Find Her Alive

by Regan, Lisa

  Trinity smiled and waved a hand as if in dismissal. “Oh, it is wonderful. I’m just saying, a young woman that smart and talented could have just chosen her top pick and applied there, rather than spending all that money on application fees for twenty-one schools she’s not going to attend. How much are application fees these days? They were very expensive when I went to college. I can only imagine how much they’ve increased.”

  A few painful seconds of dead air followed. Then Hayden cleared his throat and began to read from the teleprompter. “Up next, we’ll check in with our meteorologist for an update on the weather.”

  Josie reached across Trinity and moved the cursor to pause the clip. “You need to let this go,” she said.

  “Let it go?” Trinity said. “That comment is going to cost me my career.” She stood, her chair scraping across the tiles of the kitchen. Pacing, she went on. “I can’t believe it. One stupid comment and my life is over.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Josie said. “What you said—it wasn’t even that terrible. I’ve heard news anchors say some pretty inappropriate things. Comments that were racist or mean-spirited. What you said wasn’t even offensive.”

  Trinity stopped and stared at Josie. “Not offensive? Do you have any idea the backlash that the network got for what I said? I even apologized on air and issued a statement, and people are still enraged.”

  “It will blow over,” Josie said. “It was two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks is the longest I’ve been off the air since I became co-anchor, Josie. I’m out. Hayden told me. Barring a miracle, the network is going to replace me. They’re already trying to woo Mila Kates. They’ve been after her for months. Now they have an excuse to get rid of me and offer her some ridiculous amount of money to take my place.” She groaned and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I said that. I can never use the word ridiculous again.”

  Josie sat at the table and sipped her own coffee. “Mila Kates?” she said. “I thought she was on a cable network.”

  “She is,” Trinity answered. “But she had that stalker, don’t you remember? He showed up armed while she was doing a story at a charity benefit for sick kids and threatened to kill everyone if she didn’t leave with him. She defused the situation and calmed him long enough for the police to come and take him down.”

  “Oh yeah,” Josie said. “I remember seeing it on the news. That was months ago.”

  “But it changed everything,” Trinity said. “It was a huge story, and it was her story. That stalker story was for her what the Denton vanishing girls case was to me five years ago. It put me on the map. I got my job because of that story.”

  “And your network sent you here to do a story on the five-year anniversary of when that case broke,” Josie pointed out. “They didn’t fire you.”

  Trinity arched a brow. She waved an arm around the kitchen. “Do you see any producers or camera people here? Yeah, they sent me to do the story. I did the piece and sent it in a week ago. My crew went back to New York City but here I am. They haven’t called me back, and they’re not going to.”

  Josie stopped herself from trying again to convince Trinity that the network would call her back. Her sister was most likely right, and Josie didn’t think that baseless reassurance was going to help. Instead, she said, “Trinity, you can get a job at any network. In just the last five years, you’ve covered some of the biggest cases in the country. You even broke some of them yourself.”

  Trinity pointed a finger at Josie. “No, you broke them. Then I got the story. I don’t have my own story.”

  Now it was Josie’s turn to raise a brow. “I seem to remember both of us being the actual story not so long ago. I did that damn episode of Dateline for you. I didn’t want to, but you insisted.”

  When Josie and Trinity first met, roughly six years ago, Trinity had been a national correspondent for the network. After a source fed her bad information, the network banished her to Denton’s local news station, WYEP, where she worked as a roving reporter. After a year at WYEP, Trinity had been instrumental in helping Josie expose the depravities and the criminals behind the famous Denton missing girls case. That story had propelled Trinity to her current position.

  Back then they hadn’t even known they were related. They’d simply been police officer and reporter—often at odds with one another. In fact, Josie couldn’t stand Trinity; she was ambitious to a fault and always underfoot, sniffing around for the scoop on a big story. Qualities Josie later came to appreciate. Two years after the missing girls’ case, human remains were found behind the trailer park where Josie had grown up. The labyrinthian case surrounding those remains ultimately led the women to find out that they were long-lost sisters. At three weeks old, Josie had been snatched from her family and raised just a few hours away from her twin by an evil and abusive woman. The woman who kidnapped Josie set the Payne family home on fire leading both authorities and the Paynes to believe that Josie had perished in the fire. The reunification of the Payne family after thirty years, together with the fact that Josie and Trinity had not only known one another before finding out they were related, but worked together on high-profile cases, was television gold. With such a scintillating past, and Trinity’s willingness to share it on air, she firmly cemented her place as co-anchor for as long as she chose to hold it.

  Until now.

  “Oh please,” Trinity said. “The news cycle is like twenty seconds now. No one cares about our long-lost twin story anymore.”

  Josie bit back a remark about her using their traumatic history to advance her career. “Trinity, you’re good at what you do. Maybe you won’t stay with this network, but you’ll find a home elsewhere. Things will work out. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yeah, they’ll work out for Mila Kates. I’ll be lucky to get my old job back at WYEP.”

  “Really, Trinity,” Josie said. “You’re overreacting.”

