“Are you a little scared that there’s going to be an actual explosion from these two if we find something of use?” I whisper to Aiden, watching Floyd and Spencer from across the kitchen.

“Scared, not at all,” he says matter-of-factly, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Once you’ve been in a car with Noah at two in the morning, going nearly forty goddamn miles per hour-”

“That’s not that fast.”

“-in reverse-”

“What? Jesus Christ!”

“-nothing that happens in this kitchen could ever seem scary,” Aiden finishes, and I press my palms over my eyes.

“Noah!” I groan helplessly, rubbing my face. “Oh, for fuck's-”

I cut myself off, realizing that our conversation is getting loud. But a swift glance at Floyd and Spencer confirms that nothing is going to break their concentration.

They’re completely, totally absorbed in their work. Holding very still near the laptop as they read the pages, eyes fixed on the screen. The only movement comes when one of Spencer’s long fingers flashes out to click to the next page. Occasionally he and Floyd murmur something to each other, having large portions of their conversations in silence.

“Do you think-?”

“No, check the date.”

“I know, but did you catch the-?”

“Yeah. Here, too.”

Then they’ll both nod and look back at the screen and keep going. Spencer has his notepad out and the pen threaded between his fingers, but he hasn’t written anything down yet, which makes me think that he and Floyd haven’t found anything of use to us yet.

Floyd lifts his head and murmurs something to Spencer, who nods, then slips around the kitchen counter and disappears into the living room.

Aiden, the ghosts, and I all turn our inquiring eyes on Floyd.

“We think we’d better listen to the tape before we keep going,” Floyd explains, over the soft thunk of the front door opening and closing. “Spencer’s grabbing his tape recorder from the car, so we can play it. It might help us figure out what we’re looking for.”

Kasey blinks at Floyd in confusion. “What tape?”

Floyd anticipates her question before I have time to repeat it. “Spencer and I found it this morning in the box from the estate sale. Aiden must have shaken it loose from one of the books when he was looking through them. We have no idea if it’s related, but apparently the Chief of Police thought it was worth hiding with the rest of his secret stash.”

“What’s on it?” I ask, and Floyd shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m not sure. We think it’s probably the tape from Kemp’s answering machine. It’s about the right look for one, and it says IMC, which Spencer and I take to mean incoming message cassette.”

“You guys haven’t listened to it yet?”

“No, we thought we’d better do it as a team,” Floyd answers, to an approving, unseen smile from Kasey. “Admittedly, most people didn’t have answering machines in the ‘60s, and definitely not recording onto this kind of tape. So, it’s probably from later, and not related to the case. But it’s always better to be thorough.”

“Lucky that Spencer has a tape recorder that can play it,” Aiden rumbles. “I honestly don’t know where we’d get one now.”

“Believe it or not, back in the day me and Spence were running around with tape recorders for our interviews,” Floyd laughs, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “You had to request the equipment, sign it out, all that. If they let you take the best gear, it meant the story was a big deal. They wouldn’t let me take anything when I was investigating the Botswick case, for example.”

I make a face at Floyd. “That does sound like Jordan, from what I know of him.”

“True, Jamie.” Floyd nods at me, frustration flaring in his eyes, then pauses. “Although, to be fair… I guess I can’t fault him for having the editor pull me off the Botswick story. Someone was definitely following me during my investigation. I could’ve been endangering the rest of the staff. Couldn’t really argue with him about that one.”

Before any of us can answer, Spencer steps back into the kitchen with the clunky, rectangular tape recorder and sets it down on the clearest part of the kitchen counter. Kasey and Will follow me and Aiden to crowd around the little machine.  Spencer slips a tape from its battered plastic case, then locks it carefully into place.

He presses the button to rewind the tape reels, bouncing excitedly on his heels. “Let’s hope this is something helpful!”

“And case-related,” Aiden puts in, clearly thinking of the magazines we found hidden in Kemp’s other books. “I already feel like I know way too much about this guy’s personal life.”

“It’s good to know everything, when you’re investigating,” Spencer informs Aiden. “For example, from the papers Floyd and I have already gone through, we can see that Mr. Chief of Police didn’t shy away from taking a bribe every now and then.”

“And keeping written track of it, for some reason,” Floyd chuckles, shaking his head. “In a code that took me and Spence about five seconds to crack. So we can discern that he wasn’t the brightest of all police chiefs.”

“It’s not related, but it’s all good information.” Spencer releases the rewind button, flashing a smile at Aiden. “You never know what will help. Speaking of…”

He hits the play button on the tape recorder.

