Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Ron appeared shocked into silence, but of course, that only lasted long enough for Chris to reach the fridge and open the door. “Wow. I knew you guys had the hots for each other, but that sure escalated quickly.”

  Cat food in hand, Chris shut the fridge a little harder than she’d meant to, causing bottles in the door to rattle and clang. “Calm down. I slept on his couch. And we do not ‘have the hots’ for each other. And who even says that anymore?”

  “I do. And if that’s true, then why are you blushing the color of a Valentine’s Day edition of the Victoria’s Secret catalog?”

  Chris realized her jaw had clenched shut as she bent over to scoop food into Miss Kitty’s bowl—the bits the cat didn’t snatch directly off the spoon in her impatience, anyway. She forced herself to relax as she straightened up and went to toss the empty can. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “So there’s something to talk about.” Ron reached her foot over and scooted the chair across from her out from the table. “Sit. Spill.”

  Chris sat but didn’t proceed to spill anything. “I said I don’t want to.”

  “Oh, come on, Chrissy. I’m dead, remember? Let me live vicariously.”

  Chris shot her sister look that she hoped conveyed that she couldn’t possibly be serious. “You do realize that, dead or not, your love life’s more alive and kicking than mine’s ever been?”

  Ron sighed dreamily. “Yeah, Joe’s pretty great. But you know, I thought he was a total jerk-face when I first met him. Sometimes, they improve as we get to know them.” She gave Chris a sidelong glance and added, “Derek sure seems to have improved.”

  Chris also sighed, but not dreamily. “Derek’s actually pretty great himself.”

  “Then explain to me why you were on his couch.”

  After a moment’s deliberation, Chris pulled her phone out of her back pocket “Here, I’ll show you.” She unlocked the screen and was greeted by the text from her dad. Suddenly, she felt grateful for the distraction that let her put off telling Ron about it. She closed the text notification and pulled up the YouTube app.

  She’d checked the night before, after telling Jimmy what had happened and before conking out while waiting for Derek, to see how quickly the footage of his arrest had made it online. It turned out that some aspiring local paparazzo had turned his camera on Derek as soon as they had come out of the restaurant. They’d recorded everything and wasted no time uploading it to their channel. The video already had over 500 views.

  Chris pressed the play button and slid the phone across the table to Ron, who watched with a look of puzzled curiosity. After a moment, she gasped. “He hit that guy!”

  “Keep watching.”

  After a few more minutes passed, Ron covered her mouth and said, “Oh, no!” She looked up at Chris. “They arrested him?”

  Chris retrieved the phone and closed the app. “He asked me to go check on Jimmy and fill him in. I decided to wait till he got home to make sure he was okay, and I fell asleep.” She shrugged. “End of story.”

  “That is so not the end. Why did he hit that guy?”

  “Because he was an obnoxious twit who had it coming.” She hesitated, then added, “Derek was sort of defending my honor.”

  Ron put a hand on her chest and made an “Aw!” face. “That’s so sweet!”

  “No it’s not. It was stupid. I don’t need defending. And it might have cost Derek his job.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s bad. But still, you have to admit it’s kind of sweet.”

  Chris didn’t say anything, mainly because she didn’t want to admit that her sister had a point.

  “Anyway, other than all of that, how did your date go?”

  “You knew it was a date?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I thought we were just having drinks.”

  Ron eyed her skeptically. “At night. Just the two of you. At a nice restaurant. How could you not know that was a date?”

  “I thought we were just killing time while you guys did your ghost thing with Jimmy.” Chris blew her bangs out of her eyes and slumped forward on the table. “I guess if I had any doubts, they were killed when he almost kissed me.”

  “Almost? Why just almost?”

  Chris chewed her lip a moment before admitting, “I kind of panicked.”

  “What? Oh, honey. Why?”

  “You know why.”

  Ron heaved a sigh so long and deep that Chris had time to wonder how she managed it without a pair of functioning lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re still punishing yourself because of what happened with that kid in high school.”

  “That kid was my first boyfriend. My only real boyfriend,” she added with a frown. “I’m not punishing myself. But Max almost died because of me. And then he moved across the country to get away from me.”

  “His parents moved. You and Max were just kids. It wasn’t like they gave him a choice.”

  “And then he didn’t call or write, or even reply to my e-mails.” Chris realized she sounded bitter and took a deep breath. “Was that his parents’ fault, too? What about after he went to college?” She shook her head. “Max was happy to get away from me, and with good reason.”

  “What good reason?”

  Chris sat up straight and quirked an eyebrow at her sister. “Really? You of all people know how dangerous it can get around me. You would probably be alive right now if I hadn’t roped you into my freaky little hobby.”

  “Maybe,” Ron admitted, never one to pull a punch. “But maybe not. Maybe it was just my time, and if Sarah hadn’t gotten me I’d have been hit by a bus or something.”

  “Seriously? When did you get so philosophical?”

  “I have a lot of time for thinking these days. Anyway, whether Fate had it in for me or not, that doesn’t change the fact that it was my own dumb decision to investigate a potentially dangerous location on my own. I have nobody to blame but myself.” She nodded with finality, but then added, “Well, and also Sarah.”

