by Robin Caroll
“So, what are you going to write about?” Celeste asked.
“I haven’t a clue.” Sam stared blankly into space. What to write about? What? Something directly related to the bomb itself. No suspects. No —
“Sam!” the sharp voice blended with the fingers snapping in front of her face snagged her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
Luke Jensen stood in front of her, grinning. “You were really out of it, there.”
Words failed her. She nodded dumbly as heat raced up her spine to the back of her neck.
“I just wanted to let you know that I think Aubrey’s wrong. I think you’re on the right track with the suspects.”
Why wouldn’t her tongue untie? Because Luke’s dimples were just so cute. She nodded again.
Luke tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. “Well, okay. Good luck.” He sauntered over and joined Kevin Haynes and the other guys.
Lana shoved her. “What is wrong with you?”
“What?” Sam asked. Her face felt like it was on fire.
Lana groaned and rolled her eyes. “You have a crush on Luke . . . he’s over here trying to talk to you, and you’re like some rabid mute person. What’s up with that?”
“I was just lost in my thoughts is all.”
“Yeah, sure, right. Happens all the time. Not,” Lana said.
“Whatever,” Sam said, her face hotter than hot. Time to change the subject. “I’m trying to figure out how to write about the bomb that doesn’t shed any light on suspects and isn’t just a repeat of what was in today’s paper.”
“Why don’t you just ask your dad for an update?” Celeste asked.
She would read what the state’s paper had to say, then try to get Dad to give her at least one little piece of new information. She had a game to cheer at tonight, so she wouldn’t be able to do much hard research. He owed her for not telling her about the bomb anyway. The least he could do is help her out now.
“Did you hear about Nikki Cole’s parents?” Celeste whispered.
“That they’re divorcing? Yeah.” Sam glanced across the newspaper room to Nikki, who sat beside Aubrey. Although Aubrey talked constantly, Nikki looked distracted. Sam couldn’t even imagine how she’d feel if her mom and dad split up. “I feel really sorry for her.”
“She looks sad,” Lana said.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Celeste asked.
Lana shrugged. “It has its advantages.”
“Your parents are divorced?” The question slipped out before Sam could stop it. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”
Lana smiled. “It’s okay. They divorced last year. That’s the reason I transferred to Robinson. Mom and I moved here to be closer to my grandparents.”
“I’m sorry,” Celeste said, with blush creeping over her face.
“Don’t be. It’s much better than having to listen to them argue all the time. Now, well, they both went through some sad times, but they aren’t arguing anymore.”
Sam swallowed hard. What kind of friend was she to not even remember Lana’s parents were divorced?
“So you live with your mom?” Celeste asked.
Lana nodded. “For a while we stayed with Grammy and Gramps, but only for a few months until we got our own apartment.”
“That’s right—you live in those nice apartments right down from here,” Sam said.
“Yep. It’s kinda nice being just me and Mom. We each have our own room and our own bathroom.”
“But don’t you miss your dad?” Sam clamped her hand over her mouth. When was she going to learn to just shut up? “I’m sorry.”
Lana smiled. “It’s okay. And yeah, sometimes I really do miss my dad. But after his twin brother died, he started acting mad all the time. I don’t know. I do miss him.”
Despite Dad being strict a lot, Sam would miss him something awful if he and Mom got divorced.
“But a lot of kids don’t get to see both their parents every day,” Lana said. “Like military families. Some kids don’t get to see their dad or mom in the military for months on end. I get to see my dad every other weekend at least.”
“True,” said Celeste, but she didn’t look convinced.
“Or like Sam. Her mom is off on assignments a lot, so she doesn’t get to see her every day.”
She had a point. “That’s right.” But Sam didn’t think that was the same. Her mom lived at the house with her and Dad. All of Mom’s stuff was in the house, surrounding Sam and her dad. It wasn’t like she was . . . gone.
