“Lola and that boy got taken off somewhere and assigned to different homes far away. I still don’t know what happened to him, which is sad, because we were attached to him. He was with us for years. Anyway, after it happened, Lucas was so paranoid that she was going to accuse him. But she never did, least as far as we know. But when you showed up, he was convinced that she had told lies about him. And that’s why he didn’t want to talk to you.”
Sam found that even more interesting and possibly suspicious. Why would the guy still be concerned about Lola’s accusations years later if there was no truth to them?
Then he remembered the way he’d felt when Cross had been implying he’d done things that he hadn’t done.
So maybe Lucas would still be worried about it. Untrue accusations were scary things.
“You know,” said Jamie, “they say that’s what she did to the boy who killed her parents. They say she convinced him to do it for her. From what I saw of her, I’d say she was capable of that. She definitely was.”
* * *
“I didn’t think you wanted me to drop this book,” Sam said. He was driving back home from Berkeley Springs, talking on the phone with Petra.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to drop it,” said Petra. “No one said that. I’m only calling you to say that the lawyers think that Lola’s trying to get a case for malicious intent going.”
“I don’t even understand that,” said Sam.
“Well, it’s not something you need to worry about,” said Petra. “Probably not, anyway. Here’s the way it works. If you publish this book without Lola’s cooperation and approval, and it says things about her that she doesn’t like, she might get angry.”
“Right, but what’s that have to do with lawyers?”
“Well, she could try to bring a libel suit against us. She’d need to prove that you said untrue things about her, which caused harm, and that you had the intention to hurt her.”
“I’m not going to say things that are untrue, Petra.” Sam gripped the steering wheel. “That’s why I’m doing all this research. I’m trying to get facts.”
“That’s why I’m saying you won’t have to worry about it. As long as everything you report is true, then she won’t have a case. So, make sure everything you put in this book is backed up.”
“I will. I do,” he said. “I always do.”
“I know that, Sam. I’m only passing along the concerns from MacphersonConnell’s legal department, okay?”
“I still don’t see how Lola’s angling to prove I have malicious intent.”
“Well, the way she was acting on the news, you two have something going on—”
“We do not.”
“Can you prove that?” said Petra.
Sam sighed. “I’ve got nothing going on with her.”
“All right, but say you did,” said Petra. “Then she might be able to argue that you wrote nasty, untrue things about her just to get back at her. She could say the book was an elaborate retaliation for a lover’s quarrel.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, we are not lovers.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
He pressed his lips together. “And you’re not telling me to back off the book?”
“No, of course not. I’m telling you to tell the truth.”
“Which I will be doing. Of course.”
“All right. Good.”
Sam peered out at the road signs. He was coming up on the junction with I-81. “Look, if Lola weren’t angry with me anymore, all of this would go away, right?”
“Well, technically, I guess so. But I thought you still weren’t sure if she did it or not.”
“I’m not sure. But I do want to interview her more. If I could smooth things over with her, it would be a big help. I’m going to pay her a visit.”
“If you think that would help, I guess.”
“Sure, it would.” He was Samson Black. He was good at charming people. At least he used to be.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lola glared at him through the crack in the door. “I don’t want to see you, Sam. I want you to stay away from me.”
Funny, basically every woman in his life was saying that to him these days. Petra was the only one speaking to him, and she didn’t count because she was sort of technically his employee.
“I just want to talk,” he said.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You sold my location to those reporters. They filmed me here. Now Nick knows where I am. Any day now, he’s going to show up here and beat me to death.”
“Actually, when I was talking to him, he said he wanted to strangle you.”
Her face turned a shade paler.
Man, that really wasn’t a funny joke, was it? “I’m sorry.” He remembered how frightened he’d been of Todd the other night, certain that the man was lurking somewhere in his house. Lola was probably terrified. “The police have to know that Todd would be likely to try and find you. I’m sure they’ve got people watching your house. You’re safe.”
“I’m not safe,” she said. “I’m not, and it’s your fault.”
“Lola, I didn’t tip off those reporters.”
“So, who did?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they hunted you down in the old-fashioned way. They are investigative journalists after all. Maybe they investigated.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Let me in, huh?”
“No.”
Fine. He reached inside his pocket and flipped on his recorder. If she wasn’t going to cooperate, maybe he could at least get her flustered enough to give him a few good quotes.
“How do I know you didn’t tip them off yourself?” he asked.
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seemed really interested in making it look like you and I were having some kind of fling,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything like that.”
“You yelled for me to get out of your life. Who says that about anything besides a relationship?”
“Look, I’m not the one who turned down sex, Sam. I said I’d be up for it. You said no.”