“Alright, Mr. Kemp,” Floyd says eagerly, as the tape begins to play. “Tell us your secrets!”

“Monday, 2:16 AM,” a very stiff, robotic voice announces, blurred and softened by the age of the recording.

There’s a two-toned beep, some whirring sounds, and then a message begins to play.

The words are spoken in a low, hushed voice, like the speaker doesn’t want to be overheard. At first it sounds like gibberish, but it’s actually a stream of angry cursing, which stops when the caller realizes that the message has started recording.

“Joe,” he begins, in a voice ready to snap with exasperation. “What the fuck, man? I need you to get it together, right fucking now. I need you to listen to me. You never do, goddamnit, but you need to listen to me now. Don’t forget anything that I’m about to say.”

All members of Team Ghost Office look up at each other with wide eyes as the message plays on.

“As your attorney, I advise you to shut the fuck up and not say a word to anyone about any of this. I especially advise you not to go leaving me voicemails about it! What are you thinking? Don’t you know-?”

A brief pause, during which the caller stops to catch his breath.

“They told you not to tell anyone. You never should have told me about it back then, and you sure as shit can’t be talking to me about it now, you got that? And for god’s sake, hold it together! This isn’t even an emergency, but you’re going to make it into one if you’re not-”

There’s another abrupt pause, this one longer. A few short, harsh breaths break up the recording before he keeps going, in a slightly steadier voice.

“Listen, you’re my brother, and I love you, but you’re also the worst client I have. Why are you holding onto every piece of evidence like it’s going to help you? The only people who could bring charges against you for this aren’t going to. They’re the ones who asked you to do it! You’re not responsible for what happened, and it was forever ago. You can’t go panicking because one big city reporter starts poking his nose where it doesn’t belong!”

We all freeze, staring at the tape recorder. Then, as one, we all look up at Floyd. He draws back sharply, blinking hard, his enormous eyes fixed on the tape.

“Look, some of my other clients have a connection at that newspaper. I’ll get the story killed if the reporter makes any real strides. But he won’t, okay? Just don’t do anything to attract attention. Get rid of that poster. Get rid of anything that could connect you, for fuck’s sake! And do not have one of your officers follow the reporter, that’s a very bad idea! Don’t write anything down about this, either! Don’t take notes, and if you do, don’t leave them lying around. And most importantly, destroy this tape, alright? We’ll talk soon.”

The message comes to a stop. We all stare at the tape, then startle as it beeps to announce a second message.

The muffled, blurred, robotic voice announces: “Tuesday, 10:34 PM.”

This message is a completely different voice. This one sounds younger, casual, and faintly baffled.

“Hey, boss, it’s Garrett, I, uh… I just got back from tailing that guy you told me to keep an eye on. I’m in your office… did you want to meet up and talk about it? And what are these notes you left lying on your desk? Was I not supposed to read them? I’m not sure what I’m looking at… Anyways, let me know what the situation is. I’ll be at the station late, so call me here. Bye.”

There’s a deep silence after the tape automatically stops playing.

Everyone is still staring at Floyd, who’s still staring at the tape recorder, blank-faced and wide-eyed.

“Okay…” Spencer finally says, very slowly. “That’s - interesting.”

Floyd snaps out of it all once. He throws his head back to stare up into Spencer’s face, astonished.

“Interesting?” he repeats, his volume swiftly on the rise. “Interesting?”

His arms fly open in a wide, flailing gesture that Spencer seems to anticipate, given how he snatches Aiden’s mug of tea out of the way just in time to save it.

“That message was from the guy who was following me!” Floyd shouts, stabbing a finger at the tape recorder. “The cops were following me, that message was about me! That - that-”

Floyd breaks off, thunderstruck, then slumps back against the kitchen counter and stares blankly at the floor, breathing hard.

The rest of Team Ghost Office freezes, startled and alarmed, except for Spencer. He catches Floyd under his arms as he weakly crumbles backwards, his unseeing eyes still aimed at the floor.

“God, this is insane,” Spencer says excitedly to us, as Floyd starts practically hyperventilating in his arms. “I don’t think in our wildest dreams we ever thought we’d actually figure out who was following Floyd!”

“Um - Spencer,” I begin, wide-eyed with distress, staring at Floyd, “Is-?”

“Oh, pay no attention to this,” Spencer says, affectionately rearranging Floyd’s silver hair. “He’s just excited. He gets like this sometimes when we have a huge break in an investigation, the poor nerd...”

Spencer trails off, a tiny, warm smile turning up his lips as he watches Floyd’s meltdown. He hesitates, then bends down and gives the top of Floyd’s head a swift, adoring little kiss. Floyd is far too worked up to notice, breathing hard with his whole body, his hands curled into tight fists.

