by Robin Caroll
“Thanks, Sam. You’re a great friend.”
“You’d do the same for me,” Sam told Lana, but it was Makayla’s smile she saw.
“Hey, I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”
Sam hung up the phone and rolled onto her back again. She wished Mac would call now. But the phone didn’t ring. The ceiling fan went around and around and around.
Chewy plopped on Sam’s pillow, then closed her eyes.
Sam shoved the dog softly, laughing. “Hey, it’s not bedtime yet, lazybones. Let’s go for a walk.”
At the word walk, Chewy leapt off the bed and went to the door, tail wagging.
Sam shook her head and smiled. “Dog, I swear you understand English.” She slipped on her flip-flops, shoved her phone in the pocket of her capris, grabbed Chewy’s leash, then opened the bedroom door. Chewy raced down the hallway, her nails tapping on the wood floor. Yep, she needed to remember to trim the dog’s nails when Mom got home.
Dad sat in his recliner, football on the television.
“I’m going to walk Chewy.” It was kind of asking, right?
“Got your phone?” Dad asked, but his tone was sharp.
“Yes, sir.”
“Be back before it gets dark.” His eyes never left the television.
“Yes, sir.” Sam snapped Chewy’s leash on her collar, then opened the front door.
For a minute there, she wondered if Dad would tell her she couldn’t walk the dog. Sounded crazy, but no crazier than threatening to ground her for not giving up her sources.
God, am I just being stubborn here?
She rounded the corner and headed down to the cul-de-sac one block over. Chewy tugged on the leash and Sam picked up the pace.
I don’t want to be mad at Dad, God, because I know I shouldn’t. But it just seems so unfair.
She thought about Frank Hughes’s daughter . . . losing her seemed pretty unfair. She even thought about Jessica Townsend . . . having mental issues probably seemed unfair to her.
With every fast step she took, Sam’s anger slipped a little further away. By the time she reached the cul-de-sac, she wasn’t mad at all.
But she wouldn’t tell Dad that Ms. Vanya had been the one talking about the lie detector test either. She’d gotten over her anger, but she hadn’t gone stupid.
She decided to walk the opposite direction than usual on the way back home. It was a longer route, but she felt bad that she hadn’t taken Chewy on a real walk in a couple of days. Besides, the weatherman forecasted rain starting tomorrow and going through the better part of the week, so she needed to let Chewy get as much walking exercise as she could while the weather was nice.
Her pace slowed as she looked at the flowers blooming in people’s carefully planted flowerbeds. Collegiate flags flew from porches. Honeybees buzzed past. The sweet smell of honeysuckle lingered in the hot breeze.
All the green plants made Sam think about asparagus. She smiled. She’d never be able to look at the vegetable the same again. Not that she could look at it before. No matter what comparisons Ms. Martha made, asparagus was gross. And it stunk.
She rounded a corner and a cat shot across the yard by the sidewalk. Chewy barked and bolted. Sam grabbed the leash with both hands and pulled. “No!” She planted her feet and jerked the leash harder. “Chewy, no!”
The leash went slack as Chewy returned back to the sidewalk and stared up at Sam with her big brown eyes, feigning innocence.
Sam couldn’t resist. She knelt and hugged the dog.
Movement across the street caught her attention. If it was another cat . . .
Luckily it wasn’t. Just a man getting into his car. Sam stood and started to walk, but he looked a little familiar. She looked again but couldn’t see his face as he turned and got into the car. He backed it out of the driveway and into the street, paused, then put the car in drive. Sam got a good look at him then.
It was Frank Hughes.
How did she not know he lived so close?
A car inched up, one that had been parked on the street. Sam hadn’t realized someone was in it until just now when it pulled up. Something about that car . . .
It was the same car she and Lana had seen at the movie theater. The older, red, four-door car.
Had someone been parked on the street, watching Mr. Hughes’ house and waiting for him to leave? What were the odds of seeing the same car at both Mr. Hughes’s place of business and now here at his home? No way was this a coincidence.
