“The game’s afoot!” I declare. “And it’s going to New York. Digitally anyway. I’m moving my search efforts to New York.”
“Gonna flood all those unsuspecting counties with your information requests?”
“Oh, fuck yes. I need to grab my laptop—”
I stop when I notice a familiar boat approaching. Perfect. It’s the Spencers. At leastthey’llappreciate these new developments.
“Guys,” I holler. “I might’ve tracked down Dolly!”
“How the hell did you do that?” Big Spencer asks after they cut the engine ten feet from our dock, their boat bobbing in the water. “Mary at the records office refused to budge no matter how much we flirted.”
“Because you areterribleat flirting,” Little Spencer informs his partner. “Like, god-awfully bad.”
“Oh, and it worked when you tried with her? Do we have those records, Spencer?” Big Spencer lifts a hand to his forehead and mimes searching for something. “I don’t see those records anywhere.”
Little Spencer has the decency to look abashed. “Fine. We were both abysmal at wooing Mary.”
“Nobody can woo Mary,” I assure them. “I recruited her underling Kyle.”
Big Spencer heaves a sigh. “Of course it’s a Kyle. Kyles are sodumb. They’ll do anything for pussy.”
His partner snorts. “Says the gay man who has no idea what straight men will do for pussy.”
“I’d dig through a few dusty boxes for pussy,” Wyatt offers, and I turn to glare at him. “I mean, notanypussy,” he amends. “Yours, obviously.”
The Spencers howl with laughter.
I spend the next few minutes filling them in on everything I managed to uncover this week while Little Spencer gasps andoohs at the appropriate moments and Big Spencer nods along and not ironically.
As Little Spencer and I dissect the Raymond and Dolly marriage bomb, I notice Wyatt smirking at us, but there’s also an odd gleam in his eyes.
“What?” I grumble at him.
He pushes his sunglasses onto his nose. “Nothing. I just find you guys entertaining. I feel like I’m watching a talk show with two overly enthusiastic morning hosts, only they’re not annoying.”
Little Spencer gasps again. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Ever?” his partner says dryly.
“Well, today.” He spins back to me. “You should come on the podcast!” Another gasp flies out. “You should be my cohost!”
“Uh-huh, okay.”
“I mean it,” he insists.
“I don’t think I’m interesting enough to be on a podcast.”
“You wouldn’t be talking about your own life,” Wyatt points out, and I can’t believe he’s entertaining the idea. Any venture with the Spencers feels like it would be exhausting. “You’d be discussing actual topics. You know, like hauntings and vampires or whatever the hellyour thing is about.” He directs the last part at the Spencers.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging.
“At least agree to a guest appearance,” begs Little Spencer. “We can record an episode for the Darlie mystery. And if we have crazy chemistry, then maybe we’ll do more.”
“Sure, I’d do that,” I say, because why not. I wouldn’t mind chatting about Darlie.
But I have no intention of making it a regular occurrence, especially since the podcast has a video component. Next to Spencer’s larger-than-life personality, I’ll probably come off as the most boring, unimpressive person on the planet. Plus, the idea of being on camera and uploading it to the internet for all to see makes me break out in hives. I feel more comfortable in the background. The support staff, if you will. Not everybody needs to be the CEO.
Little Spencer breaks out in a broad smile. “Excellent! What are you two up to tonight?”