  “You’re right. That was a dumb decision.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “But that doesn’t change the fact that this line of work is dangerous sometimes, and sometimes, people get hurt. Or just plain wigged out and too scared to remain anywhere near me. You know Max wasn’t the only one. He was just the first, the only one who stuck around long enough to really break my heart. They usually end up dumping me a lot sooner. Been there, done that, swore I’d never do it again.”

  Ron frowned. “That’s a terrible t-shirt slogan.”

  “But it’s a pretty safe way to live my life.”

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to write Derek off, not even give him a proper chance, because that’s the safe thing to do?”

  “Safe for him and for me. Besides, once Jimmy’s no longer in the picture, what else do we even have in common? You know, besides murdered siblings, dead parents, and a love of Doctor Who.”

  “Is that all? Lasting marriages have been built on less.”

  “Good thing I’m not looking for a husband, then.”

  Ron reached across the table. Chris’s skin tingled as Ron’s fingers grazed the back of her hand. “Chrissy—” she started, then corrected herself. “Chris, what’s the biggest lesson I’ve always tried to drill into your head?”

  Without hesitation, Chris replied, “Always check the stall for toilet paper before you sit down.”

  Ron pulled her hand away and sat back, folding her arms. “Really? That’s your big takeaway from all my years of sisterly advice?”

  “Hey, that little nugget of wisdom has saved me from a lot of awkward situations.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad that helped. But I was thinking more of the times when I said life’s too short to play it safe.”

  “Says the woman whose life was cut short because she didn’t play it safe.”

  “Okay, yes, I can appreciate the irony here. But that only proves my point. You never know when the end’s going to whack you like a ball upside the head
. You have to take risks to make life worth living.”

  “Sure,” said Chris. “But not with other people’s safety.”

  “You know, Derek’s not a teenager, and he’s not some skittish college boy anymore. He’s a crime reporter, for crying out loud, and he apparently has a pretty mean right cross. I don’t think he needs you to protect him, and somehow, I doubt he’d appreciate the attempt.”

  Chris was beyond ready to change the subject. She glanced at the microwave clock. “It’s getting late.” She scooted back from the table and got up. “I need to go shower and change.”

  “Are you going back to Derek’s?”

  “No.” Chris chewed her lip, considering how to break the news. Best to just get it out there. “Actually, Dad’s in town.”

  “I know. Joe and I saw him yesterday at the cemetery.”

  “Really?” Chris sat back down. “He was visiting your grave?”

  “Not mine. Mom’s. He was pointedly ignoring my grave.” Ron rolled her eyes and gave a little shake of her head as if to say she expected nothing else.

  “Did you ever think, just maybe, he avoids your grave because it hurts so much?”

  “Not really.” She shrugged. “So I guess you’re meeting up with him?”

  “We’re having lunch.”

  “Well have fun with that. I’d tell you to say hi for me if he knew you and I were still speaking. Or, y’know, if he actually cared.”

  “I’m pretty sure he does, sis. Care, I mean.”

  “Chris,” Ron said in a tone that said she was tired of explaining, “you and I may share the same biological father, but that doesn’t change the fact that the dad you have is a very different person than the dad I had.” Before Chris could say anything to that, Ron got to her feet. “Anyway, I should get upstairs. Joe’s conked out and I’m ready to join him. Enjoy your lunch.” And then she was gone.

  Chris sat there a bit longer, thinking over their conversation and her breakfast with Derek. Not to mention their sort-of date the night before.

  Her thoughts kept returning to that almost kiss. Specifically how she had gone from wanting it to realizing it was about to happen to being utterly terrified of it all in the space of about half a second.

  The memory of how he’d looked, the disappointment and embarrassment on his face after she’d dodged him, made her stomach contract like a fist. The message he’d taken away wasn’t necessarily the one she’d meant to send. Still, she couldn’t let go of the conviction that it was for the best if he believed she wasn’t interested.

  Now, if she could only convince herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  The station was as busy as ever. If Derek had any lingering hopes that news of his kerfuffle hadn’t yet made it that far, they were quickly laid to rest when he walked into the news room and everyone stopped to stare. Gary, the weekend anchor, nodded to him as they passed each other on the way to Derek’s desk. “You’ll have to help me work on my right cross sometime,” he joked, holding his fists up to his face.

  Derek forced a polite smile as he hurried past Gary to the refuge of his desk. Once there, he docked his laptop and logged into the station’s file system. He could have accessed it remotely from home, and his coworkers were making him wish that he had. But he wanted to make hard copies of everything they had on Jimmy’s murder, and that would use a substantial amount of paper.

  Derek and Jimmy’s dad had been the head football coach of an A-1 champion team, and Jimmy had been the quarterback and team captain. High school football was serious business around those parts, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that Jimmy’s murder had gotten a lot of air time in the weeks and months that followed.

  Derek pulled up every story related to Jimmy and set to printing off the transcripts. Not every segment had been transcribed, though. Normally, he’d e-mail the archive manager to request a DVD copy of those stories, but he had Sunday off. Derek would have to make his own copies.

