A Darcy Sweet Mystery Box Set Five

by K. J. Emrick

  “There’s no judge here,” Jon told him with a smile. “It’s just the three of us here and these are questions I need to have answers to. So, you got to Main Street… when?”

  Phin’s hands curled into fists, and he slid them down into his lap. “I came down to Main Street around noon. I went to the deli for lunch after services and then I went to the bakery.”

  Jon sat up straighter. So did Darcy. She couldn’t help herself.

  “You were in the bakery on Sunday?” Jon asked. “Well, actually we knew that. Elizabeth Archer told us you were there. You talked to her on Sunday. What I didn’t know is that you went to the deli for lunch. Now, why would you go to the deli, if you were going to go to the bakery? Why didn’t you just go to the bakery for lunch?”

  “I… I had an appointment.”

  Jon nodded. “Okay. An appointment. At the bakery?”

  “Yes.”

  “With Elizabeth?”

  Very slowly, Phin shook his head. “No.”

  “Then who was this appointment with?”

  Phin shook his head again. “I don’t want to tell you that. This is ridiculous. I think I’d like to go now—”

  “Why won’t you just tell us? Is it one of those pastor things where you can’t tell me?”

  “Clergy privilege,” Phin clarified for him. “It’s called clergy privilege, but you knew that, didn’t you, Chief? So what if I told you it was? Would that end our little discussion here?”

  Jon waited, but that was all the answer he was going to get. Phin was stonewalling them. Darcy watched as Jon switched mental gears and went back to the pages in front of him. “I see. Well, let’s try this, then. When your house burned down it was investigated by the State Police, right? The circumstances were suspicious. At least that’s what it says here.”

  “Yes, Jon. There was an investigation. A very long and personal investigation. It would be years before my family was whole again. Why are you dragging up all of these bad memories?”

  “Your sister died,” Jon said. It wasn’t a question.

  Phin went to stand up, then sat back down like his legs weren’t working. His mouth struggled to form words. “Genevieve. My sister… yes. She died in that fire. She’s been dead all these years, and I do not want to talk about it. Are we done here?”

  “There’s a notation in the report,” Jon went on as if he hadn’t even heard Phin. “It says that you were inside the house when the fire started. The police questioned you about the fire. Six times, in fact.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s right. You said it was a long investigation. But why would they question you about it… six times?”

  “You’ve got the report right there,” Phin said, his voice growing softer with each word. “Why don’t you tell me what it says?”

  “I’m asking you.” Jon countered. “You were there. Weren’t you? I mean, when the fire happened you were right there. And now, fast forward a couple of decades and here you are at the scene of another fire. You see the connection?”

  Phin closed his eyes, and Darcy had the impression that he was saying a prayer. When he opened them again, there were unshed tears brimming at the corners. “Chief, please don’t do this.”

  Jon didn’t stop. “You got to town around noon, you said. Elizabeth told us you were at the bakery until she closed it at five. We also know you were there later, at the scene of the actual fire. So where were you in between?”

  Silence.

  “I think you were on Main Street the whole time. I don’t think you ever left. I think you were at the bakery when it closed up, just like Elizabeth said, and then I think you hung around town. So where were you?”

  “I told you… I was meeting with someone.”

  “Who?”

  Phin clamped his mouth shut, and leaned back in his chair, blinking at the tears that were about to spill over.

  “Tell me how your sister died.”

  Silence again.

  “You were there when the fire started,” Jon pressed him. “Weren’t you?”

  Phin shook his head. Was that a denial, or an attempt to shake away the memory of something so awful?

  “You were there when the fire started at the bakery too, weren’t you?”

  Now the tears fell, as Phin’s lips began to tremble.

  Jon put the papers back together, and folded them up, and put them away again in his inner pocket. “You see how this looks, don’t you Phin? Suddenly you were there on Sunday to meet someone, but you won’t say who, and now we know that all those years ago you were there when your house burned down. Only that time, your sister died. How’d that feel, Phin?”

  “Stop it,” the pastor mumbled.

  Darcy winced. She knew Jon was only doing his job, being cruel to get at the truth, but the pain in Phin’s eyes was hard to take.

  “Admit it, Phin, someone set your old family home on fire. On purpose.”

  “I… can’t…”

  Darcy saw her chance. They’d been waiting for this, because they knew that just coming right out and asking Phin to let her have a paranormal peek into his past was going to be met with laughter or hostility or both. They had to be sneaky about this, and choose just the right moment.

  This was that moment.

  Taking hold of Phin’s hands, feeling them shake with a tangle of emotions, Darcy told him it would be all right.

  At the same time, she took a breath in, and then let it out, and then quickly took it in again and held it and let herself slip into a state of awareness that went beyond her five senses.

  With an effort of her own life force she reached out to Phin with her gift. This was a technique that her Aunt Millie had detailed in her books, and that Darcy had used a dozen times and more in the past. With the right combination of living energy and otherworldly focus she could see a person’s guilt. It would manifest as blood on their hands. Blood that only she could see, but that was just as real as a person’s guilty conscience.