  “Am I?” When Josie didn’t answer, Trinity splayed her fingers across her own chest. “I need something big. Bigger than the missing girls’ case. Bigger than Mila Kates. Not some case you solved that I can piggyback on. I need to get the story myself, and it can’t be just any old story.”

  “I thought there was some rule that journalists should never be the story, anyway,” Josie said.

  Trinity rolled her eyes. “Oh sure. That’s what they teach you in school, but that’s not necessarily true anymore. Look at Mila Kates. Look at that guy who worked for our biggest competitor. He wrote a book on how his own bosses tried to kill one of his stories for a year and now he’s famous.”

  Josie did remember that reporter. “But he was covering something very explosive. It was about sexual harassment in the entertainment industry, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, if he was covering a small-town bake-off, he wouldn’t be famous. He needed a good story.”

  “So do I!” Trinity exclaimed. “I need something that all of the networks would kill for, figuratively, of course. Something no one has ever done. I have to do something. Something really…”

  “Desperate?”

  Trinity glared. “Ambitious. Explosive.”

  Josie didn’t like the sound of it, or the look in Trinity’s eyes. It wasn’t ambition. It was despair.

  “I think your career is going to be fine,” Josie told her. “Your body of work stands.”

  Trinity pointed at her. “You’re wrong. You probably think I’m crazy, but I’m not, Josie. Everything I’ve worked for is in jeopardy.”

  “You made one off-hand comment, Trin. Celebrities have come back from worse.”

  A scratch sounded from the other side of the back door. Trinity reached over and let Trout in. He trotted past her and over to Josie, nudging at her hand for a pet. Josie stroked the soft hair behind his ears.

  Trinity walked back around the table and sat by her laptop. Her fingers worked to bring the clip up once more. As it started to play, Josie reached across her and snapped the lapt
op closed. “Enough,” she said. “Stop obsessing. Go for a run. Take a shower. Do something to clear your head.”

  Trout startled them both with his high-pitched barking. A second later, over the din, they heard the front door open and close. “It’s just me,” Noah called.

  Trout raced into the foyer. Josie heard Noah greet him as the dog’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor. Then Noah appeared in the kitchen, his tousled brown hair sticking up every which way and dark circles gathered beneath his hazel eyes. In his hand he held a small box wrapped in brown paper.

  Glancing at the clock, Josie said, “What are you doing home early? Rough night?”

  Trout danced around between the two of them, letting out small barks until Noah reached down with one hand and petted him again.

  “Gretchen came in early. We had reports of a big off-campus party. Went up there, and the kids scattered. Spent all night rounding up the underage drinkers.”

  Satisfied, Trout went over to the corner of the kitchen where his food and water bowls lived and dragged his empty food bowl over to Josie. Keeping an eye on Noah, Josie said, “Always fun. How many of them are education majors?” She filled Trout’s bowl and set it back down for him.

  Noah smiled. “You mean how many of them begged us not to book them because it would ruin their future teaching careers? Fourteen.”

  Josie shook her head. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the box in Noah’s hands. It was no bigger than his palm.

  He looked down at it and then back up at Josie and Trinity. “It was outside. It’s addressed to Trinity.”

  Trinity held out a hand for the box, and Noah smiled. “Is this your way of telling us you’re moving in? Getting mail here?”

  Trinity pushed her coffee cup aside, setting the parcel down and beginning to unwrap it as she answered. “I’m not getting mail here.”

  Noah said, “That’s the second box this week.”

  “Oh, well, I had my assistant ship me some things from my office. Where was I supposed to have them delivered?”

  There was an edge to her voice. Noah put both his hands in the air. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just messing with you. It’s fine.” Then he grinned and Josie knew his next words were meant to be taken as a joke. “By the way, I love what you’ve done with the guest room...”

  But Trinity wasn’t looking at him. She was looking inside the box. Her face paled. She set it aside and picked up her mug, downing the rest of her coffee.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “I told you. It was outside.”

  “There’s no postage on it,” Trinity said. “Where was it exactly?”

  Josie glanced over Trinity’s shoulder to see that there was indeed no postage, nor was there a return address. “What is it?” Josie asked. “What’s inside?”

  Trinity picked up the box and clutched it to her chest. “Nothing important. I’m just curious because it came with no postage. Where was it, Noah?”

  Noah said, “It was in the mailbox at the end of the driveway. You know, where we normally get our mail?”

  Trinity used her free hand to scoop up her laptop. She looked at Noah, eyes suddenly ablaze. “You have a problem with me staying here?”

  Josie said, “Trin, he was joking.”

  “Was he?” Trinity snapped, turning on Josie. “Why was he snooping in my room?”

  “I wasn’t snooping,” Noah said. “I just happened to walk past the other day when the door was open.”

  Trinity hugged both her laptop and the small box to her. Taking a step toward Noah, she challenged, “You don’t want me here.”

  “That’s not true,” Noah protested.

  A second passed in silence. Trinity stared at him, almost as though she was trying to decide something. She said, “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  “What are you talking about?” Noah said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Josie cringed at his accidentally terrible choice of word, knowing it would send her sister over the edge. Trinity’s cheeks flushed. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. Trying to defuse the situation, Josie said, “Trinity, you know you’re always welcome here. Please—”

  But before she could finish, her sister stormed out of the room. Josie and Noah listened as her feet pounded up the stairs. When the guest room door slammed, Trout looked up from his breakfast, startled. He looked back and forth between them, eyes wary, ears pointed, until Josie said, “It’s okay, boy.”

