The Problem Children

By Barb McIntyre

The Problem Children follows the lives of three siblings: Steve, the spiteful, selfish brother, Mike, the handsome, intelligent brother, and Sam, their lively, determined sister.
One brother murders their father, steals from the family business, and arranges for someone else to scar his brother's face. The other brother is a computer hacker who often breaks the law by getting into school, bank, and police databases (most of the time with righteous results). And Sam is – accidentally, peripherally, and extremely regretfully – connected to two deaths.
My name is Sam: only my ex-husband called me Samantha. And I'm in prison. Even the judge acknowledged that the best driver in the world, stone-cold sober, wouldn't have been able to avoid the crash. But my blood alcohol level was .082. And a woman died. Facts are facts. The law is the law. The judge was sympathetic, but examples have to be made. And, to tell the truth, there is a kind of justice going on here. I'm paying my dues, atoning for my crime, making amends. The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate waited four years before pointing at me, before demanding retribution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667832524

Book preview

PART ONE

PROLOGUE

1972

Kevin and Joan Miller stood watching their daughter fail to complete a cartwheel for at least the fifteenth time. Had Sam known that her parents were peeking at her from behind the kitchen curtains, she would have walked over to the other side of the house before trying again. Ten-year-old Sam didn’t like to fail. She liked it even less when her failures were witnessed by others.

The pale-yellow kitchen was filled with sunlight and the aromas of fresh coffee and cooling cinnamon buns. Kevin put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and said, That girl has the stones of a Navy Seal.

Joan leaned against him and smiled. Poor Sam. I hate to say it, but Steve’s right. She does have the coordination of a drunken centipede.

Kevin chuckled as Joan left the window, picked up a bowl, and began spreading thick white icing carefully over the cinnamon buns.

Kevin’s gaze wandered from his daughter over to the tall flagpole at the edge of the yard. The flag was looking a bit tattered, so he decided to order a new one. He remembered the day he took the Red Ensign down and put up the new Maple Leaf Flag. He would have liked to have had the little ceremony on February 15th, 1965, when the official ceremony inaugurating the new Canadian flag was held on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. But the snow had been up to his waist in February.

He remembered telling the boys how the white stood for peace and honesty and the red for hardiness, bravery, strength, and valour. At six, Steve might have understood some of it. He seemed to be paying attention. But Kevin’s first born was always surprising him. The boy often switched from cheerful obedience to destructive anger in seconds. And Kevin knew that he could appear to be the former while planning the latter. Mike, at four, had been too busy chasing a butterfly to listen, and it had been Sam’s third birthday. She’d watched with wide eyes from the safety of Joan’s arms.

Kevin’s father was not happy about the new flag. It was wishy-washy; pale; meaningless.

A leaf for God’s sake! A stupid common leaf. The Red Ensign was good enough for me to carry up Vimy Ridge, and it’s still damn well good enough for my yard, he’d snarled from his wheelchair.

Change for change’s sake! He’d glared at Kevin when they went back into the house. When will people learn that they don’t have to fix what’s not broken?

But that was Kevin’s father’s mantra. The old man didn’t approve of any of the changes Kevin had made to the house or the business since two heart attacks and a mild stroke had put him in that damn jail. He sometimes added with a grunt and a cackle, At least it’s a short sentence.

That damn jail, Kevin knew, was a state-of-the-art facility for veterans that offered excellent care, ample opportunities for socializing, and frequent outings. His father rarely left the building. However, although he would never admit it, the staff told Kevin that his father spent a lot of time and appeared to thoroughly enjoy reminiscing about the war and complaining about the present with the other old soldiers.

Kevin knew about the complaining all too well. The old carpets in ‘his’ house had years left in them. There’d been nothing wrong with the old bathtub and sink. Why the hell had Kevin cut down that oak in front of the house? The roots were not starting to crack the pipes. That was damn nonsense. Kevin was a fool to listen to those people. Experts! He was a fool listening to fools. Just because those men from the city had letters after their names it didn’t mean they knew what they were talking about.

Kevin’s mother died a year before Kevin’s and Joan’s wedding. In fact, that was how they met. Joan’s family owned the funeral home, and she’d worked there since graduating from high school. Joan had, quietly and efficiently, guided the distraught family through the necessary decisions and arrangements. The fact that Kevin worked for his family’s store was one of the many things that brought them together.

