The Naughty List

by K. J. Emrick

  “Mom?”

  Colby’s voice was weak, and sleepy, like she’d been dozing heavily for hours instead of just a few minutes. Darcy smiled as she snuffed out the other candles one by one. The communication was over. Folding her daughter’s listless body into her lap, she stroked Colby’s hair, and rocked her back and forth. “You’re okay now, honey. You’re okay.”

  “Feel funny,” Colby lisped.

  “You’re going to for a little bit. We’ll go downstairs and eat in a minute or two, okay? That will make you feel better. Honey, that was a very dangerous thing you were trying to do. What were you thinking? You almost set your room on fire!”

  “Needed to talk to her.” Colby rubbed at her eyes, and yawned. “I just did what you do, Mommy. Sorry ‘bout the candle.”

  “I know.” Darcy took a moment to remember Colby had given up calling her “Mommy” after she graduated from kindergarten. If she’d gone back to it now she must really be rattled. “I know you’ve seen me do this before, but you’re not ready for this. It’s really, really hard.”

  “Kinda hurts,” the girl admitted grumpily. “I didn’t know that part.”

  “Mmm-hmm. It does. It’s like… you’ve been running way too long,” Darcy said, reaching for an analogy that Colby might understand. “When you’re still little, you can only run so fast. When you grow up and get stronger, then you can try out for the Olympics, but only when you’re ready.”

  “What’s a ‘lympics?”

  Darcy chuckled and gave her daughter a squeeze. “The Olympics are a big competition where the best people in the world win trophies for being the best runners or swimmers or, um, ping pong players.”

  Colby pushed back in her mother’s arms just far enough to look up into Darcy’s eyes. “So you’re like a ‘lympic runner, and I’m not?”

  “Not yet,” Darcy said. “You will be, one day, but for right now I don’t want you trying this again. I’ll start showing you the technique, if you want, and we can practice until I think you’re ready to try it for real, okay?”

  Her daughter nodded, and rubbed her eyes again, and then got up to her feet. Brushing her dress flat of wrinkles, she shrugged. “I just wanted to talk to her. Smudge came in and kept me company. Um. I’m real sorry about the candle falling over. I thought I had them all set good.”

  “Don’t worry about it…” Only, Darcy was worrying about it. That scorch mark on the floor could have been the start of a fire that destroyed a house that had been in Darcy’s family for three generations now. “Honey? That’s the second time you’ve said you were trying to talk to someone. Who was it? Who did you do the spirit communication to talk to?”

  Colby looked at her as if it should have been obvious. “The girl from church.”

  Of course. “The ghost we saw today? The girl with the burns?”

  “Uh-huh.” The color was returning to Colby’s cheeks. She already looked much better than when Darcy had first walked in on her a few minutes ago. “She needed to talk to me.”

  “What do you mean? How could you know that?

  “Because,” Colby said with another stretch, “she told me.”

  Darcy felt uneasy at that. She remembered the ghost reaching out for Colby, remembered her mouth moving as she tried to say something. Darcy hadn’t heard anything, which wasn’t unusual when dealing with ghosts. It took an incredible amount of energy to get any verbal communication from the other side. Only…

  Colby was saying she did hear the girl. From across the unfathomable distance between life and death, Colby had heard the ghost speak.

  She shivered, because it shouldn’t have been possible. Not at Colby’s age. Not at anyone’s age. “Honey—”

  “Darcy?” Jon was calling to her from downstairs. “Darcy, can you come down here?”

  Colby was already out the door and skipping down the hallway. Smudge sauntered out of the room slowly. Tiptoe followed along with him, jumping around her father, trying to get him to play with her or at least move faster. Smudge wasn’t having any of it. He was too mature for little kitten games.

  Darcy took one more look at the burn mark on the floor before getting up, and leaving the room to follow after them.

  Downstairs, Jon was waiting for her in the living room. “Where’s Colby?” she asked him.

