Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  Chris tossed her notebook back on the table and slumped in her chair. Ron was right. Of course she still wanted to see Jimmy move on and find peace, but more than that, she wanted Derek to find peace. To finally be able to put all of this behind him. And to be safe.

  “What if the bad guy wins, Ron? What if something happens to Derek? What if—” She stopped and swiped at a tear that escaped to trail down her cheek. “I don’t want to be part of his unfinished business. I don’t want to have to help his ghost move on.” She sniffed and looked up at the ceiling. “And I don’t want him to be mine, either.”

  “Then maybe you should tell him that while there’s still time for you both to finish your own business.”

  Once again, her sister was right. It might be crazy. She’d only really known Derek such a short time, despite their history. But in that time, she’d gotten to know what kind of man he was. Not just smart and funny and sexy, although those descriptions definitely applied. But also determined. Courageous. Ready to do the right thing.

  In spite of their shaky beginnings, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Not the way the others had, at least. He wouldn’t abandon her when things got weird or scary. Heck, things really couldn’t get much weirder or scarier than they already had.

  She was ready to trust him. He should know that. He should hear it from her. The sooner the better.

  “He’s not home right now,” she told Ron. “He was going up to the lake to meet with the original detective on Jimmy’s case.”

  “How long do you think that will take?”

  Chris shrugged, wincing at the pain it caused. “I don’t know. About an hour to drive up to the lake, an hour for the meeting, and another hour getting back?” She looked over at the microwave clock. “I guess he should be home in about an hour.”

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  Chris tested her shoulder, gritting her teeth against the pain. “It’s sore, but the pain isn’t knocking me out. Besides, I’ve still got one good arm. I think I can manage it.”

  “Then I guess you should get upstairs and spend the next hour making yourself pretty for the man you love.”

  Chris grinned in spite of herself, even as she felt her cheeks warm. The man she loved. Her heart knew it was true, even if she couldn’t bring herself to say so out loud. She closed her laptop and stood up but paused to look down at her sister. “I’m glad you’re haunting me, Ronnie.”

  Ron grinned up at her. “That’s good, kid, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”

  Frank Burnette left the force and retired to a cabin on Grand Lake, where he spent most of his days fishing for catfish and lake bass. Apparently, he wasn’t about to alter that habit simply because Derek had some questions for him. Derek found the former detective standing knee-deep in hip-waders, gripping a pole and staring serenely out at the still, blue water.

  “Excuse me, Detective Burnette?” Derek called as he approached the shoreline. “My name’s Derek Brandt. I don’t know if you remember me—”

  “Quiet, boy, you’ll spook the fish. I can hear you fine. No need to shout.” He looked back over his shoulder and gave Derek a once-over before turning back to the fish. “I know who you are. Channel 24, right? You here for a story?”

  “Actually, no. You were the lead detective on my brother’s case, and I was hoping you could answer a few questions.”

  “Your brother, eh?” He glanced back at Derek, and light appeared to dawn. “Oh, right, right. The football star. They still haven’t solved that?”

  “No, they haven’t.”

  “Not surprised. It was old news by the time Hanson took it over. Not flashy enough for him. He likes the cases that’ll get his name in the papers.” He reeled in his line. Casting it back out, without turning around, he asked, “What can I do for you, son?”

  “Can we go somewhere and talk? I can buy you a coffee—”

  “We can talk here. The fish are biting today, as you can see.” He turned and jerked his chin toward a Styrofoam cooler.

  Derek went over and lifted the lid to see two decent-sized catfish inside. “Okay. I was wondering what you might be able to tell me about Scott Tucker.”

  The old detective looked back at Derek and frowned as if in deep thought. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “He went to high school with my brother. He was the team manager. A witness came forward and placed him at the scene the night my brother was shot.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I got a look at the cold case file recently and found some of your old notes. On one sheet you had written the name Scott, then scratched it out. Were you investigating him?”

  “I already told you, I don’t remember anyone named Scott.” Something tugged on his line. “Make yourself useful and hand me that net.”

  Derek looked down at the cooler and saw a large net with a handle on the ground beside it. Then he looked at his jeans and Converse sneakers. “I’m not exactly dressed for—”

  “Hurry, boy!” Burnette was too busy reeling in his catch to pay attention to anything Derek said. “We don’t have all day here!”

  With a sigh, Derek kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and quickly rolled up his jeans before grabbing the net and wading in, wincing as he stepped along the rocky lake bottom. He reached the detective just as he yanked a thrashing white bass out of the water. The thing looked like it weighed at least a dozen pounds.

  “Hold that net steady.” Derek obeyed as the fisherman wrestled the fish expertly into the net. Laughing victoriously, the detective swapped Derek his pole for the net and carried it back to the cooler to deposit his prize. Derek followed him unsteadily back to the shore.

  Burnette peered into the cooler. “Looks like I’m runnin’ out of room. Guess I’d better call it a day.” He closed the lid and nodded toward the road where Derek had parked his rental car. “My cabin’s just down the road a bit. Help me get this stuff back.”

