Page 1 of What They'll Say About Us

Chapter One

"Can you believe this is us?" I asked as the crowd filled every seat in the grand ballroom of the Chicago Merriman Hotel. After our true crime podcast, Mysteries Uncorked, had hit number one on the charts last month, we'd been asked to present the keynote kickoff speech for a two-day podcaster convention.

The attention we'd received since solving the disappearance of a woman in Stonecross, Maine, had been even more than I'd imagined it would be. And my partners, Cassidy Clarke and Morgan Kent, were even more amazed than I was. We'd started the podcast for fun after all three of us had been laid off from a media company. Looking for jobs had been depressing. But talking about true crime while drinking wine had been a lot more fun.

When we'd taken our show on the road to go to the scene of an actual crime, we'd found ourselves to be not only podcasters but also investigators. And bringing down a killer had captivated our viewers and quadrupled our audience.

This was the kind of success I'd envisioned when I'd convinced Cassidy and Morgan to take the podcast to Stonecross Maine, but even I had been stunned by the level of our success.

"There are so many people here, Tessa. I'm about to have a panic attack," Cassidy said.

I turned to the pretty brunette with the somewhat terrified expression on her face and said, "You'll be fine. You faced down a serial killer three months ago. This is a cakewalk."

"Completely different, Tessa," Cassidy retorted.

I smiled, then turned to look at the woman on the other side of me. Morgan Kent had dark-red hair and green eyes and was staring intensely at her note cards. "You know what you're going to say, Morgan. You've been practicing for days. Relax."

"I can't. I don't like public speaking," Morgan said. "I wish I had half your confidence, Tessa. You were born for the stage."

Morgan's words were unexpectedly painful. I'd thought I'd been born for the stage, too. But that was a dream that had vanished years ago. At that dark thought, I was thrilled when the moderator, Laurel Ramon, stepped onto the platform with a polished smile. She was a former newscaster who had recently gotten into podcasting. She'd volunteered to moderate our speech, because she said she was a huge fan.

"Good morning, ladies," Laurel said. "I'll introduce each of you, and then you're going to take the microphone first, Tessa, is that correct?"

"Yes. I'll tell our origin story and hand off to Cassidy for her personal take on the Stonecross case. Morgan will finish up by discussing some of our other cases, and then we'll take questions."

"Any idea on your next big case?" Laurel asked with a hopeful smile. "I'm sure that will be the first question."

"We have some thoughts." I wasn't trying to be secretive, but we'd been arguing for days on where our next on-the-road podcast investigation should go and what case we should take, and we hadn't landed on the right case. It had to be dramatic and podcast-worthy, and a victim our audience could relate to. So far, we hadn't been able to agree on anything.

"Well, I can't wait to hear your talk, so let's get started."

As Laurel stepped up to the microphone, I put out a hand to each of my friends below the cover of the tablecloth, and we squeezed each other's fingers together in solidarity. Then it was time to begin.

Laurel's intro was short and fun, saying our journey to becoming podcasters had gone through the unemployment line. That made our success seem attainable to everyone else in the audience.

"And now, I'd like to turn things over to Tessa Conway," Laurel said, stepping back.

I rose from my seat and moved to the podium. The lights were blinding, every seat filled, with some overflow people standing in the back. Even for me, it was a little daunting, and I couldn't imagine how Cassidy and Morgan were going to feel when it was their turn, but for the moment, it was all about me, and I had to kick this off in a big way, set the tone, draw the audience in. And I did that with a story…the way our podcast always began.

"Imagine being in your house," I said. "The place where you feel safe, but it's after midnight, and every tick of the clock seems exceptionally loud. The wind picks up. You hear sounds that could have a simple explanation: the branches of the tree next to your window blowing in the breeze, the old house settling, the dog barking next door because he sees a raccoon." I let my voice drop, feeling the hush of the crowd as they became captivated with my story. "But the sounds you're hearing aren't due to any of those innocent things, and that night might be your last. Would you call someone? What would you say? What would you do?" I let the questions hang in the air, loving when I could feel like I was holding the audience in the palm of my hand.

And then I said, "That case will be featured next month on our podcast. I can't tell you the answers now, because the trial is about to begin. I can assure you that there will be plenty of twists to the story." I paused once more. "While you'll have to wait for that case, Cassidy is going to take you through our journey to Stonecross, which was the first time we'd taken the show on the road to the actual scene of a crime."

As I stepped down, Cassidy got up, taking my place at the microphone. She cleared her throat, her voice a little shaky as she began, but then she got into the story, talking about how shocking it was to have a true crime case actually become integrated with her personal life, her family, with secrets she'd never expected. She spoke about how terrifying it had been to go from podcaster to investigator to almost a murder victim. But the fact that they'd been able to find the truth about a missing woman had made everything worth it.

Morgan took over from there, and, unfortunately, she didn't have the same drama to share, and I could feel the audience's interest beginning to dim as Morgan talked about how our individual strengths made us a great team, and how we worked together, dividing up research, interviews, and outreach to investigators. Thankfully, her part of the speech was short. Then it was time for questions.

As Morgan sat down, we faced the audience from the table as people lined up at the microphone in the middle of the aisle. Each person was more enthusiastic and complimentary than the last. It felt like we'd nailed the talk. We'd created energy and enthusiasm for the experience of podcasting and for our podcast. We passed the microphone back and forth, depending on the question, but I was the one holding it when a young man stepped up to ask the question that had been hounding us for weeks.

"Are you planning to take the podcast to the scene of another crime?" he asked. "You haven't been on the road since Stonecross. Was that just a one-off? Are you afraid to get that close to a crime again?"

"We're definitely going back on the road, but we want it to be the right case, one we feel will connect with our audience and where we can make a difference," I said.

A young woman behind him stepped up next, almost pushing him out of the way. As the lights captured her face, I felt an odd tug of recognition, but she was too far away for me to see her clearly.

"I have a question for you, Tessa," she said. "If you're looking for the right case, one that's relatable to your audience, one where you can make a difference, what about the murder of a twenty-one-year-old girl at Northwestern nine years ago? A murder that has never been solved? A woman you knew personally? I'm sure you remember her name. Paige MacIntyre."

My chest tightened as a rush of emotions swept over me. I could feel Cassidy and Morgan looking at me, but I couldn't turn my head, couldn't do anything but squint at the blurry figure at the microphone. Who the hell was she? "What did you say your name was?" I asked.