  He retrieved his print-outs from the laser printer, managing to avoid any awkward conversations as he did so, and made sure they were safely stashed in his computer case before making his way to the physical archives.

  It didn’t take him long to find the clips he wanted, but they were on VHS. He could either watch them on the station’s old VCR or he could transfer them to DVD to watch at his own convenience, away from prying eyes. He preferred option two. Trouble was, he didn’t know how the transfer equipment worked.

  He stood there, staring at it, trying to decide if he could figure it out on his own, when a familiar voice said, “There you are.”

  Derek looked up to see his producer, Brian Francis, rounding a bank of filing cabinets. “Hey. Do you know how to work this thing?”

  Brian came over and glanced at the equipment. “Of course. Why?”

  “I need these on DVD.” Derek held up the VHS tapes. “Would you mind?”

  “Are these for your latest story?”

  “Not exactly, but I wanted to talk to you about that. I wasn’t happy with last week’s segment.”

  Brian frowned. His dark brows drew together. “Why? It turned out great.”

  “It was wrong,” said Derek. “We didn’t have any justification for going after Christine Wilson like that. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “And we didn’t say that she has. Don’t worry, we ran everything by legal before it aired.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. We might not have accused her in so many words, but we didn’t paint her in the most positive light either. I want to include a correction in my next segment.”

  Brian only looked more confused. “Based on what? The woman claims to talk to dead people. Do you have some kind of evidence that she’s not lying about that?”

  Derek opened his mouth to say that yes, as a matter of fact, he did, but the words died on his lips as he realized how crazy he would sound. His career with this station was hanging by a thread as it was. Instead, he said, “We don’t have any evidence that she is lying. That’s the point.”

  Brian sighed. “Okay, well, we’ll have to run it by the boss. Which you can do right now. I actually tracked you down because he wants to see you in his office.”

  Derek grimaced and suppressed a sigh. Here was the sword that would likely cut that thread. “Can you do me a favor and copy those while I’m in there?”

  Brian gave him a sympathetic smile and refrained from pointing out that Derek’s access to the tapes was likely about to be revoked. “Sure thing. I’ll leave them on your desk.”

  “Thanks,” said Derek. Then he did sigh as he went to face the music.

  Mark Mattingly was about as much of a polar opposite of Lou Grant as you could get. A trim forty-something with a full head of thick, iron-gray hair and a golf-course tan, he didn’t shout when Derek entered his office and closed the door. He didn’t say anything, in fact. He simply turned his computer monitor toward Derek to reveal the YouTube page that featured the incriminating video, quirked an eyebrow at Derek, leaned back, and waited.

  Derek took a moment to collect himself and ascertain just how angry the station manager was. Mark was dressed in golf clothes and the distinct scent of sunscreen filled the office.

  Either he had stopped by the station on the way to the course—in which case he’d be impatient to get this out of the way and get out of here—or someone had called him on the course to let him know Derek had come in, interrupting his game to deal with this situation. In which case he would be supremely annoyed on top of angry.

  Neither case boded well for Derek, so he might as well be honest. “The guy insulted my date.”

  Mark’s other eyebrow rose to match the first. “Your date?” He peered around the monitor and pointed at Chris. “You mean this woman?”

  “Yes. Although to be truthful, she would object to my calling her my date.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Mark leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Because I’m sure you realize that it wouldn’t lo
ok good if our consumer affairs reporter was seen canoodling with the subject of his own consumer fraud investigation.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that. She wasn’t actually under investigation, and we never found any evidence that she’s dealt fraudulently with anyone.”

  “That’s not how your Friday night report made it sound.”

  “My point exactly. I think my next segment should start with a clarification. Or maybe I could spend a week shadowing Christine, take an in-depth look at how she operates.”

  His boss’s animated brow twisted and furrowed. He sat up straight, placed his hands flat on his desk, and took a breath. “Listen, Derek, I noticed you’ve got about three week’s worth of unused vacation time stored up. I think you should use it. Starting now.”

  “Mark, come on. At least let me—”

  “The only reason I’m not suspending you without pay is that I spoke with your attorney…”

  Derek frowned. My attorney?

  “…and it seems you’ve got friends in high places. They apparently convinced your assault victim to drop criminal charges, and they convinced the station owners that you deserve another chance.” He slumped back in his chair. “Maybe by the time your vacation’s over, this whole thing”—he waved a hand at the video—”will have blown over.”

  Derek realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. Then he opened it again to say thank you. “But can I just—”

  “You can just get out of my station. Use the next few weeks to take some anger management classes, or maybe enroll in a boxing gym to release all that pent-up aggression.” He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Derek. “And stay away from that Wilson woman. It looks bad and that makes this station look bad.”

  Derek opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. Besides, who he decided to spend time with in his personal life wasn’t Mark Mattingly’s, Channel 24’s, or anyone else’s business. Instead he nodded. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Mark simply waved a hand as if to shoo him away, then flipped his monitor back around and pointedly turned his attention to the screen. Derek took the hint and slunk out of his office.