  He secured his fishing pole and closed up his tackle box. Taking them both along with the net, he started walking. Derek stared at the old man’s back in disbelief. Defeated, he slipped his wet feet into his shoes, picked up the cooler with a grunt—the thing weighed at least forty pounds—and followed.

  The detective’s cabin sat about a quarter-mile from the fishing spot, hidden around a bend in the road. “You can set that down there.”

  Burnette motioned toward an industrial-sized stainless steel sink that had been rigged up next to a metal folding table in the yard. As Derek dropped off the cooler, the detective deposited his gear in a little shed. Then he headed for the cabin’s front porch. “Come on in, son. I don’t drink coffee these days, but I can offer you a glass of lemonade. It’s the pink stuff, out of a can. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “That sounds great.” Derek followed him inside. The rustic cabin was small but cozy, with everything a retired bachelor needed to be comfortable in a single room.

  “Have a seat, then.” Burnette pointed Derek to a small dinette table for two. Derek settled himself on one of the stools and waited while the detective got out a pair of Mason jars and produced a pitcher of pink lemonade from a mini-fridge. He filled both jars and brought them over, setting one before Derek before taking a long drink from his own.

  Burnette drained half the glass and sighed with satisfaction. “Nothing beats a cold glass of lemonade after a successful day of fishing.”

  Derek smiled and sipped his own drink. “No, I suppose not.”

  Burnette set his glass down and settled on the other stool. “Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t recall anything about a Scott being part of my investigation.”

  “Are you sure? He went by Scottie back then. Scottie Tucker.” Derek pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “I have a copy of your notes right here.” He unfolded the paper, slid it across the table, and pointed at the word in question. “You wrote the name here. See?”

  “Nope. Hold on a sec’.” The old man got up and went over to a small bed tuc
ked into one corner of the room. A wall shelf over the bed functioned as a nightstand, from which he retrieved a pair of reading glasses. He put them on as he returned to the table. He sat down and picked up the paper, studying it closely. “This is a list of possible motives, not persons of interest.” He pointed at the scribble. “This says ‘scout,’ not ‘Scott.’”

  “Scout?” Derek took back the paper and squinted at the squirrely handwriting. “Are you sure?”

  “’Course I am.”

  Derek vaguely recalled Chris suggesting the same possibility. “But what does that mean?”

  “Talent scout. Some hotshot college recruiter was supposed to be at your brother’s next game. Didn’t your father ever tell you?”

  Derek lowered the paper and looked at him in amazement. “No. He didn’t.”

  “Huh. Well, I remember he told me he was keeping it a secret from your brother. Didn’t want him getting nervous before the big game. He kept it under wraps from everyone he knew. I remember it struck me as a possible motive, but something can’t motivate someone to kill if nobody knows about it.”

  “No, I guess not.” Derek’s mind started reeling, putting the pieces he already had together around this new piece. “But what if somebody did know?”

  “Your father insisted he never told anybody.”

  “Maybe so, but what if somebody found out anyway?”

  “Well then, I’d ask who stood the most to gain from getting the star quarterback out of the way.” Burnette took another drink of his lemonade before jerking his chin toward the paper. “You going to take this to Detective Hanson?”

  “I suppose I should. If he’ll listen. Of course, he’ll want to know where I got it. He wasn’t exactly cooperative when I asked to see it.”

  Burnette grunted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Far be it from me to disparage another cop, but be on your guard with him, son. He’s ambitious, that one. And not in the good way.”

  Derek nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Burnette stood up and carried his empty jar to the sink. “Was there anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Is there a way to reach you if something else comes up?” Derek looked around and didn’t see a phone or computer.

  “My daughter made me get one of those pay-as-you-go phones for emergencies, but I keep it turned off. I get up to the library and check my e-mail about once a week. That’d be your best bet.”

  “I guess that’ll have to do.” Derek took a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote down the old man’s e-mail address on the sheet of paper. He folded it and put it back in his pocket. “Thanks for your time, Detective. You’ve been a big help.” He got up to go.

  “You’re welcome to stick around if you’d like. I’m about to fry up a mess of fresh fish.”

  Derek smiled. “That sounds delicious, but I need to get back.”

  “Suit yourself, then.” The old man saw him to the door. “You mind what I said about Hanson.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Derek paused to sit on the porch steps and put his socks back on before making the short trek back to his car.

  His mind raced through memories as he walked. There had been no talent scout at that week’s game. There had been no game. The school had canceled it and instead, held a big memorial service that night.

  But a recruiter had shown up eventually, and someone did benefit from it. Someone who went on to have a solid career with the NFL before returning home to start a business and become an important member of the community. Someone who was the right size to match the description of the shooter.

  Someone who was supposed to have loved Jimmy like a brother.

  By the time Derek reached the car, his heart felt heavy and his stomach felt sick. He’d set out to bring Jimmy justice and help him find peace. But instead, all he was about to do was break his brother’s heart.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “No.”