Joan moved into the old, five-bedroom house on Crescent Street after the wedding, and impressed Kevin with the way she handled his father. Whenever the old man complained, Joan would smile that easy smile of hers, change the subject, and have him chatting away about something else in no time.

Kevin had learned to tolerate his father’s rants about the renovations to the house and his mismanagement of the store. The new merchandise Kevin was selling was overpriced garbage. He was wasting money on all that advertising. Promoting that idiot Patrick was the stupidest of stupid mistakes. The floors were fine. Why the hell did he have all new ones installed? The old wooden floors were not warped to the point that several customers had tripped and almost fallen. Kevin was making that up. And if they were a tiny bit warped, all you had to do was to nail them back down again. Kevin was letting the work of two generations of Millers slip through his fingers. Didn’t he remember how his grandfather had spent every last penny on precious stones and then smuggled them out of Scotland and into Canada hidden in the cutout centers of books? Didn’t he realize what a chance the man had taken? Didn’t he realize that Angus Miller had exchanged those stones for cloth and leather? And that he then paid to have the cloth and leather made into clothes and shoes? Didn’t he realize that his grandfather had slept on the floor of the shop he rented so that he could sell those clothes and shoes at a profit? Didn’t Kevin realize that his grandfather, and then his father, had worked from before dawn to after dusk to grow the business that he was in the process of flushing down the goddamn toilet?

Kevin watched his daughter try another cartwheel and pulled his thoughts back to the present. He turned away from the window and saw that Joan had placed two mugs of coffee and a plate of iced cinnamon buns on the table. At least she’s happy, he said as he sat down and picked up one of the mugs.

Joan sighed. We know Steve’s not. She pointed to the ceiling. He’s up there fuming. He knows all his friends are at the movies and having fun.

We had to ground him, Joan. You know we did.

She nodded. I know. Letting the air out of the tires on Mike’s bicycle so that he had to walk all the way home from school on that painful ankle was a rotten thing to do.

Kids play jokes on each other all the time. But Steve takes things too far, and too often.

Mike gets him back though.

Kevin nodded and tried not to smile. Mike’s smarter that way. You’ve got to give him that. A lot of the time he catches Steve out. He’s often one step ahead of him.

I worry about Steve. I wish there was something I could do, say, some way to get him to…to be nice.

Thirteen is a hard age, Kevin said.

What age hasn’t been hard for him? Joan asked.

He’s always been a bit of a problem, hasn’t he? I mean, it’s never anything really bad. He’s just got a mind of his own. Like I said, he just takes things too far.

Joan pointed to her chin, and Kevin used his napkin to wipe a bit of icing away from his.

By the way, these are delicious, as always, he added.

Joan smiled. Thanks. Now let’s see; stubborn, selfish, judgmental, doesn’t know when to stop. Can’t imagine who he gets that from.

Kevin chuckled. Yes! He does have a bit of my father in him, doesn’t he? But the thing is, all brothers argue and fight. I don’t think ours are any worse than the rest of them.

I’m not sure about that, Joan continued. Steve’s got a wicked temper. He hates it when he doesn’t get his own way. Remember the hole in the living room wall?

I remember having to do a whole new paint job because we couldn’t match the colour. Kevin nodded. All little Mike did was play with Steve’s toy trucks. Steve picked up one of the big ones and threw it at Mike. Good thing he missed.

And it’s a good job we were watching them. We probably would have believed Steve when he blamed Mike. She sighed. I love them all so much. I just want them to get along, to be happy.

Kevin put his hand over hers. Me too, and I have to believe that they will. Someday. If they don’t kill each other first.

Joan nodded. On the bright side, it’s fun to watch how both boys cater to Sam and how she plays them against each other.

Kevin smiled. She’s something else, isn’t she? Somehow, she gets along with both of them.

We’ll get through this, Love. Joan’s voice was soft. They’ll all grow up and be the best of friends. Any day now our problem child will settle down, realize how much we love him, and everything will be fine.

CHAPTER ONE

1994

Steve Miller is thirty-five years old. He’s a tall man with a permanently furrowed forehead, rapidly thinning hair, and a paunch he tries to ignore. He’s been managing Miller’s, a successful downtown department store, for a few months. Steve still feels a jolt of pleasure every time he sits in the mahogany armchair behind the massive desk that was already old when his grandfather bought it.

Steve’s father, Kevin, had been found slumped over the steering wheel of Steve’s brother’s car, with two bullets in his head. Mike had disappeared a few days later. The lawyers had been working on his mother’s estate for two weeks, ever since her death from congestive heart failure. But they still haven’t sorted out the paperwork that will give him ownership of the business and the money from the sale of the house he grew up in.

