"Do you want to hear what I think?"
"Aren't you already telling me what you think?" I blow her a kiss, and she pretends to bat it away.
She holds up a finger, sayinghold please. Her hand swipes over her phone, and a moment later, she Airdrops a link to my phone. I tap on the notification, and it opens my internet browser. The page loads, showing a serene space, teak furniture, a woman wrapped in a plush white towel lying in a sauna. The image is replaced by a different woman receiving a massage.
"Sagewood Spa?" I ask, confused. "What about it?"
"It's in Olive Township."
"Correct." Olive Township is also where the De la Vegas live, at their locally famous Summerhill Olive Mill. "So?"
Jolene sits back, regarding me with a thoughtful look. "I can't get away anytime soon, but you? You, my friend, are long overdue for a spa day."
"I can't show up in his town, Jolene. Talk about stalker vibes."
"You have the same right as everybody else to use the spa. Come on. It's not weird. That place is basically famous. There are articles written about the Sacred Prickly Pear red clay body treatment. It's listed as a destination spa in travel magazines." She adjusts the sleeve of her button-down blouse. "It's a two-hour drive. Make it yourdestination."
"Maybe," I say, toying with my lower lip. Should I goto Olive Township? Scope out the place? I've read about the eclectic small town online enough that, by now, it feels like I already know it. The popular places to eat, the speakeasy with the secret entrance, the store that operates on an honor system. I know all about the Italian family who runs a gelato shop, touted as making a fior de latte that can transport you straight to a piazza in Florence. I know all this because I've been fascinated by the juxtaposition. How can a seemingly senseless murder have occurred in such an idyllic location?
It's the same question that has haunted me every day since I was fourteen, and my little sister was killed at a water park. Years later, the thought manages to steal my breath. The grief is never far, ebbing and flowing like the tide, sweeping over me then leaving me bereft. Powerful enough to drown me on some days.
"Mallory?" Jolene waves a hand in the air. "Where did you go?"
"Memory lane," I respond.
Jolene frowns. "You looked upset. Are you sure all this is a good idea?"
For years, I've been driven by the need to bring my sister's killer to justice. Nothing will bring her back, though I'd give anything for it. My sister's smile could light up a dark room, and ever since that day, I've been living in perpetual darkness. How can I ignore the possibility that the two cases could be linked?
"Yes," I say, with confidence I feel to my bones.
"We can scrap it," Jolene presses.
I shake my head. "No way. Not if there's a chance they could be connected."
"The chance is slim," Jolene warns. Maternal again. I'll have to ask her for tips on how to do that. She's not a mom, but for her, it's natural. An instinct. I certainly won't be asking my own mother. Or my father, not that I ever knew him. He left my mom before I spoke my first word.
"If I have the opportunity to make this world a tiny bit safer, I should take it. I owe him." My hand slides over my slightly swollen midsection, a bump that is barely there. "Or, her."
Jolene eyes me. "What do you plan to do?"
I hold up my phone, scrolling to the button that saysBook a service."Spa weekend."
Jolene attempts a smile. "For both your sakes, I hope you get what you're after." She opens a note on her phone, begins typing. "Fresh notebooks, sharp pencils, felt-tip pens."
"What are you doing?"
"Making a shopping list for your getaway weekend. I know how you like to take notes the old-fashioned way. You need to write down everything you see. Hear. Whatever strikes your fancy. Remember, the end goal is to getCase Filespicked up by a podcast network. Foundry," she says dreamily, referring to the network she's had designs on since the momentCase Fileswas born.
"The end goal is to figure out who killed my sister, and then figure out if it's the sameperson who killed Simon De la Vega," I remind her. "We are healing hearts. Seeking justice."
Jolene blows out a hard breath. "Yes, of course. Consider Foundry an ancillary goal. Never mind that the show is struggling, and Foundry would be its savior."
"There are dips and swells," I tell her. "It's a natural part of every business."
Even if I truly believe my words, there's still a part of me that worries. What if one day, the dip will be too low to come back from?
It's Jolene's big dream to be picked up by a podcast network. Like so many people, Jolene graduated law school and began practicing, only to be slapped in the face with the reality of the long hours, and how little time she'd have left to have a personal life. ProducingCase Filesis her passion, and she'd be thrilled to make it her only job.