  “Jimmy—”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  Derek sighed. He sat on the edge of the couch, looking at the box on the coffee table and wishing he could see his brother’s face so he could look him in the eye. “There’s no one else who fits the description. He had motive—”

  “We didn’t even know a scout would be there!”

  “You didn’t. But what’s to say Steve didn’t catch wind of it somehow?”

  “He would’ve told me.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he decided it was his chance to come out from under your shadow. That maybe all his dreams could come true with the star quarterback out of the way to let him shine. And that’s exactly what happened.”

  “It wasn’t him,” Jimmy insisted. “I would’ve known him. I’d have recognized his voice.”

  Derek threw his hands up in frustration. “He could have disguised his voice. Just like he hid his face.” The ghost box fell silent. Derek stared at it a moment, then glanced around the room. “Jimmy?”

  “I’m here.” The box’s voice mashup somehow managed to sound sullen. “You don’t even know where he was that night. Maybe he has an alibi.”

  “The police will check that out when they question him.”

  “You’re going to call the police?”

  Again, Derek sighed. “Not until I’ve talked to Uncle Jim. He’s on his way over. Maybe he can supply an alibi for Steve.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Steve? He’s the one you’re accusing.”

  “Jimmy, listen to me. Somebody already deliberately crashed into us and put Chris in the hospital. If that was Steve, do you really think it’s a good idea to tip him off that I suspect him?” Derek thought about their meeting the night before and let out a bitter laugh. “And he acted so surprised and concerned when I told him what happened. He even called me brother.”

  “Maybe that’s because he was surprised. Because he’s innocent.”

  “Maybe,” Derek conceded. He shook his head. “But the pieces fit.”

  “Only because you want them to. Look, Derek, if finding out my best friend is the one who killed me…if that’s what it takes for me to move on, then maybe I’m better off staying right here.”

  “Do you really mean that?” Again, the box was silent. “Jimmy, I know you—” The doorbell rang, cutting him off. He stood up with a sigh. “That’s Uncle Jim. Maybe we can get this all cleared up. If it turns out I’m wrong, you can feel free to call me an idiot.”

  “I already do.”

  Derek paused on his way to the door, then decided to let that remark go as he went to answer it. Peeking through the front window, he was surprised to see Chris on his front stoop instead of Uncle Jim. He frowned. She was supposed to be home resting. And safe.

  “Hey,” she said when he opened the door. She sounded a little breathless, like she was over-exerting herself.

  “What are you doing here?” She seemed taken aback by the question. He realized how brusque he’d sounded. “Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “It’s a bad time. But shouldn’t you be resting? Are you even okay to drive?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve had more rest than I can stand. I was hoping we could talk, but if it’s not a good time—”

  “It’s really not. I wish you’d called. I would’ve told you not to bother coming over.” Her face fell, and he felt like a jerk. “I didn’t mean—”

  She ignored him, looking past him into the house. “What’s wrong?” Before he could answer, she pushed her way in and went over to the sofa, focusing on a spot on one end. “Jimmy, are you okay?”

  “No,” said the box. “Derek’s right. It’s not a good time.”

  Chris glanced back at Derek. “What’s going on?”

  He shut the door and joined her in the living room. She kept her focus on Jimmy as Derek explained the results of his meeting with the retired detective. When he was done, she sank onto the recliner’s footstool and leaned toward Jimmy. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he told her. “Derek’s wrong.”

  She look
ed up at him. He let out a frustrated groan and headed toward the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. Once there was a little distance between them and Jimmy, he said, “You’re right. We need to talk.”

  Chris looked surprised, then nervous. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, I wanted to tell you—”

  He held up a hand to cut her off. “I’m sorry, but I think I should go first. I’ve had time to do some thinking since this morning.”

  Her brow furrowed, her face a mix of hope and worry. “Yeah?”

  Derek shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I think we should slow things down for now.”

  She stood there a moment. Then she put her hand on her stomach. “Oh.” Suddenly, a bitter-sounding laugh erupted from her throat. “Of course.”

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not because—” The doorbell rang again. Derek swore. “That’s Uncle Jim. I have to answer this. But Chris…” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look into her eyes. “It’s not what you’re thinking, okay? I don’t want you involved in this. I have some things I need to take care of, and I promise, when it’s all done I’ll call you. Then we can really talk.”

  Something seemed to dawn for her. “Wait. Are you protecting me?”

  “Just go home, okay?”

  “Wow. So that’s how that feels.” She shook her head and scoffed. “What is with everyone suddenly treating me like I’m made of porcelain?”

  Derek let go of her and stepped back. “Just go home.” He went to open the door.

  He found Jim standing there with his arm poised to knock. “There you are. Thought maybe your doorbell was busted.”

  “It’s fine. I was just a little hung up. Come in.” Derek stood out of the way and let Jim enter just as Chris reached the door to leave. Jim smiled at her. “Hello there. Jim Lansing. And you are?”

  “Apparently nobody important.” She shot a withering look at Derek, who sighed.

  “Jim, this is Christine Wilson. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to meet her properly soon, but she was just leaving.”