The Naughty List

by K. J. Emrick

  “You saw…” He coughed, like the smoke was still in his lungs. Darcy wasn’t sure if he understood what she’d just done or not but it had obviously left him as drained as if he’d been living it for the first time. “How is that possible?”

  Darcy didn’t have time to explain. What she’d just seen… “You have a brother,” she said, holding onto the bars to steady herself. “It was you and your sister… and another brother.”

  Her brother killed her. That’s the message Genevieve gave to Colby.

  She didn’t mean Phin.

  She meant her other brother. The one who really started the fire. The one that Phin had been covering for all these years. All this time, he felt like Genevieve’s death was his fault. In a young boy’s mind, the fact that he had asked his brother to get him a midnight snack meant the fire was his fault, even though his brother had been the one to use the stove against his mother’s rules. In a young boy’s mind, that also meant his sister’s death was his fault. She’d saved his life and died in the process.

  All that guilt, built up and compounded over the years, had manifested as psychic blood on his hands. Even if it wasn’t really his fault he felt the burden of her death on his soul.

  Phin was a good man. Good men took responsibility very seriously.

  And now, he was trying to take responsibility for the bakery fire too, even though… it wasn’t his fault.

  She swallowed down a metallic taste in her throat. It was a side effect of using this aspect of her gift. Colby would learn how to do this someday. When she was ready. Would Addison, she wondered?

  Would Grace?

  No. Her sister had turned her back on the gift, and in the process turned her back on Darcy too. Maybe that wasn’t fair, and maybe Grace had been the best sister she knew how to be, but that was how it felt to Darcy right now. She’d been abandoned when she needed her sister the most.

  Phin’s sister had rushed back into a burning building to save his life. Grace had let Darcy go, because she couldn’t stand the thought of sharing the same fate. She didn’t want to be kicked out of the house too. She had wanted to be normal.

  Normal, in Darcy’s opinion, was overrated.

  After all, she wouldn’t have been able to prove it wasn’t Phin who killed his sister if she was normal. She wouldn’t be able to prove it wasn’t him who burned down the bakery, either, if not for her gift.

  It wasn’t Phin. It was his brother. Well. Half-brother. Just like Phin said. Same mother, different fathers. Phin’s brother.

  And she had a pretty good idea who that was.

  “You have an Iroc registered to you,” she said, putting the pieces together in her head. “It’s registered out of state but it’s in your name.”

  “Yes,” he answered hesitantly. “I had to help him. He didn’t have the money to pay for the registration, so I did it in my name. Darcy how did you do—”

  “Who, Phin?” she insisted. “Tell me who your brother is.”

  He did, and everything suddenly made sense.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Jon,” Darcy said, answering his question with one of her own. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “With my life.” He turned the car down another street and kept going. “I mean, literally with my life. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I can say the same thing about you,” she told him, reaching across to hold his hand. They were almost to their destination, and this was probably not the right time for this conversation, but she couldn’t help herself. “I just need to hear you say it, I guess.”

  Driving one handed, Jon wrapped his fingers into hers. “I’ll tell you every day of your life if you need me to, Babe.” He took his hand back as the car fishtailed a little on the snowy streets. He let off the gas and turned into the skid and they were fine again. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you? Besides this case, I mean.”

  She did. She really did want to be able to talk to her best friend in this life, and tell him every little thought that kept racing round in her brain. “Grace said something to me, is all. It really upset me.”

  He nodded, slowing carefully to a stop at an intersection. The snowplows might have cleared the roads enough to get the kids to school, but that didn’t mean that they could drive like maniacs. “I figured it was something like that after we basically shoehorned everyone out of the house last night. You should have just told me. We could have all talked about it, together.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “This is something too private to talk about over a game of poker. I’ll tell you all about it, and when I’m ready I’ll talk to Grace again. Just… not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” she said. “We’re here. Look.”

  Sure enough, as they drove by the parking lot of Misty Hollow’s big box store on Coldspring Road, a series of long, squat metal buildings had come into view. The Key-Pit storage units were painted red and white, with overhead doors that rolled down and locked in place to keep people’s belongings safe when they couldn’t store them at home. The church kept a unit here, too.

  According to Phin, that was where his brother was staying while he was in town.

  Once Darcy had been able to show him that the fire that claimed his sister’s life wasn’t really his fault, the guilt had washed off him in cold waves that she could feel crashing against her senses. It had freed his soul, and his tongue. The bakery wasn’t his doing either, he said. Maybe it was his fault, and maybe Jon should keep him locked up, but he wasn’t the one responsible.

  Jon was more than happy to take him up on the suggestion to keep him in his cell, at least for now. There was a lot to this story that still needed explaining. Like, why he’d agreed to let his brother sleep in the church’s storage while he was in town, especially considering his brother had warrants out for his arrest. For now, he was satisfied with knowing who the real owner of the Iroc was, and that it was the Iroc’s owner who had started the bakery fire.

