Identity Issues (The Samantha Series)

by Whitsitt, Claudia

  Now that I knew he’d transported the bottles into the lab, I could breathe on my drive to work and concentrate on my students.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  After an anxious day, I hopped into the car. Since my day ended a little later than usual, I rushed home. Although Annie would arrive home first and handle things until I walked through the door, I hated shackling her with that responsibility if I didn’t need to. If I drove eighty miles an hour on the freeway, I would arrive before Lizzie and the others walked through the door.

  As I drove, I heard my cell phone beep. Probably Jon calling to tell me he’d be late. Again. I ignored it.

  Traffic was light. I made it home in record time, pulling into the neighborhood just as the school bus rounded the corner. After sitting behind the bus as it made its many stops, I finally honked at my energetic foursome when they bounded off the bus. They turned simultaneously, looked at each other, and raced to the car.

  We pulled into our driveway five houses later. I slid into my hole in the garage, and we clambered out with our bags and miscellaneous gear. Annie stood in the doorway, wearing a look of concern.

  "Mom, Beth’s dad left a message on the answering machine. He said to call back ASAP. Maybe Beth needs a ride or something."

  "I’ll call him right way, honey. Can you help Lizzie find a snack?" I asked. Then I instructed the rest of them, "Guys, get a snack, and then you can play a video game for thirty minutes before we head outside to play."

  "Cool!" They shrieked in unison over this rare treat.

  Not often were they allowed to go brain dead after they arrived at home, but I needed the assurance of a few uninterrupted minutes.

  I headed into the study and closed the door. Replaying Charlie’s message, I detected a note of urgency in his voice. I called him at his office.

  "Olsen here."

  "Hey, Charlie, it’s Samantha. What’s up?"

  "Sam, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you. Did you get the message I left on your cell?"

  "No, Charlie, sorry, I didn’t listen to it. I ran late from work, and…"

  "Sam, just listen to me. The water. Don’t drink a drop of that water."

  "Charlie, what’s wrong?"

  "Sam, the water isn’t just water."

  "What do you mean, Charlie? What is it?"

  "It’s pure tritium. An isotope of hydrogen which has one proton and two neutrons in the nucleus. It can be a gas, but more commonly it’s in water, because like non–radioactive hydrogen, radioactive tritium reacts with oxygen to form water."

  "So what are you saying, Charlie? Regular people–speak, please."

  "Sorry. There are low levels of tritium found in most drinking water, but the concentration is such that it doesn’t pose any serious danger. It’s normally expelled through urine within a month or so after exposure. If someone were to consume tritiated water of the magnitude found in these two bottles, they’d contract cancer faster than a vulture sics road kill. It’s absorbed directly into the soft tissue."

  "How quickly would someone develop cancer if they were to consume large amounts of this on a daily basis?"

  "It’s hard to say. Depends on the body mass of the person ingesting it, their overall health, previous exposure levels, and so on. But they’ll get it, for sure."

  "I need to ask you another question."

  "Shoot," Charlie said.

  "How easy is it to get tritium?"

  "Shit, you can buy the stuff online. Regular folks aren’t aware of it, though."

  "Can’t say I’d ever heard of it."

  "Most commonly, it’s used as a component in triggering thermonuclear weapons. But it’s also used in Exit signs in buildings, dials, gauges, luminous paints. We use it here in our lab."

  "A life science lab?"

  "Yep. We use it to study the metabolism of potential new drugs."

  "That’s bizarre."

  "What?" Charlie asked.

  "That you can drink it and die."

  "There’s a lot of shit you can buy at your local store that will kill you if you use it in the wrong way."

  "I know, Charlie, but seriously." I couldn’t get over the fact that it had been this easy for Rosie’s husband to kill her. How would I prove that? And could I catch him? I prayed McGrath would call me soon.

  "The government has been testing levels in rats for years," Charlie continued, unaware of my angst. "They’ve studied exposure levels. How much is too much. Things like that. Levels in the atmosphere have gone way down over the years. During the 1950s and ‘60s, its presence was much more prevalent with all the testing of nuclear weapons. Not so high anymore."

