Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  “No. Totally the opposite.”

  Derek reached back for his beer and leaned back against the couch. “What was your mom like?”

  Chris also leaned back. “She was a lot like Ron, actually, though I suppose that doesn’t tell you a lot. She was pretty and blonde. Witty. Didn’t put up with nonsense.” She shrugged. “I don’t actually remember her as well as I’d like to.”

  “I’m sorry. At least Jimmy and I both got to have most of our teens with our dad.” He glanced at the ghost box. “Speaking of which, Jimmy, you sure are quiet. Everything okay?”

  “Actually, he went to bed.”

  “He did? When?”

  She pointed to the bottle in his hand. “While you were up getting that.”

  He looked at it and frowned. “And your sister and Joe?”

  “They took off while you were ordering lunch. I thought you knew.”

  “Huh. I just thought they were all absorbed in their reading. So that means we’re alone?”

  “Yep. Doesn’t really happen very often these days.”

  Derek looked at Chris as though he was trying to decide something. Then, resolutely, he set his beer aside. “We should probably call it a day.”

  “What? Why? It’s still early and we’re just getting started.”

  “Yeah, but you should probably go.”

  Her stomach dropped so fast she winced. She was actually surprised by just how much his casual dismissal hurt. “Oh,” she said. “Okay, then.” She started to get up, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  “You should go. Because if you stay, I’m going to kiss you.”

  “Oh.” As she stared at him, that pit in her stomach started to fill back in with a heat that spread through her center and caused her heart to jackhammer. He was right. She should go. So why wasn’t she getting up?

  “I guess I should probably stay then,” she heard herself say.

  Derek hesitated. “You mean go.”

  She licked her lips and nodded. Then she said, “I mean this.” And then her hands were on his face, pulling him closer. His lips were firm and soft at the same time and tasted like beer and a little like soy sauce. She pushed him back and stared at him, panting.

  He was also panting. He looked at her with confusion and irritation. “What?”

  “I have Chinese food breath.”

  He gave his head a little shake, his brow knit in confusion. “So do I. Who cares?”

  Chris grinned. “Okay, good.” She dove back in for more. Derek met her halfway, and what started as tentative and soft quickly turned hungry as desire overrode fear. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into his lap. Fingers tangled in her hair, pressing her closer as they both poured everything they’d held back into the kiss.

  The sound of a throat clearing simultaneously came from the ghost box and somewhere behind Chris. Reluctantly, still breathing heavily, she and Derek broke it off and looked around. Ron stood next to the relocated coffee table, cringing. “I’m so sorry!”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Who is it?” asked Derek.

  “My sister. Who should be really glad right now that she’s already too dead for me to kill.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” said Ron. “But I thought you guys would want to know what I found.”

  Chris and Derek exchanged a look that was a mix of disappointment and resignation. She untangled herself from him and he helped her stand before getting to his feet. “What is it?” he asked.

  Ron held up a sticky note she’d brought with her. “Scottie’s mother’s address.” It was disconcerting how good she was getting at that sort of thing, but not as disconcerting as Derek’s mild reaction to the sight of a sticky note floating in mid-air. A slight wrinkle of his brow was the only thing that signified this was something out of the ordinary for him.

  Chris swiped it from her. “How did you get that? I thought you were going to be camped out by the answering machine.”

  “Which is next to the computer.” Ron spoke as though she were addressing a slow child. “And nobody has better Google-fu than me.”

  Derek took the Post-It and studied the address. “This is actually not that far from here. Makes sense,” he added, handing it back. “He would’ve been in the same school district as me and Jimmy.”

  “So when do you want to go?” asked Ron.

  “I guess I need to try to find a phone number,” said Chris, “then find out when she’s home.”

  “She’s home now,” said Ron.

  Chris leveled a look at her. “And you know this how?” When Ron merely pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor, Chris rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you went over there already.”

  “I was bored,” she said. “Joe’s asleep and you guys were over here ‘eating lunch.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “So I thought I’d be proactive.”

  “That’s the same kind of proactive thinking that got you killed.”

  “Well, that can’t happen again, now can it? So what say we head on over there?”

  “What say we not spring this on a grieving mother and call ahead first?”

  Ron sighed. “I knew you’d say that. Here.” She produced another sticky. From where, Chris had no idea.

  “What’s this?”

  “Her phone number.”

  Chris looked at Derek for support, but instead, he took the number from Ron. “If she’s willing to meet with us this afternoon, I don’t see any point in dragging this out. I’ll make the call.” He looked at Chris. “Okay?”

  Relief warred with her annoyance at Ron. Part of her reluctance was the fact that she hated cold calling people for stuff like this. Showing up at their doors unannounced was even worse. If Derek was willing to do the hard part for her, she couldn’t really think of any other objections. “Okay.”

  He went to make the call. As soon as his back was turned, Ron broke out with a huge knowing grin. “So.”

  Chris rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

  Ron moved closer and nudged her with an elbow. “Not gonna lie, sis. That looked hot.”

  “Stop.”

