Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery) (10 page)

The week passed agonizingly slowly for Sam Church. It was Friday and she felt completely spent. Waiting for word on Wilson was about to drive her to take a drink, something, until now, she had been resisting. More than a week had passed, adding to her two weeks, three days and almost eleven-hour total since she had taken her last drink. She was another small step closer to bringing April home to Colorado.

It was a close call o
n Tuesday, but somehow she managed to get through the day without drinking. She had stopped at the liquor store near her apartment. She got out of the car, turned her coat collar up and rushed into the store as if she was afraid that someone might recognize her. She walked up and down the aisles knowing she should not be there. She could feel the guilt layer itself upon her each time she went down a new aisle. She wondered what Wilson would think if he knew she were there, but she couldn’t help it. It was almost as if she was operating under someone else’s control.

Just one drink. Just one little drink. How much can it hurt?

She brought several bottles of wines to the counter and was fumbling through her purse for her wallet when the clerk came to the register.

The clerk called her by name. “Hey Sam, haven’t seen you in here for awhile,” he said in a bright husky voice. “Where you been?!”

Sam examined the clerk, a stocky, broad-shouldered man with curly hair, mustache and glasses. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. She did not recognize him, but he was smiling at her. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. She felt ashamed, ashamed to be a professional-looking woman in a liquor store buying booze. She stared a moment more at the clerk and then to the bottles of wines she had placed on the counter. It was as if his words had slapped her back to reality. She glanced around the store and was relieved to see that it was empty of other customers. She stuffed her wallet back in her purse, turned and left without saying a word. The man watched her leave, shaking his head in amazement as she hurried out the door.

Back in the Accord, Sam gripped the steering wheel hard with both hands and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. She rested her forehead on her hands and could feel tears beginning to work their way to the surface.
That was close. Too close! What the hell was I thinking?!

She stayed silent in the car for several minutes trying to collect her emotions. Unless she heard from the kidnappers soon, she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it together. Nothing had come from them regarding Wilson’s whereabouts or demands. Nothing by e-mail at work and nothing by phone at home in the evening.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. All week nothing.

She came to the conclusion talking to Nick late Thursday afternoon that this is obviously what the kidnappers wanted. To drive her insane while waiting and wondering if and when they would send another message. Forcing her to wait and wonder where Wilson was and even if he was still alive and what was coming next for her. The wait alone could easily kill her.

Waiting at work was somewhat tolerable. Given the other usual distractions during the day it was easier for Sam not to focus so much on waiting for word from them. But each time she clicked on her e-mail or Anne would buzz her with a call, Sam held her breath, willing it to be from the kidnappers.

Evenings, however, were unbearable. Every night she had gone home and done nothing, it seemed, except wait for the phone to ring. Sam usually welcomed quiet evenings at home sitting in front of the fireplace, reading or writing in her journal, but every night waiting to hear from Wilson’s kidnappers made time seem to stretch out like taffy.

In fact, the phone had only rung twice all week. Nona and Howard called both times, wanting to know how she was getting along, if she needed help packing. Sam talked to her grandmother half an hour each time and her spirits were remarkably better and her fear less after each conversation. The sound of her grandmother’s voice always did that for her, even though Nona knew no more about Wilson than Sam. They talked of her coming to the ranch to live with them soon. That gave Sam a sense of hope that she carried with her throughout the week.

There was nothing she could do but wait. She hated the helpless, empty feelings that came with the uncertainty of how the events would play out. She had wandered aimlessly through the week as though she were on autopilot just trying to get through.

Sam checked her e-mail first thing when she arrived in the morning. Each day brought the same. Nothing. Every morning Nick would stop at her desk before going to his office. Each day she would give him the same news. He would check with her often during the day. Occasionally he would stick his head out of his office and look in her direction. She could see him raising his eyebrows over the tops of his glasses as if to say ‘any news?’ She would shake her head.

Sam had a strong suspicion that someone was watching her again. She had said nothing to Nick about her hunch, but she did it mention it to Nona. “It was just like the night they grabbed us, Nona, and it’s giving me the creeps,” Sam said to her grandmother on the phone. “I kept telling Wilson that it felt like we were being watched, but you know how men can be.” Sam rolled her eyes. “He thought I was imagining things. Look where that got us.”

Nona had asked if she was going to call the police.

“Not yet,” Sam said. “Not until I hear from them. I don’t want to do anything to screw this up. Wilson’s been so good to me, Nona. Without him, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all that’s happened.”

“You be careful, dear,” her grandmother had said.

Last night Sam woke with an uneasy feeling. She had gotten up to go to the bathroom without turning on a light. Before going back to bed, she looked out her bedroom window. The mini blinds were positioned so that Sam could easily see the parking lot below without having to move them.

There she saw the sleek black sedan idling in the parking lot. It was parked two stalls away from Wilson’s Accord. The headlights were positioned directly in front of her unit. The car did not have its parking lights on, but it was running, exhaust from the tailpipe rising in a constant stream into the cold night air. The windows were heavily tinted, preventing her from seeing inside.

She was certain of one thing;
whoever it was had come to watch her.

She stood at the window, barefoot and in a nightgown, watching the car for almost an hour. Morrison was meowing and she could feel him walking in and around her ankles. At least he was keeping her feet warm. Finally, the car began to move slowly from its parking space. Before it left, the black sedan stopped in front of the Accord. Sam leaned closer to the window and stood as straight as she could, hoping that someone would get out of the car. But the sedan stopped only a few moments before leaving the parking lot. She wondered if the vehicle had been out there every night and she just happened to notice tonight.

