Tainted Waters

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Entering her apartment building, Sam practically ran up the three flights of stairs, feeling unusually hyper and off-centre. The key slid into the lock easily and after a few quick twists that were now second nature, it opened. As she walked in, she stepped to her right and tossed her wallet, cell phone, USB, and keys into a drawer in the kitchen. She took the picture of DD out of her back pocket and put it on the fridge. Her gaze softened as her fingers gently brushed out the slightly curled edges. The phone rang. Turning her head, she looked at the flashing red light; it showed she already had messages, so it wasn't her first call. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, she walked around the breakfast nook, separating her kitchen from her living room, and answered the phone on the third ring.

"Hi, Mom."

"What happened?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking. I was out enjoying the sunshine." Sam glanced across her living room and out the balcony windows, to see if the sun was even shining.

"Don't. What happened?"

Sighing, she dropped onto her plush, blue loveseat. She took a moment to allow the comfort of the couch to cradle her.

"Sam?"

"I had a little problem at work."

"Do you need me to talk to them? I could talk to Jecalyn at the court. She’s the mayor’s niece, and the mayor is a friend of your boss, Mr. Donner."

Sam slapped her hand over the mouthpiece as she snorted with laughter. It reminded her of grade three when Trevor told her she was an ugly duckling; her mother had been ready to straighten that kid out. Which she must have done somehow because he'd apologized the next day and he'd never treated her badly again.

"It's okay, Mom. You taught me how to look after myself. Really, I'm okay. I need time for this to sink in. Then I'll move on."

"Do you need money?"

Her eyes welled with tears. "I'm fine. I love you, too. I have to go. I'll call later when I have a minute. Okay?"

There was a long pause. She knew her mother hated to back off when one of her kids was hurt, but she was learning.

"Call me tonight."

"Or next week?"

There was a distinct click. The receiver was buzzing in her hands before she carefully set it down. It immediately vibrated under her hand, before it even rang. Closing her eyes, she picked it up.

"Hi, Meredith."

"Mom beat me, right?"

Sam dropped her head onto the back of the sofa, trying to tell herself that it was good. It was like having two mothers to watch out for her. Being the oldest kid in the family of five kids, Meredith had too often been put in that role from the time she was barely in puberty.

"What can I do for you?"

"What happened?"

"I had a problem at work, so I'm no longer there. No, I don't need money. I'm fine for now. I need some time to figure out what I will do. No, I don't need you to call anyone to get my job back or to get me a new one. I know this is my fifth job in three years. Yes, I know I can't keep a job and haven't found my calling, so to speak. I'll figure it out. I'm fine. Did I miss anything?"

The soft click was more devastating than if her sister had yelled at her and kicked her in the shins.

"s**t. s**t. Shit." Closing her eyes for a minute she just sat there.

"Yup, I'm a screw-up." Setting down the phone a second time, she debated about calling her sister back but knew she wouldn't answer. Later … she'd call later. Meredith's and her mom's sixth sense when something went wrong in the family had been weird growing up, but Sam accepted it as part of her quirky clan.

Glancing at the digital clock on her DVD player, she was surprised to see that it was after 4:00 p.m. She'd dodged her boss for most of the day which was why the day had seemed to slip away from her.

How did this happen? Dammit. She knew she had written a good article. The stuff she'd found out had been too shocking not to write it. The people involved were unbelievable. And none of it would come to light. As with anything to do with people in high places and with money, their stories never got told. Well, at least the truth.

What crap. Shoving herself off the couch, she walked into the kitchen, pulled open a cupboard, and found her stash of peanuts. She tossed back a handful before grabbing another one, before closing the bag and putting it away, knowing if she didn't, she'd eat the whole thing. Walking back into the living room, she flicked on the TV. The local news was on—an accident on the freeway, an early-morning apartment fire on the east side of town, expect rain later today.

Nothing about a sleazy dude who ripped off his wife, beat her, and made it look like a home invasion.

Nothing about an up and coming, top-notch reporter getting fired for no reason.

Flipping stations, she stopped when she saw the funeral of Nathanial Flint, owner of Slings International from the neighboring city of Albertson. He'd died in a freak accident while trying to repair one of his big machines. It had unexplainably started and pulled him in, crushing him. He had done a lot for the city; several years before he'd gotten some big contract and had added over one hundred jobs. The man had been sainted by the people who were struggling to find work. It had made a huge difference to a lot of families. Sam had so wanted to do the article on the accident, but it had been given to Tom; he was probably at Nathanial's funeral right now.

