Page 3 of Is Anyone Listening?
"No problem," I told her. "It might take us a while to find the right case."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Morgan said, grabbing her bag and heading out the door.
"I need wine and food before we start researching," Tessa said. "Do you want to order from that Thai place down the street?"
I picked up my phone. "On it." After ordering our favorites, I got up and grabbed a baggie of veggies from the fridge, poured ranch dressing into a small bowl and took it to the table.
"Thanks." Tessa immediately reached for a carrot. "I didn't have time to grab dinner before I came over."
"Me, either. Food will be here in ten minutes."
Tessa refilled our wine glasses, finishing off the bottle. "Morgan seemed stressed tonight. This is why I don't date men with children and ex-wives. It's far too complicated."
I nodded, popping a slice of cucumber into my mouth. "It wouldn't be my first choice, but I guess you love who you love."
"Or you choose to love someone else," Tessa said dryly.
"Speaking of choosing someone, did you hear from that guy you went out with on Saturday?"
"Nope. He gave me the usual, had a great time, let's do it again speech, and then nothing. I'm over dating, Cassidy."
"I hear you."
She gave me a more serious look. "I'm also over not having a real job and real money. That's why we need to make this podcast work."
"I get it." I paused, glancing down at my phone. "Our food is here. I'll go down and get it. Then we'll figure out our next case."
An hour later, we'd finished our late dinner and were deep into our computer files. But as I read through all the cases that I'd made notes on in the last few months, they all seemed wrong—too big or too scary or too far away. I was beginning to think our idea was only great in theory, not in practice.
Then the name of a town jumped out at me—Stonecross, Maine. I let out a breath of surprise.
"Did you find something?" Tessa asked, looking up from her computer.
"I—I'm not sure." My gaze ran down the news article about a woman who had gone missing a year ago in the small town of Stonecross. She'd last been seen at the Stonecross Inn. Now I remembered why I'd saved this story.
"Cassidy?" Tessa's questioning gaze brought my head up.
"It's…nothing."
"It doesn't sound like nothing. What's the case?"
"A year ago. Natalie Warren, thirty, from New York City, vanished after a three-day stay—checking out two days early from the Stonecross Inn in Stonecross, Maine."
"That sounds good," Tessa said with excitement. "Natalie is only a few years older than us. She's from New York. And Maine isn't that far away. Plus, the town name makes it sound kind of gothic."
"We can't go there," I said flatly.
Tessa's eyes widened in surprise. "Why on earth not?"
"Because…we can't. I can't."
"I don't understand. What's the problem?"
"My father was born in Stonecross, Maine."
"Really? But why is that a problem?"
"My father left when he was eighteen and has never been back. There was some family drama that he refuses to speak about."
