Previously...
- Diane was shocked to witness a kiss between Samantha and Tempest on New Year’s Eve, but she didn’t let her daughter know that she had seen anything.
- Ryan was shocked when he went upstairs to find Sandy in the A/V booth and found her brutally murdered.
- As word spread of Sandy’s murder, Brent and the police discovered a pair of footprints stamped in blood in the A/V booth.

KBAY RADIO STATION
 
“It’s tough to think about something like that happening right here in our town.”
 
“I don’t know about that,” Diane Bishop says, craning her neck toward her cohost, Luke Berman, who sits with his elbows up on the desk and his face mere inches from the hanging microphone. “We’ve had some pretty crazy stuff happen in King’s Bay since I’ve lived here.”
 
“If I had been at the dang party the way you were, I’d be a little more afraid,” Luke says.
 
Diane glances through the sheet of glass that divides their recording booth from the rest of the studio, where a female P.A. with thick black glasses has just brought a cup of coffee to one of the producers.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t afraid,” Diane says. “Just that we’ve had our fair share of unbelievable incidents here. It isn’t exactly some innocent, out-of-the-way little berg.”

“Maybe not. But who would want to kill a nice lady like that?”   “I don’t have a clue. My niece actually takes skating lessons at that rink. The owner is a family friend. And it doesn’t sound like Sandy James had an enemy in the world.” “Guess there’s always more to the story than we know at first,” Luke says as he pushes the rolled sleeves of his plaid shirt a little higher up his thick forearms, so that they are nearly at his elbows. “I wonder if the police have any more clues than they’ve let on so far.”

“I hope so--and I hope they catch the bastard who did this as soon as possible.”
 
“What?” Luke says with a teasing gleam in his eye. “You don’t think it could’ve been a woman who did it?”
 
“I think whoever did it is one sick son of a--” She catches herself in time; her brain is constantly having to remind her that she is on the radio. “--gun.”
 
“Well, guess all we can do for the time being is try and stay careful.”
 
 
DIANE BISHOP’S CONDOMINIUM
 
“And that goes for every one of you listening out there,” comes the male voice from the speaker perched on top of the entertainment center. Samantha Fisher stands over the couch, where she is making neat little piles of clean laundry, as she listens to her mother’s radio show. She is reaching into the laundry basket again when the doorbell rings. Thrown by the early hour, she looks through the peephole to see who it is before opening the door.
 
“What are you doing here?” she asks Tempest Banks.
 
Tempest wastes no time strolling inside the condo. “I was on my way to work. I texted you, didn’t I?”
 
“You asked if I had moved back into the dorm yet.”
 
“And you said no. So here I am.” Tempest takes it upon herself to close the door. “If I’d texted you and been all, ‘Wanna talk about New Year’s Eve?,’ you would’ve freaked out and made a thousand excuses. Right?”
 
Samantha feels her cheeks burning. “I don’t know…”
 
“Mm-hmm. So let’s talk. I don’t have a ton of time before work.” She turns her head toward the speaker, from which Diane’s voice is still emanating. “Heard some of that in the car, so I knew she wouldn’t be here.”
 
Samantha takes a seat on the one open cushion of the couch and folds her hands together. “What do you want to talk about?”
 
“Um, the thing we haven’t been talking about. New Year’s Eve.”
 
“It’s just been hard to think about that, after…”
 
“I know. Going to the rink is freaky, knowing Sandy got killed upstairs and everything.” Tempest barely suppresses a shudder. “She was a nice lady, too.”
 
“Yeah. I didn’t know her very well, but… yeah.”
 
“Now look. I gave you a couple days, I didn’t pressure you or anything, and if you don’t wanna talk about it, just say so.”
 
“I do. I mean, I think we should.”
 
“Okay.” Tempest crosses to the entertainment center and turns off the radio, leaving a silence in the room that feels overwhelming to Samantha. “So we kissed. What’s next? Or do we pretend it never happened?”
 
 
KING’S BAY POLICE PRECINCT
 
“As far as you’re aware, Sandy wasn’t seeing anyone?”
 
Brent Taylor asks the question and then sits patiently as Jason Fisher, seated across the desk in Brent’s office, racks his brain.

“Not that I know of,” Jason says. It has been days since Sandy’s death, and still Jason’s eyes look raw and red-rimmed. “Every now and then, she’d mention that a friend was setting her up or that she had a dinner date, but--no. Nothing serious or even close to it.”   Brent scribbles down a quick note on the legal pad in front of him.   “And you can’t think of anyone who she might’ve considered an enemy? Or who considered her one?” Brent asks. “No! That’s ridiculous. It’s Sandy. No one hated her.”

