by Robin Caroll
“Right.”
“That must cost a lot of money. To buy a franchise, I mean.”
He didn’t answer. Silence filled the phone connection. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Just how much money did he stand to lose?
“Could they, if they had a legitimate reason, make you give back the franchise?” she asked as she popped her knuckles.
“Well, there are some very specific guidelines I must adhere to. If not, then the short answer is, yes, they could demand their branded name back.”
“But you’d get to keep the theater itself, right?” she asked. Or would he lose everything?
“If I could afford it.”
“Um,” she scanned her list of questions. “How has this bomb affected the theater’s business?”
“As you can imagine, some people are leery of coming to the theater, but I want to assure everyone that we are 100 percent safe and secure. I’ve hired additional security, who conduct hourly sweeps of the entire building, and we’ve installed video surveillance for the entire theater.”
“That’s a lot of expense, isn’t it?” she asked.
“You can’t put a price on people’s safety, and I want everyone to know that,” Mr. Hughes said.
Price on safety? Hmm. “Mr. Hughes, had this bomb detonated, what would have been the outcome with Dickinson in regards to your owning a franchise?”
“I don’t know exactly, but don’t you worry none. I carry good insurance to cover my investment.”
Maybe so. Time to flip points. “Mr. Hughes, do you have any idea who would want to put a bomb in the theater, set to detonate when a private showing had been scheduled?”
“I’ve given all that information to the police,” he said, his tone changing to more formal-sounding. “I feel quite confident they’ll find who did this and see that justice is served.”
“How’s that?” she asked. Had he gotten some inside information from the police that Dad hadn’t shared with her?
“Excuse me?” Definitely a more formal tone.
“What makes you so confident? Did you give the police leads on who you believe is responsible for placing the bomb in the closet by the ladies’ restroom?”
“Um,” he paused. “Well, I just believe our police will do everything in their power to find who did this and see justice served. I’m sorry, I need to go now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes, for calling me back,” she said just before he hung up. Last year, she’d asked Mom to share her little tidbits of how to be a great journalist. One of the things Mom told her was to always be polite and thank people when they took the time to answer questions, even if they didn’t answer the way she wanted.
Sam set her phone down on the desk, staring at the notes on her iPad as if her article direction would jump up at her. She glanced up to the digital frame with Mom’s articles and replayed the conversation in her mind.
Inspiration struck. She moved to the ergonomic chair in front of her desk and quickly ran an Internet search on average cost of business security systems. The search engine threw up over forty-six million results. She clicked on the first one that looked legit, then rubbed Chewy behind her ears while she waited for the page to load. From the informational page, she went to a pricing page for video surveillance systems and was surprised. The prices for a decent system ran anywhere from $4,000.00 to $15,000.00.
Mr. Hughes was serious about security. And that amount didn’t even include the cost of paying for security guards. If he was paying out this kind of money, he really wanted people to feel safe at the movies.
Well . . . now that she thought about it. Sam pulled up the website for the theater, then opened the calculator app on her iPhone. Regular ticket prices were $9.25 each. On a Saturday, they ran about forty movies, not counting the special — and higher priced — IMAX showings. If just twenty people showed up for every showing, which was kind of a low estimate in Sam’s opinion because she’d never seen it that slow, that was eight hundred tickets. Eight hundred at $9.25 each was $7,400.00 a day. That was a lot of money.
No wonder Mr. Hughes wanted people to feel safe enough to come back to the theater.
But she couldn’t forget he hadn’t commented when she’d asked about the cost of the franchise. Nor could she forget his comment about having insurance.
What if Dickinson was about to demand the franchise back for whatever reason? He said if that happened, he could only keep the theater open if he could afford it. What if he didn’t have the money?
Sam plopped back onto her bed, laying on her back and staring up at the ceiling fan. Chewy jumped up and licked her face. Sam laughed and rubbed Chewy’s tummy. An idea flitted across her mind, then screeched to a halt. She bolted upright.