  Noah held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I really was joking.”

  “I know,” Josie said. “She’s just having a rough time.”

  Noah’s brow furrowed. “Is she going to be okay? She’s kind of all over the place.”

  “You don’t say,” Josie said with a sigh. She glanced at the microwave clock. She would have to start getting ready for work soon. “I’ll go talk to her. Can you take Trout for a walk?”

  Noah followed her into the foyer where he grabbed Trout’s leash, the dog racing after him. Josie walked up the steps, her feet heavy. She had never seen Trinity like this. For a moment, she wondered if she should call their mother, Shannon. She had over three decades’ experience dealing with Trinity – a significant amount more than Josie – and all the ups and downs that life brought. But Trinity hadn’t gone home to their parents’ house to lick her wounds. She’d come to Josie. She heard Trinity moving around inside the guest room as her hand gripped the doorknob.

  “Trinity?”

  She pushed the door, but it didn’t open.

  “Go away,” Trinity yelled.

  Josie pushed at the door again, realizing there was something on the other side that was preventing her from opening it. “Did you block the door?”

  More noises came from the room. The shuffling of papers, the sounds of muted thuds. Was she throwing her clothes around? Finally, the door swung open and Trinity stood before her, face ashen. Her blue eyes were wide with anger and something else. Before Josie could put her finger on it, Trinity said, “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”

  “Trinity, really,” Josie said. “You’re overreacting. You can stay here as long as you want. You know that. Noah was joking.”

  “What is it they say about jokes?” Trinity shot back. “There’s always some truth behind them?”

  Josie opened her mouth to speak again, but the state of the room behind Trinity stopped her cold. Her suitcase lay on the double bed, open, and piled full of clothes and shoes. A letter box sat on the dresser across from the bed, pages spilling out of it. Another letter box lay on its side on the floor, papers and other items—what looked like clothing, jewelry and office supplies bursting out of it. The television that Noah had mounted on the wall over the dresser was covered in colorful Post-it notes. Plastered across the cream-colored walls were papers and photographs. Josie tried to take it all in, but her mind couldn’t process it all at once. She pointed to a series of photos taped to the wall behind Trinity. “Is that a skeleton?”

  Trinity turned away from her and scrambled across the room, tearing the pages from the walls and stuffing them into the letterbox on the dresser. “Never mind,” she told Josie.

  Josie took a step into the room, nearly tripping over a Louis Vuitton stiletto. “This looks like a war room. What is all this?”

  Trinity continued to rip the pages from the walls before Josie could get a read on what they were about. She thought she recognized pages from an autopsy report and some from what looked like a police report. She tried to read some of the words before Trinity snatched them away and stuffed them into the box. The words “psychological profile” flashed before her as Trinity took down the last of them, leaving small flags of torn paper in her path. Next, she went to the television and began to attack the Post-it notes. Josie only had a chance to read a few of the notes before those too were relegated to the overstuffed letter box.

  Symmetry?

  Mirror killings?

  OCD?

  “Trinity,” Josie said. “Wh
at the hell is all this?”

  Trinity slapped the lid onto the box and went to the other box, stuffing its contents back inside before righting it. “I told you. None of your business.”

  “Is this your big story? The story that’s going to get you back in the good graces of the network?”

  Trinity didn’t answer as she scoured the floor for strewn shoes and clothes, tossing them into her suitcase.

  Josie folded her arms across her chest and regarded her sister seriously. “Trinity. This looks like a murder case. Is that what it is? You’re trying to solve a cold case? Why don’t you get some sleep? You need it. You’ve been up all night. When I’ve finished my shift, you can bring your box downstairs and we’ll go through it together.”

  Ignoring her, Trinity stuffed her feet into the Louis Vuitton stilettos and dragged her suitcase off the bed. It hit the floor with a loud thud. Josie stood resolute in the doorway, giving Trinity a once-over. “You’re going out like that? Sweatpants and stilettos? You are still a celebrity, you know. Are you driving back to New York like that?”

  “Not New York. There’s nothing there for me now. It doesn’t matter what I look like or how I dress now. Nothing matters anymore.”

  “Where will you go? Home to Mom and Dad?”

  “Are you crazy? No. I’ll rent a place. Somewhere out of the way. A cabin in the woods or something. I need to be alone.”

  “I don’t think this is the best time for you to be alone,” Josie said. “Please, just stay here, get some sleep, and we’ll figure this out together.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? Everything always works out for you. The great Josie Quinn. I’ll just let her swoop in and fix all my problems.”

  Josie felt as though she had been slapped. “What are you talking about?”

  Trinity pointed a long, manicured nail at her. “You always land on your feet, don’t you? Your whole department was turned upside down and somehow you ended up as chief. Then you lost that position and yet you still ended up with a job. You always solve your cases. You always get your man. It must be nice to be so perfect.”