40. Mallory
Chapter 40
Mallory
The days turn into weeks, and the case file remains untouched.
I still want to know, I want to figure out what happened, but it doesn't feel like my ability to bring Peanut into this world is contingent upon one fewer bad guy existing in it. Especially now that I know one incredible man exists.
It's a good feeling, not being driven by something dark.
But there is still my podcast, and as they say in the entertainment industry, the show must go on .
Cecily's efforts have revived Case Files. My listens and downloads have increased, as has the subscriber count.
I talk with Jolene and Cecily every other day, tweaking posts and captions, coming up with new ideas. So right now, when my phone lights up with Jolene's name, I don't think much of it .
"Hey," I answer on speaker, swallowing a bite of toast.
" Ohmygosh you aren't going to believe what I'm about to tell you!" Jolene's high-pitched voice bounces around the kitchen.
"What?" I ask, taking a sip of water.
"Foundry emailed me. Foundry!"
I cough on the water. Foundry isn't simply a podcast network, it is the podcasting network. They sign big names, bring in smaller shows, nurture careers. "What did they say?"
"They want a meeting! The email says ' We'd like to discuss Case Files and the future it could have at Foundry .' Mallory, this is it. I can feel it!"
I sit back on the island stool, rub a hand over my forehead.
"Where did you go?" Jolene asks.
"I'm still here. Just in shock."
"I should respond, right? Do you want me to set up a meeting?"
"Of course. Why? Don't you want a meeting?"
"More than anything, but, Mal..." Jolene sighs. "You've been really on top of getting Cecily everything she needs, and turning around our social media game. But when it comes to Simon De la Vega and creating new episodes? You're kind of failing."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's hard to explain."
"Let me give it a shot," Jolene says, clearing her throat. "You fell in love with Simon's son, found what you've been looking for since you were fourteen, and no longer feel the same urgency. "
Hugo chooses this moment to come around the corner, fresh from his morning workout.
Sweat beads at his hairline. He's shirtless, covered in muscle. A male smoke show.
I blink hard a couple times before saying, "Bingo."
Jolene has no idea Hugo has walked into the room, and keeps speaking. "Mallory, if we take this meeting with Foundry, we need to come to it with future ideas. They need to see a podcast that is not in short supply of episodes. And, not to sensationalize what happened, but this cold case would be an incredible pitch. Hugo was an Olympian. There's rich backstory, personal interest."
My forearms press the edge of the island, and I survey Hugo's response to Jolene's words.
He works his lower lip between his teeth, nodding slowly.
"What's Foundry?" he asks.
"Hugo?" Jolene says, volume raised. "Is that Hugo?"
"It's me," he answers, crossing the kitchen. Coming closer. Quickly, I explain Foundry, and their email.
"Hugo, I'm sorry," Jolene says. "I don't mean to make this awkward. For you, or for Mallory."
"It's not awkward," he answers, stepping in to me. He grabs the stool, turns me toward him. Leans down, and now we're eye to eye. "Mallory has a job to do, if she still wants to do it. I gave her my blessing months ago, and it still stands."
"Are you sure?" I ask, forgetting Jolene's listening. "Once it's done, that's it. It can't be taken back. "
"When you first came here, I said yes because it felt like even though I didn't want to heal, I should. Now I'm saying yes because it feels like the right thing to do."
"So, we're saying yes to a meeting, then?" Jolene's voice interrupts the moment.
"Yes," I agree. Hugo brushes a kiss over my lips. He smells like salty sweat, and whatever it is that makes him so delectable.
"Your appointment is in an hour," he reminds me.
"Twenty-eight weeks," Jolene reports. "Are you free next weekend? I need to put my hands on my best friend and her preggo belly."
"We're free," Hugo answers for me. "You can stay here, with us."
He walks away to grab a shower before we need to leave and Jolene tells me how happy she is for me. And Peanut.
"I knew this would happen," she brags.