What if Mr. Hughes knew Dickinson was about to demand back the franchise and he couldn’t afford to lose the money he’d invested — his word, not hers — so he needed to claim the insurance? Something would have to happen to the theater itself for that to happen. Sam chewed her bottom lip. What if the bomb was only meant to set fire to the theater?
She sat back in front of her desk and ran another search. This time on arson statistics.
CHAPTER 8
IMPLICATIONS AND ASSUMPTIONS
. . . According to a report by the US Fire Administration, arson is the leading cause of fires in the United States: over 267,000 each year. An insurance research council estimates that 14% of those arson cases were set to gain insurance money. That same report estimates that arson fires cost over 878 MILLION dollars a year.
What do YOU think? Could the bomb have been a failed arson attempt? Sound Off, Senators. Leave a comment with your thoughts. ~ Sam Sanderson, reporting
“Sam!” Ms. Pape called out as soon as Sam entered the classroom for the last period of the day.
“Yes, ma’am?” She set her books on her desk and turned.
Ms. Pape stood huddled in the corner with Aubrey and Mrs. Trees, the school principal.
Uh-oh. None of them wore a happy expression. Except maybe Aubrey. She wore a smirk, but that wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary for her. Especially when it came to how she looked at Sam all the time.
Sam joined them. “Yes, ma’am?” she asked again, fixing the smile she didn’t feel across her face.
“About your article in today’s blog,” Ms. Pape began. “The implication that Mr. Hughes might’ve planted the bomb himself is very clear. Was it intentional?” She clasped her hands in front of her body, her bony arms whiter than they should be in late August.
“I didn’t imply Mr. Hughes had anything to do with the bomb. I stated the facts regarding arson fires, then I asked people to consider if the bomb plant might’ve been an attempt at arson. I never even mentioned Mr. Hughes in the last two paragraphs.” Sam felt like someone had shoved cotton down the back of her throat.
“But the first two paragraphs were about Mr. Hughes and franchises,” Mrs. Trees said, her penciled-in eyebrows nearly a straight line. “It’s a natural progression of the article that implies Mr. Hughes could have been involved for financial reasons.”
“Mrs. Trees, I apologize for not reviewing her article more closely,” Ms. Pape interjected, then turned to Sam. “The implication was clear with your one question: Could the bomb have been a failed arson attempt? You asked the question, putting the idea in the reader’s mind. Reporters shouldn’t editorialize or sensationalize. Just report the facts.”
That was the whole point. “I didn’t use his name. I just asked a question about it possibly being a failed arson attempt. I didn’t say Mr. Hughes had been involved.” Sam’s mouth was totally spitless.
“Mr. Hughes called me this afternoon,” Mrs. Trees said. “He’s threatening to sue your parents, me, the school, the school district, Ms. Pape . . . everybody who has anything to do with you and the paper for defamation of character. He said that not only did you slander his reputation, but because so many have read your article, the damage to his good name is even worse.”
Sam shook h
er head. She knew all too well her freedom of speech rights. That was the first rule of journalism, and Mom had told her time and again to learn the rights of journalists. All journalists. She licked her lips with a dry tongue. “He can’t. I am protected, as is the paper, you, Ms. Pape, and the school, under the first amendment. We are protected from anyone’s abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.” She smiled at Aubrey. “That includes school presses.” Mom would be proud — right? Sam sure was proud of herself, because she’d worked long and hard to memorize all that.
Neither Ms. Pape nor Mrs. Trees looked impressed.
“I didn’t print — Was this bomb plant Mr. Hughes’ failed arson attempt? — did I?” she asked. “No, I didn’t, because that wouldn’t be responsible reporting. But posing a legitimate question and making people think—that is responsible reporting.”
Ms. Pape’s lips puckered as silence held.
“That’s not the point.” Mrs. Trees shook her head. “I told you I wasn’t sure the blog was a good idea,” she told Ms. Pape. “This is a prime example why I didn’t want to try it out in the first place. Not even a full week, and already I’m getting threats of being sued. I should have never allowed the blog to go up.”