  “I set her down at the table to eat.” He was pulling on his coat, and it was only then that Darcy noticed he had his boots back on. “Yes, you guessed it. I have to go. Wilson Barton just called and they’ve got a fire downtown. A bad one. The fire department is there and my guys, but… Darcy. It’s bad. It’s really, really bad.”

  “Jon, you’re scaring me.” She realized she had to tell him about what had just happened up in their daughter’s room, but that would have to wait. The look on Jon’s face, the way he was rushing to get ready to go… “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “The fire’s in the bakery, Darcy. Helen’s bakery is on fire.”

  ***

  The only upside, as far as Darcy could see, was that the bakery wasn’t actually Helen’s anymore.

  Tragedy seemed to find Helen just like a driving rain always found the tiniest holes in what was supposed to be a solid roof. Her first husband was in prison, still, after breaking Helen’s heart and murdering two people. The next man she had fallen helplessly in love with had been one of the worst men that Darcy had ever encountered. That wasn’t a title Darcy gave out lightly.

  Now that she was happily married and retired from the bakery business, Darcy hoped that her good friend would be able to distance herself from the tragedy of the bakery burning down, a business that she had built up with her own two hands.

  A small crowd stood on the sidewalk on Main Street the next morning across from the remains of the bakery, staring at the end of an era outlined in yellow police tape and white snow. The mix of precipitation that had started coming down on the town yesterday had turned to heavy wet flakes overnight but Darcy wasn’t sure if that had helped the firefighters in their efforts or hindered them. Either way it was done now. Neighbors and friends stood talking quietly to each other about what a tragedy this was. She recognized more than a few of them. Even grumpy old man Roland Baskin and Pastor Phin, and of course Elizabeth Archer who had worked in the bakery for years.

  Until now.

  The two-story red brick building still stood in its place, but black scorch marks flared around all of the windows on the second floor where they had been broken out by flames merrily gutting the place. That was the bakery’s storage area, Darcy knew, stacked with fifty pound sacks of flour and boxes of cooking spray and other highly flammable tools of a baker’s trade. There had also been a little cot and a television set up there for times when Helen would spend entire nights here getting baked goods ready for a school function or someone’s wedding. Thank God there hadn’t been anyone here last night.

  One of the big windows at the front, on the first floor next to the door, had shattered. The bakery’s name had been spelled out there but now only a few of the letters survived. “Bea r k and é.” The Bean There Bakery and Café had been reduced to bear kandé, and Darcy didn’t find anything funny about it.

  The rest of the glass was jagged splinters under piles of snow. The front door was gone off its hinges and Darcy could imagine the firefighters breaking through to get at the flames before they spread to the businesses next door. Through the charred openings Darcy could see upturned tables and water dripping from the ceiling and the black and gray of burnt walls. The display cases were melted through. Once upon a time, the bakery had been a centerpiece of life in Misty Hollow. Looking over what remained, Darcy grimaced. There was no saving it. The Bean There Bakery and Café was no more.

  Jon had gotten the call about the fire around six or so which meant it must have started right after everything on Main Street had closed on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The fire department had done an amazing job of containing the blaze to just the bakery. The new hair salon to the right and the s
mall liquor store to the left had come through the night with nothing more than black streaks to mark where the flames had tried to jump across the alleyways, and failed.

  It was Monday, which meant Colby had gone off to school for the day. Second grade already. She looked forward to being picked up by the big yellow bus each day with Lilly from next door. Darcy usually liked getting her ready and dressed and packed up to go but this morning she had felt like everything was happening too quickly. She still needed to have a real talk with Colby about her attempting a spirit communication, and about what—if anything—the ghost from Pastor Phin’s church had said. She needed to tell Jon about it, too. The call about the fire had sidetracked all of that. When he’d come home so late, and dropped off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, there hadn’t been time for anything but a goodnight kiss.

  Speaking of Pastor Phin and his church, she needed to find time to sit down and think about what she’d seen when she shook his hand, too. A house in flames, burning fiercely. It could be nothing, or it could be something very important. Was that something from Phin’s past? Did it have anything to do with the ghost girl with the burns on her face?