  A sensation like pins and needles crawled its way down Darcy’s arms as her power flowed over her hands, and then along her fingers where they touched Phin.

  He jumped as the tingling energy spread from her to him.

  Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Darcy looked down.

  To her eyes, Phin’s hands were coated with dark red blood. His hands. His wrists. His arms nearly to the elbows. It was dripping all over, leaving a trail behind him that traced back to the door of the store and out onto the street. He carried this guilt with him wherever he went.

  She’d never seen it like this. So much blood.

  So much guilt…

  Realizing something was going on, even if he couldn’t see what Darcy had done, Phin pulled his hands back, breaking the contact with Darcy, ending the vision of his guilt.

  She looked at Jon, who was waiting for her to say something. She didn’t have to. He could read the answer in her eyes.

  Pressing his lips into a thin line, he nodded. It was the answer they had expected even if it wasn’t the answer they wanted. “Phin,” he said, speaking slowly, “you’re a man of God and I’m asking you to tell me the truth. Someone set that house on fire on purpose, didn’t they? Your house, I mean. Where your sister died.”

  When it came, the answer was very small. “Yes.”

  Looking down at his hands, perhaps wondering what Darcy had just done, Phin missed the look of surprise on Jon’s face. There was the answer. Straightforward and plain. Yes, Phin had been in the house when the fire killed his sister. He and Darcy had talked about this last night, and they were both sure it had to be Phin who set the fire that killed his sister—either on purpose or by mistake—and for all these years he would have been carrying around that guilt. The amount of blood that Darcy had seen in her vision just now… that was the mark of man who had done something very, very bad.

  They’d made a small wager on whether Phin would confess, too.

  “Pastor,” Jon said to him, “did you kill y
our sister?”

  Phin made a noise at the back of his throat like a little boy trying not to cry. Then he hung his head, and slumped in his chair.

  “Pastor? I asked you a question. Did you kill your sister?”

  More tears were the only answer.

  “What about the fire at the bakery?” Jon asked. “Did you set that fire?”

  Darcy watched as Phin completely fell apart. Dropping his head in his hands he slumped over the table, and sobbed.

  They sat that way for a long time. It was quiet in the store. So quiet that Darcy clearly heard the thump of a book falling off one of the back shelves. Aunt Millie was voicing her opinion, for better or for worse.

  Standing up, Jon reached behind him for his handcuffs. “Pastor Phineas McCord,” he said. “Stand up, please. You’re under arrest for arson, and the murder of Genevieve, your sister.”

  Chapter 7

  Just as Jon was leaving with the Pastor handcuffed behind his back, a group of elderly women came in. Tourists walking around the town and taking in the local sights. Darcy knew the type. They were likely to take their time walking through the entire store and if she was lucky they would buy a romance novel and maybe some t-shirts as gifts for their grandchildren.

  They were certainly getting more than they’d bargained for today. Their eyes were wide as Jon nodded to them on the way out. “Ladies. Welcome to Misty Hollow.”

  Pastor Phin kept his head down, sweat and tears glistening on his dark skin in the cold air of December.

  The women gossiped fiercely as they swarmed around the stacks, taking a cup of coffee or cider from the dispensers in the reading area as they browsed. Darcy was glad to answer their questions about what books they might like to read and if she had the black and gold hoodie sweaters in an extra small for their grandchildren, but she dodged anything they asked about who was arrested and if she knew the man. Then, when she could slip away for a moment, she went to find the book her aunt’s ghost had dropped.

  A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens sat on the floor waiting for her to pick it up. Easy enough to figure out the message there. Flipping to the beginning of the first chapter, she read it to herself.

  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…”

  Tucking the book back onto its shelf she had to admit that summed it up perfectly. This winter here in Misty Hollow was going to be one of despair for lots of people. Even if Tobias Ford could get the funding together to rebuild the bakery, there wasn’t much anyone was going to be able to do in the snow and the cold. Just board the place up against the weather, and wait for next spring. The burned-out husk of what had once been a place of happiness and laughter was going to sit there until the new year, reminding everyone who passed by about how this was supposed to be the best of times and instead it had turned into the worst…

  Back at the sales counter, bagging up sweatshirts and coffee mugs and a travel book for the women as they refilled their styrofoam cups, Darcy found herself scrunching up her forehead as a question nagged at her. Why hadn’t Tobias boarded up the broken windows on the ruined bakery? He should have at least put up something to block the front door. Plastic across that broken front window. Something.

  Maybe it was because he’d left town the day after the fire.

  Of course that led to another question. Why did he leave town?

  Into her thoughts, the front door opened and the bell rang. More customers, she thought at first. Then she saw the top end of a pine tree, wrapped in burlap tarp around its middle to keep the branches down, pushing its way inside. Izzy was holding the door open while she got the tree in, with a little help.

  Darcy was surprised to see Grace holding the other side of the tree. It was a welcome surprise to see her sister, but she had to believe there was more than enough to keep her busy down at the police station. Three people arrested in the two days since the fire happened. One of them on charges of arson and suspicion of a decades’ old murder. That was more excitement than Misty Hollow had seen in years, and for this place that was saying a lot.

