by Robin Caroll
She resisted the urge. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “I already spoke with both Ms. Pape and Mrs. Trees, Daddy. I explained about a journalist’s freedom of speech and — ”
“I know where you’re going, Sam. I’m not talking about your freedom of speech,” Dad interrupted, holding up his hand. “My point is, I need to know where you’re getting your information.”
“Wh-what? Mr. Hughes spoke to me on the phone. I have my notes, Dad. I didn’t make anything up. I can show you.” She stood, nearly knocking over her chair.
“Sit down. I don’t need to see your notes. I believe you,” said Dad. He continued to ignore his bowl of salad before him.
She slipped back down into her chair. “That’s the only place I got my information. Well, I got the numbers about arson off the Internet.”
“Let me ask it another way: Why would you focus your article on Frank Hughes and arson attempts?” Dad asked.
Sam explained how she’d gone from learning about franchises to researching the cost of security systems, to remembering what Mr. Hughes had said about insurance, to researching that angle. “Why?”
The bulldog look filled Dad’s face. “This is totally off the record, Samantha. I mean it.”
Her heart caught in her chest. She hated to be called Samantha and Dad knew that, so he had to be really serious. All she could do was nod.
“Because early this morning, we received a copy of the insurance policy Mr. Hughes has on the theater.” Dad took a sip of tea. It felt to Sam like he drank in slow motion before he set his glass back on the table. “While his policy has standard and acceptable amounts of liability coverage, he’s carrying an exorbitantly high amount of property coverage. Almost three times more than what our insurance specialists recommend.”
Three times? That was a lot. A whole lot.
“So, you see why my captain is asking how, last night, before we received copies of the insurance policies, you were able to pose the question of attempted arson for insurance fraud.”
Sam’s pulse spiked. She’d actually been a step ahead of the investigation. Wow.
This was better than Luke Jensen’s attention. Hello, editor. Here I come.
CHAPTER 9
UNBURYING THE PAST
You are not going to believe this,” Makayla’s voice sounded even more animated over the phone headset snuggled against Sam’s ear. “Oh, hang on.”
Muffled sounds came from Makayla’s end. Voices. Makayla’s mom.
Sam tapped her fingernail against her tablet. She sat cross legged on her bed, staring at how cute Chewy looked curled into a ball at the foot of the bed. Her iPad’s notes section was open in front of her as she tried to think of what she could write for her next article.
Dad had all but ordered her to not mention Frank Hughes in her next article. That was okay with her: she needed something new and fresh for tomorrow anyway. And it made it seem like she wanted to do what Dad asked, which she did—most times.
“Sorry, Mom is breathing down my neck again,” Makayla said. “I’m back now.”
“What is up with your mom?”
“I don’t know. It’s like all of a sudden, she’s phased into nosy-ninja-mom.”
“Is she still going to let you go to Playtime Pizza with me on Saturday?”
“She hasn’t said anything about cancelling, so we’re still on,” Makayla said.
“So, what am I not going to believe?” Sam had never been big on patience. Ever. Sometimes — too many times for Sam’s liking — Makayla got sidetracked. Sam had to keep her best friend on track.
“I was finally able to do some research on Jessica Townsend.”
The spokesperson of the local chapter of the Central Arkansas Coalition of Reason. Finally. “And?” Sam sat upright. Come on, Mac—just spit it out!
Chewy lifted her head and stared at Sam with her big, chocolate eyes before settling her head back down on the bed.
“Well, for all her proclamations that we don’t need God, she was raised a Christian. Her family still attends church twice weekly.”
“Hmm,” Sam said. That was interesting, but not really something useful to tie into the story. She needed something more. Something meaty.
“That’s not all,” said Makayla. “I’m pretty certain the Jessica Townsend who is so vocal about being anti-God is the same Jessica Townsend who lived in a local convent from the time she was seventeen until she was twenty-two. At that age, according to the records I’ve found, Jessica attacked one of the nuns and then was sent to a psychiatric hospital for assessment and treatment.”
