Medium Chris Wilson is used to the dead, but the living Derek Brandt is her biggest challenge yet. As they hunt for his brother's killer, the wall between skeptic and believer begins to crumble. In a house full of restless spirits, their uneasy alliance might just become the one thing they can't live without.
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“All right, guys, what do we know so far?”
Across the kitchen table, Ron and Joe looked at each other before Ron answered. “Well, for one thing, we know you should be resting.”
“We also know someone’s willing to put you in the hospital over this business with Jimmy,” Joe added. “You ask me—and I’m well aware you didn’t—this is where your part in this ends.”
Chris glared at them over the top of her laptop screen. “Are you kidding? Ron, you’re the one who pushed me to help Jimmy in the first place.”
“I know, sweetie, but somehow, it didn’t occur to me that his killer is, y’know, a killer. And is still out there, trying to kill you.”
“Which must mean we’re getting close. Our visit to Scottie’s mom must have spooked him. Ron, can you think of anything Scottie said that might give us a clue who he was with that night?”
“You women,” Joe muttered. The women in question both turned to look at him, their eyebrows raised.
“What was that, honey?” asked Ron.
Joe shook his head and sat up straighter, placing his palms on the table and leaning in for emphasis. “You stubborn, pig-headed, thick-necked, reckless women! Puttin’ yourselves in danger every chance you get, refusing to listen to sense!”
“Hey, I’m with you on this,” said Ron. “I think she should back off, too.”
“Yeah, but she won’t ‘cause she’s too daggum much like her sister!”
The look Ron gave him turned icy. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Joe leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “It is when her life is on the line.”
“Well, I can’t really argue with that.” “Guys,” Chris cut in. “Can we focus?”
Ron turned back to her with a sigh. “Scottie refused to give his partner up. Although he did say part of the reason was that he was afraid of what the guy might do to his mom. He’s protecting her, not the killer. Which is all the more reason for you to consider sitting this one out.”
“Joe’s right about one thing,” Chris said. “I’m right about a lot of things,” he muttered.
Chris gave him a pointed look then turned back to Ron. “I am too much like you. You wouldn’t let this go, and neither can I.”
Ron sighed. “Then at least take a break. Jimmy’s waited fifteen years. He can wait a few more days while you heal.”
Chris adjusted the strap on her sling where it chafed against her neck. She’d already tried resting. After keeping her promise to Marie, she had wanted nothing more than to go home, take a long, hot shower, and sink into her own bed for hours and hours. But as she’d lain there, she couldn’t get comfortable, either in her body or in her mind. Her shoulder hurt and her temple throbbed, but the pain medication they’d sent home with her helped with those.
What really kept her from finding rest was knowing that her injuries had been intentionally inflicted. Maybe whoever had hit them hadn’t meant to kill them—at least, not yet. Maybe they had only meant to send a message, warning them to back off.
But she knew Derek well enough to know he wouldn’t back off. He was out there even now, pushing and digging to find answers. She was only collateral damage. He was the true target, and someone was still out there, ready to take aim at him. “This is what’s going to help me heal,” she insisted. “Not lying around watching Netflix and eating Ben and Jerry’s. Look, if you guys are both so worried about my safety, help me get this guy. Before he gets me or Derek. The sooner we can identify Jimmy’s killer and get him off the street, the soone we’ll both be safe.”
Silence fell as Ron and Joe seemed to take in her little speech. Frustrated, Chris grabbed her notebook and flipped through her notes.
“Joe,” Ron said finally after a long moment had passed, “would you mind looking in on Buster, make sure he’s not getting into anything he shouldn’t?”
Joe looked at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “That dog’s as dead as we are. What’s he gonna get into that’ll hurt—” He stopped as Ron gave him a pointed look, then sighed. “Or you could just tell me you’d like to talk to your sister in private.”
“Duly noted.” Ron jerked her head toward the ceiling. “Now scram.”
Pointedly ignoring her, he looked at Chris. “Just be careful. That’s all I ask. We love having you here, but we don’t want you here on a permanent basis.” He lifted his brows, as if expecting an answer. Or a promise.
Chris smiled. “I will. Believe me, I don’t want that either.”
He nodded as though satisfied before fading from view.
Ron shook her head. “I guess you didn’t expect to deal with two overprotective siblings when you moved in here.”
“It’s sweet. It’s nice to know he cares.”
“We both do. But I get it. The guy you’re falling in love with is walking into a minefield. You can’t just sit back and watch it happen without doing something.” She smiled. “You really are too much like me.”
Chris snorted as her words sunk in. “I don’t know that I’d say I’m falling in love.”
“That’s not what you told me last night.”
“What? When?”
“At the hospital. Before Dad got there.”
Chris hoped she didn’t look as startled as she felt. “That must have been the drugs talking.”
Ron arched an eyebrow. “So you deny that you’re falling hard for this guy for whom you’re so ready to put yourself in danger?”
Well, when she put it like that… “Of course I care about Derek. But this is also what I do. Settling people’s unfinished business. Setting things to rights. Jimmy needs me.”
“Does he? Maybe all Jimmy needed from you was to wake Derek up to his presence. Maybe Derek can take it from here.” Ron leaned forward. “Sweetie, if you’re determined to stay involved, I’ve got your back. But at least be honest with yourself about your reasons.”
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 tucked 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.
Thanks for reading!
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