  If Grace was here, it was more than just a social visit.

  “Hey, Darcy,” Izzy said to her as they finally got the tree inside. “Look who I found wandering on the streets.”

  “You could give us a hand with this, sis,” Grace griped, putting the tree up on its base. “Where do you want this?”

  “Oh. Right. Um. In the corner next to the drink station for now, I guess.” Darcy saw the lines in Grace’s forehead. She was worried over something and Darcy knew that it wasn’t all the police work her department had been doing. She loved her job, and she was very good at it. “I’ve got the stand in the office. I think. Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “No, that’s fine. Izzy told me about your idea to have people bring in presents for families who need them. I think that’s a great idea. Maybe you could sell tickets in your store for our department’s Winter Raffle, too.”

  “Oh, yes!” Izzy agreed. “We could hang them off the tree for people to snag and bring up to the counter.”

  Grace settled the tree, still wrapped, into the corner of the wall. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to Jon. Come on, Darcy, I’ll help you look for that base.”

  “How’s the store been while I was gone?” Izzy asked Darcy.

  “Um, fine.” She realized Grace wanted to get her alone, to talk, so whatever was bothering her must be something important. “We haven’t hit our mid-day rush yet. Give it another half hour.”

  “Good. I’ve got some reading I want to do.”

  “And I’ve got some news to share with you,” Darcy told Izzy. “I’ll be right back.”

  Grace followed Darcy into the back office, and then she closed the door. “Sis, I need your advice.”

  Darcy was sure she must have heard that wrong. “You? Need my help?”

  “Yeah, yeah, mark it on your calendar already. Listen. This is your area, not mine, and… yes. I need your help.”

  There could be no doubt about what Grace meant. Darcy’s area meant one thing. The same thing that it meant to Jon when he said Darcy would be in charge of teaching Colby about her extrasensory gifts because it was her “area.” “Don’t tell me you’ve seen a ghost,” Darcy joked.

  Grace flinched, just a little bit, just enough to make her lips twist and her eyes blink but Darcy saw it. In the next instant she was waving her hand through the air to dispel the idea. “No, it’s not like that. It’s, um.” She sighed. “It’s Addison.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes, my daughter,” Grace said. “How many Addisons do you know?”

  “Well, sure, but… all right. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

  Walking over to the little couch, Grace plopped herself down hard. “Here’s what’s going on. This morning while I was getting ready to go to work, Addison and I were eating breakfast together at the table. I’m eating my toast, she’s eating her cereal, and then she just sits right up and stares at the wall. Then, she says to me…”

  Grace’s voice trailed off, and now Darcy really was concerned. Her sister was the toughest woman she knew, bar none. Nothing ever upset her. Only, something clearly was this time. “Darcy, this is really freaking me out.”

  “Just tell me, sis.” She sat down in the office chair at the desk. This seemed like a conversation she’d want to sit down for. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Depends on how you look at it, I guess.” She blew out a breath as she shifted on the couch. “Addison told me that it was the brother’s fault.”

  “Brother? Grace, Addison doesn’t have a… oh, wait. Oh, for Pete’s Sake, Grace, are you pregnant?”

  Her rising excitement was dashed in the next instant by the
sour look she got from her sister. “No, I am not pregnant. Me and Aaron are trying again, I mean, sure, but… that’s not the point, Darcy! Addison didn’t say it was her brother’s fault. She said it was the brother’s fault. That was this morning. Then I’m at work and here comes Jon with Pastor Phin in handcuffs, and he explains to me that Phin burned the bakery and maybe killed his sister. Which makes him the brother.”

  It was the brother’s fault. Now that she understood what Grace was saying she recognized it as the same thing that the ghost from the church—Genevieve—had told Colby. It was her brother’s fault. Her brother killed her.

  And Addison, sweet not-quite-teenaged Addison, had known about it before the arrest was made. Before her mother even went to work. Now how was that possible?

  The answer was simple. At least, for Darcy it was. It might be a little harder for Grace to swallow.

  She remembered back, to little things Addison had done over the years that made it clear to Darcy that Grace’s daughter had inherited the family gift just like Colby had, only not as strong. In fact, it had been a question in Darcy’s mind whether the gift would ever amount to anything in Addison other than as a way to win at carnival games. She might be able to know which of the three cups had the marble hiding under it, but that didn’t mean she’d be able to talk to ghosts. She’d kept an eye on Addison through the years, waiting for any indication that the gift would become something in her worth mentioning. Until it did, she didn’t want to upset Grace.

  Once, at a party she and Jon had hosted at their home to celebrate his not dying in that terrible, horrifying car crash, Colby had turned to her and said, we know things, Mommy. You and me and Aunt Millie. Oh. Aunt Grace’s daughter, too, but she can only do it a little. Addison isn’t as good at stuff like that.

  Those words had always stuck with her. She’d promised to tell Grace what she suspected if the time ever came. Apparently, the time was now.

  Before she could say anything, Grace read the answer on her face, and her eyes opened wide. “You knew!”

  “Now, Grace, that’s not how it is,” Darcy said defensively. “I suspected—”