That’s last night’s episode.
No. No, no,no. This can’t be happening, can it? Not again, not the night my podcast aired. Once was a coincidence, but two out of two? It means it’s not just about the books—it’s aboutMurders & Manuscripts. Someone’s listening tomypodcast and enacting the fictional murdersIdiscuss. Me.
Her brows knit together. “I know what you’re going to say, but—”
“The Widow’s Veil.” Vanessa isn’t much of a reader, but she’s a supportive friend, and Paige says she always listens to my podcast first thing every Friday. “The episode about it came out last night, Vanessa.”
“I know.”
“So… do you need any more proof? This isn’t just someone who’s recreating fictional murders. They’re finding inspiration in my podcasts.”
“Even if that were true, there’s nothing—”
“There’splentywe can do!” I interrupt. “We can check the list of subscribers or… or… set up a trap for the killer on the podcast.”
She sighs. “A trap like how?”
I scoff, not knowing exactly what to say. But we have to dosomething, right? This is obviously connected to the podcast, and I can’t be responsible for another murder. For another victim. What if I’d discussedLast Day on the Traininstead ofThe Widow’s Veil? Would someone else have died instead of Mallory Young?
“Look, we already have enough people playing hero around here,” Vanessa says, her voice clipped but not unkind. “Getting the chief to evenlistento you will be difficult after what else happened.”
I swallow my protest. “What else happened?”
Her expression falters, a grimace like she’s said too much. Her blue eyes, wide-set and sharp even when worried, scan the street before she leans in. “Uh, nothing. Just Quentin—you know, from The Oak—he’s a neighbor of Mallory’s. Apparently, he had a run-in with the killer.”
My breath catches. My ex Quentin? Rafael’s cousin Quentin? No way. “What did he say?”
Vanessa hesitates, her eyes darting around again. “He stabbed the killer—well, in the arm.”
“Quentinstabbed—” I slap a hand over my mouth.
“Shh!” Vanessa hisses. “Yes. And he’s damn lucky the killer didn’t react. Or that he didn’t stab some poor innocent bystander in the chaos.”
“Did Quentin confirm it’s a man?” I cut in, my thoughts racing.
“Yes, but the point is—”
“And he didn’t see the killer’s face?”
“No, he didn’t.” She grips my shoulder firmly, forcing me to meet her eyes. “The point is, Scarlett, the chief won’t accept any more interference. Quentin pulling a stunt like that has already set everyone on edge.” Her hand lingers on my shoulder. “Let us handle this and stay out of it, seriously.”
I slowly nod, but my thoughts are already spinning far beyond this conversation.
Stay out of it.Right.
Like that’s even possible anymore.
the foreshadowing[trope]
a sneaky literary maneuver in which minor details hint at big, heart-throbbing, or painfully awkward events to come; in rom-coms, often disguised as offhand remarks about never dating coworkers, accidental hand touches, or a quirky side character saying, “you two would make such a cute couple.” best enjoyed when you don’t realize it’s happening until thebig reveal
“So, what do you think?” I ask into the phone, pacing back toward the couch. It’s taken me a while to explain everything to Celeste.
“I think you sound frantic, and I’d like you to calm—”
“We are way past calming down!” I screech. “Celeste, wehaveto stop airing the episodes until this is over. We have to. That’s the only solution.”
Silence. Then a disbelieving laugh. “Wait, what?”
