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I woke the next morning to sun streaming through the windows. I’d been so worn out when I collapsed into bed the night before that I’d forgotten to close the blinds. I sent a quick text to Finley that I was going to spend the day with Sammie and to call me if she needed anything. She promptly responded, asking that I let her know how everything was going and if we needed her help in any way. Our Finley was a good egg.
Downstairs, Soren, Caspian, and Elliot were at the kitchen table. Sammie stood frying bacon at the stove while Chloe played on the floor with a set of Lincoln Logs Pop had dug out of the attic. From the grim expressions on the adults’ faces, I gathered that Soren and Sammie had filled the others in on the developments of yesterday.
“I called Maxine first thing,” Sammie said. “I told her we’d arrive sometime after breakfast. The sheriff had already told her the plan.”
My gaze met Sammie’s for a moment. She smiled at me reassuringly. I hoped she truly felt as calm as she looked, because I was a mass of nerves. So much could go wrong today.
A knock on the mudroom door was followed by Mama’s voice announcing her arrival. Chloe sprang to her feet and ran over to greet Mama by throwing her arms around her legs. Mama lifted her up for a hug and kiss. “Are you excited to spend the day at my house? Jasper’s in town right now getting hot dogs and ice cream for our lunch.”
“Yay,” Chloe yelled.
Mama set her down, then greeted the rest of us with a good morning, followed by a demand for answers. “I need to know what’s going on. You all have me worried sick.”
I’d left her a voicemail after we’d talked to the sheriff to ask her if she’d look after Chloe for the day and said I’d explain why later.
“How about I take Chloe upstairs and get her ready?” Elliot suggested. “That way you guys can talk.”
Sammie thanked her and then instructed Chloe to go with Elliot. Once they were safely out of earshot, Sammie set the pile of bacon on the table and offered Mama a cup of coffee. Mama declined, saying she’d already had a cup before she left her house.
“What’s going on?” Mama asked. “You all look like you’re about to go to a funeral.”
Sammie poured a cup of coffee for me and added a dash of cream. I wanted to sweep her into my arms to thank her but held back. Mama would have enough new information to work through without adding that complication. I’d tell her later.
I sat next to Mama at the table and waited for Sammie to join us. When we were all settled, Sammie told her about her abusive past, John’s death, and subsequent rebirth.
“My God,” Mama said when she was finished. “He’s alive? And you thought all this time that you’d killed him?”
“That’s right,” Sammie said, telling her the rest of what had transpired last night. “We’re fairly certain he’s headed this way. We think he’ll be in Bluefern by the end of the day if not sooner.”
“But the sheriff will be waiting for him,” I said. I picked it up from there, telling Mama about the sheriff’s suggestion and our plan for entrapment at the motel.
“Does that mean Sammie has to see him face-to-face?” Mama asked.
“There’s no other way to get him on video,” Sammie said. “We need him to say as much as possible and to do something physical to me so the sheriff has something he can use to press charges.”
“Winthrop’s going to set hidden cameras up in the motel room,” I said. “And monitor everything closely. If it gets dangerous at all, he and his deputy will put a stop to it.”
“As in, rush in and save Sammie?” Mama asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “It makes me nervous, too, but this might be the only way.”
“And what if he brings his family with him?” Mama asked. “Wouldn’t they be outnumbered?”
“We have to trust the sheriff, Mama,” I said. “Let him do his job.”
“This reminds me too much of what happened with Elliot,” Mama said. “We cannot let him take Sammie.”
“We know, Mama,” Soren said, uncharacteristically gentle.
Atticus arrived, and we once more told the story that had unfolded last night. He didn’t say much, other than to exclaim over the very undead John Underwood. “The bastard lived? You know what they say?”
“Only the good die young,” Caspian said, speaking for the first time.
“I’ll call off our detective,” Atticus said. “He’ll be disappointed someone beat him to the answers.”
I told him the sheriff’s idea about an investigative reporter. “Can you call Rafferty this morning—fill him in on everything—and see if he’ll call his reporter friend? The one who works for the New Yorker?”
“Really good idea,” Atticus said. “I’m on it.”