  For that matter, standing here in the light of a new day and staring at the burned-out wreck of the bakery, she had to wonder if maybe the vision of fire, and this very real one, were maybe connected as well. There was too much to do, and almost no time to get it all done.

  Well. At least it wasn’t snowing. She should be glad for small favors.

  Beside her in the crowd, a man cleared his throat. Several other people were snapping pictures with their cell phones. After all, this was history in the making. A part of Misty Hollow’s community gone for good. But Wilson Barton wasn’t interested in taking pictures. He’d already been here last night and seen the fire firsthand. It wasn’t the first fire he’d seen in his career, either. Looking up the street, Darcy could just see a bit of the new Town Hall where it had been rebuilt when a fire destroyed the old one. Spinning her aunt’s antique ring on her finger, Darcy grimaced at the memory. She supposed it could be worse.

  At least a ghost hadn’t caused this fire. At least, not that she knew of.

  Wilson cleared his throat again.

  “Oh, sorry,” Darcy said to him. “I was kind of lost in my thoughts.”

  “Lots of people like that today,” he said with a nod. “I know I was kind of melancholy myself seeing this place burn.”

  She looked over at him, not quite able to keep the surprise from her face. “Melancholy?” Wilson was usually so reserved. The goatee he had taken to wearing softened the severity of his intense brown eyes and his buzzcut blonde hair, but she’d still never known him to use big words like that to describe his feelings. “That’s not a word you manly men use very often.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t tell Kara. She still thinks I’m a stud.”

  Ah. Kara Larrabee was one of the officers at the Misty Hollow Police Department. She’d started only a few years back, but it hadn’t taken very long for her and Wilson to realize there was chemistry between them. They’d gone public with their relationship about half a year ago. Good for them. Darcy always thought they were good for each other. Lots of loving relationships started right here in this sleepy little town. Like Lilly and Connor. Like her and Jon. Now, add Kara and Wilson to that list.

  “So what happened here?” Darcy asked Wilson as the crowd continued to stare at the looming husk of the bakery. “Jon was too tired when he came back to even talk. You’re looking pretty exhausted yourself.”

  She caught him in the middle of stifling a yawn. Trying to laugh it off, he yawned again. “Yeah, well, sometimes being a police officer means you don’t get any sleep.”

  “This I know,” she agreed. Jon had missed sleep any number of nights. He’d slept through lots of lunches they were supposed to have together, too, after being up all night to catch the bad guy or help his officers solve a case. “As busy as it is here it’s hard to believe we live in small town America.”

  “We get reminded often enough,” he agreed, pointing across the street. “Stuff like this keeps us on our toes.”

  “Yes, it does.” Darcy scrunched up her face as his words pricked a memory. “Someone was telling me that just yesterday. About how so much happens right here in Misty Hollow.”

  “Oh really? Who was that?”

  “Tobias Ford, that’s who. Where is he by the way? I thought he would be here since it was his shop that burned down.”

  “He’s around somewhere,” Wilson said cryptically. “I’ve got everything I need from here for now. I should be getting back to the station.”

  “Everything you need?” Darcy repeated. “So you had to come back out this morning.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t know if you’ve ever met your husband, but our police chief is very thorough. He doesn’t miss many details.”

  “Well, he’s never forgotten one of our anniversaries.”

  “Sounds about right.” Wilson put his cellphone away in the inside pocket of his winter jacket, a very professional looking duffle coat with a hood. He was ready to leave, Darcy knew, but he hadn’t answered her question yet.

  “Wilson, what do you and Jon think happened here at the bakery?”

  Without turning his head, his eyes scanned the crowd around them. Darcy could feel everyone’s gazes, and knew every ear around them was straining to hear their conversation. Of course. He couldn’t talk about it here, so Darcy figured that would be the end of it.

  “Can we go down to your shop for a minute?” he surprised her by asking.

  “Uh, sure. I was just about to go there to open up with Izzy.”