“Mrs. Trees, please don’t punish us all for one person’s mistake,” Aubrey said. “I’ll reassign the story to someone else.”
“No!” Sam clamped her hands over her mouth. The word had slipped out before she could stop it.
Mrs. Trees, Ms. Pape, and Aubrey all stared at her as if a unicorn horn had sprouted out of her forehead.
Sam swallowed. “I meant, you shouldn’t shut down the blog, Mrs. Trees. Good journalists will tell you that if the article content isn’t making people stop and think, then the reporters aren’t doing their jobs.” She glanced at Ms. Pape. Why wasn’t she chiming in here to help defend the paper’s freedom of speech rights? Mom would be jumping up and down right now if she was in this meeting.
“Mr. Hughes was upset and lashed out at you, but I promise you, he has no grounds for any legitimate claim,” Sam said. Neither Mrs. Trees nor Ms. Pape said a word, so maybe she’d made her point. Still, she needed to make sure. “Shutting down the blog is wrong, but so is changing anything, even reporters. To do so now would only make it appear as if we’d done something wrong.” She set her jaw. “And we haven’t.”
Once again, silence hung as heavy over them as the sweaters Dad made Sam wear when it was just a teensy bit chilly. And it was just as hot and suffocating to her.
“Excuse me, Ms. Pape, but you need to see this,” Lana Wilson said. She held up her tablet where they could see the screen. Sam’s blog post page.
Just great. Sam groaned silently. Just when she’d been making her point, now her misstep was brought back front and center for them all to see again. Oh, Lana!
“Look at all these comments,” Lana said. “And most every one of them thanks the paper and the school for making them think and consider something they hadn’t before.” She swiped her finger across the screen. “Like this one, from a college student who posts: Thank you for articles without bias and political ramifications.”
Aubrey’s eyes widened.
Ms. Pape took the tablet and read aloud. “From a concerned parent who posted: I applaud the newspaper for putting out more information than the regular newspaper. Kudos, Senator Speak.” She scrolled further. “And another, from someone calling themselves truth seeker who wrote: I commend the reporter for going above and beyond in this article. Looking forward to reading the continued reports on the blog.”
Aubrey’s face turned a deep red.
“There are already three hundred and eight comments on the blog,” Ms. Pape said as she handed the tablet back to Lana. “Thank you, Lana. I’ll be with the class in a moment.”
“Well,” Mrs. Trees began, “I suppose I could wait a day or so to see if there’s any further negative repercussions regarding this article.”
“I can still stay on as the reporter, right, Ms. Pape?” Sam asked, then looked to the principal. “Okay, Mrs. Trees?”
She held her breath. If they let Aubrey give this to that jock, Kevin, Sam would scream.
Loud and long.
Ms. Pape gave Sam a weak smile. “For now, yes.”
Yes! Sam nodded.
“I know you’re the editor, Aubrey, but for now, Sam stays as the reporter on this assignment,” Ms. Pape said. Her tone didn’t allow room for any argument.
By the look on Aubrey’s face, it looked like she really wanted to argue about it too. She wisely stayed silent.
“You girls join the class. I’ll be there in a moment,” Ms. Pape said, turning to face Mrs. Trees.
It was all Sam could do not to skip over to where Lana and Celeste huddled over the tablet, reading the blog comments.
“You might think you’ve won this round, Samantha Sanderson, but you’d better be very careful. I’m looking for a reason to have you kicked off the paper. Permanently,” Aubrey said with that smirky smile of hers as Nikki rushed to stand beside her.
Sam smiled back, and in the sweetest voice she could muster, answered, “I expect no less, Aubrey. You’ve been trying to do that since I signed on. Why should now be any different?”
Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “I’m confident you’ll mess up again real soon, so I’m not worried that I’ll have to put up with you much longer.” She flipped her dirty blond hair over her shoulder and headed to the editor’s desk, then sat, still glaring at Sam.
Nikki hesitated, then followed in Aubrey’s wake.
Sam shook her head and moved away.
“Don’t mind her. She just drank a double dose of hater-aide today,” said Lana, catching her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail and securing it with a scrunchie.
