by K. J. Emrick
COPYRIGHT
First published in Australia by South Coast Publishing, May 2014.
Copyright K.J. Emrick (2014)
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and locations portrayed in this book and the names herein are fictitious. Any similarity to or identification with the locations, names, characters or history of any person, product or entity is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
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Chapter One
Darcy Sweet rode in the front seat of Jon Tinker’s police car in silence. The red light on the dash flashed and spun, slicing through the shadows under the trees around them with menace and foreboding.
They had driven a few miles outside the main part of town already, to a part of Misty Hollow where the roads were more like one lane dirt paths that didn’t go anywhere. On a map, they would be driving on Woodbridge Lane. In reality they were slowing down every so often to make sure the car fit between towering oak trees or pulling over onto the soft, grassy shoulders to avoid deep ruts. It was a pretty area to take a walk in, and Darcy had taken rides through here on her bicycle dozens of times when she had a few hours with nothing else to do.
It was evening now, and sunset was coming, and the area got creepy in the dark. Everywhere that Darcy looked, tendrils of mist rose up from the ground, taunting her, mixing between blood red and ghostly pale as Jon’s emergency light continued to flash. Because of her special abilities, she could see and know things that most people couldn’t. She could talk to the dead, for instance. They could talk to her too, even though there were times when she wished they wouldn’t. So she knew what she was seeing through the car window. The mists that had gave the town its name a few centuries ago always appeared when something bad had happened.
Jon had gotten a phone call while they were at home, after they had just returned from Ryansburg where Marla the Misty Hollow librarian had been murdered. Now they were on their way to another crime scene to investigate someone else’s death.
Darcy grimaced at the reflection staring back at her in the glass. She really needed to rethink her life. Her green eyes blinked agreement at her.
She and Jon had been in the middle of a very important conversation when he got that call. She bit her lip, thinking back on how she had gotten the nerve up to ask Jon to marry her. Yup. The whole scene played out in her memory, and it was like something from a romantic comedy. Except for his answer. Nothing to laugh at there.
“You haven’t said two words to me since we left the house,” Jon said to her suddenly.
“Yes I have,” she said, sitting up, “I said ‘turn here’ at the last intersection.”
He snorted. It wasn’t quite a laugh.
Up ahead, she could see several parked cars, and the flashing red and blue strobes of an ambulance.
“We need to talk, Darcy,” he said to her, for something like the fourth time.
She kept her gaze carefully out the window, on the scene they were approaching, as she answered him. “I couldn’t agree more. That's what we were doing at home, if you remember. We can’t exactly talk now, though.” Jon stopped the car, parking up on the front lawn of a house surrounded by yellow tape and emergency vehicles. “For now," she said, "let’s go see what happened.”
He caught her elbow as she was opening the door. “Darcy, you need to know a few things first. Like why we’re here.”
“We’re here because someone died.” He gave her arm back but then he just sat there, like he wanted to say something and couldn’t figure out how. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jon. Tell me later. Let’s just go.”
She got out of the car, stepping into the warm evening. A sudden breeze stirred her hair and rustled in the grass where last Autumn’s dead leaves still hid. In spite of the gentle warmth early spring had brought to Misty Hollow, a shiver climbed up Darcy’s spine.
The house was the source of that chill. Darcy was looking up at it now, a hulking shape of angles and gabled roofs, set back from Woodbridge Lane by a good hundred feet. Spotlights washed harsh light across the dull gray siding and the shuttered windows. A tall chimney of large, oddly shaped stones climbed up high above the peak of the roof. With her abilities she could sense more than just what her eyes and ears told her. Something bad had happened here.
In a second story window, the only one with the shutters pushed aside, Darcy saw a woman standing and watching. She was tall and elderly, her white hair done into a tight braid over the left shoulder of her black dress. Her expression was grim.
As Darcy watched, the woman faded and then disappeared. Darcy recognized her. It was the Widow Chartrand. Her ghost, anyway.
“What is it?” Jon asked, following her line of sight without seeing anything. “Was there something up there? Did you sense something?”
“Yes,” she said, lowering her voice so that none of the police officers or volunteer ambulance people could hear. “Jon, what happened here?”
“The Widow Chartrand was killed,” he said, “like I told you on the way over.”
She looked up at him, into his handsome face, with his blue eyes in shadow and dark hair ruffled by the breeze. His expression was tight. Jon knew what Darcy’s abilities let her do. He might not understand it all, and she knew how some of it still disturbed him, but he had moved well past the fear and misunderstanding a lot of people had.
That was one of the things that let her know how perfect they were for each other. Marriage had seemed like the natural progression of their relationship.
