Here's something no one knows about my little sister Sam: she hates change. Hates it. She will never admit it, she never has, but it's true.
She cried for a week when mom had thoughts of buying a new car. Granted she was eight, but she's still the same way.
When I picked her up from Stanford she was like a lost puppy for a month straight because for some reason being away from me for a year had "changed" us both too much...
"Dee are you positive this is the best angle for his case?" I flicked my attention to her and away from my thoughts. She was coiling her hair up in a flat bun, a long platinum wig was waiting on the table.
"We have to figure out if this spirit is having post mortem relationship issues, Sammy."
"So I have to be the bait? Why me?"
"Because you're more the boyfriend's type."
"He cheated on her with a blonde Dee, and yet I'm more his type?"
I laughed and got up to help her pin the wig in place. "No but you're taller, that's more his type."
"You know I hate dressing up like this, I feel stupid."
The costumes had been her idea but shed quickly regretted her suggestion.
"I know, but relax."
Her big brown eyes flickered anxiously. Somehow her face looked so much more mature and yet so meek when you could really see her eyes. So often they were covered up, I always lost track of what a beautiful woman my little sister had turned into. I was always distracted by old childhood habits I always forgot about the here and now.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Is there something on my face? Did my mascara smear?"
"No, no. I was just thinking..." You've grown up so much Sammy... "You look good as a blonde."
"And you look terrible as a liar."
The case we were currently working was a possible vengeful spirit who was attacking all of his exgirlfriends. So far one had died of a stab wound to the head, and the second had just barely made it out alive after he'd come at her with a candle stick. There was a third ex who was fearful she was next, so we were going to camp out at her place and Sam was going to act as a bait girl. The theory was that the haunting boyfriend, who had died while cheating on his fourth ex, might go after Sam because she looked like the girl he'd been cheating with. Hopefully that would lure him away from his real target long enough for us to oust him.
"If this goes south you owe me," Sam grimaced, swiping lipstick on and pursing her lips.
"What's the bet?"
"The bet?"
"Yeah, what do I owe you? It won't go south, but what's the catch anyhow?"
She thought for a moment, "This goes south and you have to dye your hair brown."
"That's it?"
Sam rolled her eyes, "I trust you, this isn't going to backfire, so why not? It's just a stupid bet."
"Fine, fine, what do I get it if this doesn't go south then?"
"The satisfaction that you were right, and I'm still living, with no candle stick in my forehead."
"Yeah because that's an even standard," I laughed, helping her with her necklace clasp.
"Well then you choose something."
"Fine, if this goes well, then I get to pick the diner we go to for the next month."
She snorted, "Typical, but okay."
We stood there laughing, appreciating the small talk, and suddenly if only for a moment things seemed right. It didn't feel like we were about to spend the night tracking down a murder, which was unusual. It was a feeling I had missed for far too long.