  "I get it," I said, shaking my head as I absorbed his words.

  "I don’t know what you’re into, Sam, but have you called the cops?"

  "That plan’s in motion."

  "Can you tell me what’s going on?" Charlie asked.

  "I’d prefer to let the authorities handle it now that you’ve confirmed my suspicions."

  "So, you’ve spoken with them, right?"

  "I’ve placed the call," I said, a sudden chill slicing down my spine.

  "Give me your word. If foul play is involved, call the cops."

  "I told you. I’ve already made the call to the police. If for some odd reason, I don’t hear back from them, I’ll call you. Then, if you want to contact the authorities, I understand."

  "Twenty–four hours," Charlie said. "That’s all I can give you."

  "Deal."

  After ending the call, I had no choice but to feed my children dinner and carry on with the evening’s activities. While the kids readied themselves for bed, I stole a moment to dial McGrath. Once again, he wasn’t in. I left him an urgent message. Why wasn’t he returning my calls?

  I spent the next four hours packing the kids for their summer’s stay at Jon’s parents’ cottage. Laundry done, gym bags stuffed, sunscreen, inner tubes and Lizzie’s favorite Frisbee loaded. Tomorrow, Friday, was their last day of school. Of course, I had to return to my building on Monday and Tuesday for Records Day and to close up my classroom, but I’d nearly made it through another school year. The end was in sight. By the time Jon arrived home that evening, I had everything arranged and parked in the garage for their trip. We fell into bed for our last night together for several weeks.

  Chapter Twenty–Seven

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING at 5 a.m., I poured myself a cup of strong, black coffee and strolled onto the front porch. My rocker was getting a workout these days. Jon, upstairs packing for his trip, would be downstairs anytime now, so I had mere minutes to calm my fluttering stomach and become functional.

  I glanced at my cell phone. Still, no word from McGrath. I had ten hours to reach him before Charlie took control of the situation. As well, another decision loomed. Should I tell Rosie that she’d been drinking radioactive water? Should I tell her that her husband most likely caused her cancer?

  I shook my head, and stretched my arms over my head. This entire situation left me dizzy, sick, and feeling crazy. Taking another long slug of coffee, I prayed the infusion of caffeine would help to settle my emotions and clear my thoughts.

  A deep breath later, Jon joined me on the porch. "Well, Babe," he said. "I’m almost ready to head out."

  "I wish you didn’t have to go."

  "Me, too."

  I reached out, took his hand, and turned it over in mine. I loved his hands. As I stroked the back of one with my index finger, gently rubbing the soft hairs that glazed his lightly tanned skin, I felt sad and lonely.

  "I love you, honey," I said as tears welled up.

  He took a long drink from his coffee mug and set it down on the table in front of us. "I’ll be back before you know it." He patted my hand. The suck–it–up pat.

  I nodded. "You’d think I’d be used to your leaving by now."

  "It’s ‘cuz you love me. I’m a pretty great guy." He chuckled.

  "Sure, you are." I grinned at him, all the while wondering
how long we could keep up with his extended absences.

  "I’ve got to grab some breakfast, throw the last of my gear in a bag, and hit the dusty trail." He patted my hand once more, stood, and lifted his empty mug from the table. Pausing in the doorway, he said, "I hate to wake the kids before I leave. I don’t want to start the craziness of the day for you before it’s necessary."

  "You can’t leave without saying goodbye."

  "I know, but you pay the price with an even longer day."

  I shook my head at him, disgusted. "They need to be up in an hour anyway. I’ll get a quick shower and dress for work, then fix your breakfast while you finish packing."

  "Sounds like a plan." Jon held the door for me, and we both walked back into the house. I paused to watch him climb the stairs, longing for a simpler life.

  "Nice butt," I teased.

  "Same to you," he said as he flashed a knowing twinkle at me.