Until she had actually asked him to marry her.
Looking back at the house now, the feeling of cold dread crept up her spine again. She caught a strand of her long dark hair and absently coiled it around a finger. “I know she was murdered, Jon. But there’s something else. I can’t tell what it is, but there’s something.”
With a faraway look on his face Jon took her by the hand. “There’s a lot going on here, Darcy. None of it good.”
“Well?” she said. “What is it? Tell me.”
For just a moment he looked like he was going to answer the question. Then he pressed his lips tighter together and nodded toward the house. “Come on. It will be easier if I show you. Let’s go inside.”
Jon nodded to several of the peo
ple they passed. Most of the police force was here, by the look of it. They waved or nodded to Darcy as well. She was on a first name basis with most of them by now. Not just because her sister Grace was a detective here just like Jon was. It was more because she had helped with a lot of the major investigations the police had handled.
Murder was becoming an all too frequent occurrence here in town.
Joe Daleson saw the two of them walking up the driveway as he came down from the house. He waved to them, taking off his chief's cap and scratching at his round, balding head. Joe was a stocky man with a burly and muscular physique who stood a good foot shorter than Jon. He was quick to smile and always ready with a joke. Today, he wasn't smiling.
Resettling his cap as Jon and Darcy got closer, he shook his head, his face grim. "Nasty bit of business. Everyone liked Vivica Chartrand. I can't figure why anyone would want her dead." He looked down his nose at Darcy. "Been Police Chief in this town for fourteen years, Miss Sweet. Never had this many murders to deal with."
Darcy blinked. She got the impression he was blaming her, somehow. That was crazy, wasn't it? "I'm only here to offer my help, Chief," she said to him defensively.
He nodded curtly. "We're happy to have it, too. You've helped us out any number of times, Miss Sweet, and I'm grateful for it. I just wish we didn't need your kind of…help."
There it was again. Darcy sighed. She was used to people thinking her abilities were somehow bad, or evil, so the Chief's attitude was nothing new. Her true friends in town never said anything about it, but she knew that even they were a little skittish when it came to Darcy talking to ghosts or knowing things that no one else could.
Her Great Aunt Millie had always told her that everyone had their own gifts, their own abilities, that made them special. Difference was, Millie would say, no one understood a truly powerful gift except those who had it.
"Who found her?" Jon asked, meaning Vivica Chartrand.
"Helen Nelson. She came looking for Ms. Chartrand when she missed the town board meeting this afternoon. Not like our town treasurer to miss a meeting. Not without a good excuse. I remember one time she showed up with a massive head cold. She couldn't even keep her head up."
Darcy put her hand up over her mouth. Poor Helen. Darcy knew she and Vivica Chartrand and the other members of the town council were all friends. This must have been hard for her. "Is she still here?" Darcy asked.
The Chief shook his head. "No. I sent her home with one of my officers. She was upset. Understandably so." He checked his watch. "The coroner's people should be here soon. Jon, why don't you and Miss Sweet get on up to the scene before they do and see what you make of it. Then you can come down to my car. We've got our suspect there."
Jon started to say something, but the Chief cut him off. "Oh, and by the way. I have a letter sitting on my desk from Oak Hollow's Police Chief. Plan on sending him a reply in the morning. I'd like to know what to say to him." He arched an eyebrow, waiting for Jon's answer.
Darcy watched the two of them, knowing she was missing something important. Finally Jon sighed and shifted his weight. "Can I let you know in the morning, Chief? I'd like to get started on this."
The chief nodded. "Fine. I can't wait too long, though, or they'll think the answer is no."
He turned and walked away, grumbling to himself as he went.
"What was that about?" Darcy asked Jon after the chief was gone.
"I told you we had a lot to talk about." He looked tired, and it was more than just the shadows of the approaching night. "Come on. Let's get up to the house. One thing at a time, right?"
Chapter Two
At the door to the house a female officer stood. Her name plate said "Partridge" and Darcy remembered her first name was Laura. She nodded to Jon as they stepped up onto the wide front porch. "The newspaper has already gotten ahold of this one, Jon," she said. "The Chief was fielding calls from Watson just before you got here."
Brianna Watson was a reporter for the local newspaper, The Chronicle. It was one of the state's oldest papers and had a reputation for being fair and honest in its reporting. That was before Brianna Watson, though. Now it had a reputation for digging up dirt on anyone and everyone. Darcy had seen Jon ball the paper up some mornings and stuff it in the trashcan after reading some of Watson's articles.
"Let me know if any reporters show up, all right?" Jon told her.