This was interesting. “She attacked a nun?” Sam asked, typing a note. Who in their mind attacks a nun?
“Yes. And was sent to a hospital for individuals with mental illness who have allegedly committed a crime. For about eighteen months.”
“And after eighteen months, she was all cured of crazy?”
Makayla chuckled. “I don’t know. I can’t get to those records. At least, not from here.”
“Are you sure it’s her?” Sam asked as stared at the cursor on the tablet.
“Ninety-nine percent.”
This could be really good. Who attacks a nun, of all people? “What hospital?” Sam asked Makayla.
“Arkansas State Hospital. Right here in Little Rock.”
Interesting. She typed the name of it in her notes. “Makayla, before I can print this, I need to verify it’s the same Jessica Townsend.”
“I’m on it. I’ll call you back.” Makayla hung up quickly, the sounds of her typing on her keyboard already pecking away in the background.
If Jessica Townsend was crazy enough to attack a nun and get sent to a nuthouse, then she could easily be crazy enough to plant a bomb.
Can’t write about Frank Hughes, no worries. Jessica Townsend’s crazy past was a window-way in.
Her cell rang. Sam clicked the Bluetooth headset on without even looking at the caller-ID on the phone. “That was fast, Mac,” she said as she uncrossed her legs and stretched them out on the bed.
“That’s because I’m not Makayla.”
“Mom!” Sam smiled.
“Hey there, my girl. How are you?”
“Good. Did you get my text?” Sam asked.
“I did. And I was able to check out the blog for a few minutes. Well done, Sam. I’m proud of you.”
Sam’s face could split because she smiled so wide. Heat flamed her face. “Aw, thanks, Mom.”
“I mean it, Sam. You’re really showing off that talent I already knew you had.”
Words wouldn’t even form.
“So, tell me how upset Ms. Pape and Mrs. Trees were,” Mom said.
“How’d you know?” Sam asked.
“Because when people get uncomfortable, they call the editor-in-chief. Since you write for a school paper, they’d call the principal, who would bring in the newspaper’s sponsoring teacher.”
“You’re right. At first, Mrs. Trees was furious. She said Mr. Hughes called and threatened to sue everybody, but I was quick to tell her that he couldn’t because of journalists’ freedom of speech rights.”
“Be very careful, Sam. Even most journalists don’t truly have a grasp on freedom of speech,” Mom said.
“Well, once she read the comments, she backed off.” Sam rested her head against the wooden headboard. “Aubrey wanted to take the story away from me, but I argued not to change a thing. Ms. Pape backed me up.”
“That’s great. It was a good article, honey, but I do want you to be very careful in your reporting. Slander and malice are serious stuff. Just be careful to stick only to the facts in your future articles, and no outright implications.” Mom paused for a minute. “I talked to Dad. He said you agreed not to write another article about the theater owner. Are you okay with that?”
Just like Mom to understand the situation from a journalist’s point of view. Sam smiled and drew her knees to her chest. “Yeah. I have to go at it from different angles anyway. Keep it fresh.
Original.”
“Got an idea for your next article?” Mom asked.
She glanced at the notes she’d scribbled. “Yeah, I think so. I’m waiting on Makayla to call me back. She’s verifying something for me.”
“You mean she’s looking up something on the computer she’s not supposed to?” Mom asked, but her tone was still light.
Sam gave a little laugh. It wasn’t really a secret that there wasn’t much Makayla couldn’t uncover on a computer. Mom understood. “Maybe.”
“I’ve got to go, sweetheart. Stay out of trouble. And Mac, too.”
“We will.”
“I’ll check the blog tomorrow and read your article. Goodnight, my girl. I love you lots.”
“I love you, too, Mom. Goodnight.”
Sam tapped the button on the headset to disconnect the call. Just hearing Mom tell her she was proud of her made Sam’s heart stutter. Her dreams were finally coming true.
