Page 27 of The Game Is Afoot

Who sent them Corey’s way? Did they insinuate that he could be involved, or did the detectives do an Olympic-level high jump to that impossible conclusion all on their own? Who would want Coach Cole dead anyway? Enough to poison a fucking Capri-Sun pouch? And has Angela Hart switched her focus to litter and recycling or whatever, now, since the whole DEI, I-care-about-Black-people thing didn’t work out for her? Does she wear her pink pussy hat while she’s picking up old Capri-Sun pouches?

But after Detective Berry closes her notebook and Detective De La Rosa thanks us for our time and we get Ms. Joyce back to her house with the assurance that there’s still plenty of time before Tamron Hall—only one question falls out of my mouth.

“The hell was that, Dad?”

His lip curls up and one of his eyebrows drops dangerously low, a look with a very clear meaning:Who do you think you’retalking to?It’s a look that works just as well at thirty-two as it did at twelve.

“I just mean—like—” I start to stammer. “Why were you—you recording, instead of stepping in as—as an…I don’t know—defense attorney? You know, the job you did for forty years?”

Okay, so some snark creeped back in there, and his eyebrow sinks even lower to let me know he picked up on it.

“Who needed a defense attorney?” Corey asks before my dad can explain himself.

I reel my head back. “You!”

“Me?!”

Dad sticks his microphone into Corey’s scrunched-up face. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Oh mygod, what is this, Dad?” I twirl my hand at his phone and mic. “Are you…is this for yourpodcast? How could this possibly be useful for yourLaw and Orderrecaps? You could have gotten Corey in real trouble with them.”

“Again, what kinda trouble do you think I’m in, Mavis?”

“Well, our focus has shifted, just slightly,” my dad says, scratching the back of his neck, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. “But it’s the same genre, really.”

“What does that mean?” I know my tone is veering into snotty teen territory once again, but now he’s looking more guilty than offended.

“Have you heard of true crime podcasts? Oh, well, yeah, I guess you have, because I told you about them.”

And because they’re the most popular thing on the planet. But what does—oh no.

“There was thatMommy Murdersone I was listening to, the one about the message board. And then their follow-ups on that shady kids’ gym and the preschool playgroup singer…thethings she did with that ukulele when she was off duty.” He shudders and then shakes his head. “Really stellar reporting there. Anyway, Bert and I decided to try our hand at one. We’re thinking maybe we can even do a live show in a few months, once we build our fan base up.”

“Dad, youcannot. Corey’s legal troubles are not—”

“My legal troubles! Now, hold on there. They didn’t say anything about—”

“And wait—you were interviewing someone Friday night, weren’t you? Who was that? You didn’t know this would happen.Right? You didn’t know this would happen?” I’ve upgraded from snotty teenager to slightly hysterical.

“Well, that was Mrs. Nelson,” Dad says, as if that makes sense.

“Mrs. Nelson?!” My voice comes out shrill, close to that pitch only dogs can hear. Corey cringes. “What doesshehave to do with this, Dad?”

“I told you. Me and Bert are doing a true crime podcast. And the best ones come from people who are close to the crime. Like how Veronica was cousins with the lady who sold that girl her ukulele.” He shudders again. “So we were going to focus on Principal Smith’s kidnapping and how Corinne fooled us all. Butthis—this is better. I can’t wait to tell Bert. We’ll get in from the beginning, track what’s happeningwhileit’s happening. This is going to blow theMommy Murdersright out of the water.”

“Dad, are you kidding me? You cannot do that. First of all, those true crime podcasts are so exploitative—”

“Exploitative!” He lets out a loud grunt of disagreement. He starts making a show of looking around, his right hand cupped over his wide eyes.

After it’s clear he’s not about to stop anytime soon, I begrudgingly ask, “What are you looking for?”

“Oh, me? I’m looking for the daughter who watched aDatelinemarathon with me a couple weeks ago? She didn’t seem to thinkthatwas exploitative.”

“That’s different.” Is it different? Or does it just feel different because my personal experiences aren’t being mined for a story? I can tell from Dad’s smug face that he knows he’s got me, so I throw in some fighting words. “Plus, you’re no Keith Morrison.”

Corey lets out something that’s either a gasp or a choked laugh. My dad sucks his teeth and bats me away.

I know it’s a cheap shot, and he’s going to bring it up probably once a month for the rest of my existence, but I also know I need to stop this. Like, twelve people listen to theirLaw & Orderrecap podcast, most of those their former lawyer buddies, but this? This might actually have a tiny chance of getting some attention. And we don’t need that. First, because it’s wrong to capitalize on Corinne’s desperate actions, on Coach Cole’s tragic death—whatever his focus is. But also? It’s…embarrassing. I feel like I’m back in ninth grade and my dad’s pulled up right to the front of the school, blasting Gladys Knight & the Pips and dancing in his front seat. Can’t he just, like, take up golf or get really into researching World War II—you know, a normal old-man hobby?

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