Sam pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and turned as the car passed her. An older woman drove. The woman didn’t even glance in Sam’s direction, her focus was so intent.
Sam snapped several pictures of the car and the license plate before the vehicle sped off in the same direction Mr. Hughes had gone.
Dad might still be upset with her, but considering the case was his and Mr. Hughes had been getting threats, he wouldn’t ignore this. He couldn’t. At the very least he could run the license plate and see who owned the car. Sam could describe the woman.
She tugged the leash and began to jog toward home. Chewy ran to keep up. Once home, Sam took off Chewy’s leash and they both ran to the kitchen to grab water.
Dad still sat in his recliner, looking as if he hadn’t moved at all since she left.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t even look at her.
“I saw Mr. Hughes.”
That got his attention. He muted the game on TV. “Where?”
“Leaving his house. Well, I guess it was his house. I’m not sure. He was leaving a house on Calais Cove.”
“At any rate, you saw him?”
Still so terse. Sam pulled up the pictures on her cell and passed the phone to her father. “Remember the other night at the theater when I told you I saw that car going by real slow with its headlights off? You said it was my suspicious imagination? Well, that’s the car.” She pointed to the picture on her phone.
Dad scrolled through the photos.
“It had been parked on the street and I didn’t see anybody in it. Then Mr. Hughes leaves, and suddenly that car starts up and moves in behind Mr. Hughes. I recognized the car, so I snapped a couple of pictures.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sat on the arm of the couch. “A woman was driving.”
Dad used his fingers to blow up the image on the screen. “I’ll call this in and run a check real quick.” He grabbed his own cell from the table beside him. “Hey, this is Sanderson. Need you to run a plate for me.” Dad listed off the numbers and letters, then handed her iPhone back to her. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“It might be nothing, Sam.” Dad’s voice wasn’t nearly as abrupt as before.
“But it might be something.” She fought not to sound too excited. If he again thought this was just her “overactive imagination,” she didn’t know what she’d do.
Dad shook his head. “I can’t tell you what I find out, Sam.”
“But I saw the car . . . I took the pictures!” He wouldn’t even have this lead if it weren’t for her!
“And I appreciate that and your reporting it, but I can’t take a chance on unreliable information getting out.”
Unreliable? “Dad, I saw the car there myself. Both times.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
But he didn’t sound sorry. This was just punishment for her not telling him who her sources were.
So unfair.
Sam stomped to her room before she said something that would definitely get her grounded. Why couldn’t Mom be home? She understood but was . . . where was Mom this time? She should be here instead of out working on her own career.
No, that was unfair. Sam threw herself face down on the bed. She wasn’t mad at Mom. It wasn’t her fault.
Now Dad . . . he was a totally different story.
She rolled onto her back and hugged her pillow to her chest. What could she do? Dad wasn’t going to give her any information, even though he wouldn’t have the information if it wasn’t for her.
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Maybe she shouldn’t even consider the red car’s driver just yet. Maybe she should concentrate on the story. What she knew.
She sat up in bed and grabbed her iPad. Sitting with her legs crossed, she set a pillow in her lap, then typed in what she knew about the suspects.
1-Frank Hughes owns the theater and carries a lot of insurance on it. BUT he’s getting threats. (Could he be faking the threats to throw suspicion off of himself? Or do these threats have something to do with the death of his daughter and the driver of the other car?)
2-Jessica Townsend has mental issues and attacked a nun and is a spokesperson for the Coalition of Reason. (She passed a lie detector test, supposedly.)
3-Bobby Milner was a Marine, shot people and used bombs, is a vocal anti-religious leader of the local atheists group. (But he’s a dad and has a kid — would he risk hurting a kid with a bomb? He is used to it. AND he did have that domestic abuse charge.)
Sam popped her knuckles. She highlighted Jessica Townsend. Yeah, she was off her rocker, but according to Ms. Vanya, she’d passed a lie detector test that Dad gave her. Even upset with him, Sam knew he was a great detective.