  I decided to table my thoughts about Rosie and the tainted water until after Jon left. One thing at a time, I told myself. After I finished getting ready for work, I stepped into the kitchen and gathered an array of leftovers for Jon’s breakfast. I set a place for him at the table, and refilled my coffee mug.

  I heard footsteps. Lots of them. The kids thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  A chaotic breakfast and noisy goodbyes ensued. The last day of school provided a buzz of excitement that made the morning fly.

  "Have fun at the cottage," Jon called to the kids as he fired up the car and backed out of the driveway.

  As Jon drove off, I heard my cell phone ring. Once I made it back inside, I glanced at the screen. McGrath. Finally. I’d return his call once I got in the car and headed to work.

  "Real life resumes," I muttered under my breath.

  Chapter Twenty–Eight

  I LISTENED TO McGrath’s message after I’d given the kids instructions about getting off to the bus. As I eased down the street, I returned the detective’s call at the cell number which he’d left in his voicemail.

  I started out with the line I’d used in my previous message. "Hello, Detective McGrath, this is Samantha Stitsill. I’m not sure if you remember me. You phoned me a long while ago regarding a woman who shared my last name and thought that I’d married her husband. Stitsill. S–t–i–t–s–i–l–l. She’d spoken with me at parent–teacher conferences. Her son attends the school where I teach."

  "Is this the one where the husband died? The suicide?" Detective McGrath asked.

  "Yes, that’s the one. There have been some developments, and I wonder if we could talk further about the case."

  "Not a problem. When would you like to come by the station? Monday?" McGrath asked.

  My hands shook. Too long to wait. "I was hoping to meet with you sooner."

  "I could stop by your home tonight, if you’d like." No way. Kids. Their last night home. Commotion. Impossible. Tomorrow morning would have to be soon enough. After I’d made my report to McGrath, I’d let Rosie know about the water. Maybe she’d allow the detective into her home if I accompanied him.

  "There’s a coffee shop on Main Street called The Daily Grind," I said.

  "I know the place," he said.

  "Would you meet me there tomorrow? Say around eleven?"

  In that moment, I wished I’d shared the entire unbelievable story with Jon. Why hadn’t I told him?

  "I’m not on duty then, but I can meet you."

  I breathed a sigh of relief. "I’d really appreciate it."

  "I’ve never met you, Mrs. Stitsill, so who am I looking for?"

  I knew what he looked like. I double–clutched. "I’m about 5’5". Strawberry blonde. Blue eyes. About 120 pounds. I’ll wear a blue pullover and jeans," I said.

  "Blonde hair, blue eyes, slender. Got it," McGrath said.

  "Is that all you need?" I asked.

  He chuckled. "I’m sure I can find you."

  Out of sheer nervousness, I laughed as well. "And you? How will I recognize you?"

  "I’ll wear a tweed sports coat with jeans," he said.

  "It’s not a big place, so it shouldn’t be hard for us to spot each other," I said. "I’ll meet you at a table upstairs."

  "Is it private?"

  I sputtered. "This isn’t a date, Detective."

  He chuckled again. "Didn’t think it was. Just wondering if we’d be able to speak freely."

  "See you soon." I ended the call and smiled as I recalled his rugged good looks—dark brown hair, sparkly blue eyes, and dimples. What the hell was wrong with me? Do not go there, Samantha.

  I dialed my in–laws. Jon’s father, Ed, answered. "Hey, Kiddo," he said.

  "Hey, Dad, all set for tomorrow?"

  "Betty and I will pick up the kids at nine o’clock sharp."

  "They’ll be ready," I said. "And thank you."

  "It’s our pleasure. We consider ourselves lucky that our grandkids want to spend time with us."

  "The lure of sun, sand, and fishing doesn’t hurt their feelings either," I joked.

  "Bright and early," Ed said.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  All through my final afternoon with students, I wrestled with my plan. There was little choice but to bring Rosie into the loop. I considered calling her, but when I ran into Joey in the hall, he mentioned her doctor’s appointment later in the day. That cinched it for me. Tomorrow, after meeting with McGrath, would be soon enough.