The call indicator buzzed in her ear. She pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s me,” Makayla said. “I can only talk for a second. Mom’s on her ninja-nosy-mom routine again.”
“Well?”
“It’s her. The same Jessica Townsend.”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked.
“I’m positive. Oh, and I have some queries on Frank Hughes for you, but right now, I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Sam tossed the headset onto the bed and let out a little whoop. Chewy jumped up, clearly not pleased with Sam disturbing her, then circled twice before laying back down.
She didn’t care. She had her angle for tomorrow’s article. Mom would really be proud when she read it.
. . . Even professionals in the mental health community can’t dispute the facts. The founder of the Mental Illness Policy Org. said that some mass killers “were seen by mental health professionals who did not have to report their illness or that they were becoming dangerous and they went on to kill.”
What do YOU think? Could someone who previously attacked a nun and was sent to a state mental hospital be capable of planting a bomb as some sort of anti-religion statement? Sound Off, Senators. Leave a comment with your thoughts. ~ Sam Sanderson, reporting
“You’ve gone too far this time, Samantha Sanderson,” Aubrey said as soon as Sam entered the cafeteria. She stood with her arms crossed, Nikki at her side.
Every morning, students who arrived at least ten minutes before school began had to wait in the cafeteria. Most of them came early on purpose — to visit with their friends. Sam always had to wait on Makayla, who rode a bus and often only had a few minutes to catch up before the bell rang.
Luckily, today wasn’t one of those days, and Makayla came up to join Sam in facing Aubrey and Nikki.
“What are you blabbering about, Aubrey?” Sam asked. She set her backpack on a table and put her hands on her hips.
“Your article this morning. Mrs. Trees has already been in here looking for you. I’m sure she and Ms. Pape are going to kick you off the paper today. You should be very worried.” Aubrey’s smirk seemed more evil today. “It’s like Christmas, only early.”
“I find it amusing that you, the editor, are kept out of the loop,” Sam said. “Maybe you’re the one who should be worried.”
Aubrey’s face stiffened. She opened her mouth —
“Sam Sanderson,” Mrs. Trees called out.
Sam turned. The principal waved her over. Mrs. Trees wore a strict expression. Ever her hair looked harsh.
Aubrey flashed her a fake smile. “Yeah, bye-bye. You’re outta my hair.” She waved with her fingers before flipping her hair and flouncing off toward a group of eighth graders. Nikki scrambled to keep up.
Great. She probably was a goner. Sam grabbed her backpack.
Makayla gave her a quick side-hug. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be praying,” she whispered, ever the optimist.
Feeling as if she were being led to certain death, Sam dragged her feet as she crossed the cafeteria toward the principal.
“My office. Now,” Mrs. Trees said as she led the way from the cafeteria.
Tap-tap-tap, the principal’s heels echoed off the painted concrete. Wind pushed down the open corridor as they passed the counselor’s office. A hint of beans filled the air, a warning of what would be served for lunch today.
Tap. Tap.
Another blast of hot air surged down the breezeway. Sam’s hair blew across her face. She grabbed the thick length and wound it around her hand, holding it. In front of her, Mrs. Trees had no problem. Her hair was probably too scared to move out of place even in a tornado.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Mrs. Trees turned the corner. Students hung out around the front of the office. “Aren’t you children supposed to be in the cafeteria until the bell rings?” the principal asked. “I suggest you get where you belong.”
The kids scattered. Some of them tossed Sam looks of pity as they passed. Her stomach free-fell to her toes. Aubrey was right — she was going to be kicked off the paper.
Her legs were lead weights as she followed Mrs. Trees into the office and down the hall. The carpet muffled the principal’s steps, but it still felt like a death march to Sam.
She followed Mrs. Trees into the principal’s office, not surprised to find Ms. Pape sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. A witness to her humiliation.
“Please, sit down,” said Mrs. Trees as she sat behind her desk.