“With my parents divorced, Mom and Dad are almost in a competition to make sure I’m happy. So that means having the food I like in the houses, I get to watch the television shows I want, and I get to have friends over if I want.” Lana shrugged. “Mostly, I’m just relieved to not have to listen to the fighting, then Dad slamming the door and roaring off in his truck, then Mom sitting in her room crying, and me pretending I can’t hear her.”
Wow. Sam really didn’t know what to say now.
Lana cleared her throat. “It’s all okay now.” She stared across the room at Nikki. “But it takes a while to get used to the change,” she almost whispered.
Yeah, Nikki was Aubrey’s best friend, but somehow, Sam didn’t think Aubrey was the compassionate type. Not like Makayla was there for Sam.
Did Nikki have anybody she could talk to?
“Gooooo Senators!” Sam and the other cheerleaders finished the cheer and, in unison, executed toe touches.
The crowd clapped and cheered as the football players returned to the field to play the last quarter of the game. The Senators trailed by six: thirteen to seven.
Sam smiled and waved at the micro video camera Dad held. It wasn’t the same as having Mom here, but at least they’d be able to laugh over the video together later. Was that how it was for Lana?
She was still upset with Dad, but having practice after school until the game, she hadn’t had a chance to talk with him. Once she did, though . . . she’d get a hit for something to put in Monday’s article. Something everyone else didn’t already have.
She turned to the side, locking her hands behind her back like they were supposed to. A kid walked by with his hands full of nachos. Sam wrinkled her nose as the smell reached her. Nachos were just plain gross. And they stunk.
Remy, the head cheerleader, called the next cheer.
As Mrs. Holt had taught them, Sam looked over the crowd’s head, focusing on the press box at the top of the bleachers. The sun had just begun to set and cast strange shadows over the band and the rest of the fans. They looked like fingers reaching out to grab the people from their seats in the stands. Kinda freaky.
Kevin Haynes threw the ball. Luke Jensen caught it. Luke was usually second string but had been put in the game because the starting wide receiver was recovering from a strained ankle.
“Go! Go!” several men in the stands yelled.
Luke passed the thirty yard mark.
“Go! Go! Go!” Remy began the chant.
Luke spun out of a tackle and hit the twenty yard mark.
“Go! Go!” People in the stands stood.
The ten.
“Go!”
Luke dodged a final tackle.
“Go! Go!”
Luke crossed into the end zone. The crowd went wild. The band started the school’s new fight song. Sam and the rest of the cheerleaders launched into their dance routine for the song. She nervously counted it out in her head . . . five, six, seven, eight.
“Sing loud our victory song, our team is on the way.” Right arm up, left arm up, right kick, left kick.
“ . . . for we will win today, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT.” Round-over, stomp right foot, stomp left foot, shake poms.
Sam moved in perfect unison with the girls on either side of her. Right-ball-change. Left-ball-change. “ . . . our opponents are now on the run.”
Turn. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.” Kick. Kick. Shake poms. “And Senators will win tonight.” Tu
rn, wiggle. Jump around. “Fight!”
The crowd erupted with applause. As Sam tossed her pom-poms onto the ground in front of her, she caught movement in one of the finger-shadows from the corner of her eye. She narrowed her eyes and focused on the person standing at the bottom of the bleachers, their face half-masked from view.
The crowd stood and stomped as the game announcer came over the speakers — the extra point was good.
The figure turned as the crowd rose to its feet. Slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly . . .
Until he shifted to get around a kid running down the stands. Then Sam made eye-contact and gasped.
Frank Hughes.
CHAPTER 15
MUM’S THE WORD
Are you sure it was him?” Dad asked for the millionth time as they headed to the school’s parking lot.
Sam nodded. “I’m positive. What was Frank Hughes doing here, Dad?”
“It is a public event, Sam.” He led the way to the truck. People whooped and hollered across the parking lot, celebrating the team’s winning the first game of the season.