Brent opens his mouth to respond, but Jason fidgets in his chair and cuts him off:
 
“I don’t think I have much to say that’s going to be useful,” he says. “I already gave my statement to that female cop--”
 
“I know. And I’m sorry to drag you through this. But I’m invested in finding out who did this to Sandy, and I want to make sure nothing gets overlooked.”
 
Jason sets his elbows on the desk and then places his head in his hands. “I just can’t believe that she’s gone--especially this way. It’s not like she was sick or anything. And it was so… violent.”
 
“That’s what’s so alarming to me,” Brent says. “This wasn’t any kind of accident.”
 
“I know.” Jason lets out a loud sigh. “I feel sick to my stomach over it. She was like another parent to me, in a lot of ways. I saw her almost every day from the time I was a kid until…”
 
“I’m so sorry, Jason. They’re having the funeral in Port Townsend?”
 
“Her sisters thought it would be easiest, because it’s where they grew up and most of the extended family is still there. I’m driving out with my parents and Ryan later today.”
 
Brent nods solemnly.
 
“Can’t you tell me anything?” Jason asks, looking up suddenly. “I know it’s an investigation in progress and all that, but… have you found anything at all that might be a clue to who did this?”
 
For a few seconds, Brent simply taps his pen against the legal pad. Jason can tell that he is deep in thought.
 
“You have to promise to keep this to yourself for the time being,” Brent finally says, “but there are three big red flags that I want to focus on.”
 
“Okay.” Jason leans forward. “So what are they?”

When Ryan Moriani enters the café, he immediately recognizes the woman waiting at the end of the bar for her drink. He decides to skip the awkward build-up and approaches her.
 
“If it isn’t the queen of the airwaves,” he says.
 
Diane Bishop turns around. “Have you been listening?” she asks with a sneer.
 
“Just long enough to turn the station.”
 
Then she surprises him. Her expression softens, and she asks, “How’s Jason doing?”
 
“Hanging in there.”
 
“Good. I’m sure this can’t be easy for him, especially after what happened with Courtney…”
 
“We’re all keeping an eye on him,” Ryan says as he eyes the line in front of the barista.
 
“Make sure my vulture of a sister doesn’t make it worse somehow.”
 
Ryan cracks a smile at the derisive mention of Natalie and then goes on: “We’re actually heading to Port Townsend today for the funeral. I just had to pick up some stuff from the office.”
 
“It must be creepy to go up there.”
 
“Yeah. I still can’t believe…” He shakes his head sadly. “Sandy was always so nice. I have no idea why someone would do that to her.”
 
“People are sick.” She pauses as the barista sets a drink on the counter and, seeing her name on the cup, she picks it up.
 
“You and Joni Mitchell looked pretty cozy at the party,” she says to Ryan.
 
“Things are going well with Danielle and me,” Ryan says. “So it seems there are some things even Diane Bishop can’t ruin forever.”
 
“That’s only because I didn’t care enough to really try,” she says with a wink. “Good luck with the funeral.”
 
“Thanks,” Ryan says, and he watches her walk out of the coffee shop.
 
 
DIANE BISHOP’S CONDOMINIUM
 
“We don’t have to pretend it never happened,” Samantha says, forcing a smile.

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna do that.” Tempest grins back at her friend. “You been freaking out?”   “Not freaking out. Thinking a lot, I guess.”   “About what?”   “I don’t know. About what it means.” Embarrassed, even though she doesn’t know why, Samantha reaches into the laundry basket and picks out a pair of socks, which she quickly folds together.

“It means you wanna make out with me. Nothing wrong with that.”
 
Samantha laughs. “I guess not.”
 
“Okay, question,” Tempest says as she paces over the carpet. “What happens when you see, like, Jennifer Lawrence?”
 
“What about her?”
 
“Do you think, ‘Hey, that’s a nice-ass dress and I wanna go to brunch with her,’ or like--”
 
“I don’t think I’ve ever said or thought the words, ‘That’s a nice-ass dress,’” Samantha says with a chuckle.
 
“Lemme finish. Do you think ‘That’s a nice-ass dress and I wanna go to brunch with her and talk about purses and shit,’ or do you think ‘I wanna see what’s underneath that nice-ass dress’?”
 
Again Samantha feels her entire body growing warm. She has never really talked about this stuff with anyone, especially not so… explicitly.
 
“You gonna answer me?” Tempest says.
 
Samantha swallows hard. “I guess I’ve thought about seeing what’s under.”
 
“Under her dress?”
 
“Her nice-ass dress,” Sam adds.
 