They went inside, entering a kitchen that was twice the size of the one at Darcy's house, furnished with white painted cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The lights had all been turned on. Darcy almost wished they hadn't.
On the dark hardwood floor lay the body of the Widow Chartrand. She lay on her chest in a black dress, and her white hair was tied in a long braid. Blood had dried around a wound in her back and pooled in an uneven spread across the floor. Her hands were stretched out over her head. Her fingers were clawed, like she had tried to crawl away from her death.
Darcy couldn't see the woman's face, but she knew it was the same person she had seen in the upstairs window, the ghost that had stared down at everything with such foreboding. Vivica Chartrand, dead in her own home.
Jon leaned down closer to examine the body. Evidence markers had been set in place. Everything had already been photographed and cataloged. The only thing left was to remove the Widow Chartrand and do up the reports. That, and catch the killer.
"Do you know if she lived with anyone?" Jon asked.
"No. I mean, I didn't know her very well, but from what I understand she's lived alone since her husband died about fifteen years ago. She has a son, Richard, but he lives over in Meadowood. I think."
Jon nodded, standing up again. "She was stabbed in the back. I'll have to check with the Chief to see if there was any forced entry but it almost looks like she knew her attacker pretty well."
"Why do you say that?" Darcy asked.
"You don't turn your back on a stranger," was the answer.
Jon looked around the kitchen. Darcy didn’t notice anything out of place. She still felt a chill prickling at her skin, but she attributed that to the death that had occurred here. Now that she saw it, she could see how violent and unexpected it had been. Something like that always caused a spirit unrest.
That wasn't what was bothering her right now, though.
"What letter did you get from Oak Hollow?" she asked Jon suddenly.
"What?"
"The Chief said he was holding a letter for you from Oak Hollow." Darcy started twisting the antique silver ring around and around on the finger of her right hand. It was a habit she indulged in whenever she was nervous. Or worried. "What did he mean? What letter?"
Jon walked over, standing close to her, and met her gaze directly. "That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Needed to talk to you about, actually. I didn't want to say anything until it became a real offer. Now it has." He took a deep breath and she could see him trying to contain his enthusiasm. "I got offered a promotion."
"You did?" she said, instantly excited for him. In the next moment, however, she realized what he meant. "Oh."
"Right," he said. "The job offer is from the Oak Hollow Police Department. They were very impressed with the part we played in finding Aaron and bringing that Manning character to justice."
Aaron Wentworth, Darcy's brother-in-law, had been kidnapped during a botched bank robbery in the city of Oak Hollow this past Valentine's Day. Darcy knew what Jon was talking about. As good as the police might be over there, they would never have solved that case without her and Jon's help. It had been a very trying time for everyone, but things had worked out all right. Darcy had no idea that the Oak Hollow P.D. had been in contact with Jon since then.
"So, uh," she said, trying not to sound annoyed that she was only hearing about it now, "a promotion, huh? That's good news, I guess?"
"It was something I wanted to talk to you about before I did anything," he assured her. "I would never have made a decision without talking to you
first."
That made her feel a little better, and she let him pull her into a gentle hug. He was warm, and the feel of his body against hers was always nice. Opening her eyes again to look past his shoulder, she saw Vivica Chartrand standing in the doorway that led to the dining room. She smiled at Darcy, then looked down at the floor, to where her own body lay. Shock and dismay twisted her features before she disappeared like smoke being blown away by a strong wind.
"Jon," Darcy said, pushing back a little from him. "Can we maybe continue this outside? Where there isn't a dead person lying on the floor?"
"Oh. Oh, right. Sorry."
They walked back out past Officer Partridge and stepped out of the way of the coroner's people, a two man team with a black nylon body bag held between them, wearing blue gloves and serious expressions.
Down the steps, then down the driveway, Darcy felt like her chest was getting tighter and tighter. Why hadn't Jon mentioned this promotion before? How long had he known about this offer? Maybe he was planning on taking it, and that was why he hadn't said anything yet. Endless what-if's swirled through her mind. She didn't want to stand in his way if this helped his career.
She didn't want to lose him, either.
"So was that what you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked him as they were approaching the line of three marked patrol cars down at the road's edge.
He hesitated, like he was gathering his thoughts. "That was part of it. There's more."
One of the junior officers came up to them at the edge of the lawn. "Jon, she's been asking for you. We've got her in the back of Unit Two."
Jon nodded, his face carefully neutral. "Is she handcuffed?"
The junior officer looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, she is. I'm sorry, Jon. It's procedure."
"I know, I know. It's not anyone's fault but her own." He turned to Darcy and she almost thought she could see an apology in his eyes. "Come on. I want to introduce you to the Widow Chartrand's killer."