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- Diane walked in on Samantha kissing Tempest. She didn't tell the girls that she had seen them but wondered how to address it with her daughter.
- Philip struggled to move on after Molly called off their wedding.
- Brent questioned Sabrina Gage and was nearly certain that she had nothing to do with Sandy's death, but a shaken Jason remained skeptical.  

322 Bar & Grill

Diane Bishop sits in a booth against the back wall of the dimly lit eatery, a manicured nail tracing over the menu even though she more or less knows it by heart. She is torn between her head, which is pulling for the grilled salmon salad, and her stomach, which keeps directing her attention to the bacon mac-and-cheese, when she senses a presence above her. She is about to snap at the waitress that she is still not ready to order, since her dining companion clearly hasn't arrived yet, but then she realizes that the person standing there is not the waitress, but said companion.

"Gonna sit down?" Diane asks Tim Fisher

"Are you that antsy to order?" He laughs as he slides into the other side of the wooden booth.

"No, because I know I'm going to order a damn salad when what I really want is the mac-and-cheese."

"With bacon?"


Tim twists his face up. "Get that. C'mon!"

"You're evil, you know that?" Diane points a finger at him. "So what's up? I know you enjoy my company, but this sounded like a dinner invitation with a pressing reason behind it…"

"I'm that transparent, huh?" he says as he reaches for the full water glass awaiting him.

Diane shrugs. "What's going on?"

He takes a sip of water before launching into it: "You know how I said Alex and Liam were close to a deal for their screenplay…?" She leans further and further forward, interjecting every now and then, as he details the confusing tale, starting with how he received a call from the studio to tell him that Liam insisted on having Alex removed from the project. He is still motoring through it when their waitress approaches the table.

"Have you decided on anything to drink besides water?" she asks cheerily, completely failing to notice their grave expressions.

"This guy definitely needs a drink," Diane says, and they bumble through their orders--a beer for Tim, a glass of wine for Diane--before the waitress departs. 

"And then I get a call from Alex this afternoon, and he's frantic," Tim says, "because Liam is dead-set on going to L.A. to work on the screenplay and doesn't want to listen to him or Trevor."

"Jeez." Diane rocks back against the booth. "Maybe Alex and Trevor shouldn't have lied to him for so long." 

"Well, yeah. But what are we supposed to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're Diane Bishop. If anyone has the brain to figure out a fix here--"

"Hey," she says. "You know I adore Alex. But can you blame Liam for lashing out here? It's actually sort of impressive, the way he moved so fast."


"I'm just saying. What do you want to do? Alex can't sue. And you aren't his agent--"

"No, but I'm his publisher. He worked hard on that screenplay with Liam. He doesn't deserve to be cut out of the entire project because he kept a secret for Trevor."

"Probably not the most rational response on Liam's part, no. But he's the screenwriter with credits. Alex is a novelist who was working on an adaptation of his own book. I don't see what leverage he has in this situation."

"I'm not concerned about leverage," Tim says. "I'm thinking more  of a… creative solution."

"What, you think I have hitmen on speed dial? I hate to say this, but Alex should take his check and the exposure and move the hell on."

Tim's eyes nearly bug out. "What?"

"He isn't going to win this. Liam pulled off a clever negotiation--spiteful, but clever. Short of infiltrating the studio or trying some insane smear campaign--which might get Liam kicked off the movie but probably still wouldn't get Alex reinstated--I don't know that there's much to do."

Tim is still staring at her when the waitress returns and sets two glasses down on their table.

"Have you decided what you'd like to eat?" she asks with a smile.


Jason Fisher holds his daughter's hand as he leads her up the driveway. The sun has begun its retreat behind the horizon, and while it is not yet dark out, everything is shrouded in a mysterious  grayness that does little to soothe Jason's frayed nerves. When a car comes quickly around the corner, its headlights cutting across the house, Jason flinches, even though the car continues moving down the street just as any normal vehicle would.

He rings the doorbell, and they wait.

"Did Grandma make me cookies?" Sophie asks.

"I'm sure your grandma and grandpa have been busy, so there might not be any--"

Jason is interrupted by the door opening. Don Chase ushers them inside.

"I've been out in the garage working," he explains, gesturing toward the handful of colorful paint splotches on his black t-shirt. "Is everything all right? Your call sounded…" He looks down at Sophie as he chooses his next word. "…important."

  Jason Fisher

"I just need to have a word with you and Helen," Jason says.

"Did Grandma make me cookies?" Sophie asks, her voice a good 50 percent louder than either Jason's or Don's.

"Is that my sweet girl?" Helen says as she rushes into the room. She bends down and wraps her arms around the little girl. "Jason, hi. What's going on?"

"I was just telling Don that I need to have a word with you guys. Don't worry, everything's fine. It's more of a… heads-up."

"Why don't we go get you some cookies and milk, and you can watch a DVD for a few minutes?" Helen says to Sophie, who responds by clapping her hands and hopping up and down excitedly.