Admittedly, his sister, Sam, will get her share of everything, but she’s told him she doesn’t want anything to do with the store. She trusts him to transfer her share of the profits to the account they set up together. And what she doesn’t know about the accounts won’t hurt her. She doesn’t need the money anyway. That husband of hers does very well for himself. Besides, as Steve often tells himself, he’s doing all the work.

His brother is well out of the picture, so Steve doesn’t have to worry about sharing anything with him. Mike wasn’t coming back. There was still a warrant out for his arrest, and there was no statute of limitations on murder. Mike would never show his face around here again.

And Steve has other plans – big plans. He’s done well for himself in the short time he’s been in charge, and once the business is in his name, everything will fall into place. He’ll be rolling in money, and that should shut Mildred up.

Steve is sitting in his favourite chair, reading the latest thriller by his favourite author and slowly sipping whisky from a lead-free crystal glass. His feet are resting comfortably on the coffee table he’s pulled over from its place in front of the sofa, and a bottle of whisky is sitting on the small table beside him. He doesn’t want to have to move too far to refill his glass.

Mildred doesn’t like him to drink in the afternoon. Mildred doesn’t like him to put his feet up on the coffee table. Mildred wouldn’t even approve of him moving the coffee table. Mildred doesn’t like him to do a lot of the things he has planned for the two days his wife is away visiting her mother.

He held the half-empty glass up to the light. It was a Glencairn Glass. Steve bought a dozen and had them shipped home when he and Mildred were on vacation in Scotland. The salesman assured him that this was the glass endorsed by the whisky industry, that it was shipped to every whisky distillery in Scotland and Ireland, and that it was used at all major whisky festivals and conventions worldwide.

Steve swore when the doorbell rang. He put his glass down on the table and walked slowly towards the door. When he opened it, his sister pushed past him and into the room. Steve watched, openmouthed, as she led a man, wearing a filthy shirt that was several sizes too large and an equally filthy pair of grey polyester pants that didn’t reach his ankles into the house. A blue sock stuck out of the hole in the toe of his worn left sneaker and a brown one out of the bigger hole in his right sneaker. The man had a thick, dark beard and greasy, dark hair that hadn’t seen water or a comb in weeks, if not longer. The expression on his face was that of a confused and fearful young child. His walk and arm movements were uncoordinated, and his head moved jerkily as he alternately glanced around the room and then down at the floor. Sam placed the garbage bag she’d been carrying on one end of the sofa and guided the man down onto the green plastic. Then she handed him the multicoloured paperweight that had been carefully placed on the end table so that it was equidistant from the hand-painted porcelain lamp with the silk lampshade and the framed photograph of Mildred in her wedding dress. Steve was not in the photograph. The paperweight was the size and shape of a tennis ball. The man gave it his full attention, turning it over and over in his hands, and didn’t appear to be paying any attention to what Sam was saying.

Close your mouth, Big Brother. Yes, it’s him. I can’t believe it either. I was on the elevator at the mall, and this filthy, homeless man stumbled on just before the doors closed. I tried not to stare at him, but I couldn’t help myself. He seemed familiar somehow. He was half-singing and half muttering, and then I realized what he was singing and who he was. He was staring down at the ground, and I could see his small bald spot, the one at his hairline. The one he got when you pushed him out of the apple tree, and he hit his head on a rock. I couldn’t believe it. I was looking at Mike. I called his name, but he didn’t answer. He just stared down at the ground and kept singing and mumbling. Steve, he’s not all there anymore.

Steve, still in shock, had followed them into the living room. He collapsed back into his recliner, picked up his glass, drained it, and filled it again. He took a long swallow, stared at Mike’s face, nodded slowly, and whispered, It really is him.

Sam sat down at the other end of the sofa. She looked at Steve with a serious, sad expression and said, My first thought was that it was too bad he didn’t make it back a few weeks ago. Mom would have loved to see him. Then I realized that it was for the best. It would have broken her heart to see him like this.

Steve snorted. Like it didn’t break her heart when her husband was found dead in her son’s car, and then that son was never seen again. Come on, Sam. Everybody except you and Mom knows that his taking off was an admission of guilt.

Sam glared at Steve. You know he had to run away because nobody would believe him. Mike would never have killed Dad. He loved him as much as we did. Mom knew that. I knew that. Whoever did it framed him! Mom went to her grave believing that. And I still do.