If it were me covering it, I might still have a job.

The camera view expanded out from that of the ceremonial casket leaving the funeral home, to the building and some of the people who attended. Rest-In-Peace Funeral Home. The sign was big and bold sitting on the lawn. Carved out of wood, the way her dad had wanted it. Sam shivered. The sight of it sent a jolt through her like that of electricity shooting out sparks of static. She was seven the last time she'd been there … her dad's business … her dad's funeral.

Not in a space to deal with any of that, something a shrink would have had a field day with, she flipped through more channels.

"Dr. David has announced his retirement. Even though he's still in amazing shape at seventy-three—still running two miles a day—many would say his departure is well overdue. His replacement is yet to be determined …"

Sam paused as she watched a picture of the man, dressed in his scrubs, leaving the hospital. His final day was only two weeks away.

Clicking through more channels, she stopped when she saw Ken Reardon, a lawyer whose name she'd come across several times over the last three months. She had even tried to interview him, much to her demise. It had been a great idea on her part, but no one else had appreciated her tenacity.

She turned up the volume as she sat down on the arm of her couch. Behind him stood his bodyguard, although his title was something like assistant or some such. Sam wasn't sure what the man did for Reardon, but he seemed more brawn than brains. Something that he and Reardon seemed to have in common. Reardon looked very nice in a suit, but always loved to take off his jacket and show his tight short-sleeved shirt which did little to hide his massive muscles. He flashed his pearly white smile that couldn't have been natural. His diamond stud earring winked in the sunshine.

"Mr. Reardon, can you tell us anything about the lawsuit—Spencer vs Talbot?"

The information she'd collected on that divorce flashed through her mind. Something to do with dividing up some land that had been in the woman's family forever.

He smiled that smug, I-know-something-you-don't smile. "Really, Sally. That's the best you've got? You know I can't divulge anything, and definitely not any secrets. At least not yet." He arched his eyebrows as he looked at her with that attitude of superiority and disbelief. Then he turned and strolled away. His assistant taking a few moments to pose for the camera but pretending he was keeping them away from his boss.

Ken Reardon was a well-respected lawyer and one that was often sought after. If someone wanted to win, he was the legal eagle to hire. He was also very disliked as he helped many bad people get away with possession of drugs, smuggling, assault, and some even said murder, among other things. Some even questioned if he wasn't part of it but there'd been no proof. Hence, the need for a bodyguard. Or at least that was Sam's guess on the guy following him around.

She jumped to her feet. "He's … too slick … too arrogant … too sure of himself. I bet if that jerk who stole the necklace ever gets caught, Reardon will be his lawyer. He seems to defend those who have no morals and who'll pay a lot of money." Slumping back down onto the arm of the couch, she added, "Money, something I now don't have coming in." She flicked a button on the remote, shutting off the TV. A heavy sigh lifted her shoulders but quickly dropped them. The silence was too deafening; she got up and strolled across the room to look out her balcony doors.

The city wasn't very big as cities went, but thankfully it still had that small-town look and feel to it. Trees and seven- and eight-story buildings—which were considered high rises, in the downtown core—filled her view. Tilting her head slightly, she realized there really wasn't much to see out her third-floor apartment. Everything was just there. Some trees, several apartments and office buildings, nothing spectacular, nothing really to look at. She couldn't remember paying much attention to it before. The apartment had suited her needs. It was in the city, close to any job she might have, close but far enough away from her family, and it was cheap. She only really spent enough time there to sleep. The audible hum from the constant flow of traffic in front of her apartment caught her attention. Something else she had never really noticed before.

"Rather irritating." Sighing, she turned away from the depressing view. "Now what. Now what. Now what." She'd never been very good with finances, but she'd learned the hard way to put some away for a rainy day. She was fine for a month but then what? She was never one to wait, to sit back, she enjoyed being busy, working. Even if she couldn't always keep a job. She enjoyed trying new things. She clenched her fists as a wave of frustration flowed over her. She spun and walked across her apartment.

"I get a job. I screw up a job or I don't like a job. I'm out. What the hell is wrong with me?"

Turn, walk to the balcony.

"Okay, for lack of something better to do, let's run through your life, Sam, because others want to know what a screw-up you are.

"I've tried waiting on tables—work too hard for the pay."

Spin and head back to the door.

"… a barmaid—too many hands that think you're their property.

"… a secretary—too stationary for too long … boring.

"… a house cleaner—dirrrrrrtyyy.

