by K. J. Emrick
Only this time, the ghost was her.
At least, it wore her face. It sounded like her and moved like her. In fact, Darcy would have sworn it was her, except for the obvious fact that she was still very much alive. It was just a dream, she told herself. People had dreams. They came and they went, and they didn’t mean anything except maybe that you ate some bad sushi before you went to bed.
So then…why did she keep having the same dream, two and sometimes three times a week?
Willamena took a step closer to her. “There, you see? You are thinking about it even now. This is a dream that has some deep, dark meaning which troubles your mind.”
Darcy glared at the woman’s insubstantial face. “I’m thinking about it now because you brought it up. I was having a good day until you showed up, by the way, so thanks heaps for that.” She turned her back on the ghost of Willamena Duell and headed back to the stairs. “I’m going to go spend time with my kids. You can look me up in my dreams tonight if you want to keep talking about this but if you do, can you at least bring Great Aunt Millie with you? At least she’s someone I like talking to.”
She knew that sounded harsh, but it was the truth. She had finally learned to accept that Willamena was going to be a part of her life whether she liked it or not, and she had even leaned on the ghost’s wisdom once or twice, but there was no way the two of them would ever become friends. Darcy had threatened to do an exorcism to remove her from the house more than once. If it ever came to that, she wouldn’t hesitate.
Once upon a time, Willamena had hurt Colby, and hurt her badly. Darcy hadn’t forgiven her for that, and she hadn’t forgotten it, either. She’d just sort of moved past it.
She started up from the cellar, placing her feet carefully on each of the stairs. Jon had done a good job replacing the original stairs with these new ones, but they were just wood frame, with nothing underneath them, and with blank spaces at the front of each step where the risers should have been. For some reason being able to see through them, to the emptiness below, always weirded her out.
Not quite halfway up, she heard a sound like scratching, and looked down.
Scritch, scritch, scritch…
Something was under there.
“I’m not in the mood, Willa,” she warned the ghost. “I’ve got two containers of sea salt in my cabinet and I will have no problem whatsoever laying lines down across all the doorways and windows to keep you from going anywhere at all except that box of yours. Don’t push me.”
“Ahem,” she heard Willamena clear her throat. “I am still over here, Darcy dear.”
Darcy stopped, putting her hand to the wall to steady herself. She looked back at the patch of darkness, past the washing machine, where Willamena had been standing. There was the ghost of her distant ancestor, playing with her silver necklace and waving at her with the fingers of her other hand. A smug smile played around her lips. The kind of smile that only says one thing.
Told you so.
But if Willamena was over there…then what had she just heard…down there…?
She touched a finger to the antique ring on her right finger. It had been her Great Aunt Millie’s, and it had become a token of good luck for her. She touched it whenever she felt scared, or worried, or…whatever she was feeling right now in the pit of her stomach.
Scriiiiiitch…
Leaning back carefully, she looked through the blank space between the steps.
A hand reached out for her ankle, and she jumped back, and her toes slipped off the edge of a step, and she went down hard, catching herself but barking her shin in the process. Pain screamed at her and she sucked in a hard breath.
An arm followed the hand, and a face followed the arm, squeezing out of the empty space below the stairs.
Her face. It was her face.
With the voice of the grave, she cried out two words.
“…help…me…”
Darcy screamed, and sat up straight. The world spun around her and she knew she should be falling but she wasn’t falling and she didn’t understand why. She grasped at empty air, looking for a stair railing that wasn’t there.
She threw out her legs and pinwheeled her arms and suddenly she really was falling.
Off the couch.
She landed on the floor, down on her hands and knees, panting hard as she tried to understand how she was here in the living room and not in the cellar with her own ghost calling out for her.
…help…me…
A dream. Oh, thank God, it was just that same dream she kept having, over and over. She remembered now. After she and the kids got home she came in here, to sit down for a minute, while they went up to their rooms and then…she must have fallen asleep. And while she slept, she had the dream.
No, not a dream. A nightmare.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, putting herself back in the moment and the reality that she was down on all fours on the living room floor, shaking and panting for breath.
It hadn’t been real, and she could ignore it again just like she had every time before. It was all in her head. Just a dream.
Blowing out a relieved breath she stood up. When she did, pain lanced up her leg.
She looked down to find a tear in her jeans. She touched the rip, pulled the edges apart. There was blood on her shin from a long, jagged scrape. That didn’t happen when she fell off the couch. It couldn’t have.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. She knew where that wound came from.
On the stairs, when her own ghost had come chasing after her.
Chapter 3
She wasn’t sure when Jon got home. She fell asleep on the couch again after putting the kids to bed. This time she had a peaceful, dreamless sleep. One moment she was closing her eyes, and the next she was waking up to Jon’s hand placed gently on her cheek. Tiptoe was a warm bundle of fur curled into her lap. As she came awake, she became aware of her leg aching where she’d scraped it, a reminder of a mystery that she had no answer for.