Sam stared in the direction she last saw the car, her frustration mounting. She wondered if it was the same sedan that had been used to kidnap them. She could clearly remember the first moments on the night they had been abducted, the men rushing toward them in the driving snow, coming out of the darkness surrounding the parking lot like Special Ops forces, quick, effortless and unseen until the very last moment.

She remembered gasping as one of them grabbed her. If she let herself linger on those moments long enough, she could still feel the strength in the hands of the man who had grabbed her. It was a kind of force she had never before felt. His grip contained more than just raw strength. She could feel his hands wrap around her and tighten like a vice. The harder he squeezed, the more she could feel his venom, his hatred.

Each time he’d yank her in one direction or another, Sam felt like her body was being tossed around like a rag doll. Then he slapped her. She brought a hand to her face, as if the sting of pain still lingered. She could feel him as he released his grip just as he felt her falling. Her head took the full impact of the car bumper before she fell to the ground.

Details were fuzzy after that. She did not remember being stuffed into the trunk of the car, but that’s what Wilson had told her when she regained consciousness. She could not remember much about the room when she woke, only that it was cold and dark.

Remembering the incident made her shiver involuntarily. She grabbed the sides of her arms and rubbed them to chase away the chill. Then she rubbed the back of her head. She could still feel the bump. Sam collected Morrison and climbed back into bed, falling into a restless sleep.

The alarm sounded a few hours later and Sam unwillingly dragged herself out of bed. She showered, dressed, fed Morrison and headed out the door to work. Morrison watched her leave, sitting quietly on his haunches, his long black tail wrapped around his paws.

Sam drove all the way to work glancing often in her rearview mirror. Relief flooded her as she drove into the parking lot at the Perspective. She hadn’t been followed, but she wondered momentarily if she were making everything up.

Nick was standing at the reception desk talking to Anne when Sam entered the building. She waved at them and quickly headed down the stairs to the newsroom. She set her briefcase against the desk, turned on her computer and logged onto her e-mail account. She did not bother to remove her coat.

Sam was certain that because she had seen the black sedan in her parking lot, she would receive a message from the kidnappers. Friday morning’s e-mail, however, proved to be just like Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Nothing but spam mail and press releases and a few responses back for comments she was seeking on a story. She looked up and saw Nick enter the newsroom. He paused at his office door and glanced in her direction. She shook her head and mouthed the word ‘no.’ She watched as he disappeared into his office. She thought about telling him about the black sedan, but decided to wait.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe there wasn’t a black sedan. Maybe she had dreamed the whole thing. Maybe the incident was just a nightmare and Wilson really did leave for Mexico and would be back on Monday. Maybe, just maybe, she would wake up very soon.

At least the incident had helped Sam to keep her mind off April. Somewhat. Sam hadn’t talked to her daughter. She called Esther’s every night just about the time she thought they’d be finishing dinner. Most of the time the answering machine picked up her call. The one time that Sam managed to get Esther on the phone, she told her that April was already in taking a bath.

“She has a bit of a fever, Sam,” Esther had said. Her tone abrupt. “And she’s taking an early bath and going straight to bed. Call back tomorrow night.”

When they hung up, Sam made a disgusted look at the cordless phone before tossing it on the couch. As if she had to be told to
call back tomorrow night
.

That was Wednesday night. It was now almost 10 a.m. on Friday and Sam had not heard another thing from Esther. Calls the rest of the week were picked up by Esther’s answering machine. Each time Sam time heard Esther’s voice, she had to grit her teeth. She wanted to shout out a string of obscenities and then slam the phone down hard into the cradle. Instead Sam waited patiently for the greeting to finish before leaving a message. She tried hard not to make it sound as though she was pleading to talk with April, but she guessed that’s the way she sounded. Sam had no idea how sick April was or if it was just a ploy by Esther to make her feel guilty. Either way, it was working.
Overwhelmed, Sam put her face in her hands and sat quietly for a moment, trying to determine her next step.

“Sam? You okay?”

David Best’s voice startled Sam and she looked at him wide-eyed. He set his gym bag on the floor, looking at her with that with boyish innocence of his, waiting for her to speak. He was dressed casually in dark chinos and a white oxford shirt buttoned at the cuffs. His shirt collar was open and Sam could see the top of his T-shirt. “David,” Sam said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “It seems like every time you see me I’m having a rough moment. You probably think I’m a basket case.”

He nodded as if
in agreement, but he was too nice, to say anything.

Sam eyed his bag. “Going to the gym?” she asked, shifting the spotlight away from herself.

Again he nodded. “You should come with me some time, Sam. Exercise does wonders to relieve stress.”

Sam sighed and shook her head. “You remind me so much of my sister,” she
said. “Robin planned her entire week around her workout schedule. If she’d have a meeting one night or knew she’d have to work late, those were the nights she didn’t go to the club. That’s just the way she was. Working out was as important to her as it seems to be to you, David.”

“I can’t imagine not going for a run every day, or doing some kind of workout,” he said and picked up his gym bag and fished his car keys from his pants pocket. “You should come with me, Sam. You’re welcome to any time.”

“Thanks, David,” Sam said and smiled. “You’ve been so nice to offer to help me get back in shape. Robin had been after me too.” Sam looked down at her waist and then her thighs. The blazer she wore was deliberately dark. It helped to hide some of the excess weight she had gained. She patted her thighs firmly several times. “Here’s where it all is,” she said keeping her attention fixed on her thighs and she patted them again only this time more firmly. “I’m afraid to get on the scale.”