How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 38: Like a Greyjoy

Stepping foot in Samantha Fitzgerald's house after Caleb's final words, felt like walking into a lion's den. Sam's a liar, little Charley, he had said. Why had the woman met my father two days before his death? More importantly, why had she lied about it?

"It's terrible, what happened to Caleb," Sam commented now, as she searched her fridge for any remaining booze.

"It is, isn't it?" I murmured as my gaze searched her living room, paying more attention to it now.

"Valeria lost at the trial. Judge gave her three years jail time," Sam sounded resigned.

"Poor Valeria."

"Caleb would've been heartbroken," she added, crestfallen, "He loved her more than he loved himself."

My gaze darted to the woman. Her eyes were dull with despair, her lips downturned; she showed every sign of a grieving friend. It was difficult to imagine she had anything to hide.

"Sam, were Isaac and my father very close?"

She seemed surprised at the sudden question. "Yes, they were, Charley," she said finally, "Isaac was one of those kids that didn't have many friends. Your father took him under his wing."

"What about you? Were you close to Isaac?"

Sam's brows knitted in response, "No, I wasn't. Why the sudden questions, Charley?" She laughed.

"Just curious," I chuckled with her, shrugging, "Isaac and my father were in disagreement before dad died, weren't they? Do you know what that was about?"

"Unfortunately not. They didn't like to talk about their rift, with us. But I do know it had something to do with Isaac's job."

"His job?"

"Isaac mentioned it in passing. I know nothing more, Charley," Sam frowned apologetically.

My brother nearly lost his job. Ethan's words at the party rushed back to me. My brows furrowed.

That was when a pile of CDs lying in the corner snagged my attention.

My hands wrapped around one of them. Scrawled on it were the words 'Summer of 1998'.

"Sam, what's this?"

A smile crossed her face as she walked over, "Videos of us. You want to see?"

Husky laughter filled our ears as the clip began playing, the screen displaying a young boy of no more than sixteen with a mass of blonde hair that tumbled over his forehead, a few strands shielding his blue eyes, which twinkled in the sunlight as he laughed.

It was Morgan, as a teenager.

"You're so full of yourself," the boy cried, doubling over as he laughed.

Another laugh sounded from behind the camera, more feminine, before Sam's familiar voice sounded, "You're just jealous 'cos you don't have a camera that shows more than black and white!"

"Aw, Sammy," the boy teased, "Do you even know how to use that thing? Are you even in picture mode?"

There were jerky movements in the video as Sam frantically examined the screen. "I'm sure!" she retorted obstinately, "So would you pose already?"

"What's happening?" came another voice and a girl appeared beside Morgan. She had wavy blonde hair that tumbled down her shoulders. He straightened the moment she appeared, his laughter ceasing in an instant.

The boy grinned, "Sam here is being stubborn."

"And Morgan's being a jackass!" came the irritated retort from behind the camera.