Steve, who had not taken his eyes off of Mike, said in a mimicking voice, He loved him as much as we did.

Then he turned to meet Sam’s defiant stare. The two of you just never got it did you? he said angrily. An innocent man wouldn’t have run away. Innocent people don’t have to disappear. And remember, he didn’t have an alibi.

Oh, for God’s sake, neither did I. Remember? Gavin had taken the kids to a double feature. I was alone in the house. That doesn’t mean anything.

Steve paused, took a slow sip of whisky and continued in a low voice, And why come back now?

Sam turned to look at Mike, and her expression softened. He doesn’t know now from then. He’s totally out of it. It was pure chance that he stumbled into that elevator. He’s like a little kid, a not very bright little kid. He’s probably been on the streets all this time. Probably in and out of shelters. And he’s probably fried his brain on drugs. All those months of living like…I don’t know what. It’s so sad. He’s obedient though, I took him by the hand, and he just followed me to my car.

Steve shook his head. I don’t like this.

Sam ignored him. He stood beside the car and waited while I spread the garbage bag on the seat first. God! He stinks!

Steve watched Mike concentrate on the paperweight. I agree that he seems to have fried his brain. But being on the streets had nothing to do with his taking drugs. He did that to shut out the guilt.

Sam shook her head. Let’s not get into that again. But we have to take care of him, Steve. We can’t let him go back to wherever he was and doing whatever he was doing.

We could turn him in to the police. That warrant for his arrest is still valid.

Steve! Stop that! He’s our brother. And he didn’t do it.

Steve snorted.

He didn’t do it, Sam repeated, angrily and loudly.

Mike, startled by the sudden noise, looked over at Sam with an open-mouthed expression of fear. She smiled at him with her best don’t-worry-Mommy’s-right-here smile and said, It’s okay. It’s okay. He appeared to relax and turned his attention back to the paperweight.

Sam turned back to Steve. Yes, they found Dad’s body in Mike’s car. And yes, Mike disappeared. She lowered her voice. But that doesn’t mean he killed him. I told you. Mom understood why he had to disappear. She knew that…

Okay! Okay! I don’t want to open that can of worms either. Why drag our family through all that again? Steve growled.

Sam looked at her watch and stood up. Anyway, it’s my day to pick all the kids up from school. And, we’re having six dinner guests. It’s Gavin’s ‘let’s impress the boss night’ so, I have no time to talk about this. You’re alone. You can take care of him for tonight. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll decide what to do. Like I said, he’s very obedient. He doesn’t really know what’s going on, so sometimes you have to repeat things, but once you’ve got his attention, you just tell him what to do, and he’ll do it.

Steve sneered. And that means that I have to babysit him? What if he leaves? What if he takes off while I’m asleep? What if he kills me while I’m asleep? What if I collapse from the smell?

Oh, for God’s sake! Sam glanced down at Mike and then glared at Steve but spoke more softly. He won’t. Look at him. I stopped at a drive-through and bought him a chocolate ice cream. Remember, that was his favourite. The only words he’s said, and they were whispers, were ‘nice’ when he got into my car and ‘more’ when he finished the ice cream. In the elevator, he was either saying things Mom used to say, but very quietly and syllable by syllable, or singing, if you can call it that, ‘Bimbo.’ Remember how Dad…

I remember, Steve interrupted brusquely. You know I hate that song.

She ignored him and said, Mike. Mike! Look at me.

Mike stopped playing with the paperweight and slowly lifted his head to look at her. His mouth was slightly open, and his facial muscles were slack.

You stay here with Steve. He’s your brother.

Oh crap! Steve muttered.

Mike looked from Sam to Steve, and back to Sam again. Bro…ther? he whispered slowly.

Yes, your brother, Sam said with a reassuring smile. And he’ll take care of you until I come back.

Mike pointed to Steve, and repeated in a slow but determined voice, Bro…ther. He nodded his head, looked up at Sam, and pointed towards her as he said, Sis…ter.

Yes, I told you that in the car. I’m your sister, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.

Without taking his eyes away from Mike, Steve stood up and started pacing. He carried his whisky with him.

Mike nodded, lowered his head, and started playing with the paperweight again. To…mor…ow, he repeated slowly.

Sam walked towards the door. If I were you, Steve…

Which you’re not, he said angrily.

She took a deep breath before repeating, If I were you, I’d just lead him to the bathroom, and leave him a change of clothes. I bet he’ll shower and change all by himself.