  “There it is,” Jon said as they pulled into the paved lot around the units. Next to the third building, in front of the red overhead door with the number fourteen panted on it, sat a blue Iroc. Darcy remembered these cars vaguely, with their long front end and that hatchback rear window design and their pocketed headlights. Cool enough for their day, maybe, but they stuck out like sore thumbs among today’s cars. “Right where Phin said he’d be. He’s really been living in a storage facility. I don’t believe it.”

  “Why not?” Darcy asked him. “Would you have thought to look for him here? I wouldn’t. It’s a nearly perfect hiding space. With the rows of buildings you can’t even see that car from the road.”

  “Right. Well. We’ve got him now. One more name off our naughty list.”

  “Two,” she reminded him. “How far away is everyone else?”

  Jon checked his watch. “Wilson said they left five minutes ago. They should be right behind us. We’ll surround the place, and then we’ll all move in together. I don’t care if there aren’t any weapons charges on this guy’s criminal history. I’m not taking any chances.” Positioning his car in the only entrance to the storage facility, Jon undid his seatbelt and put the engine in park. “We’re going to sit right here and wait for—”

  Without warning the Iroc roared to life and shot forward, its back end spinning sideways on the slushy pavement as the Camaro powered itself ahead.

  “—something to happen,” Jon finished.

  He wrenched the gear shifter back into drive and tromped the gas pedal and angled them in between the buildings just in time to see the Iroc bounce its way over the ditch that separated that corner of the lot from the road. It bottomed out, and sparks spread out to die in the snow, and then its tires bit into the surface of Coldspring Road and it was off like a shot.

  “Don’t turn left,” Jon muttered to himself, “don’t turn left, don’t turn left!”

  “What’s left?” Da
rcy asked as she watched the Iroc finally get itself under control and speed away—to the right.

  “Misty Hollow is to the left,” Jon said, speaking rapidly as he spun their car around the buildings and back to the paved entrance. He wasn’t going to try jumping the ditch like the crazy driver of the Iroc had. “I didn’t want him to go left because I didn’t want to chase this idiot through town. Call Grace. Let her know what’s going on.”

  He unclipped his cellphone from its belt holder and tossed it to her, and then it was both hands on the wheel as he pushed his plain-wrapper sedan to catch up with one of the best known muscle cars in America.

  Catching the phone in the air, she scrolled down his contacts list to find Grace’s name. She experienced a moment of hesitation. She didn’t want to talk to Grace. She didn’t want to have anything to do with her. Not right now.

  She felt the car slide right, toward the ditch, and heard Jon swearing as he twisted the wheel and with a thud, they were back on the road. The next minute, they were slipping again. They were in trouble, and the bad guy was getting away. Would get away, if they didn’t get help.

  She pushed the button to make the call.

  Her sister answered on the second ring. “Hey Jon. We’re almost there.”

  “Grace, it’s Darcy. We’re…” She trailed off as their car threatened to bolt sideways again, this time into the oncoming lane. The Iroc was still far ahead of them, still outpacing them, but it was having a worse time of it than they were, using up both sides of the road as it slipped on the slush and ice, turning completely sideways as she watched and then righting itself again.

  “Darcy?” she heard her sister’s voice in her ear. “What’s going on.”

  “Uh, Grace, listen. We’re on Coldspring Road and we’re chasing the Iroc now.”

  “In pursuit,” Jon told her. “Say we’re in pursuit.”

  “For Pete’s sake, I’ve got this, Jon. You just…” The car was suddenly in a spin. It made one full revolution that left Darcy feeling dizzy before it got its nose pointed straight again. “You just drive! Grace, we’re headed out of town. The Iroc’s getting away.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jon argued.

  “No talking! You drive!”

  “I am driving.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” Her hand had a tight grip on the door handle, and she had both feet braced against the floor.

  The phone was still to her ear. “Darcy, I wanted to say… I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “Not now,” Darcy growled. “Just get some people here to help us.”

  It was all the time she was willing to give Grace right then. She dropped the phone out of her hand so she could brace it against the dash as they took a curve the Iroc had already sailed through. They were drifting. No control at all. They were getting closer and closer to the edge as the curve went one way and Jon’s car tried to go the other.

  Going much too fast, they skidded off the road slantways down into the ditch. Jon revved the engine and with all his might wrestled with the steering wheel to get the car aimed back up towards the road. Their speed carried them up the side of the ditch and then… they were airborne for several seconds…

  …before the tires landed hard on Coldspring Road again.

  Darcy’s heart was in her throat. Jon wasn’t letting up on the speed, and they were gaining on the Iroc but at this rate they were likely to both get killed, both cars in a fiery crash in the snow, if they didn’t slow down.

  Darcy’s eyes went wide as she heard those words in her mind. Slow down. That’s what Colby had been telling her for days now. She needed to slow down.

  Up ahead, the Iroc was heading for a hill bordered by trees growing close to the road on both sides. The roads were worse here, away from the new businesses and houses that had stretched the town limits of Misty Hollow. Few people had a reason to come out this way. It was just them, and the Iroc, and the trees.

  Jon pushed their car faster.

  The Iroc skidded as the driver pushed itself up the slippery slope of the hill, drifting toward the center.

  Darcy watched as they got closer, and then closer.

