I nodded enthusiastically.
His look of skepticism turned into a broad smile. His teeth were so white I wondered if they were real. “Oh, great. Nice to meet you. I’m Chase Collins. I love podcasts. What’s the name of yours?”
We told him our real names and explained that we hadn’t yet launched. “Gene’s our first episode,” I added.
“Gotcha. I’d love to help you with some sound for your production, but unfortunately, I’ve got nothing.”
“Yeah, what happened? Someone stole the footage?” Jack asked.
The guy sighed. “Our editor was staying in a hotel here in town, and two days after Gene was found dead, someone broke into the editor’s room and took it all.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
“Everything about Gene was strange.” The guy smirked. “Everything about this damned place is strange. Florida makes California look like...”
He waved his hand helplessly in the air.
“Normal?” I offered.
“Amateurs?” Jack said.
The producer nodded. “Yeah. Both of those.”
“What was on the footage that was so important?” I asked.
“Hard to say. It was mostly of Gene in the swamps, on boats, in his pool with his wife. But...” His voice trailed off and he looked down at his keys.
“But what?” I asked.
“Gene did talk about some local politics. A real convoluted story about the election. I didn’t quite follow the whole thing, and let him yammer on. Figured it wouldn’t make the show anyway, because who cares about a small-town city council race?”
“Did he happen to say something about Dave Smith? Or David H. Smith?” I was breathless now, but not from running.
Chase squinted one eye and tilted his head. “That rings a bell. He said he wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but Gene didn’t have a filter. Anyone who’d met him knew he couldn’t keep a secret.”
“What did he say?”
Chase shook his head. “I don’t remember. I let the cameras roll when we were around Gene. We wanted the action scenes with the gators. And the scenes of Gene in his boat, of him making moonshine. Saying stupid southern stuff. Or sexist stuff. You know, clickbait.”
Gah. Gross. I knew it.
“Gene made moonshine?” I wanted to retch.
“Yeah, he dabbled in it. I had a sip. I think my stomach no longer has a protective lining.” He rubbed his belly.
“Yikes,” Jack muttered under his breath.
“Well, thanks for the info. Do you have a card, in case we have more questions?”
Chase dug a thick white card out of his wallet and handed it to us. “I’m going back to LA today. No reason for me to hang around now. All this time in Wahoo, now for nothing.” He sucked on his teeth.
Jack and I nodded and said goodbye. We walked slowly to our vehicle, and I showed him Vera’s text.
“Things seem to be coming to a head, but I don’t know what it all means.” I flung myself into the passenger seat of Jack’s car, just as fat raindrops began to fall.
We drove the five blocks to the bookstore, and Vera let us in. I could tell by her red-rimmed eyes that she’d been crying.
She locked the door behind us. “How was the funeral?” she asked.
