Page 75 of Justice for Samara

“Unfortunately, that’s backwards. We need her to testify so we can take him into custody.”

Samara sighed. “Yeah. And there’s the problem. We can’t hold him unless she’s willing to file a report, and she won’t file a report unless we have him. Chicken and egg thing.”

“Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”

“But I managed to interview Brooke, and she identified him. She doesn’t want him to know until he’s in custody though. She’s terrified of him.”

“From where I sit, she should be.” He pulled into the long drive and powered up to the door. “Well, here we are.”

As soon as the truck’s door opened, Samara slid out and looked up at the house. “Wow. This is where you grew up?”

“Yeah. Lived here for as long as I can remember.”

“No wonder you took your time moving out. This is a damn castle,” she whispered.

“Nah. Just a different kind of house. Come on.” With her hand in his, they climbed the four steps up to the big brick porch and he opened the door. “Mom? Mom, we’re here.”

There was some kind of rustling around from deep in the house and then a woman appeared. “Oh! Hello. I’m Marjorie. And you’re…” she said, waiting expectantly.

“Mom, this is SamaraFutrell. Samara, my mom, MarjorieEdwards.”

The young woman extended her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs.Edwards.”

“And you as well, my dear.” Michael watched carefully and saw his mother take the hand Samara had extended, but she didn’t grip it very hard. That was a bad sign. “Come on in, both of you. I made a casserole.” She turned and smiled warmly at Samara. “I hope you like poppy seed chicken casserole.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I do. Very much.”

“Good, good. Michael, could you get the tea glasses while I grab the bread? Just have a seat wherever you like,” Marjorie instructed Samara, and the younger woman looked around.

Sit in this one, Michael mouthed without a sound as he pointed to a chair, so Samara took it. Then he hustled off to get the glasses. The one thing he didn’t want to do was to leave Samara and Marjorie alone. There was no telling what his mother would say, and monitoring it would at least help deflect some of the problems, he hoped.

When they’d all gotten seated, Marjorie asked Michael to “return thanks,” as they called it, and he said a simple prayer. When he finished, he dipped casserole out onto Samara’s plate, then his mother’s, before taking some for himself. Once the bread was passed around, Marjorie was settled securely on the launch pad. “So how do you two know each other?”

“Samara is one of the new deputies Carter hired,” Michael answered.

“Oh! So you’re coworkers.”

Samara nodded as she looked down at the table. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Actually, we’re dating,” Michael announced and waited to see what kind of ignition would take place.

Marjorie stopped and stared first at Michael and then at Samara before she returned her gaze to Michael. “Oh. I see.”

“Samara’s field of study was criminal justice. She worked as a deputy for McCrackenCounty for four years and then as a trooper for KSP for eight.”

He could see the gears turning in his mother’s head, and she directed her comment to Samara. “Oh, so you’re older than Michael.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So this is just a fun thing then,” Marjorie chirped and turned to Michael.

Michael wasn’t feeling desperate. Not yet anyway. But he could definitely see things weren’t going the way he’d hoped. “No. It’s not just a fun thing, Mom. We’re together.”

“So where are you from, Samantha?”

“Mom, that’s Samara,” Michael corrected.

“Oh, right, right. So where are you from, Samara?”

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