She hesitated, then highlighted Frank Hughes. She didn’t understand all about the insurance, but Dad said he’d been there when one of the threats came in. Sure, Mr. Hughes could have an accomplice and that’s how one of the calls came when Dad was there, but Sam didn’t think so. Apparently Dad didn’t think so either.
So that left Bobby Milner. He was, in Sam’s opinion, the likeliest suspect. Trained and familiar with bombs, anti-religious, and he had an abuse record . . . sure sounded like a prime candidate for the guilty party.
But, a woman had been driving the red car. That would exclude Bobby Milner. The woman hadn’t been Jessica Townsend either. So who was she?
Maybe that’s who Sam should focus her attention on. Who was the woman in the car? What was her connection to Frank Hughes? And Sam couldn’t forget about the car accident. Was that the connection?
CHAPTER 20
MONDAY MADNESS
. . . What do YOU think? Who is the person who has threatened to ruin Frank Hughes like their life was ruined? Who told Mr. Hughes that the bomb in the theater was only the beginning? Does this person drive the Ford that was seen prowling about at both the theater and Mr. Hughes’s home?
And what about Bobby Milner, ex-Marine who said himself he’d shot and bombed people? Sound Off, Senators. Leave a comment with your thoughts. ~ Sam Sanderson, reporting
“I can’t believe you saw the same car that we did at the theater,” Lana said. “That’s super creepy.”
“Yeah. I left out that it was a woman driving. I didn’t want to tip my hand with all the information.” Sam smiled as she accessed the newsroom’s Internet link, even though little twinges of guilt threatened to steal the smile right off her face.
When Dad saw the article, he would go ballistic. But she hadn’t used him as a source. At least, not exactly. She’d focused entirely on what Mr. Hughes had told her, using his statements as the basis for her article. And her own eyewitness accounts, of course.
Still, Dad would most likely be furious.
Well, served him right. Kind of. He should have told her who the red car was registered to, but he’d refused, even though he wouldn’t have even had that lead without her. So she could almost dismiss her feelings of guilt.
Almost.
Sam went to the Arkansas Democrat Gazette’s website, then opened the search for obituaries.
“Whatever are you doing?” Celeste asked.
“Looking for Trish Hughes’s obituary.” She typed the name in the search box on the website.
Lana leaned in. “Why? You already know how she died.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for.” Sam took note of the date of the obituary, then closed out that search and opened another. This time, she put the date of Trish’s obituary in the search box.
“Then what are you looking for?” Lana asked.
The results loaded. “Hang on.” She scrolled through the six obituaries.
First one was a woman of eighty-two who died from a long battle with cancer. The second obituary was a man who died in a nursing home. The third reported a man who died while serving in the military. The fourth obituary was about a man who died unexpectedly. The fifth was a woman who died in the hospital. And the sixth obituary was about a thirteen-year-old girl who drowned.
Sam shivered.
“What are you looking for?” Lana asked again.
Sam clicked the listing for the fourth obituary. “Him.” She clicked on his name, bringing up his obituary.
Jimmy “Big Jim” Needles passed away unexpectedly on Friday. A retired Green Beret veteran, he is survived by his wife, Ella. He is preceded in death by his parents, Adam and Rachel, and his sister, Amy.
Sam checked the dates. That Friday was the date of the accident. She nodded. “That’s him.”
“Who?” Lana asked.
“What are you talking about?” Celeste asked.
“The man who was in the accident with Trish Hughes,” Sam said. “He died instantly, just like Trish. His name was Jimmy Needles.” She wrote his name on the notepad. “His wife is Ella Needles.” She continued writing.
“I know her,” Lana said.
“What?” Sam asked.
Lana pressed her lips together tightly.
“You know her? Ella Needles? How?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know if I can say anything,” Lana said.
Oh, not Lana too. Sam was sick and tired of everybody telling her they couldn’t tell her something that she knew good and well was important to the case. “Lana!”
