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The kid’s eyes light up. He opens the door, motions for Poppy to come inside.
The place is nice. A great room has a massive stone fireplace, exposed wood beams on the ceiling.
A woman, about forty or so, appears. Ziggy’s mom, presumably. Poppy feels the need to explain why she’s there, visiting a little kid. Ziggy’s mom shows no concern, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Can I get you a water or something to drink?”
“I’m great, thanks. You’ve got quite the son,” Poppy says.
Ziggy’s mom issues a knowing nod.
“Come back to my studio,” Ziggy says.
He leads her to a room that looks like a miniature radio studio. It has a rack of equipment with blinking lights, a table, headsets, and two microphones with those foam heads.
“Would you be willing to talk on the record?” Ziggy asks.
“I’m sorry, I’d have to get permission.” Poppy smiles. “You wouldn’t want to get me fired, would you?”
Ziggy shakes his head. He looks disappointed.
“You said you had some new evidence.”
Ziggy stares at her a long beat. “Have you listened to my show before?”
“I’m afraid not,” Poppy says. “I haven’t really listened to any podcasts.”
“Not really doing your research.” He isn’t trying to be insulting. Just observing the truth in the way only a kid can.
“I suppose you’re right,” she admits. “I started at the sheriff’s office this week. On my first day, they found Alison Lane’s car, so I haven’t had much time to—”
“Her father’s car,” he corrects.
“Right. They found her father’s car. And I’ve been struggling to keep up with everything.”
Ziggy sits, nods, like he hears her but doesn’t approve of her excuse.
She takes a seat herself. “How long have you had the podcast?”
“Four years.”
This surprises her even more. “So you started a true crime podcast when you were…”
“Eight,” he says. “But I don’t get the attention like the other young podcasters. I’m not doing ‘kid’ content.” He makes air quotes with his fingers. “The others do cutesy content and people eat it up. I’m trying to solve murders.” He seems incredulous.
“How’d you get interested in true crime?”
“My dad was murdered.”
Oof. Poppy doesn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. My mom won’t confirm this, but my research on his case led me to believe he wasn’t a nice man.”
Poppy doesn’t respond. “So you’ve been doing true crime for four years?”
He nods. “Helped solve three cold cases.”
“That’s impressive.”
Ziggy rolls his eyes like he doesn’t like the flattery, though Poppy isn’t trying to flatter.