  “So what happened to rejecting him for his own good?”

  “I don’t know.” Chris kept her voice low. “It kind of just happened. I didn’t really think it through.”

  “See how good things happen when you stop thinking too much?”

  “Disastrous things can happen, too,” she muttered, then signaled Ron to stop talking as Derek disconnected his phone and returned.

  “She said she’d be happy to talk to us. We can head over there any time.”

  “Well then,” said Chris. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Scottie’s mother looked the same as when Ron had peeked in on her earlier. A frail-looking woman in her mid-fifties, she was wrapped in a cardigan despite it being a warm day. A wide headband kept auburn hair streaked with white strands out of her face. She didn’t wear any makeup. She struck Ron as the sort who used to, but had given up at some point when looks stopped being a priority.

  Smiling warmly, she held the door open and invited Chris and Derek in for some tea.

  Ron slipped in behind them and followed them to the living room. The house was a typical ranch-style, much like Derek’s, probably built in the 1970s. It looked perfectly suburban, the kind of place where you’d settle down to raise kids and not have them turn out to be junkies or accessories to murder.

  While the living made polite small talk, Ron worked her way around the room. Knickknacks covered just about every available surface. A knitting basket sat tucked neatly into one corner, next to a recliner that faced a flat-screen TV. Ron sighed at the sight of all that yarn. She’d always meant to learn knitting someday, back before she’d run out of days.

  She wondered idly how much energy it would take to work a pair of knitting needles long enough to actually make something in her current state.

  Somewhere, presumably the kit
chen, a tea kettle blew its whistle. Mrs. Tucker excused herself. As soon as she left the room, Chris turned toward Ron. “What are you doing?”

  Ron shrugged. “Investigating.”

  “I doubt you’ll find Scottie Tucker in the knitting basket.”

  “I’m just trying to get a feel for this guy. Something that will let me get through to him so he’ll talk to me. I’ll go explore the rest of the house.”

  Chris looked like she wanted to argue, but Mrs. Tucker was already coming back in, carrying a tea tray. Ron left them to it and headed toward a hallway, passing the fireplace as she went. She spotted a blown-up, framed version of Scottie’s yearbook portrait sitting on the mantel. Candles surrounded it, making it look like a small shrine. Clearly, Scottie’s mother loved him dearly, despite his terrible life choices. He must have broken that poor woman’s heart.

  Down the hall, the first door Ron looked behind led to the bathroom. Across from that she found what was clearly a teen boy’s bedroom—or at least had been at one point. A twin-sized bed covered with a patchwork crazy quilt took up the middle of the room. On the wall above the headboard hung a poster from a POD concert. Football memorabilia decorated the rest of the room. Scottie had apparently been a fan of both the OU Sooners and the Dallas Cowboys.

  Ron spotted another framed portrait perched on top of a chest-of-drawers on the other side of the room. She moved closer and found a picture of a much younger Scottie, pimpled and brace-faced, wearing a marching band uniform and holding a trumpet. He looked happy. Ron wondered how his life had gone so far off the rails.

  “What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked. Ron spun to see Scottie himself standing next to his bed.

  “Looking for you.” She managed to sound more calm than she felt.

  “Why? I told you, I ain’t got nothing to say. How did you even find me?”

  Ron held out her hands. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot last night. My name is Ron. I know yours is Scottie.”

  “Scott,” he corrected her. “Nobody’s called me Scottie in a long time.” He scratched his head and added, “Nobody’s called me anything in a long time.”

  “Okay, Scott. I know you went to school with Jimmy. He’s a friend of mine. He recognized your description. He knows you were there that night.” When he didn’t say anything, Ron pressed on. “We also know that you didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t supposed to be a gun, man.”

  “What was supposed to happen?”

  Scott looked like he wanted to speak, but then he screwed up his face and shook his head. “No. Forget it. I’m not talking. You need to leave.” He got up and took a step toward her. He seemed a lot stronger here, in his own room, than he had at the jail.

  Ron took a step back and found herself in the middle of the chest-of-drawers. She moved beside it. “Just tell us who was with you that night,” she pleaded. “Tell me, so Jimmy can rest. So both of you can finally rest.”

  “No. Get out.”

  “Jimmy’s trapped here until his killer is brought to justice. And I’m thinking you are, too.”

  “I said get out!” He flew at Ron, but she was faster. He ran into the chest and knocked over the photo along with a couple of trophies. They fell with a loud crash. Scott looked surprised. He spun toward Ron. “Look what you made me do!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, backing toward the door. She was about to pop herself back to the living room when she heard footsteps—several of them—rushing down the hall. The door swung open and Mrs. Tucker came in, followed by Chris and Derek. Chris’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Scott. She looked at Ron and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Ron told her.

  “What in the world?” Mrs. Tucker exclaimed as she took in the mess. She hurried over to pick up the trophies.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Scott wailed. “I’m so sorry.” He whirled on Ron. “See? This is your fault!”