“But he doesn’t have any reason to be here. And the theater’s open tonight.”
“Just because the business he owns is open doesn’t mean he has to be present. There’s such a thing as time off, you know.” Dad clicked the button on his keychain and the truck’s doors unlocked with a click. “You don’t know that he doesn’t have reason to be here. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. You know better.”
“I do know.” Sam tossed her pom-poms and megaphone into the backseat, then settled into the front seat and secured her seatbelt. “His daughter died in an auto accident a couple of years ago. She was his only child.”
Dad started the car and waited for the opposing team’s bus to clear the lane. “How do you know about that?”
Sam sighed. “I do my research, Dad.” Well, Makayla had done it, but she was one of Sam’s sources, right?
“His daughter, Trish, was seventeen. She was only out of drug rehab for a few months when she ran a red light and hit a car. Trish and the driver of the other car were both killed instantly,” Sam said. “Unconfirmed reports said she had drugs in her system at the time of the accident.” She glanced out the window as Dad turned the air conditioner on high.
Even though the sun had long since slipped below the tree line, it had to still be in the eighties. Maybe even nineties.
Dad shot her a quick look before turning the car onto Cantrell. “Where did you hear about the alleged drugs in her system?”
She sighed again. “Dad, you know I can’t reveal my sources.”
“Well, good thing you didn’t put that in your article. Never, ever put something into print that you can’t back up with more than an unnamed source. It’s pretty much understood in the legal realm that the reporters who use that line are usually the ones making stuff up.”
“Kinda like when cops say no comment, it’s pretty much understood that they can’t answer the question because they’ll get in trouble?” she asked.
He chuckled as he turned onto Chenal Valley. “Yeah, something like that.”
“You have to give people the benefit of the doubt, Sam. You can’t let your over-active suspicious mind run away with you.”
Her suspicious mind was just fine, thanks very much. “If he had a good reason to be there, why was he hiding in the shadows?”
Dad laughed aloud as he turned into their driveway and pushed the button. The garage door opened slowly. “Sam, half the bleachers are in the shadows for the first half of the game and it gets progressively worse as the sun sets.” He pulled into the garage and turned off the car’s engine. “You have to stop reading into every little thing.”
Sam got her cheer equipment and headed into the house, not saying anything else. Dad assuming she was making a big deal out of nothing really burned. Seriously? Maybe Frank Hughes was the person who planted the bomb, and when she ran articles about his franchise and stuff, he got mad. Maybe he came to the game to get an idea of her routine. Maybe he would come by late tonight and watch her in her house. He could break in while they were sleeping, put a gag over her mouth —
Chewy jumped up on her, scratching her thighs under the hem of her cheerleading skirt. “Ouch, girl.” Time to get the dog’s nails trimmed.
Sam went to the kitchen door and let Chewy out. The dog immediately went off barking after a squirrel. Chewy stood woofing at the bottom of a tree, looking up, like she was surprised the squirrel had gotten away. Sam laughed. At least with Chewy around, Hughes couldn’t sneak up on her.
Dad grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and tossed one to her. “You did really good tonight. All the practice is really paying off.”
She twisted off the cap of her bottle. She had something she needed to say, and no point in delaying it any longer. “Dad, why didn’t you give me the information about the bomb when it was released to other press contacts?” She struggled with keeping her voice even, knowing that if she raised her voice, she’d get grounded, and she really wanted to go to Playtime Pizza with Makayla tomorrow. They’d been looking forward to it.
“You didn’t ask.” He took another long sip of water.
What? “Dad, you knew I was the reporter covering the story. You could’ve just told me.”
“I could have, but that wouldn’t be you doing your job. That would be me doing it for you.”
“Dad!”
“No, Sam. I don’t call up all the other reporters every time we get a new piece of the case we can reveal. They call our press office at least twice a day, asking for updates.”
“But I’m your daughter.”