"You did not," I argue.
"Ok, I didn't, but it's seriously so perfect. Who better to understand what made you who you are today?"
"It feels very right," I admit.
Jolene and I spend a few more minutes talking about the podcast, and she tells me she'll see me next weekend. "Let me know if there's something you want me to bring from Phoenix. Anything you need that you can't get in Olive Township."
I tell her no thank you. Everything I need is right here .
Off the phone with Jolene, and with Hugo in the shower, I compose an email to David Boylan. If we're going to move forward creating episodes around Hugo's dad, David would be an ideal person to interview.
From: Mallory Hawkins
Hi David,
Thank you for taking the time to meet with me and Hugo. During our conversation, I did not get the chance to tell you that I am the host of a true crime podcast called Case Files. With the blessing of the De la Vega family, I am looking into the possibility that the murder of Simon De la Vega may be connected to a murder that took place in Phoenix fourteen years ago.
Although I haven't begun recording episodes yet, I wanted to check in with you and see if you would be open to an interview that I would use as an episode.
Again, I am thankful for the time you gave us already, and for giving my baby her first gift.
Best,
Mallory Hawkins
Host of Case Files
Hugo walks out, ready to go. I hit Send on my email.
"Baby is measuring exactly where she should be. Your fasting glucose looked great. All in all, Mom is healthy, and so is baby." Dr. Connolly gives me a reassuring smile.
Music to my ears. As if Peanut can feel my happiness, she delivers a swift kick.
I grab Hugo's arm, place his hand on the spot on my belly. He's been wanting to feel her, but so far he hasn't been able to.
The seconds pass, and Hugo frowns when nothing happens. Dr. Connolly laughs, and on our way out of the door says, "That's kids for you. They rarely do what you want them to do. Just wait until she's a teenager."
After we get checked out and I've made my next appointment, Hugo calls Penn to see if he and Daisy are available for lunch.
We meet them at Good Thyme Café, where Hugo requests a table on the back patio. "It's going to get pretty warm starting next week," he says, and Penn teases him for watching the weather like an old man.
"Like an olive farmer," Hugo retorts, clapping Penn loudly on the back.
The hostess leads us to a gorgeous little space behind the restaurant. It backs up to a greenbelt of grass that could only be kept that green with the use of sprinklers. Beyond it is wild desert, palo verde trees and saguaros as far as the eye can see.
Ambrose video calls Hugo after we place our order. Hugo answers, corralling the salt and pepper shakers and propping the phone against them .
It's my first time meeting Hugo's best friend, though I've heard enough about him. His shoulders are so wide they fill the screen, making me ponder his wingspan. Everything about the guy is massive, from his chest to his arms, but it's his smile that's the most disarming. There is kindness in the corners, a humble curve to his lips.
"It's nice to meet you, Mallory," Ambrose says. "I've heard enough about you by now, it's good to put a face to all the yammering Hugo's been doing."
"Alright, alright, before you two start trading funny stories about me," Hugo cuts in, "what's going on, Ambrose?"
Ambrose's gaze roams the group of four staring back at him. "No Vivi?" he asks.
"She's prepping dinner service," Daisy says. "But I'm sure she'll be bummed to know she missed you."
"I thought you should hear it from me, instead of ESPN. I hurt my knee in practice this week, and?—"
Daisy gasps. "Nooo, Ambrose."
"Dude," Hugo says, but with a tone of oh no .
"Fuck," Penn murmurs. "How bad?"
Ambrose sighs. "Pretty bad, unfortunately. Torn ACL. Ligament damage. Meniscus, too. I'm looking at a surgery for sure, I just don't know when. I'm seeing an orthopedic surgeon in Phoenix in a couple weeks. Once that happens, I'll know more."
"You'll be convalescing...here?" Hugo's eyebrows are raised, hopeful.
"Why?" Ambrose asks. "You want to wait on me hand and foot? "
Hugo laughs. "My bedside manner is impeccable."