“So, you’re punishing me for that? You wanted me to sleep with you, and you decided to make me look back in order to get back at me?”
“You made your damned self look bad,” she said. “And I don’t care if you fuck me or not.”
“You have any memory of being with Jamie and Lucas Henderson in Berkeley Springs?” he said.
She turned even paler. “Why would you bring that up?”
“Did Lucas Henderson molest you?”
She slammed the door in his face.
He let his shoulders fall loose. Well, so much for that.
* * *
Since he was already in Hagerstown, he decided to make one more stop before heading home.
Maybe it was Jamie Henderson’s going on about God and religion that made him do it, he wasn’t sure. He sure as heck usually didn’t stop by this particular house. He barely ever came here. Maybe once or twice a year. But he found himself wanting to stop by.
So he parked in front of the trim little house and walked up the stone walkway.
The door was white with blue accents. There were flowered curtains in the window.
He knocked.
He waited.
The door opened, and a small, wizened woman in a skirt and apron peered up at him. “Sammy?”
“Hey Mom,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
He scratched the back of his head. “Uh, I was in the neighborhood.”
“Well, come in.” His mother opened the door wider.
Sam stepped into the house. Everything was very neat inside, if a little cluttered. His mother was a bit of a collector. She liked clown figurines, and she had them on every available surface. Delicate porcelain things with detailed painting. It smelled like potpourri and some kind of roasting meat. It seemed like his
mother was always roasting things, even though she was only feeding herself. She always loaded him up with leftovers from her fridge when he came over. He guessed she usually ended up throwing things out.
“It’s really good to see you.” She gave him a hug.
He squeezed her back. “How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know. Praising God for his faithfulness.”
Inwardly, Sam groaned. Figured. He was barely into the house before his mother started going on about religion. He couldn’t believe she’d managed to keep her faith through it all, especially after what had happened with his father.
From what Sam understood, his father had been the only reason that his mother had even found religion in the first place. He’d brainwashed her with his strict beliefs, and then he’d forced himself into her life, and she’d barely had a chance.
It upset Sam that even though she was free of her controlling husband, she still was spending her time praying to a magic fairy invisible person somewhere in the sky.
She patted Sam’s arm. “You been going to church, hon?”
“You know I’m not into that, Mom.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around the house. “There anything you need help with while I’m here? Anything heavy that needs moved? Anything that needs fixed?”
She considered. “Oh, I don’t know off the top of my head. Why don’t you let me make you a sandwich, and I’ll think about it.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mom.” But his stomach was actually pretty empty, he realized. He hadn’t had anything to eat at Angus and Ale. Just a beer.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I want to. I never get the chance to make food for anyone these days, at least not regularly. I do make things to bring to the church potlucks, of course. We have them every third Wednesday. You could come by if you wanted, Sammy. The food’s really good.”
“Mom.” He looked at his shoes. This was why he never came by here. She was like a dog with a bone. She never stopped.
She bustled into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious.
He followed her.
“How’s Daphne?” Her head was in the refrigerator. She was pulling out bread and leftover chicken.
“Um, she’s good, I guess.”
“Why isn’t she with you? Is she working?”
Man. He was going to have to tell her eventually, wasn’t he? “Uh, Daphne and I are separated.”
She turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“We’re probably going to end up divorced.”
She set down the food on the counter. “No, Sammy. You can’t do that. ‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’ You can’t get divorced. It wouldn’t be right.”
He sighed. “It’s not like I want to get divorced.”
“Then it’s her idea.”
“It’s… it’s my fault.”
“Why do you say that?”
He sat down at the kitchen table and peeled up the corner of one of the place mats. “I messed up, Mom. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Well, what could you have done, really?”
“I had an affair,” he told the table.
“Samson Nathaniel,” she said, her voice shocked.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I know. I’m a piece of shit.”
“Don’t use language like that in here.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, Sammy, I don’t know what happened to you. You were such a sweet little boy.”
Not this speech again.
“And then after Hannah—”
“Mom, don’t. I don’t want to talk about her.” He got up from the table and went over to the counter. “How can I help with the sandwich, huh?”
She looked up at him. “Daphne is so lovely. How could you do that to her?”
His jaw twitched. “You want me to slice this chicken?”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, the Lord knows I tried. I tried so hard. But after what happened to your father and Hannah. After I found out everything your father did… well, I guess I just wasn’t able to be much of a mother after that.”
He took her by the shoulders. “Stop that. You were fine. You were a better mother after he was gone than you were while he was alive. If there are things wrong with me, they’re not your fault.”