As if she had a choice? Sam sat in the only empty chair in the office.
“Now, about your article this morning,” Mrs. Trees began.
“I promise everything in there is the truth, Mrs. Trees. I didn’t make any of it up. I even had — ”
“Did you just interrupt me?”
Sam opened her mouth, then stopped mid-word. She clamped her mouth shut and nodded. Was she not going to be given a chance to defend herself?
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Trees continued, “about your article. It’s well written, indeed. I’m sure a lot of research went into it as well.”
Sam pinched her lips together. Maybe this wasn’t goodbye.
“Having said that, however,” Mrs. Trees stared directly into Sam’s eyes, “there are several students in this school who are diagnosed with what is referred to as mental illness. Some parents may take objection to some of the statements in your article.”
Sam kept quiet. This wasn’t the best time to argue. Not until she heard what would come next.
“It was my decision to have your blog article taken down.”
What? “You-you-you can’t do that.” This couldn’t be happening!
Mrs. Trees smiled, as if she were posing for a picture. “Oh, I can. And I did. I have to make decisions based upon what I think is best for the majority of the student body.”
“The majority of the student body has been diagnosed with a mental illness?” Sure, her response could be taken as being disrespectful, but no more disrespectful than having her article killed.
The smile slipped off Mrs. Trees’s face. “No, but I won’t have even a handful insulted. It’s almost a form of bullying.”
And the entire state school system had a no-tolerance policy for any form of bullying.
“But, Mrs. Trees, the article — ”
“I’ve made my decision, and it’s final,” Mrs. Trees said.
“You aren’t being taken off the assignment, Sam,” Ms. Pape said. “Just this one article isn’t going to run on the blog.”
That was little consolation. “But it was set to post early this morning.” She’d set it to go live at six a.m. It had to have gone up for Mrs. Trees to see it.
Ms. Pape nodded. “It did. But we removed it about thirty minutes ago.”
“Your next article can be posted as usual. Your posting abilities haven’t been suspended,” Ms. Pape said.
As if that made pulling this one okay?
Sam couldn’t explain how sick to her stomach she felt. Mom wouldn’t get to read it o
nline. She was in another country on assignment, and it was the middle of the night where she was.
It just wasn’t fair.
CHAPTER 10
A MATTER OF PRIDE
I’m sorry they took down your blog post,” Makayla said as Sam shoved her books into her locker. “It’s a bummer.”
Sam slammed the door and spun the lock. “It’s not fair.” She led the way toward the cafeteria. The smell of French fries welcomed them, but even their enticement couldn’t pull her from her lousy mood.
“At least you weren’t taken off the story, and you can write another article for tomorrow.”
“It’s not the same,” Sam mumbled. “The article this morning was better than just good; it was pretty awesome. And now no one, not even Mom, will get to see it.”
“I’ll check all my resources and queries this afternoon when I get home. Maybe I’ll have something great for you to write about tomorrow.”
Sam forced a smile. “Thanks, Mac.” It wasn’t Makayla’s fault. Her best friend was doing everything she could to cheer Sam up. Mac was the best bestie ever.
“Hey, guess what?” Lana asked as she joined Sam and Makayla, her green eyes bigger than normal.
“I can’t take any more bad news,” said Sam.
Lana laughed. “It’s great news, actually.”
“Aubrey quit the paper?” Sam gave her first real smile since leaving the principal’s office.
“We couldn’t get that lucky.” Lana tossed her arm over Sam’s shoulders. “So that’s not it. No, I heard even though they killed your blog post before eight this morning, it already had like almost fifty comments.”
Sam stopped moving forward in the lunch line and stared at Lana. “Are you serious?”
Lana nodded. “I only had time to read about the first twenty or so on my mom’s iPhone before I had to get out of the car this morning, but those that I read were all great. Said you were digging deeper and all that stuff.”
“Wow! I wish I’d seen them.” At least then I could’ve told Mom about them.
“You still can,” Makayla said.