“Does that mean you’re going to investigate Pete’s death?” she asked as Bruce reached for the doorknob.
“If it’s tied to the illegal trafficking, then yes,” Bruce said. “But if it’s an isolated crime, then that would be handled by local law enforcement.”
“Can you connect Pete’s death with Lars’?”
Bruce looked pensive for a moment. “We’ll need to look into that, but Cassidy, I can’t promise anything. Skid marks aren’t exactly a smoking gun.”
Cassidy hugged herself tighter against the sudden image of the two crash sites that had blended together in her mind since watching that news program in Quinn’s apartment.
“Sorry,” Bruce sighed. “I know this isn’t easy.”
A shiver of emotion washed through her, sending her pulse thumping into her temples.
“We’ll do everything we can, okay?”
Cassidy watched him step through the door and close it softly behind him. Though she believed him, what if the secrets surrounding Pete were buried too deep and the truth stayed hidden?
“It’s so good to see you,” Mark said, pulling her into a long, soft hug.
It took her a moment to react; hopefully Mark didn’t notice. He released her, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes, and escorted her down the hallway to a door that led to the TV studio. At the end of the room stood two empty couches on a brightly lit stage. Cameras waited in the shadows, manned by a handful of people getting them ready.
“I’ll take you to makeup,” Mark said, leading her through the room to another door.
After googling “what to wear for a TV interview,” she had skimmed the long list of dos and don’ts: don’t wear white, or stripes, or checks, or dangly earrings, or a dark suit unless you want to look like a hit man, or a short skirt unless you want people to look at your legs and not listen to your message. She had chosen what felt like the safest option, a pair of navy-blue pants with a soft blue button-down shirt, her nicest shoes, and knee-length socks so as to not show her ankle if she should happen to cross her legs. The article said no jewelry, but she wore a delicate gold chain with a four-leaf-clover pendant for courage, a gift from her father and the only item her stepbrother, Reeve, hadn’t stolen for drug money.
A woman leaning against a brightly lit desk, scrolling on her phone, was waiting.
“You’ll be in good hands with Melody,” Mark said, smiling at the woman who jumped to life as they neared. He pulled Cassidy into another quick hug. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
A tingle of nerves chewed at her stomach. Within the hour, she would be talking about her passion in front of millions of people. Cassidy’s best friend, Emily, had squealed in jealousy when she’d shared the news.
“They aren’t going to ask about Costa Rica, though, right?” Emily had asked.
“Oh, no,” Cassidy had replied. “You think they would?” The network representative had asked about her research, her publications, and of course, the current topic of Mount Rainier; Washington State’s tallest mountain and an active volcano.
“I guess not. I mean, it wouldn’t exactly give you the credibility they’d be wanting to convey.”
“Thanks,” Cassidy said.
“Sorry. I don’t mean it like that.”
So here I am, about to present myself to the wolves, she thought as she settled into the makeup artist’s chair.
Too much face powder later, she was being directed back into the studio. Mark hurried over, thankfully saying nothing about how caked-on her face surely looked. He was probably used to it.
Two people sat on the couches, chatting, both holding large, white mugs of tea. Cassidy was blown away at how perfect they both looked. The man had handsomely graying hair and bright blue eyes and a lean but square jaw; the woman wore a soft yellow dress that set off her olive skin and long black hair. Both of them had alarmingly bright, white teeth that glowed when they turned their attention to her.
The man, Steve Taylor, pumped her hand once firmly. “Welcome, Dr. Kincaid,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming,” the woman, Danielle McKay, said, her soft handshake a wisp of silk.
Steve offered her the couch across from them and the three of them sat. A young man in jeans and a button-down shirt delivered a mug of tea identical to her hosts’.
“You’re gonna do great,” Mark said to her with a wink, then slipped off into the shadows.
Cassidy felt the base of her palms moisten and resisted rubbing them on her pants. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to go.
Steve and Danielle continued their conversation, with Steve making Danielle laugh, like this was some kind of mixer.
“Dr. Kincaid, how do you know Mark?” Danielle asked, sipping her tea.
Cassidy opened her mouth but her brain was slow to the party. “From college,” she said, which contained a thread of truth because she had met Pete when she was in her PhD program, which technically was at a college.
“Are you an avid skier like Mark?” Steve asked, his eyes alight with so much energy she wondered if the makeup team had added some kind of treatment.
“I probably don’t get out as much as Mark, but yes, I’m a skier, too.”
“I take it your job keeps you very busy,” Danielle said, cocking her head and scrutinizing her in a way that made it clear who would dominate the conversation.
Cassidy smiled, but it felt weak. “Yeah.”
A cameraman appeared to adjust microphones and fine-tune Cassidy’s position on the couch. Someone else was counting down, and the interview started.
Steve opened with a short recap on the recent seismic activity on Mount Rainier. Somebody with half a brain must have briefed him, because he did pretty well. Then Danielle jumped in with the transition to what an eruption would mean for residents in the affected area. They showed the classic image of Mt. St. Helens blowing her top in 1981 and the mudflows ravaging the Toutle River. And then Danielle introduced Cassidy.
They covered her findings from her PhD, including a clip from her “seismic scream” recording that she had made right before Mount Redoubt erupted.
“Would we have had that same pattern of seismic activity before Mt. St. Helens?” Steve asked.
“Definitely,” Cassidy said.
“So, based on this recent activity, when do you think Mount Rainier will erupt again?” Danielle asked, her pretty face rapt with focus.
“It’s an active subduction zone, so we’ll likely see some minor seismic activity, but the likelihood of another large-scale eruption like St. Helens is low for at least another ten thousand years, maybe longer.”
“But if the volcano starts screaming, you’ll be sure to alert us?” Steve asked, a chuckle on the edge of his tone.
Cassidy knew this was supposed to be comic relief, so obliged him with a smile. “Of course.”
“You’ve recently returned from Kilauea,” Steve said. “Are the two volcanoes connected somehow?”
Cassidy explained the mechanics of a hot spot, or the thin layer in the Earth’s crust responsible for Kilauea’s seemingly limitless supply of magma, and how it was not connected to the tectonic activity beneath the Cascade Mountains, at least not directly.