Page 116
Bailey stretched from her laptop. “You read my mind.”
“I figured you needed it. You’ve been writing like a maniac all week.” He set the cup in front of her and ambled to the whiteboard, where she’d listed episode titles, followed by checkboxes for drafted, fact-checked, and legal-reviewed. Next to that hung a printed list of interview clips that correlated with episodes.
“I have a name for the season.” She tested her coffee with a small sip, then took another. “So good.”
The bakery below her office knew him by name and started their order the moment he walked in. “What did you decide?”
“Lost and Found. Because sometimes things are lost and no one realizes it, but when they’re found, all the answers fall into place.”
That could’ve been a metaphor for his life. He’d been angry when he’d lost his job and the woman he’d thought he should marry—thank God he hadn’t. Until Wes reconnected with Bailey, he hadn’t realized what he lacked: a rock by his side, a reason to want the world to be a better place, and contentment. Once he found what he wanted, what he needed, it clicked into place.
“I like it,” he said. “It pays homage to everyone you didn’t even realize you were going to help.”
She tapped on her keyboard. Her printer buzzed to life. “It came to me when I was writing about the condo.”
He glanced at the episode sheet, already knowing she’d named that one “The Museum.” “Can I read it?”
She gestured to the printer. “Please.”
Narrator intro:
Three college freshmen found kindred spirits in one another in a forensic science elective in September. In each other, they recognized evil and depravity and saw it as a hobby to discuss. Perhaps an interest not unlike that of true-crime podcast listeners. But sometime between September and the end of December their freshman year, Erick Cosgrove, Peter Phillips, and Martin Edinbaugh decided not only to act on their impulses, but to provide guidance, critique, and alibis.
With hand signals and secret passwords, they formed what records now indicate they called The Club, an informal meeting where they discussed homicides, but quickly graduated from discussion to ideation to murder by the start of their second semester.
They selected their targets, spending up to one year planning the murder, before they killed. Each man had a type. A reason. A motto. They collected souvenirs and relived the killings to such an extent that The Club turned into The Museum, complete with a secret location they could visit at any time, where they would hold their so-called board meetings to relive their crimes.
Erick Cosgrove targeted type-A go-getters. He focused on women whose level he could never attain, despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He hunted at college fairs and internship programs, though his first victim, Caitie Flanagan, was simply a straight-A student with dreams of becoming an economist. She never noticed his interest because she was dating his brother.
Hedge fund founder Peter Phillips’s disdain for women had been reported on over the years. He’d successfully settled out of court at least three sexual harassment and discrimination claims. His victims fulfilled his fantasies. And who were his victims? Women he deemed beneath him and looking for more than he believed they were worth.
The third person in this immoral club hated himself more than his victims. Though that’s not how Martin Edinbaugh would describe what happened. The well-connected attorney, married with two young children at home, slept with men he couldn’t stay away from and then killed them.
Erick used shoelaces; Peter, his victims’ clothing; and Martin, his bare hands.
Then, over the years, over cigars at one of the most expensive residential properties in Washington, DC, they celebrated and honed their crimes. Wealthy, powerful men with a sick passion that they saw as no more than a hobby.
Cue: music
Narrator: “The Museum,” episode seven of the Lost and Found season, produced by The Missing Piece.
Wes set the paper down and blew out a heavy breath. “That’s one hell of an intro to the episode.”
“Thanks, and now I could use a break. Maybe we take our coffees and walk down the block? Or, depending on your schedule, take off the rest of the afternoon?”
“That’s actually the real reason why I’m here. To see if I could steal you away for the rest of the day.”
She shut her laptop. “Perfect. I’m done.”
They stepped into a mild, early-August afternoon, cooled dramatically by a midday thunderstorm. Her phone rang. Bailey usually left the volume on whenever Matt wasn’t with them. But recently, Wes’s teammate’s fiancée, Jules Lowery, one of the most recognizable actresses in the world and somehow part of the Granite Creek library’s book club, had expressed interest in adapting the podcast into a screenplay. Bailey hadn’t said yes yet, still deciding what to do if Hollywood called.
“It’s the real estate agent,” she said.
His stomach jumped. He already had a lot on his mind today and didn’t want to deal with another rejected offer. Especially when they had let themselves fall in love with the newest house. The only problem since she and Matt officially moved to Granite Creek was the lack of available real estate. Once people arrived, they stayed.
Bailey answered the call on speakerphone, hope tight in her voice. “Hello?”
“They accepted your offer!”