Her own ghost, calling out to her…
Jon brushed the bangs away from her forehead with his fingertips. “Hey, Darcy. You didn’t have to wait up for me.”
She yawned, and stretched, and rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t think I did. Guess I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”
Tiptoe looked up at her, annoyed at the sudden movement as she stirred on the couch. The gray cat stood up, stretching herself out just like Darcy had, and then stepped gracefully off the edge of the couch.
“Where you going, little cat?” Jon asked her. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m here.”
Darcy took his hand and pulled him down next to her. “It’s a cat thing. Don’t worry about her. Tell me about your—”
“Wait. Dear God, Darcy, what did you do to your leg? Is that blood?”
He was looking at the rip in her jeans, pulling it this way and that way to look inside at the cut on her skin. It was such a small thing, but he was so worried about her. She adored him for it. “I…um, slipped,” she decided to tell him.
Jon knew all about her being able to talk to ghosts, and the way she could know things just by sensing them. She’d told him about her nightmare, too, and just like with everything else in her life he’d taken it in stride, giving her comfort and understanding and promising her they would figure it out.
Still, she didn’t want to tell him that she’d had the nightmare again when she didn’t even know she was asleep. That truly scared her.
“Well, it doesn’t look too bad,” he decided, leaning back into the couch next to her. “I guess accidents will happen. Did you get the kids off to bed okay?”
“Yeah, they were out as soon as their heads hit their pillows. Today really wore them out. Cha Cha is in with Zane, snoring louder than he is. Jon, you were just about to tell me what happened with the theft.”
“Uh, I don’t remember saying that.”
“Tease. You know I want to hear all about it.”
“Yeah,
I know.” He blew out a breath and leaned his head down on the back of the cushions. “I don’t get it, Darcy. The trophy was being kept inside the Town Hall in a locked room, and yet somehow it managed to end up missing.”
“Well, we’ve both learned that locked doors don’t necessarily stay locked. You’ve gotten pretty good with a lockpick set yourself, as I recall.”
“Yeah, I have. Thanks for noticing.” He smiled at the ceiling, obviously proud of this degenerate little skill that he’d picked up. “Okay, so that might explain that part, but then there’s other stuff that doesn’t make sense.”
“Like what?” Darcy turned herself on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, studying his face as he talked.
“Like, the fact that the trophy this year is close to four feet tall. The thing would almost come up to my belly button. It had a post on each of the corners, multiple levels, this thing on top…it was a big trophy.”
Darcy had never seen it, and she knew Jon wasn’t the most descriptive man in the world, but from what he’d just said… “That sounds pretty basic.”
“Well, yeah. It was the mayor’s own design, so I doubt anyone actually pointed out the fact that it’s goofy looking, at best, but that only makes me wonder about it even more. I don’t know why anyone would want to steal that thing. That wasn’t my point, though. I’m saying, the thing is tall. So, how did the thief get it out of the building with no one noticing?”
That was a good question. She reached out to stroke the hair at his temple, where it had gone gray, as she thought about that question with him. “Probably didn’t tuck it under their shirt.”
“Yeah. Mmm.” He leaned into her hand. “That feels good.”
“You like that?” she asked, letting her fingernails stroke down his cheek.
“Yeah. I’ll give you three hours to stop doing that.”
“Heh.” She leaned in closer. “I can keep doing this…if you tell me everything else about the trophy theft.”
“That’s extortion.”
“It’s the best deal you’re going to get all night, is what it is.”
The unspoken promise in her words made the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’m helpless in the face of your charms. So. Somehow our thief got into the Town Hall, and then somehow they got out with this trophy the size of an eight-year-old child. For some reason, they stole this one thing that only really has any value as bragging rights in a local festival. And…” He said, pausing for just a moment as Darcy’s fingernails traced the line of his jaw in a very pleasant way. “And, they left the money behind.”
Darcy sat up straight, her hands on her knees, her eyes narrowed at him. “They left the money? What money?”
“No, no,” Jon said, clutching her hand to bring it back to his face. “We had a deal. I tell you things, you keep doing the nice touchy-touchy stuff.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Jon, I’m serious.”
“So am I. Why would I not be serious about you and me?”
“Mystery first, more touching later, I promise. What do you mean, the thief left all the money behind?”
He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back on the couch, and didn’t say anything.
“Jon?”
His eyes rolled her way. “Hmm?”
She laughed at him. If he wanted to play, she could play.
Unfolding her legs, she tossed her hair over a shoulder, and carefully rolled herself over his legs, settling herself on top of his lap. She held tight to the back of the couch for leverage and thought to herself how much easier this had been, back when she was in her twenties. That wasn’t going to stop her from doing it now, or ever.
His hands settled themselves on her lower back as if they were made to fit there. His touch was magic, and exciting, sending little tingles up and down her spine as she leaned into him, and kissed his delicious lips.
