Chapter 1
Olive Township
I should love allmy inhabitants in equal measure.
But that's not the case. I cannot love the wicked as I do the saint.
The moment Simon De la Vega left this world, I felt it. A stuttering in my heartbeats. A pain from which I could not recover. I've taken extra care with his children, doing what I can to bring them warmth and love. But their broken hearts, I cannot heal.
Something looms on the horizon. I feel it, a rumbling around me.
Someone is coming.
So is change.
Both are desperately needed.
Chapter 2
Mallory
To: Hugo De la Vega
From: Mallory Hawkins
Hello,
I'm following up on my most recent email to see if you've given any thought to meeting me. I'm sincerely sorry for what you and your family have experienced, and I'd love to give you a voice. I understand this is unconventional, and not something people usually find enjoyable, but it has tremendously helped others to speak about their experience. I'm including a link to my podcast below. If you listen to it, you'll see how deeply I care about giving voice to unfinished stories.
Best,
Mallory Hawkins
Host ofCase Files
"Hugo hasn't responded.Not to your first email, your second, your third, or, shockingly, your fourth." Jolene levels me with a maternal stare as she leans over our kitchen table. Gently she closes my open laptop, and the string of unanswered emails disappears from my sight. Her fingers traipse across the closed computer, finding their way to my cup of fruit. She snatches a red grape and pops it into her mouth.
"I never should have made you my best friend," I gripe, snaking a hand around the white porcelain fruit bowl and curling it into my chest. "Or my producer."
"Face it, toots," Jolene says, settling into the chair opposite me. Her reddish-brown hair is wound in a perfect bun on top of her head, giving her the look of a regal ballerina. "Hugo De lawhateverhis last name is?—"
"De la Vega," I supply, glancing at the closed computer as I say his name. When I open it again, it will show that same name, and all those unanswered emails. Jolene may have interrupted my fixation on the gold medal Olympian and his non-response, but it's waiting for me where I left it.
She extends a flattened palm between us, nodding. "Hugo De la Vega wants nothing to do with you. Or your quest."
I sit back, selecting a pineapple chunk and nibbling atthe end. Disappointment courses through me, but it's nothing new. Months have passed since I sent that first email. Every time I check my inbox, a tinywhat ifthrill presses at me. It's short-lived, because so far, Hugo De la Vega is incommunicado.
Choosing to be gentle in my initial approach, I'd emailed him a basic query letter. I introduced myself, my true crime podcast, and my mission. I spent hours crafting that email, revising and editing and choosing words that conveyed the depth of my condolences over what he and his family had endured. If there was one thing I knew, it was that the pain from a murdered family member, especially one still unsolved, was endless. And, oh, how it tormented the soul. The heart.
"It's rude of him to ignore you," Jolene says, uncapping a yellow highlighter. She's on hour three of sifting through phone records, highlighting calls that took place during certain times. Jolene moonlights as myCase Filesproducer, but by day she's an assistant at a law office.
"One could argue it was presumptuous of me to email him." There is a pinprick of defensiveness in my tone. Hugo's not being rude. He's protecting himself. And probably his family, too.
It's what I would do, if somebody cold-called me about my little sister's murder. If I wasn't a true crime podcaster, didn't know what I know, understand how, sometimes, cases are solved and hearts are healed because of podcasts like mine. "If he would email me back and tell meno,I could put this to bed."
Jolene's eyebrows arch. "Could you?"
A reluctant smile curves my lips. My stubbornness lives in infamy. "No."