“Which is why you need to do it yourself. So you can claim your successes as your own and know I didn’t give you any special favors.”
His reasoning sounded right, but . . . he was her dad. Didn’t that count for anything?
He finished off his water and tossed his bottle in the recycling bin. “I don’t want you to think I’m being unnaturally hard on you. I talked with your mom about this and she agrees it’s the best way for you to learn to be a great reporter.” He leaned over and kissed her head. “It’s been a long, busy day. Why don’t you hit the shower?”
After a shower, Sam did feel much better. It was amazing what ten minutes of hot water and some of Mom’s Moroccan oil-infused shampoo could do. Though it still bugged her that not only did Dad not volunteer the information about the bomb, but Mom had agreed with him. She kind of felt like they’d betrayed her.
Once she braided her wet hair, she checked her email. Nothing new. She sent Makayla an email about the game tonight and seeing Frank Hughes. At least her bestie wouldn’t think she was overreacting at seeing him at the game.
Too bad Makayla’s mom thought football was too dangerous — her word, not Sam’s — so she wouldn’t let Mac go to any of the games. It made no sense to Sam, since Mrs. Ansley had no problem with Makayla taking karate. Maybe it was just team sports she had a problem with. Poor Mr. Ansley . . . Mac said her mom wouldn’t even let her dad watch sports on TV if the girls were home.
Sam’s dad would never think of making that rule. And neither would her mom. It was kind of a family thing to watch football. Well, at least one game a year. Mom always cheered for Louisiana State University and Dad rooted for the University of Arkansas, so they always watched when those two teams played each other. Sam cheered for both, which was a lot of fun since her team always won.
At least Sam would get to hang with Makayla for a long time tomorrow.
Sam’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller-ID, then answered. “Hey, Lana, what’s up?”
“I’m sorry to call this late, but I knew you’d still be up because of the game.” Lana spoke very fast, not at all like usual.
“It’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“I’m at Chenal 9. I met Lissi, Ava Kate, and some other friends for the six ten movie. Dad was supposed to pick me up no later than nine, but he’s not here. All the others ha
ve gone. I’ve called Mom, but she’s not answering at the apartment or her cell. I tried calling my dad, but it goes straight to voice mail. I don’t know what else to do. I thought since your dad’s a cop and all . . .”
“Are you there by yourself?” Sam asked as her bare feet thumped against the wood floor of the hallway.
“Well, there are people here, but nobody I know.” Lana’s voice dropped. “I’m in the bathroom. The kids coming in now are all older. High school and college age even.”
“Hang on.” Sam pressed the mute button. “Dad?” she called out.
“In here,” he answered from the kitchen.
She found him putting together a sandwich. “The hot dog at the game didn’t do it for me,” he said, grinning.
“Dad, Lana’s stranded at the movies and scared.” She quickly told him about Lana’s dad not showing up. “What should she do?” she asked as she opened the kitchen door and let Chewy back inside.
He put the plate in the refrigerator. “Tell her to go to the front, on the backside of the ticket counter. We’ll go get her, but tell her to keep trying her mom and dad.”
Sam pressed the button on her phone. “Lana, we’re coming to get you.” She told her what Dad had said while she went to her room to throw on some clothes.
“Thanks, Sam. I didn’t know who else to call,” said Lana. “Please hurry. I’m a little freaked out,” she whispered into the phone.
“We’re on our way.” Sam hung up the phone, then slipped on some clothes. God, please be with Lana and help her not be so scared. Sam met Dad in the living room. He looked so big and strong and . . . safe. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem, pumpkin. Let’s go.”
Once out of the subdivision, Dad cleared his throat. “Did Lana get ahold of either of her parents?”
Sam shook her head. “I told her to text or call me if she heard from either of them.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“In the apartments right down from the school. She and her mom live there alone.”
Dad nodded, but kept his eyes focused on the road.
“Her mom and dad are divorced.”