“Well, we aren’t supposed to share stuff from counseling. The personal stuff.” Lana shook her head. “I’ve probably already said too much.”
“Wait a minute.” Sam held up her hands as if to stop everything. She really needed her mind to stop racing so she could process.
Ella Needles was the survivor of the person Trish Hughes killed in the accident. Lana’s family was going through counseling. That couldn’t apply to Ella Needles.
Sam closed her eyes. What was she missing?
“I don’t follow,” Celeste said.
“Shh.” Sam needed to think. Lana’s dad had anger issues. He and Lana’s mom were having couples therapy through their church. Her dad . . . grief counseling.
That applied to Ella Needles.
Sam stared at Lana. “You met Ella Needles at a group counseling, something for grief counseling. Because your dad lost his twin brother and she lost her husband. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m right?”
Lana chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t think I can say.”
Sam swallowed the groan. “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m right.” She stared back at the screen. Something wasn’t right.
“I still don’t understand,” Celeste said.
“Wait a minute.” Sam tapped the notepad. What was she missing? She glanced at the date of the obituary. That was it!
“Her husband died over two years ago, but Ella’s still in counseling?” Sam asked no one in particular, not that she expected an answer. Did it usually take that long to work through grief? Sam didn’t have any idea.
“Grief isn’t the same for everyone,” Lana said. “That’s what the counselor told us anyway.”
But two years ago?
If Ella Needles felt like she needed to exact revenge on the Hughes family, why wait two years? What happened?
Or, Sam thought with a sinking feeling, was she totally off base with her line of thinking?
No, she couldn’t be. Because if she was wrong about this, she had nothing else besides Bobby Milner, and while he looked like a good suspect, Sam couldn’t get the image out of her head of him doing the chicken dance at Playtime Pizza with his little boy.
The chicken dance. Really? Hard to imagine anyone who did the chicken dance, publicly, would plant a bomb in a movie theater. It just . .
. well, it just didn’t feel right to Sam.
Wasn’t Mom always telling her to trust her gut instincts?
Right now, her gut was telling her — quite loudly — that Bobby Milner wasn’t really a viable suspect.
So that left Ella Needles.
“Ms. Pape?” the student worker’s voice over the intercom interrupted all conversation in the newspaper classroom.
“Yes?” Ms. Pape answered.
“Could you please send Sam Sanderson to the office for checkout?”
“She’s on her way.” Ms. Pape waved at Sam.
Checkout? Immediately, Sam’s heart caught. Had something happened to Mom? To Dad?
“I didn’t know you were getting checked out. Are you going to miss cheerleading practice?” Celeste asked.
“I didn’t know I was getting checked out. Let Mrs. Holt know if I don’t show up for practice.” Sam grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
“Hey, call me if you need anything,” Lana said.
“I will. Thanks,” Sam said, but her legs moved fast toward the office, as if trying to keep up with her racing mind.
She turned the corner off the seventh grade ramp and went down the first set of stairs, then all but ran down the second set. Her hand shook as she reached for the door knob to the office.
“I was checked out?” Sam said.
Mrs. Darrington, the school secretary, looked up from her desk. “Sam, your father is with Mrs. Trees in her office.”
This. Was. Not. Good.
Sam’s feet dragged along as she made her way down the hallway to the principal’s office. Every muscle in her body tensed, desperately wanting to turn around and run from the office. Fast. Very fast.
She knocked softly on Mrs. Trees’ door.
“Come in,” Mrs. Trees answered.
Sam pushed the door slightly open. “You wanted to see me?”
“Come in. Sit down.” Mrs. Trees pointed to the empty chair beside Dad.
Dad wore the bulldog look . . . intensified to the twelfth power. Squared.
She flashed him a nervous smile and dropped into the chair.
“Samantha,” Mrs. Trees began, and Sam knew right then that she was sunk. “Your father has come to me and requested that I remove you from your current Senator Speak assignment.”