When his thumbs slipped under her shirt to smooth out little circles against her hips, she felt it all the way to her toes.
“That’s better,” he murmured against her mouth. “Now. Want to hear the rest of it?”
“Mmmm,” she hummed. “Yes please.”
“Then after, maybe we can go upstairs…to bed?”
“Yes, please,” she said a little more enthusiastically. Going to bed seemed like a very, very good idea.
“Okay. So. The trophy is in a locked room…”
“Mm-hmm…”
“With everything else for SpringFest…”
“Mm-hmm…”
“Including the prize money that the mayor took out of the town’s account ahead of time.”
“Hmm,” Darcy said, her mind shifting from his wonderful hands to the mystery as he filled in more details. “And…?”
“And they didn’t take the money. Just the trophy.”
Darcy sat up on his legs. He flinched, just from surprise for the sudden interruption in their lover’s game. No way did she hurt her big strong guy with her slender weight.
“They didn’t take the money?” she asked.
“Uh, no. They left it behind. That’s what I was saying.”
He tried to pull her close again but she put a hand on his chest to stop him. She met his gaze directly, thinking it through, questions tumbling in her thoughts. “Why wouldn’t they take the money?”
“I don’t know,” Jon said with a shrug.
“But, if they knew the trophy was there, they had to know the money was there too.”
“We were thinking the same thing.”
“So why would someone go to all the trouble to break into that locked room, in a public place, and then steal something that has no value, when they had…how much money was in there?”
He huffed out a breath when he realized their game was over for good. Darcy was hot on the trail of a mystery again, and he knew what that meant. “According to the mayor,” he told her, “there was an envelope in a locked security box, containing one thousand, five hundred dollars.”
Darcy wasn’t sure she’d heard that correctly. “He left fifteen hundred dollars just sitting in a box?”
“I never said he was the smartest man alive. In his defense, it was in a locked box in a locked room in what’s supposed to be one of the more secure buildings in town.”
“Oh. Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Well…maybe the thief didn’t realize the money was in the box. Maybe they looked right at it and didn’t know what it was.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, “there’s a strip of masking tape on top of the lockbox with the words ‘money for SpringFest’ written right on it. Our thief would have had to be blind to miss it, and in all of the cases we’ve investigated together I have yet to see a blind man rob a building.”
“Maybe the box was too heavy?” she suggested, throwing out ideas.
Jon shook his head. “It’s only big enough for cash and folded documents, that sort of thing. Our thief would have had a much easier time getting that box out of the building than he must have had getting the trophy out.”
Darcy leaned back on his hips, thinking it through. This was all stuff that Jon and his officers must have thought of, but her mind was running through possibilities, trying to find an answer to how someone got that trophy out of the building without anyone seeing…
“Oh!” She slapped a hand down on his chest as an idea came to her. “Doesn’t the Town Hall have security cameras?”
He slowly reached up, and caught hold of the hand that had just assaulted him. “Our mayor,” he said critically, “didn’t pay the security monitoring company, and they stopped providing cloud service for the recorders a week ago.”
She didn’t try to take her hand away, but she shared his irritation. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. He thought,” Jon paused, and kissed the tip of her first finger, “that it was,” her second finger, “an unnecessary expense,” third finger, “for the town.” Pinky.
“Jon…” she said, feelin
g the tingles start to dance along her spine again. “That tickles.”
“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”
First finger. Second finger. Third finger. Pinky.
“Jon…”
“Darcy.”
She laughed, sucking in a breath as the tickles went deeper, biting down on her lip to keep herself from gasping. The kids might be asleep, but that felt very, very good, and he knew full well how she got when she got ticklish. “One more thing. One more question, I promise and then after that,” she sucked at her lip again as he nipped gently at her thumb. “Jon! Jon, I promise! I promise, just one more question!”
Lips puckered around the tip of her nail, he brought his eyes up to hers. “Mm-kay. Wuf if it?”
Oh, he was being so naughty, and she was so going to make him pay for it. Later. After she asked her one more thing. “Isn’t there any video recordings from the security cameras? Any at all? They still record to a hard drive in the building, don’t they?”
“Ugh,” he groaned, finally letting her have her hand back. She wiped it on his shirt. “Yeah, we have a little bit of recording that wasn’t overwritten. We have four hours of recording from today. I’ve got two hours from seven to nine in the morning, which is just enough to see the day getting started, and I’ve got two more from two until four in the afternoon. Everything else is gone. It’s been recording over itself in two-hour bursts ever since the monitoring company stopped getting our checks.”
Darcy frowned. “Not much to go on.”
“Nope. But your sister’s putting it all together for us. Grace will make a great chief of police herself one day. When I’m gone, I mean. In the meantime, I’ve got the night off. You’ve got the night off. If you don’t have any plans, I know this great little place upstairs. It’s private, and it’s quiet, and the bed is super comfortable.”
“Why, Mister Tinker. Are you suggesting we go up to our room?”