Now it is Tempest’s turn to laugh. “Good. Then that’s all you gotta know for now.”
 
“This is kind of scary,” Samantha says tentatively.
 
“It doesn’t have to be scary. I mean, I get that.” Tempest sits down on the arm of the couch. Samantha is suddenly very aware of their close physical proximity. “But you ask me personally, I think it’s better to focus on the fun stuff.”
 
Samantha is so nervous that when she turns her head, it feels like her neck is engulfed in quicksand. “Like what?”
 
“Like this,” Tempest says, and then she leans down and kisses Samantha--and the next thing Sam knows, she is being lowered onto her back, the piles of folded laundry crumbling beneath her as Tempest lies down on top of her.
 
 
FISHER HOME
 
“Jason should be here soon,” Paula Fisher says as she lets Ryan into the house. “He had to meet with Brent to go over his statement.”
 
“I did that yesterday,” Ryan says, removing his coat. “I don’t mind driving, if you all want to ride in my car.”
 
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” She takes his coat and hangs it in the closet beside the front door. “I’m still in shock.”
 
“Me, too. I can’t stop thinking about walking into that room and finding Sandy.”
 
“I’m so sorry you had to see that.” Paula closes the closet door and leads the way into the living room.
 
“Better me than Jason.”
 
“I’m glad you didn’t let him go upstairs. But you shouldn’t have had to see that, either.”
 
Paula settles into one of the armchairs, and Ryan seats himself on the sofa across from her.

"When I sat down with Brent…" Ryan pauses and cracks a knuckle. "He pretty much flat-out asked me if I wanted to admit anything."

Paula gasps. "What do you mean?"

"He wanted to know if I was the one who attacked Sandy."

"That's insane!"

Ryan narrows his eyes. "It isn't the craziest thing for him to ask."

"Ryan--"

"He had to ask," he says. "Not only because I was the one who found her--but because of what happened with my father."
 
“Nick?”
 
“Yeah. And I know I brought it upon myself, but standing over his body after I pulled the trigger…” He gets lost in the memory and falls quiet. Paula waits patiently for him to continue.
 
“I try so hard not to think about that,” he finally says. “Obviously it was very different from this--but finding Sandy really brought that all back to the surface.”
 
“I’m sorry, Ryan.”
 
He shrugs. “It’s tough to believe that even happened. It seems like a lifetime ago, in a lot of ways. And I’ve tried so hard not to be the man I was back then.”
 
“You aren’t that man anymore.”
 
“I hope not. I don’t know how any of you ever forgave me, after what I did to Tim. I’m so sorry.”
 
“I know you are,” Paula says. “But all you can do is move forward and make better choices. And I think you’ve tried to do that.”
 
“I really have,” he says with a sigh. “I hope you know how grateful I am that you and Bill accepted me into your family. It’s something I never thought I would have.”
 
“I’m so happy that you’re a part of my life. There were so many years when I thought it would never be possible.”
 
“Well, we’re here now,” Ryan says, “and if there’s anything we can take from what happened to Sandy, it’s that we shouldn’t waste any of the time we do have.”
 
“I suppose that’s true.” Paula runs her hand over the upholstery on the chair’s arm. “I just hope the police find out who did this to Sandy and make that person pay.”
 
 
DIANE BISHOP’S CONDOMINIUM
 
The minutes melt into one another, swirling together until time is hardly a thing that Samantha even recognizes. All she is aware of is Tempest’s weight on top of her and their mouths crashing together hungrily.
 
That is, until she hears a key in the front door.
 
“Get up!” she says with a gasp, exploding out from under Tempest and nearly pushing her onto the floor. Tempest yanks her entire body backward and crashes into the back cushions of the couch just as the door opens and Diane enters.
 
“Hey, Mom,” Samantha says, a little too loudly, as she grabs a shirt from the laundry basket and tries to make her brain remember how to fold it.
 
“Hi,” Diane says, eyeing the two young women with confusion. “Tempest, what are you doing here?”
 
“Just stopped by to drop something off--I was on my way to work.”
 
“She had my lip gloss from New Year’s Eve,” Samantha says, proud of herself for thinking of that on the fly and also concerned that the mention of lip gloss will somehow tip her mother off to what they were really doing.
 
“Oh. All right.” Diane looks them over for another long moment and then sets her coffee down on the end table to remove her coat, but she stops after undoing the first button. “Sam, why don’t you go and get ready, and we’ll go to Target now?”
 
“Now?” she asks, fumbling with the shirt. “Why?”
 
“Because I don’t want to go when it’s busy, and I want you to have your new comforter before you go back to the dorm.”
 
