What we needed was a dirty cop to give us all the insider information for the case. I’d even take a talkative medical examiner. Cases were easier to follow when the cops had already proven someone’s guilt by laying out all the parts.
“I have a meeting with that local reporter this afternoon.” After watching the video from Lonny, I saw why the police could so easily call William’s death a suicide. I was sure they’d seen the video. But it put a lot of kinks into my theory. “I need to rethink all my questions now.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said as I grabbed my blue notebook from my purse.
I slid the pen from the spirals and stuck the end between my lips.
“Remember, we’re being safe. Right?”
I nodded. “Oh, definitely. Yes.”
Unless something happened, and I had the chance to solve the case by being a little reckless. Then… we’d see how it went.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” Dane said, twisting his body on the couch to face me head-on.
Oh, sweet summer child. I patted his leg, and Dane inched closer. The move put him within sniffing distance, and I sucked in a deep breath of his woodsy smell. It went right to my core and sent my toes curling.
Shit.
I had to get away from Dane. Right away.
For my sanity.
I flew off the couch. “I do better thinking while walking.”
“We all have our methods,” Dane said with a smirk, like he knew I’d lied.
A few hours later, I pulled my notebook from my purse before taking a seat at the outdoor table. I’d scribbled out most of my original questions to make room for a new line of questioning. Local reporters were a great way to get the inside beat of a case. They also loved to hear themselves talk.
My fingers curled around an iced coffee as the waitress set it at the table. The heat of Charleston’s midday sun pressed against me. Why was it still so hot in October?
“Do you think he’s late?” Dane said, scanning the restaurant. There weren’t many people at the tables, which meant we’d have seen the reporter if he’d walked in.
I scanned the news station’s website, looking for a reminder of what our guy looked like. “No, he’ll be here.”
Mason knew we were here to learn about William’s death with the possibility of highlighting his case for the podcast. If the case ran, we’d use him as an expert reference. Reporters loved that sort of thing. He wouldn’t give up the chance.
“There he is,” I said as I spotted him walking into the café.
In black pressed dress pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he was a classic off-duty reporter. Mason Townsend loved reporting on city politics, emergencies, murder, and the occasional conspiracy theory. He had a small but growing cult following online. It made him the perfect contact person.
He scanned the restaurant rather than ask at the hostess stand. When his gaze reached our area, I raised my hand and waved.
“Miss Richardston?” he asked as he reached our table.
Dane and I stood. “That’s me. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Mason pulled out his chair and sat down in one fluid motion. There’s no way he hadn’t practiced that move. I glanced at Dane, who looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Good to see we agreed on the ridiculousness of it.
“You said you had questions about William Drake’s death.” Overhead, a bird cawed. Mason looked up as if annoyed by the interruption of the local wildlife.
“Yes.” I nodded and opened my notebook after Dane and I sat with way less flair. “You covered his death on the USS Yorktown. There is a story that some locals say he was haunted to death.”
“I did. The report has over fifty thousand views on YouTube. People eat up ghost content.” He kept his eyes on Dane as he spoke. “They love anything unexplained and a bit intense. William’s death checked all the boxes.”
I scribbled a note in my notebook and moved on to my first question. “Did you report on the autopsy after they released it?”
