anywhere else.”
“Yes, I’m somewhat familiar with what happened. But then gas prices dropped and it all went to shit.”
“Well, whatever goes up must come down, right?”
“I guess,” I say without much enthusiasm.
“So, what is the angle here, exactly?” I ask. “There are already thousands of stories about the gas industry in North Dakota.”
“Hold your horses.” Franklin laughs. “Yes, you’re right, there are lots of stories about the rise and fall of shale oil. But the thing that I want you to focus on is what happened to one teenage girl who went there with her boyfriend. He got a job at an outfit, they were both from Tennessee, somewhere in Appalachia where there were no jobs and no prospects. They heard about what was going on and they decided to take a chance. It worked out for him, somewhat, but not so much for her.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Her body was found in a ditch not too far away from their apartment. The authorities thought that he did it but could never get enough evidence.”
“Isn’t it always the boyfriend or a husband?” I ask. “Besides, what makes you think that I’ll be able to find out anything that the police did not?”
“I don’t know what you will be able to find,” Franklin says. “That’s the whole point. I want you to write your investigation and do the podcast as you are investigating the story. We don’t know the answer, but the readers and the listeners are there to go on the journey with us.”
“But I’m not an investigator,” I say after a moment. “If I do this, and that’s a big if, I will need more help.”
"Of course, anything you need."
I think about it for second.
It would be a lie to say that I’m not interested in the story, but I have something else in mind as well.
“I would need a real private investigator,” I say after a moment.
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Liam is great, and we work really well together but neither of us really know anything about investigating. I know someone who used to be a cop from back home who now works as a PI. He would be great.”
I can hear Franklin thinking, so I add, “He's not very expensive.”
“Now that is music to my ears,” Franklin says.
11
Aurora
I stand in the middle of a Fifth Avenue bridal boutique with tears running down my cheeks.
I’m dressed in a large cupcake fluffed type of gown with a long train that requires at least three people to carry it. This is the gown that my mother has picked out.
She’s sitting on the plush couch right behind me with the biggest smile I have ever seen.
Ellis and a few of my other friends from school are with her, all holding hands and giggling with excitement.
They think that my tears are from happiness, but they are anything but that.
"You look marvelous,” Mom exclaims, wiping the corner of her own eye with a handkerchief.
I had tried on four other dresses and managed to keep my feelings and emotions in check.
I don’t feel like this is the one any more than I felt that way about any of the other dresses. The only thing that’s different is that I was stupid enough to listen to Henry’s voice mail again while I was in the dressing room.
He left me a long, detailed message in the middle of the night, and I have re-listened to it multiple times a day ever since. I want to call him back more than anything and tell him what is really going on, but I don’t think that I will be able to go through with this if he knows the truth.
And to save my father’s life and to save my family’s legacy, this is the only way to do it.
I’m not sure why I reached for my phone right after I had put on that wedding dress.
A part of me just wanted to hear Henry’s voice again.
Another part of me wanted to feel closer to him while I was trying on a wedding dress.
It’s hard to explain exactly, but it should be him who is at the end of that aisle, not Franklin Parks.
“This dress looks beautiful, honey, but I think that we should try on one of the more slimming ones instead,” Mom says.
"Sure, whatever," I say, stepping down from the pedestal.
“Do you not agree?" she asks.
“No, of course I do.”
This is one of my mother’s not so subtle ways of telling me that I have gained