"I'd say that's a yes," Jason says.

Helen takes Sophie toward the back of the house, and Don leads Jason into the living room. 

"Does this have to do with Sandy?" Don asks as they sit down.

"I don't know. I found out something today and… I want you and Helen to hear from me. That's all."

Don folds his hands and, mercifully, changes the subject to Sarah and Matt's upcoming wedding. Jason is able to put his mind on autopilot and offer information about the event until Helen returns.

"She's all settled," Helen says, taking a seat beside her husband. The nervous edge has overtaken her voice. "What's this all about, Jason?"

He wrestles with the various approaches that he tried out mentally on his way here and finally settles on one: "Do you guys remember when Lauren and Josh went to Iowa to investigate Sabrina--Shannon, whatever--right before our wedding?"

The Chases nod in tandem.

"They told us they found a woman in a coma who was named Sabrina Gage," he continues, "and Shannon had stolen her identity. They met that woman's mom…"

"I remember," Don says. "But what does this have to do with the price of eggs, Jason?"

"A woman showed up at my office today--and she said her name is Sabrina Gage."

Helen gasps and grabs Don's hand. "Oh my!"

"It can't be a coincidence that she'd show up so soon after what happened to Sandy," Don says.

"That's what I thought," Jason says. "Brent questioned her and seems convinced that she's who she says she is--"

"That doesn't mean she isn't a crazy person," Helen interjects.

"I know. Anyway, I wanted to tell you guys about this in person, in case you caught wind of it or she turned up here or something."

"We appreciate it," Don says. 

"But with any luck," Jason says, "she'll be out of King's Bay very, very soon, and we'll never have to hear that name again." 


Rush hour surrounds Philip Ragan as he sits in his BMW, a sea of red brakelights stretching out before him. The voice of an NPR announcer sounds through the car's crystal-clear speakers, but the words are unable to penetrate the thick cloud of thoughts filling his consciousness.

He has been in meetings for much of the day, and when he hasn't been in one, he has been rushing from one end of town to the next. He didn't even realize that he had scheduled so much for a single day until he consulted his calendar yesterday. 

A flurry of horns fire up and fill the air. Philip looks ahead and sees a yellow light slipping away into red. The cars in front of him lurch forward, and he moves up accordingly. 

His mind slides back even further, to the conversation he had with Jason Fisher this morning. He would have felt strangely not offering his condolences on Jason's coach's passing--especially given the grisly circumstances of her death--but it was also an uncomfortable reminder of how he should be married to Molly by now, how far apart they have come, and how much work he has to do to repair that situation. Nothing has gone according to plan so far, and he hates feeling out of control in this way.

Suddenly he is aware of a great opening beside him, a gap in the traffic that looks as miraculous as the parting of the Red Sea. Quickly he swings his wheel and darts into it--just as another car does the same from two lanes over.

Philip winces as the crashing of metal and glass overtakes his senses. 


Once their debate has spun in circles a few times and has begun to taper off, Diane sets her half-full wine glass down on the table and says, "I wish I had some kind of rabbit to pull out of my hat here, but it sounds like Alex is screwed here. Hell, at least he's still gonna get paid."

"Yeah," Tim says with a sigh. "I just wish there were something I could do to help."

"You'll help by making sure his name is connected with the movie when it comes out and is a big hit--or totally distanced from it when it's a flop. And then you put major marketing muscle behind his next book."

Tim nods along and reaches for his beer.

"Listen, there's something I've been wanting to ask you," Diane says, unable to resist the gravitational force that's been pulling at her mind since long before she and Tim sat down together this evening. "Have you talked to Samantha much lately?"

  Diane Bishop

"Yeah… She's my daughter…"

"No, I mean…" Out of nervous habit, she picks up the wine again.  "About her life."

Tim smirks. "What do you think we talk about? The Seahawks?"

"No, just-- About her personal life. More than what's going on in her classes. Friends. Dating." She almost has to choke out the last word and hopes it isn't too obvious.

"Not really." She can see him racking his brain. "The only friend she really talks about hanging out with is Tempest."


Diane feels Tim's gaze searing into her.

"Is there something specific you're worried about?" he asks. "Did something happen?"

"No. Nah. I'm only wondering. I worry about her."

"What are you worried about?"

Diane fiddles with the stem of her glass. "Nothing. I just want to know that she's enjoying college. She's so serious. That's all."

"Not everyone is a social butterfly. Sam loves what she loves: her books, her computer, Game of Thrones…"

"I know. Just something that's been on my mind. Forget it."

"Okay," Tim says, though he doesn't quite sound reassured. Luckily, their entrees choose this moment to arrive, and Diane has plenty of other topics lined up for when the time comes.


Helen suddenly springs up from the sofa.

"I don't like the sound of this," she says. "Some crazy woman lurking around town--"

"She says that all she wants is to prove that her identity was stolen so she can get a new Social Security number and a job," Jason explains. 