She shut her eyes. “It’s only that this isn’t the life I imagined for you, Sammy. I never imagined you writing those immoral, violent books, having affairs, never going to church. I wanted more for you.”
He dropped her shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with my life.” She couldn’t manage to say anything without turning it into a barb. Sometimes, he thought she resented him. She blamed him for the implosion of her picture-perfect family. For the death of her husband. Sure, the guy hadn’t been a prince, but he’d looked that way. Maybe that was what his mother cared about the most. Sam wasn’t sure.
* * *
Sam trotted up the steps outside his apartment. He was loaded up with bags full of leftover food, as he’d predicted. His mother seemed even more worried about his diet considering that Daphne wasn’t around to feed him. He’d have enough food to eat for two weeks with all of this.
He was glad he’d stopped by to see his mother.
She never made him feel particularly good about himself, but it was a good thing to stay close to her. She was his mother, after all, and she’d been through all the same horrors as he had.
Well, not exactly the same. She hadn’t been in the burning garage that day.
But she had been through the terrible revelations of what had happened. She had learned what her husband had been doing to Hannah. Now, since Sam never went to see her, she was alone.
Maybe it was no wonder she stayed so close to that church group. Otherwise, she’d have no one at all.
He supposed he couldn’t fault her for that.
Still, he wished she could be less obnoxious about the whole thing. Sam knew that some people found religion very comforting. It had never been comforting to him. It had only been a list of rules and oppressive blame. No one was good enough for Sam’s father. Of course, Sam’s father had never said it like that. He’d always made it out that Sam was displeasing God, which seemed too horrible for words.
He could remember his father’s quiet tone. This is the man who created you. He gave you life. Can you imagine how much it pains him to see you disobeying him so?
Sam grimaced, slinging the bag of leftovers over his shoulder and grabbing the doorknob.
Too late, he remembered that he’d started locking the door now that Todd was on the loose. He’d have to dig out his keys.
Except the doorknob turned in his hand.
It wasn’t locked.
The door swung open just a crack.
Sam backed away, gulping.
He was sure, sure as hell, that he’d locked that door when he left. He remembered double checking it, not wanting a repeat of the previous night.
How had that door gotten unlocked?
It couldn’t be Daphne, could it? He turned. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. He would have noticed if she was there when he drove up.
She wasn’t there.
Maybe she’d come by, let herself in, and then left without locking up.
Sam set down the bag of leftovers. He eased back down the steps, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
When he was far enough away from the house that he could keep an eye on the door, he dialed Daphne.
It rang.
He glared at the door.
It was swinging inward, opening a little wider. Inch by inch…
Sam’s palms started to sweat.
It was still ringing.
If it was Todd, if that man had broken into his house, he was going to have to call the police. Maybe he should call them now. He was sure he hadn’t left that door—
“Sam?”
“Daphne.” His voice was choked. “Have you been by the country house today?”
“You mean your house?”
“No, why would I go there?”
Shit. Sam let out a little noise, halfway between a groan and a whimper.
“Sam, why are you asking me this?”
“I think someone’s in the house, Daphne. Will you… will you stay on the line with me? If I hang up suddenly, I need you to call the police.”
“Who would be inside the house, Sam?”
“Nicholas fucking Todd, that’s who. He was in my car one night. He threatened me.”
“Seriously, Sam?” A tiny note of worry in her voice.
“You think I’d lie about that?” He started back up the steps, slowly now.
“Well, if he’s there, we need to hang up, and you need to call them right now.”
“Shh,” he said. “Don’t say anything. Just stay on the line with me. Okay?”
“Sam…”
The steps creaked under his feet.
He arrived on the porch.
Now the door was gaping wide open.
Sam went inside.
The living room looked empty. He looked over the couches, the television, the—
There was a noise from the kitchen.
He darted across the room.
A shadow moved over the counter.
Sam let out a strangled breath. He stopped short.
And then Lola walked out into the living room. “Hi, Sam.”
He dropped the phone to his side, shaking all over. “Motherfucking shit. How the hell did you get in here?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I picked the lock.”
Sam put the phone back to his ear. “Never mind, Daphne. False alarm.”
“Are you talking to someone?”
“Yeah, it’s Lola Ward. She’s in my fucking house.”
“She comes to your house now?”
“No, she doesn’t. She never has. She broke in, okay?”
“Do you still want me to call the police?”
“No. No, it’s fine. Sorry I freaked out.”
Daphne breathed on the other end. “Should I be worried about you, Sam?”
He laughed a little, almost hysterically. “I don’t know, Daphne. I really don’t know.”
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