  “Good. I was hoping you had some coffee to offer me. You know. Now that the nearest place to get a cup is gone.”

  She managed a smile, but it was a little too soon to be making jokes about the demise of the bakery. “I think Izzy probably has the coffee pot on by now. It won’t be as good as what we could have gotten here, of course.”

  “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Everyone is going to miss this place.”

  In the middle of the crowd, Elizabeth Archer crossed her arms and let her head drop down to her chest. She was the picture of absolute sadness. Her long auburn hair fell forward to cover her face and hide the pale burn scars on her face. She’d lived through a fire once before. Now, the place where she worked had been lost to a fire. There was another coincidence to add to the pile.

  If this was how the winter was going to start in Misty Hollow, then it was going to be a long three months until Spring came in March.

  Together, she and Wilson separated from the group to head to the bookstore. Everyone else was starting to leave anyway, except for Elizabeth, and Pastor Phin. He went over to Elizabeth and put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her. Darcy was glad he was part of their town now.

  It took a few minutes to get back to the bookstore, sloshing through a full inch of slush leftover from the overnight storm. It was cloudy today, but warmer, and there was even a chance of rain according to the weatherman. For now, inside the bookstore, the heater was pumping warm air through the vents.

  Izzy waved to them as they came in. In her jeans and overlong blue t-shirt, she was already working on hanging the rest of the decorations. Precariously balanced on the sales counter, she was hanging a string of hinged cardboard letters to the ceiling tiles with thumbtacks. “MERRY CHRISTMAS” was spelled out now in red and green and gold letters for everyone to see.

  “Hi Izzy,” Wilson said. “It’s not even eight-thirty yet and here you are hard at work.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she answered back, wobbling to keep her balance on the narrow counter. “You kind of look like you never went to sleep.”

  “That’s only because,” he said, yawning into his hand, “I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Izzy crouched down to lower herself to the floor. “The big fire. That was just awful.”

  “Did you s
ee it?” Darcy asked. “The fire, I mean?”

  “Yes. I drove right by it when I was bringing Lilly home. I had to pick her up from Ellen and Connor’s house over in Meadowood, remember?”

  “Oh right,” Darcy said. “Your errand yesterday.”

  “Yup. I think my next errand is going to be getting Lilly a car of her own. No more taxi service for this mother!”

  “Izzy,” Wilson said, talking over her in a rush. “If you were driving by the fire last night, did you maybe see something? See anybody near the bakery? On the street? Anything like that?”

  Izzy leaned back against the counter, rubbing a hand over her forehead as she tried to remember. “Look, Wilson, I know this is important but you’re asking a lot from… oh! Yeah, I do remember something. There was this car. Well, I wasn’t the one who noticed it. Lilly was. She’s into cars now because her boyfriend Connor is. She told me what it was. Um. One of those goofy looking cars from the 1980s. The Iraq? No. The… Iroc. Right. It was a blue Camaro Iroc.”

  Wilson had taken out a notebook from another of his inside pockets and was writing notes for himself. “Okay. So, you saw a blue Iroc in front of the bakery while it was on fire?”

  “No. Not in front of it. The car was down the street. It was just weird to me because whoever was driving left when the firetrucks showed up to fight the fire.”

  Wilson stared at her blankly, his pen hovering over the pages of his notebook.

  Darcy caught on immediately. “She means that anyone who was interested in watching the fire would have wanted to watch the firetrucks, too. That’s the best part of the show. So why…?”

  “So why,” Wilson finished for her, “did this guy leave just as the best part of the show was about to start. I get it now. Don’t suppose you caught the license plate?”

  Shaking her head, Izzy shrugged. “No. I was, uh, kind of in the middle of a discussion with Lilly. Mother daughter stuff. Plus, I don’t make a habit of memorizing license plates.”

  “Heh. Right. That’s our job.” Wilson closed his notebook. “A blue Iroc pulling away from the curb just as the firetrucks show up. Well. It’s more than we had before. So. How about that coffee?”