“Jordan!” he roars suddenly, exploding out of Spencer’s arms in a flurry of wild, vicious gestures. “That’s why he took me off the story! Oh, that weasel! I must have been closing in on something, and that’s why he stopped me! The bastard won’t get away with this, he won’t - he - oh…”

Floyd falters into silence, evidently realizing that Jordan has already gotten away with that. The story was killed, and he probably pocketed a nice chunk of cash for the pleasure of making it happen.

“Ugh,” Floyd groans, slumping into his elbows on the kitchen counter and taking two anguished fistfuls of his hair. “Goddamnit.”

“He did go to jail for other reasons,” Spencer offers helpfully. “There’s that.”

Floyd lifts his head, stares at Spencer, then lets out a dazed laugh. “This is… Did I imagine the last few days?”

“That’s funny, I thought I might be the one doing that,” Spencer blurts out, then blushes a little.

“I’m trying to process so much information, right now. Where to begin?” Floyd stares straight ahead at the wall in front of him. “Okay, well, first thing’s first. We have to go beat up Jordan, I think. Personally. And torch his house, if he’s done serving his sentence. His car, too. Both. All of it. Everything.”

Spencer gives Floyd an earnest nod of agreement. “Obviously. We have to.”

“Tomorrow?” Floyd suggests.

Spencer shrugs his lanky shoulders. “Why not tonight? We should rent a faster car, though. For the getaway.”

Floyd snaps his fingers at Spencer like he just made an excellent point. “True. That’s true. We’ll just go there and - and smash everything.”

Kasey leans in closer to me, Aiden, and Will. “Do we have to worry that they’re actually gonna go do violence to this old man?”

Will shakes his head, watching Spencer gently stir the melting mini marshmallows in his coffee. “From the context, my love, I think not.”

Aiden catches my eye, biting down hard on his lip to hold back a laugh of his own as Spencer and Floyd go on plotting.

“Hey, guys?” he interrupts gently. “I’m fully on board for sweet, sweet revenge, but maybe cracking the case even though Jordan tried to stop you would be the best way to get it. Right?”

Floyd and Spencer glance at Aiden, then turn back to the tape recorder like they both just remembered that it’s there.

“Oh, my god - the case!” Floyd slaps a hand to his forehead. “Dear god, this tape - what did we just learn, fellas? And lady?”

“One, that Joe Kemp was a disaster at following his attorney’s instructions,” I begin, shaking my head in disbelief. “He kept everything, even the tape with the voicemail. Sent one of his officers to tail you-”

“Garrett!” Floyd shouts angrily, shaking his fist at the tape.

“-and thought he was being smart hiding all this in his books.”

“Well, clearly this Kemp fellow was involved in some way with the Botswick murder.” Will gestures to the now-silent tape recorder. “Or he’d scarce have reason to panic when Floyd began looking into it, no?”

“The only people who could bring charges against you for this aren’t going to,” Aiden repeats slowly, his beautiful blue eyes narrowed in thought. “They’re the ones who asked you to do it.”

A chill runs down my back. “That kind of makes it sound like Joe Kemp is the one who murdered Botswick.”

“Except that the attorney explicitly said that Kemp wasn’t responsible for what happened,” Kasey points out.

“But if he didn’t kill John Botswick,” Aiden rumbles, “Why was he afraid of getting in trouble if anyone found out the truth?”

We all stare around at each other, thinking hard.

“Okay.” Floyd presses the rewind button on the tape recorder again, sending up a soft whirring noise as the reels begin to spin. “We need to play this back, and I’m gonna transcribe it as we go.”

“Good idea,” Kasey murmurs, still a little stunned. “There’s a lot we need to talk about. Holy shit.”

Spencer has fallen silent, deep in thought.

“Did he say ‘get rid of that poster’?” he murmurs softly, his eyebrows knitted. “Why is that standing out to me? Get rid of the poster…”

Floyd looks up sharply, blinking hard at Spencer, something dawning in his eyes. “Oh, the - the poster, Spence! In the papers, the-”

“Oh my god - yes!” Spencer starts tapping the spacebar of my laptop excitedly, waking it back up. “Yes!”

Floyd rushes around to join Spencer, and they put their heads together over my laptop again, Spencer speed-scrolling back through the pictures that Aiden took of the Kemp papers.

Kasey slowly breaks into a bright grin, then turns around to face the rest of us, her dark eyes glowing.

“Well, look at that,” she says happily. “Looks like the Research Department already has something for us.”