  The kids and I celebrated the end of the school year with pizza and a trip to the local dairy for homemade ice cream. We called it an early night, in preparation for an early morning departure to the lake. By 9:15 a.m. the next morning, my house was empty and eerily quiet. I grabbed a tall glass of water.

  My nerves frayed, I decided to go for a quick three mile run to steady myself, then showered and dressed in jeans and a blue sweater. I hoped that once he recognized me, he’d understand why I hadn’t fessed up that we’d spoken before when we’d run into each other at the Frozen Margarita. Then I considered all the news I had to share. I hoped he would believe my story and wouldn’t consider me a garden variety whack job.

  I reached the coffee shop a few minutes early. After securing a table, I ordered a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll, which I intended to eat before McGrath arrived.

  Shit. What a mess I’d gotten myself into.

  As I finished eating and wiped my mouth with a napkin, McGrath breezed into the place. He approached the counter and ordered a coffee. All business. Totally confident. One macho cop.

  He finally looked up. I waved at him as he scanned the restaurant. His quizzical expression settled into an easy smile, dimples deep and eyes sparkling as he climbed the stairs to the loft.

  "Mrs. Stitsill?" he asked.

  "Yes." I nodded for emphasis. "Detective McGrath?"

  "I believe we’ve met," he said.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, we have."

  "At the Frozen Margarita."

  I cringed. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

  He lowered his mug to the table and pulled up a chair, eyes fixed on me.

  "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again," I hurriedly explained, "and I didn’t believe that the Stitsill situation would be… a problem."

  "But it’s become a problem?" he asked, smiling eyes and all.

  Maybe if my husband stuck around more, I wouldn’t find myself attracted to some other guy. My nerves jangled like finger cymbals.

  "I’m afraid so." I settled back and recited the entire saga from the very beginning. Back to the letter, the phone calls from Botswana, the questionable death and birth certificates, the photos Rosie had supplied of her supposedly dead husband, my subsequent friendship with her, tutoring her son, and the guy I’d watched going in and out of Rosie’s garage.

  I’d brought the applicable documents with me in a manila envelope, and I delivered it all to McGrath. As he leafed through the contents, I explained what Rosie had told me about her husband’s attempts to poison her and the boys, an
d how I’d not told Rosie that I’d seen her husband alive. Also, the matter of the money, the brutal slaying in Mexico and the similarities to the local crime, the guardianship issue, and the water. Had I included everything? I wondered as I met his gaze.

  McGrath didn’t react. He withdrew a small notebook and made several notes. Still, he didn’t speak. No comments. No questions. He nodded. He even patted my hand when I became tearful as I described Rosie’s imminent death and her boys. After I fell quiet, he took our mugs and headed down the stairs. I watched him—strong, confident, and skilled. He refilled our mugs at the counter, glanced up at me, and flashed me a grin. A grin I grasped at—a grin that promised me everything would be alright. I took a steadying breath.

  When McGrath returned, I excused myself and visited the ladies room to freshen up. I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, the enormity of the situation even more profound now.

  I returned, I took the chair across from McGrath, and thanked him for the refill.

  He studied me for a long moment. I glanced down at my hands, nervously fiddling with the mug’s handle.

  "Your eyes are blue," he began.

  I stared at him, shocked. "Is this your way of relaxing me before you arrest me?" I asked.

  He laughed as he gazed directly into my eyes. His smile accentuated his dimples. God help me.

  "First of all, I’m not going to arrest you. We’re a long way from that. I do have some questions, however. You’ve just told me an interesting story."

  "An interesting story?" I said, flirting with indignance. "It’s way more than that…it’s scary and sad and…"

  "Slow down, slow down." He reached out to pat my hand, but I pulled away.

  "Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? I have no experience with this sort of thing. The first time we spoke, you told me there was nothing to be concerned about." My eyes filled with tears. I didn’t want to lose it in front of McGrath, so I told myself to settle down,

  McGrath shifted his tone to cop mode. "I need some additional details. That’s all, Mrs. Stitsill."

  "Please, call me Sam."