"Then what does she want with you? You've never met her!"

"Honey, try and calm down," Don says. 

"I'm as calm as I can be right now. But I don't like this at all. The police still have no idea who did this to poor Sandy, and then this woman turns up--"

"They're investigating," Jason says. "I swear."

Helen shakes her head wildly. "She should be behind bars! What if she came out of this coma and got it in her head to become some kind of copycat or--God forbid, what if she knew Shannon before?"

Jason tries his best to remain calm; getting worked up is only going to agitate Helen further. "I've had all the same thoughts, believe me."

"I have half a mind to get Brent on the phone right now and demand that he arrest her," Helen says.

"They need evidence," Don says.

"Then they should find some!" Helen starts back toward the kitchen. "I'm going to call Brent and give him a piece of my mind."

"Helen!" Don calls out, but she is already gone from the room.

"I'm sorry I got her so worked up," Jason says, folding his hands together in his lap. "I just wanted to make sure you guys heard about this from me."

"You did the right thing," Don says. "Helen's just been frantic since Sandy was killed--and who can blame her? It feels like it must have something to do with what happened to Courtney, and now this…"


"Come on. Why don't we get some of those cookies, too?"

Jason forces a smile. "You think Sophie's gonna share?"

"We'll see." Don heads off to the kitchen, and Jason stands to follow him. He can hear Helen on the phone already, grilling Brent, and the insistence of her voice makes it difficult for him to suppress a thought: why is she so convinced that this Sabrina woman must be the key to Sandy's murder?


Getting over to the shoulder of the highway is a complicated process, one that takes far too long, so that by the time Philip is able to put his car into Park, his entire being is humming with anxiety and adrenaline that feel like they are trying to squeeze the last traces of oxygen out of him. He gets out to survey the damage to his BMW and finds, as he expected, that the driver's side headlight is completely smashed and the bumper has a rather healthy dent pushing its way inward.

The other car, a nondescript silver sedan, pulls up beside him. He managed a look at the driver, a woman likely in her late 20s or early 30s, through their windshields after the accident, but now she steps out of the car and he gets a better view of her. She is small and somehow very frail-looking, with dark hair that falls over her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," Philip says as they meet between the two parked cars.

"This is a rental. I'm on my way to return it, and now--" She looks over the damage to her own car; its injuries are a sort of mirror-image of the ones Philip's car has suffered. "And I'm probably going to miss my flight, on top of everything…"

  Philip Ragan

"Well, let's move this along as quickly as we can so you can be on your way." 

"This is my insurance," she says, shoving a card toward him.

"I'll snap a photo of it, and you can do the same with mine, and we can let the companies sort this out."

He hands her his card so that she can photograph it with her cell phone. The evening wind blows around them as cars continue to trudge along the road; the traffic seems to have slowed even more now that people have an accident to gawk at as they move along. Philip shivers and then opens his trunk to retrieve the jacket that he foolishly didn't think he would need.

"Is that a Nikon D3x?" the woman asks abruptly.

"It is," Philip says, and then he immediately kicks himself mentally. If she knows what kind of camera it is, she probably also knows how expensive it is--and will probably attempt to bilk him accordingly.

"Those are so nice. I just bought a D3100. Used, of course. It's still really good."

"Those are great cameras." He closes the trunk and slips on the jacket. "You're a photographer, then?"

"Oh, just an amateur. I'm taking a class. It's silly--"

"It isn't silly. That's the beautiful thing about art: it can always be a passion, whether or not it's your profession."

She hands his insurance card back to him. "Are you a photographer?"

"I am. I've been very lucky to be able to pursue it as a career."

"That's amazing."

A thought catches in Philip's mind and causes him to pause. Maybe it is the strangeness of the whole situation, but he decides to speak up.

"You aren't from King's Bay, I take it?" he asks.

"No. Just visiting."

"That's a shame. I'm actually looking for an assistant. An ambitious aspiring photographer would be a great fit--"

"Are you serious?" Her dark eyes widen excitedly. "I live in Iowa right now, but I've been looking to move somewhere--anywhere, just to have a change--and if you're serious--"

"It's certainly something we can discuss." Philip extends a hand. "Philip Ragan, by the way."

"Oh my god. I've seen your stuff everywhere. The phone booth series--"

"You know it. I'm impressed."

"You managed to say so much about human connection without even featuring people in the photographs. Wow." She finally takes his hand. "It's such an honor to meet you. I'm Sabrina."

"Well, Sabrina," he says as they shake, "you'd better be on your way to the airport. But why don't you e-mail me when you reach home? I think this could turn out to be a very fortuitous meeting."


Will Sabrina take a job with Philip?
Is Helen right to be so concerned about Sabrina?
Should Diane open up to Tim about their daughter?
Join us in the Footprints Forum to discuss it all!

Next Episode




Wed., March 18, 2015

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