What about the cell phone?” I asked.

  “Hearsay.”

  “What about Janet? Have you spoken to her?”

  “Many times. She came to the station by herself last week when I asked to speak with her. She’s quiet. But from my understanding she’s always kept to herself.”

  “Was it ever verified that she was in San Francisco w
ith Richard?”

  “Her name was on the reservations.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Did you ever check surveillance footage from the hotel?”

  “There wasn’t surveillance requested at the time, no.”

  No? What a major oversight.

  “And what about the apple?” Camry held it up by the stem.

  “It’s a piece of fruit. This proves nothing. My parents have an apple tree. My neighbor has an apple tree. Hell, I might have an apple tree in the backyard for all I know,” she said. “Don’t you see? I have no body. I have no DNA. I have no confession. Without at least two of the three, nothing will happen. Ever.”

  Camry raised her hand. “But you can—”

  “I can’t run prints on fruit,” LeClare cut her off. “The best thing you can do for Amelia Clark is what you’re doing. This is why Leon contacted you. Someone here knows something. And that someone has been tightlipped for over a decade. Get the public to care about Amelia. This will force people to start talking. This will pressure the agency to run more DNA tests. I can’t do anything with hearsay. Honestly, I really can’t do anything without a body.”

  Then I guess there was no other option than to make sure this podcast was a hit.

  Episode Twenty-Nine

  An Overnight Failure

  On Monday, episode one, “Gone Cold,” went live. Within the first twenty-four hours we had a whopping 200 downloads. I reminded myself this was not Cold in America, and I was not Mara Lancer, and building an audience took time.