Before Steve could respond she added, Bye you two. Be good, and left.

Steve had just finished refilling his glass when his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath before answering. He didn’t notice that Mike had stopped playing with the paperweight and was watching him.

Steve kept pacing while holding the phone to his ear with his left hand and the whisky in his right. Yes, Mildred. Your orchid is fine. It was fine the last time you called, and it was fine the time before that, and the time…

While listening in silence, Steve took a long sip of whisky, mouthed an obscenity, and, without spilling a drop, raised his glass in a mock salute to his wife’s prize orchid.

He mouthed another obscenity before saying, You’re right, Dear. I apologize. I shouldn’t have been rude. But something very upsetting has happened here. Sam’s just brought…

Mike saw his brother’s taut features and heard the strain in his voice as he answered a series of questions. Yes, I watered it yesterday. Yes, in the morning. Yes, I used slightly warm tap water. No, I did not saturate the soil. The thing is, Mildred, something’s happened here. I have a problem. I…

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and, after a few seconds of silence, he answered another series of questions in a defeated voice. Yes, Dear, I diluted the orchid food to a quarter of its strength. Yes, the room is warm. Yes, it’s still blooming beautifully. Yes, Mildred, I know you plan to win first prize with the orchid, but I need to… Yes, Dear. Goodbye.

Steve turned to see that Mike had lost all traces of the confused and fearful young child.

So! Stevie Boy! How is Dear Mildred? Mike asked in a voice that Steve recognized well.

Steve dropped his phone. You’re… He stared, openmouthed, at Mike. You’re…

Mike grinned and said, I see she’s still leading you around by the balls, before throwing the paperweight at Steve.

Steve tried to catch it but missed, and it landed on the recliner. A few drops of whisky fell onto the beige rug as Steve’s shaking hand put the glass down on the coffee table. He glanced at the paperweight before turning to glare at Mike. So, your brain’s not fried. You tricked Sam.

Mike smiled. If she hadn’t figured it out, I’d have pretended to recognize her. And just in case you’re wondering, getting on that elevator was no accident. This little visit has been well planned. Oh, and getting this filthy, he touched his chest, is something I never want to do again.

Steve slowly picked up his phone and put it back into his pocket. Then he grabbed the paperweight and threw it angrily, aiming for Mike’s head. His aim was bad. Why? I didn’t think I’d ever have to see your rotten face again.

Mike reacted quickly enough to reach over and catch the paperweight. He settled back down, grinning in triumph. You never could throw worth a damn. He put the paperweight back on the table and looked at Steve. I had to end up alone with you.

Steve glared at Mike, picked up his glass, sat back down in the recliner, and swallowed a mouthful of whisky before asking, Why not just come right here? Why the homeless junkie act?

Mike stared at his brother. I don’t trust you. This way Sam knows I’m here, alone with you. And she thinks I’m helpless. If something happens to me, she’ll tell the police. Call it life insurance.

So, out with it. Why did you come back? Why did you wait so long? Why do you need to be alone with me? Steve demanded. Why are you taking such a big chance? You have to know that there’s still a warrant for your arrest.

Why do you think I came back, Stevie Boy?

The brothers glared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

You know I hate it when you call me that, Steve finally said through clenched teeth. He was sitting on the edge of the recliner. His back was straight, his body tense. You were always baiting me, always getting me in trouble. You’d tease, and dare, and push me past my limit. And I’d lash out at you. And I’d be the one to get in trouble. You knew every one of my buttons, and you knew just how hard to push them. Steve swallowed another mouthful of whisky. I was always in trouble, and it was always your fault.

You were always in trouble because you always overreacted. I finished the milk, so you had to eat your cereal dry, and you let the air out of my tires, so I had to walk home from school. At least that time, I didn’t have a sprained ankle. Now, I have to admit that I took way more milk than I needed. I could have left you some and still had enough. But if you remember, a few minutes before we came downstairs, I’d been sitting on my bed, tying my shoelaces, and you bent over and farted in my face.

Steve glowered. And I was grounded for the weekend because of it. You still won.

Mike shrugged. Then there was the time I made fun of you for getting a D in history, and you ‘accidentally’ spilled coke on a project I’d been working on for days and ruined it.

And I had to do your chores for a week for that one. Steve started to raise his glass to his mouth but lowered it again. "You’ve always been a prick. Do you know, my first memory is of you kicking over a pile of blocks I’d made, and me screaming and hitting you,