Our food arrives, and Ambrose says goodbye.
"He's in the NFL, right?" I ask, popping a fry in my mouth.
"Linebacker," Daisy says.
"Ohh, so that's why his shoulders took up most of the screen."
Daisy laughs. "All through school the teachers called him Gentle Giant ."
"Until he got on the football field, anyway." A worried look pulls at Hugo's features. "I wonder what this injury will do to his career?"
Penn wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Good job, bud. Way to think positive."
As the group chats, I glance out across the green lawn, toward the desert beyond. It's almost beautiful, except for a break in the spindly palo verde trees. One is dead, the green a sad, dried out gray-brown, and up through it grows a saguaro that hasn't yet developed limbs. The younger cactus stands tall, looking out of place.
"Did you spot a coyote?" Hugo teases me, gazing out where I'm looking.
"Just that dead tree with the saguaro growing up through it. Only that tree is dead when all the others around it are thriving. It's odd."
"I don't make it a habit to know the history of the local cacti," Penn says, "but I did overhear Margaret talking about the way a rogue Saguaro was growing up under the shade of a palo verde, only to eventually rob the tree of the rainwater and nutrients in the soil."
I stir my straw in my iced tea, thinking this over. "It killed the host."
"Exactly," Penn nods. "Saguaros are federally protected, so it's not like anybody's going out there with a machete and hacking it down."
"Saguaros can be moved," Daisy chimes in. "Carefully though, keeping their roots intact, and they have to go to a new home in the ground."
I stare out at the crestfallen limbs, the way the cactus stands proud. It seems so wrong, the way the cactus was in the shade stealing from the only reason it was able to live there. The guest choked the host.
And then it hits me.
"Hugo," I grip his arm.
His carefree expression is wiped away by my alarm. "Are you ok? Is Peanut ok?"
"We're fine," I assure him, loving the way he checks on the two of us. "How was your dad at keeping records?"
"Not sure. Why?" His dark eyes narrow. Across the table, Penn and Daisy lean forward.
"I want to see the employee records from the time leading up to when he was killed." I think of the police report, sitting on the table next to my computer. "And then I want to check the police file and cross reference them with your dad's records."
Hugo's nodding, already looking at Penn. "I keep a tab open here. Tell the server to add our lunch to it."
I grab the second half of my BLT. Penn and Daisy wish us luck, and we weave our way back through the restaurant.
"Mallory, Hugo!" The call of our names brings us up short. Liane waves from a table of women right in front of us. No chance for us to continue, claiming we didn't hear her.
"Hi, Mrs. Rooney," Hugo says, polite smile in place.
"I keep meaning to make a trip out to Summerhill, but something is always keeping me from visiting. It's either a board meeting, a conservation society luncheon, or?—"
"Kissing babies," Hugo supplies. Normally a comment like this would be a joke, but his tone does not fit. It's as if his mind has gone where mine went when I saw that victorious saguaro and its victim hanging brokenly around it. Suddenly we both need to explore a possibility. And Liane Rooney is keeping us.
Liane laughs off Hugo's comment. "One of my many duties. I promise to make it out this week."
"Sounds great," Hugo says, pulling me along. "There's a new shipment of vanilla olive oil arriving tomorrow. You should be the first to add it to your collection."
"It was nice to see you," I say as we pass her table. The interaction is so harried, I don't notice who it is she's having lunch with.
Hugo helps me into his car, and when he slides in the driver's seat, says, "That woman has the worst timing."
"Forget about her," I say. "Is your mind where my mind is?"
"I'm sure the police questioned all the Summerhill employees. But, yes. "
We pass Sweet Nothings as we drive down Olive Avenue. It brings to mind my last conversation with Sal. He'd said something about how not only did Simon not have enemies, he only had friends.
What about his employees? Were they more like friends?
And then the question. Did one of them kill the host?