Page 64 of Is Anyone Listening?
"It's true," the sheriff interrupted. "Cole gave me the link, and Ellen and I just listened to it."
My gaze flew to Cole, who now looked uncomfortable. And Sophie looked angry, sending an annoyed look in his direction.
"It wasn't just about the inn," Ellen added. "It was about the rumors we've had to deal with this past year."
"I haven't lied about anything." I tried to keep my voice steady, despite my racing heart. "Everything we said on the podcast is based on facts. Natalie Warren disappeared from this inn. Jessica Trent disappeared while staying here. Anna Franklin left before dawn a few days ago. Those are facts, not rumors. And no one seems to care about these missing women."
"Those facts have been twisted to make this inn look dangerous," Ellen said. "Facts presented to make me look negligent, to make this town look sinister. You came here under false pretenses, pretending to be an ordinary guest when really you were here to exploit a tragedy for entertainment."
"It's not entertainment; it's also an investigation. It's trying to find answers for families who deserve them."
"You abused my hospitality," Ellen continued. "You painted this inn as some sort of death trap when the truth is that one woman disappeared after she left here, likely because she chose to leave. And you've built a conspiracy theory around that."
"Jessica Trent disappeared while she was staying here."
"Because she took a boat out on her own."
"And then there's Anna."
"Anna Franklin left of her own free will," Ellen snapped. "A friend picked her up."
"Then why was there blood on the carpet in her room?" I challenged. "Why did Ray carry it out to the garage and then move it again in his truck?"
Ellen's face went pale, then flushed with anger. "You've been spying on my staff? You've been sneaking around?—"
"I've been investigating," I interrupted. "Because women keep disappearing from this inn and no one is looking for them."
"That's enough," the sheriff said, taking a step toward me. "You need to leave. Ms. Clarke has every right to refuse you service."
"She might have the right, but I'm not going anywhere."
"Yes, you are," Ellen said, her voice edged with anger. "I've booked you a room at the hotel near the hospital where your friend is. I'll have Ray drive you there as soon as you get your things together."
"I'm not going anywhere with Ray, the man who moved a bloody carpet out of the inn."
"Why was there blood on the carpet?" Jeff asked from behind me.
I don't know which of the three of us was more surprised by the interruption.
"Stay out of this, Jeff," the sheriff ordered. "It doesn't concern you."
"Cassidy has a good question."
"Anna cut her hand on some broken glass in her room and bled on the carpet. Ray took it to the cleaners," Ellen said firmly. "You could find a mystery anywhere, couldn't you? And you don't need to answer that question, because as I said before, you're leaving. If you don't want a ride, you can call a taxi. Your investigation is over. Sheriff, would you mind escorting Ms. Bennett upstairs and waiting while she packs?"
"Hold on," I said, putting up a hand as Tom took a step in my direction. "I didn't come here just because of Natalie." My voice was shaking now, but I couldn't stop. This wasn't how I'd wanted to do this. I'd never planned to reveal my connection to Ellen in public, in front of all these people. But I had no choice. "Or the podcast. I came here to meet you."
Ellen stared at me in confusion. "No, you didn't. You're just trying to change your story now. This is another attempt to involve me personally in these disappearances, to make this about me?—"
"No," I interrupted. "I'm not changing my story. I did come here to look for Natalie and to talk about our search for her on the podcast. But that's not the only reason I came. It wasn't just about Natalie or the others. It was also about your son, David. And why you two haven't spoken in more than thirty years."
The color drained from Ellen's face. She went rigid, her hands clenching at her sides. The room had gone so quiet I could hear the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.
"That's enough," Ellen whispered, but now her voice was the one shaking. "You will not mention my son's name in this house."
"David isn't just your son," I said, forcing the words out. "He's also my father. I'm your granddaughter. I'm not Cassidy Bennett; I'm Cassidy Clarke. And I'm not leaving until we talk about why you and I have never met before now."
The silence that followed was absolute. Every person in the room stared at me, including Ellen, who stood frozen, her face ashen, her eyes wide with shock. For a long moment, she didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared at me as if I couldn't possibly be real.