  “I don’t know what could have done this,” Mrs. Tucker said as she picked up the picture, careful of the broken shards of glass that fell out of the frame. She held the picture and stared at it tenderly, her lower lip starting to tremble.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” Scott said again. He glanced over at Chris. “You. I saw you talk to her. Can you see me?”

  Chris nodded.

  “I want you to tell her something for me.”

  Before she could answer, Ron cut in. “We’ll tell her anything you want as soon as you tell us who shot Jimmy.” Chris gave Ron a disapproving look, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she went to help Scott’s mom pick up the broken glass.

  “It must’ve been one of those dad gum earthquakes we’ve been having. Did you feel anything?”

  “No.” Chris looked at Derek, who watched with a look of confusion. “Did you?”

  “No, I didn’t feel anything.”

  “I don’t know what else it could have been,” said Mrs. Tucker.

  Scott let out a groan. “Come on, man. You have to tell her for me.”

  “Not until you tell us who killed Jimmy,” said Ron. “Scott, you have nothing to lose here, and everything to gain.”

  His hands gripped the sides of his head and he let out a moan. “You don’t get it,” he said. “He’ll hurt her.”

  Ron glanced at his mom. “We won’t let that happen.”

  “Like you could stop it. You just need to go.”

  “Scott—”

  “Just go!” His scream rattled the window. His mom looked up from his picture.

  “There’s another one,” she said. “I think I felt it that time.”

  Ron exchanged a glance with Chris, who laid her pieces of glass on top of the chest. “I think we should get out of your hair,” she told Mrs. Tucker. “Thank you so much for talking to us.”

  “Of course,” she said distractedly. Then she looked at Derek and smiled. “I hope I helped. I remember your brother. Scottie really looked up to him.”

  Ron looked over at Scott, but he had his face buried in his hands. Derek smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Tucker. You’ve been a big help. We can show ourselves out.”

  She nodded and waved after them as Derek put a hand on Chris’s waist and guided her out of the room. Ron watched them go before turning back to Scott. “This is your last chance.”

  He uncovered his face and looked at her with murderous intent. The fact that she’d already been murdered once didn’t do much to keep her from feeling threatened.

  Without another word, she popped out to the front yard, where Chris and Derek were just coming out the door. Chris spotted her and hurried over. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just wish I’d been able to get something out of him.”

  “Did you know he’d be there?” Chris sounded angry and shaken up.

  “I swear, I had no idea. There was no sign of him when I peeked in earlier.”

  Derek caught up to Chris and looked around. Whether he was trying to figure out where Ron was or to see if any onlookers were watching Chris talk to thin air was anybody’s guess. “What exactly happened back there?” he asked.

  “Scott was there. He wanted us to leave.”

  Derek seemed to take this in stride. He blew out a breath. “Did you get any information from him?”

  “No,” said Chris. “Apparently, he was as stubborn as ever.”

  “What did you guys get from his mom?” asked Ron.

  Chris shrugged. “Not much. A few names of people he hung around with. Maybe that’ll lead to something.”

  “It’s more than we had an hour ago,” Derek pointed out. He glanced back at the house. “So that was him who knocked that stuff over?”

  “Yep,” said Ron, and Chris nodded.

  “Could he have hurt us?”

  Hugging herself, Chris cast an irritated glance at Ron. “It was possible.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ron. “I told you, I had no idea that would happen. He wasn’t ne
arly that strong last night. It seems like being home made him stronger. And angrier.”

  “You had no idea Sarah would happen, either.”

  Ron sighed and fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Clearly, Chris would never let that go. But if their situations were reversed, Ron wouldn’t either. “You guys should get out of here.”

  “What about you? You’re not going back in there.”

  “No, I’m going home. Joe’s probably waking up, and he’ll wonder where I went.” She grimaced. “He’s not going to like it when I tell him what happened.”

  “Okay, then,” said Chris. “I’ll see you at home later.” She glanced at Derek. “Let’s go.”

  Ron watched as they headed down the front walk and turned in the direction of Derek’s car. She felt bad for scaring Chris like that. She felt even worse knowing that their brush with Scottie’s dark side—if that kid even had a light side—would likely cause her to have second thoughts about letting Derek get close. Nothing Ron could do about that at the moment, though.

  With one look back at the house, she took a deep breath and went home to face the music.

  They walked to the car in silence. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, Christine kept her distance. Derek could sense her pulling away emotionally as much as physically, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know if he should do something. Or say something.

  The taste and feel of her still lingered on his lips, driving him crazy. He wanted to stop right there in the middle of the sidewalk and kiss her again, right there in front of God and everybody, but her sudden skittishness reined him in.

  It reminded him of all the times he’d tried to sneak up on a rabbit in the back yard when he was a kid, how it would hold so still that you just knew it would let you touch it this time, only to spring away when you were almost in reach. He feared a wrong move might cause her to bolt.

  Still, she looked pretty shaken up. The longer he stayed silent, the more he felt like a jerk. They were still a little way off from where he’d parked the car when he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine. It just got pretty intense back there.”

  “I noticed.”