Sam I Am by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

he never showed up. It was ungracious, she knew. But a big, albeit secret part of her actually hoped the bastard was dead.
    Because until he returned, Mrs. Witherspoon had made Logan manager. And managers got paid. She was now not only in charge and out from under Randy’s leering lewdness, she was earning seven dollars an hour to bake whatever she wanted, decorate however she wanted, and stay open as late as she wanted.
    Randy was missing and Logan was getting paid now. But Meagan was in a coma.
    Logan’s brother was kind and giving and loving – when his sickness wasn’t killing them all. Their mother got happy when she had a glass or two of wine. And then she became closed off and withdrawn.
    Everything up had a down, it seemed. Logan wondered whether she would ever experience a day when only good things happened, and they weren’t inextricably balanced out with the bad.
    “Time to close up,” she told herself as she dusted off her hands and returned to the front of the store. Another few minutes and the cookies for tomorrow’s birthday party would be done. Another few after that, and she could ice and decorate them. Then she would leave them out to cool as she made her way to St. Mary’s.
    Logan turned the sign at the front of the store and locked the door. Then she brought down the blinds and shut off the front room lights.
    The scents of the day’s cooking filled the shop, making her feel warm. It was peaceful here, and it smelled like cinnamon and butter and sour dough bread and chocolate cake. There were no slamming doors and no holes in the walls.
    Logan sighed and moved to one of the tables. She pulled out a chair and sat down, laying her head on her folded arms. Then she closed her eyes and waited for the oven to beep.
    A loud knocking on the glass store front caused her to sit bolt upright, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she thought she’d fallen asleep, she was so shocked. But there was no beeping from the kitchen. And there was no smoke in the air.
    Logan wondered whether she’d imagined the foreign sound. But a second round of knocking negated that thought.
    Logan stood and made her way to the windows, taking one of the wooden chairs with her. She knew a trick to peeking out windows so that anyone on the other side couldn’t see her. She set the chair beside the window, stood on it, and then peeked out from in between the two top blinds. No one ever looked up that high.
    There was a man outside the shop. He was tall and thin and wore a suit. Logan recognized him at once. It was Mr. Lehrer from school.
    “Crap,” she whispered. She’d skipped his class today. Fear instantly uncoiled inside of her and her stomach began to ache.
    Calm down , she scolded herself as she stepped down off of the chair and shoved it back toward the table she’d taken it from. You have a reason for missing class. It’s legitimate. He’s cool and he’ll understand.
    History was her favorite class and surely her high grade had to count for something.
    Logan unlocked the door and opened it. “Mr. Lehrer?” she addressed him. He nodded and smiled; he seemed nervous.
    “Logan, I’m sorry. I know you’re very busy; I heard about the store’s manager going missing and I know you have a lot to do. But I wanted to talk to you about Meagan Stone.”
    Logan blinked. Then she blinked again. Somewhere along the way, common sense kicked in, and she opened the door, inviting him in. He accepted and entered the shop. Logan closed the door behind him.
    He turned and pulled a small brown paper bag out of the inside pocket of his brown suit coat. “I heard about what happened with Meagan and that you’ll be stopping by St. Mary’s tonight to see her.”
    Logan nodded.
    “Will you give this to her for me?” He held out the small bag and Logan stared at it. She was having trouble processing everything all at once. In the back room, the cookies began beeping.
    Logan quickly took the paper bag. “What is