“Preston wants to be governor. He wants Meacham to not seek another term and throw all of his support to Preston. Preston is power hungry.”
“Who’s the other man in the picture?”
Sam gazed down at the faces in the picture. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize Archbishop Simon Carmichael.”
Jake shrugged. “I don’t really follow the papal circuit.” He drank half a glass of water in one long gulp. “What will Preston find when he checks his safe?”
Sam smiled. “Baseball trading cards.”
Jake flashed a weary smile. “Good ones?”
“Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, among others.”
“Those are too good for Preston.” Picking up the pictures of Meacham he asked, “Did you notice these were Polaroid pictures?”
“Yes.”
“My guess is they are the only copies.”
Sam’s eyes brightened. “You think so? That’s what I had hoped but Preston doesn’t seem to be the type not to cover his bases.”
“True. But I don’t see him walking into a Walgreens and asking to have copies made. He couldn’t chance someone seeing these pictures and trying to do his or her own blackmail scam.”
“He could have had someone on his payroll make copies.”
“One more person who knows is one too many. He would be left with too many people to pay off.”
“Or knock off.” She swept a hand across the top of her head, lifting a mass of springy hair that she thought must look frightful. “Are you going to tell Frank?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
Sam closed her eyes in relief and whispered, “Thanks.”
Chapter 34
Since Jake’s head wasn’t up to exercising, he took a quick shower instead and slipped into a pair of jeans. The early morning rays were already heating up the patio. The chaise lounge was cushioned, comfortable. Jake stretched out and smelled the new morning dew.
He thought back to last night. He and Sam had talked for an hour. After Sam had gone to bed, Jake spent some time thumbing through the photo albums in the study. The smiling child with the sun-bleached hair had tugged at his heart. There were pictures of Sam with her adoring father, a handsome man with curly blond hair. The woman in the photo he assumed was Melinda Casey. She was barely five feet tall with milk glass skin and brown hair. Many of the pictures from Europe and Asia were only of Samuel and Melinda Casey.
He guessed Abby to be about nineteen or twenty in most of Sam’s infant pictures. Sam’s olive complexion seemed a sharp contrast to Melinda’s milk glass skin. Sam’s cheekbones were well defined even at such a tender age. There was a secrecy that seemed to pass between Sam and Abby that only the camera caught. If he were a betting man, he’d say that Melinda Casey was NOT Sam’s mother.
What Jake found strange was that there were no pictures of Sam after 1977. That, Jake remembered, was when Samuel and Melinda Casey had died in the car accident.
“I thought I smelled coffee.” Abby poured herself a cup. She checked his bandage. “How is it feeling this morning?”
“Better, much better, thanks.” Just like in the pictures Jake found himself drawn to Abby’s features. She hadn’t changed much from the pictures in the album other than adding a few pounds and smile creases around her eyes. Time had not been unkind to Abby. Jake smiled at her.
“What?” Abby gathered her skirt around her legs before taking a seat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Sam’s mother?”
“I guess I assumed Sam had told you.”
Jake shook his head then told her how he looked through some photo albums last night. “But, Melinda was his wife, right?”
“Yes. It really isn’t too complicated. Samuel and Melinda picked me up just outside Chamberlain, South Dakota. I was hitchhiking. Going
… anywhere.” She took a sip of her coffee. “They helped me through some rough times. They brought me back here to live. I insisted on working for my keep. I cooked, did laundry, helped Melinda mail out invitations to a variety of social events.”
The picture Jake was formulating in his mind of Abby and Sam’s father having a torrid love affair just didn’t fit the woman sitting in front of him whose integrity seemed above reproach. Luckily, he didn’t have to ask the question.
“When Melinda discovered she couldn’t have children,” Abby continued, “I agreed to be a surrogate mother. It was the least I could do to thank them.”
“It must have been difficult for you, having Sam call another woman Mommy.”
“There was a bond between Sam and me that no one could come between. When she was old enough to understand, I didn’t have to tell her. She just knew.”
Jake thought back to Hap’s body, how Sam had touched it, touched the pin. How the words lightning strike seemed to have popped into her head. Jake always dealt in logic. And what Sam supposedly did was not logical to him. She seemed to know things that defied logic.
The sprinklers bordering the patio turned on, spraying a fine mist over the geraniums, irises, and lilies. Abby gazed lovingly at nature’s pastel colors, as if seeing them for the first time.
“Tell me something, Abby.” He told her about Hap Wilson and some of the revelations Sam had come up with. “How does she do this little mind-reading act of hers?”
“Sam has a unique gift. Ever since she was small she seemed to be able to sense things about certain people or places. It was confusing for her to interpret at first. We spent several years on the reservation after Mr. and Mrs. Casey passed away. My grandmother was a powerful medicine woman and taught Sam how to interpret these feelings.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“She can sense the aura left in a room or surrounding a body that can tell her things about a killer or the victim.” Abby flashed a smile filled with pride and affection. “My grandmother used to say that the victim either had to be cold to the touch or cold-hearted in order for Sam’s powers to work.”
Jake eyed her strangely. “And you believe this?”
Abby’s dark eyes danced. There was a secret world behind those eyes of hers, a secret world that only Sam and Alex seemed to have a key to.
“There are many unexplained things in life, Jacob. We can’t see electrical currents, but we know they work. We can’t see radio waves or even gravity, but we have no doubt they are there.”
“That’s true,” Jake agreed, “but, unfortunately, our judicial system requires solid evidence and logical conclusions. And these little visions Sam has just don’t fall anywhere in line with those requirements.”
A comfortable silence surrounded them. A large bee droned over to a cluster of day lilies near the patio. A gathering of finches splashed in the birdbath near the Florida room. Jake could feel Abby’s eyes on him, studying him, probing. Probing what?
“One thing you have to understand about Sam, she hasn’t had it easy. I don’t want to make excuses for her.”
Jake shifted his gaze to Abby, her smiling eyes, the genuine love in her voice whenever she mentioned Sam’s name.
“She withdrew after Mr. and Mrs. Casey died. She didn’t talk much and children can be cruel. Then when the visions started, kids thought she was a freak. Adults understood she had a powerful gift. Until…”
Jake arched one eyebrow.
“There was a murder on the reservation,” Abby explained. “A young boy. The authorities thought he had played with matches and accidentally set himself on fire. But Sam walked through the rubble of the boy’s house. She saw what had happened to him, somehow knew who did it.”
“I would think everyone would be thankful that the truth came out.”
“Yes, but tell that to the young men who were afraid to even talk to Sam for fear she could read their every thought. Tell that to the adults who suddenly realized she might be able to discover secrets about them.”
Jake pondered Abby’s comments as he studied the remnants of coffee in the bottom of his cup. His face must have displayed his unswayed skepticism because Abby asked, “You still doubt Sam’s ability?”