"Hmm," I say, like I'm mulling over the facts, feeling only the curiosity of your average, everyday true crime podcaster. I know better than to take what I hear or see at face value. Isn't there always more to the story? But damn if there isn't a twinge of a little something in the center of my chest. Hope.
"Well," Liane says, tipping her coffee cup left to right over the table. "My coffee is finished, and I should be getting back to the festival. My husband always delivers a speech to close out the day's events, and he prefers when I stand beside him."
Together we throw away our trash, and I send a goodbye wave in the direction of the cashier. She's leaning against the counter, on her phone, and doesn't see me.
"Congrats on your bun in the oven," Liane says when we step into the sunshine. It's not as bright now as it was earlier, the rays less direct. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask. As long as you're in town, I'm happy to be helpful."
She hustles back across the street and down the sidewalk, bougie heels snapping the pavement.
The woman has me baffled, a position in which I don't often find myself. She wants to be the queenly mayoress, but inside there's a woman who wants to gossip and spice up her coffee. I feel bad for her, even if it appears she's constructed the gilded cage and put herself in it.
Belly full, I make it back to Olive Inn. Braxton is at the front desk, folded over his phone. I've seen him a handful of times since that first day, and he doesn't get less creepy.
I walk quickly across the small lobby, and although he didn't look up when I walked in, I feel his eyes on me as I go. Maybe I should check one of the other hotels in town, see if they have room for me. Maybe people will leave now that the Olive Festival is over.
I spend the evening writing down everything I can remember from today in my notebook, and then begin using my trusty search bar to learn more about thoseindividuals. The day at the hair salon was more fruitful than I could've imagined. I had a feeling Liane was full of information, and I was right.
Chapter 14
Hugo
Penn: So. You brought the true crime podcaster to the festival.
Hugo: If this is a news report, it's very boring.
Penn: You do know you were holding her hand when you walked up, right?
Hugo: I wasn't holding her hand so much as leading her over.
Penn: Was her hand in yours?
Penn: No answer necessary. We both already know it.
Hugo: Do you have a point to this? It's late.
Penn: I'm giving you shit because there's something else I want to say, and I'mnot sure how to say it.
Hugo: Use your words SAILOR.
Penn: Hi, Hugo. It's Daisy. I took the phone from SAILOR. What he wants to say is
Penn: I wrestled the phone back from my wife. What I want to say is, are you aware the podcaster is pregnant?
Hugo: MALLORY
Penn: ??
Hugo: Stop calling her podcaster. She has a name.
Hugo: And yes, I'm aware.
Penn: You were holding a pregnant woman's hand? Do you think her boyfriend/spouse/partner would love to see you do that?
Hugo: She doesn't have any of the above.
Hugo: Also, fuck right off. You came back to town and PRETENDED NOT TO BE YOURSELF. I have carte blanche to do whatever I want for the rest of time.
Penn: This is a 'do as I say, not as I do' situation.