  She reached across to Jon, and gently put her hand on his knee to get his attention. “Jon. Slow down.”

  Slow down.

  “What?” he exclaimed. “We’ve almost got him. This is our chance.”

  “Slow down. Please, Jon, trust me. You do trust me, right? You said you trust me.”

  Slow down.

  “Darcy…”

  “Jon, please… just trust me.”

  Their car made one more lurching jump and Darcy felt herself getting car sick. Or maybe that was the growing dread of what she knew was coming.

  The Iroc was powering its way to the top of the hill, pushing with its back tires, spinning and spinning and slipping back and forth, drifting over the center line and back, over the center line and back.

  Slow down.

  Jon kept his eyes on the road, on the Iroc he wanted so badly to catch, and his face was tight with the anxiety of the chase. In that moment Darcy was sure he would never give up.

  Then he dropped their speed, slower and slower, until they were well under the speed limit.

  “I trust you, Darcy,” he told her. “I trust you with my life.”

  She breathed out a huge sigh of relief, the knot in her stomach loosening as she allowed her body to relax.

  Ahead of them, the Iroc topped the hill.

  They watched their target drove out of sight, over the crest of the road.

  Jon swore again. She saw the white in his knuckles as his hands strangled the wheel.

  A screeching sound of metal twisting on metal filled the air, the sound of the crash impossibly loud even from this distance.

  Back over the top of the hill came the Iroc, sliding into view as it scraped along the pavement, crushed against the blade of a brightly painted yellow snowplow. The orange emergency light on top of the bigger vehicle spun as the driver tried to stop, his airbrakes squealing, his tires skidding and sliding all over as momentum and gravity worked against him. Darcy could see the panicked look on his face as he fought the wheel and shifted gears and did anything he could to slow his descent down the hill.

  Which wasn’t much.

  Out of control, going too fast, the driver of the Iroc had slammed into the rounded blade of the snowplow hard, and now he was being dragged back down the hill, helpless to do anything as his car folded in on itself around him.

  After a moment of disbelief Jon was able to get their car stopped, but they were right in the path of the highway maintenance truck with the little Iroc twisted into its frame. Throwing the shifter into reverse he craned his neck to look behind him and pressed the gas.

  The tires spun. They were slipping in their own tracks in the slush and the car wouldn’t budge.

  As the snowplow bared down on them Jon worked the car forward and then back, forward and then back, gaining a few inches each time, and then a few inches more, and then a few inches more…

  Darcy looked up to see the plow literally sliding the last few dozen feet down the hill. Its driver looked directly at her, and she could read the distress in his eyes.

  Jon jammed his foot down, shoving the gas pedal all the way to the floor, but it didn’t do any good. Darcy heard the whine of their tires as they spun. She saw the snowplow reach the bottom of the hill. She saw it coast sideways, drifting ever slower, its wheels locked in place.

  And then it stuttered closer as the pavement caught the tires, floating toward them in slow motion…

  The edge of the truck’s fender bumped up against their grill. Jon’s car was rocked where it sat, still stuck in the slush.

  The snowplow eased to a stop, and it was over.

  Everything was perfectly still for the longest time. The sounds of two overworked engines knocking and pinging as they cooled down were loud in Darcy’s ears. The orange flash of the emergency light on top of the highway truck pain
ted the snow around them into caramel. In front of them, through the windshield, was a solid wall of yellow metal.

  Finally, Jon cleared his throat. “I trust you,” he told Darcy. “I trust you with my life.”

  “Next time,” she said, unhooking her fingers from the door handle, “trust me sooner.”

  They got out, and came around to the front of the snowplow. The Iroc was a mangled heap of scrap. It would never drive again, ever. The man they had been chasing had managed to open the driver’s door somehow, and now he hung halfway out of the car, suspended by his seatbelt. His leather aviator’s cap had fallen into the snow piled up against the plow below him, and his red hair and sideburns were clearly visible.

  Edmund Beres. Freelance criminal, sometimes employee of The Hand, and half-brother of Phineas McCord.

  And arsonist, Darcy added to herself. Arsonist, and murderer.

  Phin had been on the naughty list as a prime suspect and had been willing to take the blame for everything his brother had done. Darcy could never have lived with herself if an innocent man had put himself in prison for someone like Edmund Beres, brother or not.

  It’s a good thing she checked her list twice.

  “What’s so funny?” Jon asked when he heard her laugh.

  Up the road, they saw the red lights and heard the sirens of the approaching patrol cars. Their backup had arrived. “I’ll tell you later,” she answered him. “Right now, let’s get some handcuffs on this guy before we take him to the hospital.”

  ***

  “My brother never really had the chance to make anything of himself.”

  Phin sat with Darcy and Jon at the kitchen table in their house, stirring his coffee with his spoon rather than drinking it. The story he had to tell had been a long one, twenty years long in fact, and much better suited to a warm house and cups of coffee than to the cold and sterile interview room at the police station. It was late in the day and Colby was already in bed with both Smudge and Tiptoe keeping her company. She’d been snoring quietly when Darcy had checked on her just five minutes ago.