The Reason by Marley Gibson

hand, I shake her outstretched one in a very professional manner. "Kendall Moorehead at your service."
    "Great to have you here, Kendall. Taylor's told me all about you. I'm Shelby-Nichole Holt, yearbook editor." She flips her dark brown hair over her shoulder and smiles at me. "Fresh blood is always welcome around here, and I think I've got
just
the committee for you."
    A cocktail of trepidation and excitement shakes me as I await Shelby-Nichole's verdict for my assignment.
    "Over here, Kendall." Shelby-Nichole points to a table occupied by a guy with a neon green skateboard across the front of his black T-shirt; his blond hair just touches the top of his eyebrows. "This is Colton Powell," she says. "He's our number-one ad salesman. He'll show you the ropes."
    I cringe inwardly. "Ads?"
    "Yeah, the annual is paid for by sponsors, parents, and local businesses that purchase advertising space in the back." Shelby-Nichole picks up a copy of last year's RHS
Rambler
yearbook. She flips to the end where there are tens of pages of print ads from various sources.
    Crap! I've never been good at selling anything. When I was back in Chicago, our church choir sold poinsettias around Christmastime to raise money for a trip. I sold exactly two: one to my mother and one to my Grandma Ethel. Not quite salesman-of-the-year material.
    I think of what Father Mass told me, though, that I need to try my hand at something new. So I let out the breath I've been holding and look at Shelby-Nichole. "Whatever you think is best," I say with a forced smile.
    "Great! Colton, this is Kendall. Show her the ropes!"
    He stands and I see he's a bit shorter than I am. His jeans are baggy, and he has worn sneakers with scuff marks all over them. He must notice that I'm checking him out, so he says, "I'm a skateboarder," to explain his casual appearance.
    "Oh, that's cool," I say.
    Shelby-Nichole puts Colton in a headlocking hug. "Colton here sold almost eighty percent of our ads last year. Of course, it helped that I got my dad to have the city buy a two-page spread."
    Colton rolls his eyes and shrugs off Shelby-Nichole's compliment. "No big."
    "Who's your dad?" I ask the editor.
    She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and seems melancholy for a moment. "Oh, well, like, my dad died not too long ago. Mayer Holt. He was the mayor of Radisson."
    My wide-open mouth registers my surprise. "You're Donn's daughter?"
    "Stepdaughter ... although she's, like, the only mom I've ever known. Donn married my dad when I was five. My mom died of cancer right after I was born," Shelby-Nichole explains.
    For a second, I glance around Shelby-Nichole to see if the spirits of her mother and father are still with her. Her aura is clear, though, and I don't sense any guides with her, which means her folks are at peace. If only everyone could find such bliss. Then again, I wouldn't be a ghost huntress. Speaking of...
    "My team and I are supposed to do an investigation at your house," I say. "Things got weird last weekend with—" I glance across the room at Taylor, who is scrolling through some digital pictures on the computer with a couple of fellow staffers looking on. "Well, Taylor's mom is in the hospital and we had to rearrange our schedule."
    Shelby-Nichole nods and lowers her voice. "How's Taylor doing? That can't be easy for her."
    I lift my arms and shrug. "As good as can be expected. She's been crashing with me, so I'm trying to help her through it. We're still waiting for her dad to get in from Alaska. He's had some, shall we say, aerodynamic challenges." Jason found out a big snowstorm hit the area where his dad is, so no telling when we'll see him.
    "Poor thing. It's hard when your home's all busted up," Shelby-Nichole says with an almost adult tsk-tsk in her voice. "Seems that's more the norm than the exception these days."
    Colton clears his throat and picks up a fishing magazine. "Y'all let me know when you want to get to work." He smirks at us and then