Sam grinned and plopped into the empty chair beside Celeste. “I wish I knew what I’d done to make her hate me.”
“She’s probably just jealous,” Celeste said, mocking, as she flipped her auburn hair in Aubrey’s dramatic way.
“Yeah.” Lana made a duck-face. “Cuz you’re so smart and all.” She batted her eyes, fluttering her long eyelashes.
Sam and Celeste laughed.
“And because you’re a better journalist than her.” Lana pointed at the tablet. “Now you’re up to three hundred and thirty-one comments. All commending your article and you.”
Sam scrolled to read random students’ comments: “Good job,” “keep up the great reporting,” and so on. She felt like her heart could explode at any minute. She’d have to text Mom the link when she got home from school.
“Good article, Sam,” Luke Jensen said. He gave Sam’s arm a mock punch as he passed them on the way to his desk.
Words failed Sam as her heart raced, and her face went hotter than an August afternoon in Arkansas.
Both Lana and Celeste stared after him until he plopped in a seat at the table with the rest of the guys on the paper’s staff, then looked back at Sam. Their eyes were wide. Then all three girls burst into giggles.
Ohmygummybears! Ohmygummybears! Ohmygummybears! Just wait until she told Makayla that Luke Jensen not only remembered her name but had read her article. AGAIN!
Sam finished entering the link for the school paper’s blog, then sent the text to her mom. There were now over three hundred and sixty comments, and most all of them were still really positive. At least about Sam and her reporting. Some people had speculated about Frank Hughes being involved with the bomb, but Sam didn’t think so.
It didn’t make sense for him to plant a bomb where someone could find it so easily. He owned the place . . . had to know about every little hiding space there was, so surely he’d have put a bomb where no one would find it before it went off. He wouldn’t have been so stupid as to have put it in the supply closet by the restroom.
Well, the theater employee did say they’d already concluded their nightly closing procedures in that area. Even so, Mr. Hughes hadn’t been at the theater that night. At least, that
’s what he said. Sam believed him. She’d only written the article to make people think. To consider all options.
To keep seeking until the truth came out.
That was Mom’s motto. Now it was Sam’s, too.
Chewy’s barking echoed outside. Oh, bullies! She’d forgotten to let the dog back inside, and now Dad was home. He’d lecture her, again, about leaving Chewy outside too long in the heat.
Sam rushed to the backdoor and let Chewy in. The dog went and gulped at her water bowl. Sam refilled it with cold water, then checked the lasagna in the oven. It wasn’t bubbling yet. She’d forgotten to put it in the oven as soon as she’d gotten home. Great, something else for Dad to talk to her about.
She grabbed the salad mix and dumped it into two bowls, rushing. Maybe he wouldn’t realize she’d been late starting dinner. The lasagna pan was pretty deep . . . maybe he’d think it just took longer to heat.
The front door clicked shut. Oops, she’d forgotten to lock it. Dad would have plenty to talk with her about tonight. His keys clanked into the wooden bowl on the entry table.
Maybe she should get the jump on his mood. “Hi, Daddy,” she called out, sounding as happy as she felt. After all, she was on top of the world. Her article was getting some amazing responses, Ms. Pape hadn’t let Aubrey take the assignment away from her, and Luke Jensen had been impressed with her article.
His footsteps seemed to drag as he came out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. He looked so drained.
“Sit down, Daddy. The lasagna isn’t ready just yet. We can start on our salads, though.” Sam put their glasses of tea on the placemats. She put the salad bowls there while Dad plopped into his chair.
He offered up grace as soon as she sat, then reached for his tea. Must have had a really awful day. She felt a little guilty since her day had been nearly perfect. She didn’t want to ask him how his day had gone, but it seemed rude not to. “How was your day?” she asked.
He straightened his plate on the placemat, then aligned his fork on the napkin beside the plate. Uh-oh, a sure sign he was planning how to say something. If he had to plan, it had to be bad. “My captain received a call from Frank Hughes today.” Dad stared at her, making her want to squirm.