“Okay. Yeah.” Samantha feels like her head is full of gauze, like she can’t quite see through to real life, and the words all sound a little foreign and funny to her.
 
“I’ve gotta get to work anyway,” Tempest says, springing to her feet. “It was, uh, good to see you.”
 
“You, too. Thanks for bringing my lip gloss,” Samantha says, though all it makes her think about is the way they were kissing furiously moments ago.
 
“Go get ready,” Diane says, picking up her coffee. “We’ll see you later, Tempest.”
 
“Okay. Bye.” Tempest makes her way to the door. “Later, Sam.”
 
“Bye,” Samantha says, standing up and realizing that the couch is littered with clothes that were once folded and are now just a messy pile. It is almost a relief when the door closes behind Tempest, as if some incriminating piece of evidence has just been removed from the scene.
 
“Ten minutes and we’re out of here,” Diane says as she moves into the kitchen. “Go on.”
 
“Going.” Samantha sweeps the laundry back into the basket, deciding that it will be easier to start over later, and heads for her bedroom to get ready.
 
 
KING’S BAY POLICE PRECINCT
 
Brent sets his pen down on the desk.

“We found the murder weapon,” he says carefully. “It was actually left in the A/V room at the arena.”   Jason leans in over the desk. “What? Are there fingerprints on it or anything?”   “Nothing.” Brent pauses. “But the thing is… it was one of the rink’s rental skates.”   “You’re sure?”   “It had Sandy’s blood on it. And the blade matches the… wound on her neck.”

Jason covers his mouth with his hand. “My god.”

“I know. And there were two bloody footprints in that room, too.”
 
“Isn’t that a pretty solid lead? Like, it means it has to have been a man, right?”
 
Brent shakes his head. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but it’s too neat. The prints don’t match the shoes Ryan was wearing that night, and as far as we know, he was the only person in that room besides the killer. And it’s only two prints. It’s as if someone purposely put them there to… not even mislead us. Taunt us.”
 
“Why would someone do that?”
 
“I don’t know. But whoever killed Sandy clearly wanted to send some kind of message with those prints.”
 
“Yeah.”
 
Brent draws a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something; Jason notices this and braces.
 
“What is it?” Jason asks, unable to bear the suspense.
 
“Are you aware of what Sandy was wearing when this happened?”
 
Jason’s brain swirls as he tries to process the question and figure out what kind of hidden meaning there could be. “The dress she wore to the party… right?”
 
“And a jacket with your name on it.”
 
“I told her to borrow it from the coaches’ dressing room. I knew it would be cold upstairs,” he explains, still confused.
 
“The lettering of the name glows in the dark,” Brent says. “Which makes me wonder if someone was waiting in that room and, when Sandy came in wearing the jacket, saw your name…”
 
Jason swears he can feel his blood run cold as the thought strikes him. “They meant to kill me.”
 
“I don’t want you to panic, but I want you to be careful.” Again Brent picks up the pen. “We can talk about setting you up with police protection--and Sophie, too.”
 
“God.” Jason feels his heart thumping hard against the inside of his chest. “You really think we could be in danger? I don’t know who--” But he stops himself mid-statement. He doesn’t even want to put that out into the world.
 
“It makes me sick to even bring this up, but it’s my job,” Brent says. “We need to talk about Shannon.”
 
“No!” Jason springs from his chair and turns his back to Brent. “She’s dead. I saw her jump off that roof. You guys found her body down there. There’s no way.”
 
“I know it sounds insane. But she pulled a fast one on us once, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”
 
“Brent. There’s no way that Shannon Parish is alive.”
 
“I hope not. It could be a relative or a--I don’t know, some crazy person who sympathized with her story and blames you, or…” Brent trails off and takes a moment to compose himself. “We need to cover our bases here.”
 
“This is insane!” Jason says as he swings around.
 
“I agree one hundred percent. But I’m going to petition a judge to let us exhume the body.”
 
Jason’s first instinct is to yell at him, tell him to stop even mentioning her or floating these morbid ideas, but he knows that Brent is right. They have to pursue this--to put the ridiculous idea to rest, he hopes.  
 
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Jason says as he falls back into the chair.
 
“I know.” Brent leans forward and folds his hands. “But we’re going to catch the person who did this, and we’re going to keep you safe.”
 
All Jason can do is nod, but the world suddenly seems like a very different place, one that he isn’t sure he wants to know at all.

END OF EPISODE #758
 
Could Sandy’s murder be connected to Shannon?
What’s with the two mysterious footprints?
Should Samantha talk to her mom about what’s going on?
Join us in the Footprints Forum to talk about it all!
 
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