"I've worked at the cleaners—way too hot and stuffy … gross, gross, gross.

"… at a gas station—boring and people are rude, demanding and it smells of gas all the time. Gave me a headache.

"… lawn maintenance—five months—my record. Probably because I got to be outdoors.

"… roofing—after sliding off the roof to dangle by the rope—not for me.

"… personal care attendant—loved talking with the seniors but couldn't stomach the job. I made it two months twenty-nine days on that one, though—the boss thought I did too much talking and not enough working. It didn't matter that the seniors loved me.

"Let me see—dog walker, plumber's assistant, phone operator at a call center—not bad but crazy hours …"

Throwing up her hands, she swore. "I don't even remember half of them which means I've had way too many.

"And now I've tried reporter—which I failed at. Dammit."

She spun around and paced back across her apartment. "I liked it." She turned and walked back to the other side of the room.

"What is wrong with me?"

Eighteen times across the carpet in her tiny apartment.

"Why can't I find something I can stick with?" Her lips stretched thin. "Without pissing someone off." Or letting them down. Her mom instantly came to mind. Guilt ate at her. Then she thought about her family and what they had to say about her. All of them were in stable jobs, stable relationships, stable lives. They never understood why she didn't have any of that in hers. They always whispered about her and then came out and ganged up on her at family gatherings which was why she'd been scarce at them for the last year. Enough was enough.

Dammit, Dad, this is all your fault.

That stopped her in her tracks. She closed her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh, wow. She didn't even want to think about what that meant. Or where that had come from. She hadn't thought about him in a long time … tried not to think about him.

She grabbed her cell phone, her car keys, and her wallet from the kitchen drawer then walked out of her apartment before it closed in on her. Heading down the hallway to the back stairs, she quickly texted Cathy.

hey girl, drinks at maybelle's?

Her watch told her, her friend didn't get off work for another three hours and fifteen minutes.

can't working late. tomorrow have a date. but saturday 5:30 maybelle's. bbe.

Sam smiled at their made-up text—bbe—beautifullest besty ever. It didn't mean much to anyone else, but it had lifted Sam's spirits more than once.

bbe. tx.

She went flying around the corner of the stairs and smacked into someone coming up.

"Crap!" Her mother's voice ran through her head telling her to watch her language at the same time her body spun sideways. Her back slammed into the railing that she desperately grabbed for as she stumbled down a step. Mouth open, she looked at the debris of papers now spanning ten stairs.

"Dammit! Can't you watch where you're going!"

"My mother would give you heck for that." She looked into a pair of gorgeous blue eyes that probably looked better when they weren't glaring at her. Clapping her hand over her mouth, before she said something else stupid, she shrugged, made an apologetic face, and then raced down the rest of the steps.

"Hey, I could use your help. Hey!"

His plea reached her as she was shooting out the exit door. The right thing would have been for her to go back and give him a hand, or so her mother would have told her. But she couldn't. Even with her mom's guilt hanging over her, she kept going. It had been tempting to turn around and tell him about her crappy day so he'd know his flying papers were minor, but she already felt boxed in. She had to get out.

Her twelve-year-old Grand Am was sitting in the middle of the parking lot, beckoning her. The heat from inside hit her like a furnace as she opened the door and slid in. The steering wheel was almost too hot to hold onto as she started her car. The electric windows whined in protest as they lowered. It did nothing to dispel the heat. Sweat instantly pooled under her arms, across her forehead, and on her top lip. Fanning herself with a magazine she'd left on the passenger seat, she turned on the air conditioner. It spit out lukewarm air with a cough. Deciding she needed a pick-me-up, she smiled as she thought of the perfect person for that. She picked up her phone and dialed.

"Shelley. Hi. It's Sam. Can I pick up DD?"

"Not today."

"Come on, Shelley. Please?"

"Saturday. Not today. And I'm not telling her. If you show up, you show up."

"Thank you. Thank you. I'll be there at 1:00, okay? I promise." Hanging up, she allowed her first real grin of the day, of the month, to spread wide across her face. She backed up and then stopped to text her friend.

cathy can't meet saturday nite. next week k

away next week. vacation for 3 weeks. Remember?

Sam snapped her fingers. Oh yeah. I have to check on her grandmother. Next week already!

ya I remember I'll check on her won't tell anyone. have fun. :)

She put away her cell phone. "That's okay, tomorrow I get DD. Yay!" She stomped on the gas, merging onto the main thoroughfare, before realizing she had nowhere to go.