by K. J. Emrick
"Darcy, stay here," Grace said to her as she moved to intercept Richard.
Darcy watched her sister, pregnant and dead on her feet, calm Richard down. She couldn't hear what was said, but whatever it was took the wind out of Richard's sails. Darcy figured if her mother had just been murdered, she'd be that upset, too, but Grace did an amazing job of tamping down Richard's anger. His clenched fists slowly relaxed, his shoulders slumped. He choked back a sob or two before nodding to Grace and turning to walk away, his head hung low, wiping tears out of his eyes.
Grace came back over, her face set in a grim expression. "Richard was out for blood. He wants a piece of whoever killed his mother. I think I've got him calmed down. For now."
"I can't blame him," Darcy said. "He just found out his mother is dead. How would we react?"
Grace nodded, but didn't say anything. Both of them had their issues with their mother. Issues that only now, in their thirties, were being ironed out and healed over.
"I'm just saying," Darcy continued, opening the passenger door of Grace's car, "it’s better that Richard doesn't find out it was Jon's sister the police arrested any time soon. Not that Jon's good at telling people he has a sister, or anything."
"Don't be too hard on him, sis," Grace said to her when they got into her car. "He's in a tough spot now, having to work up a case against a member of his own family."
Darcy shut her door and clicked her seatbelt into place. "I know that, Grace. There's more, though. He got this job offer that might take him out of Misty Hollow for good, and he didn't even tell me about it."
Grace didn't say anything. She adjusted her rearview mirror, settled more comfortably in the driver's seat, checked her mirror again. When she started the engine, she checked her sideview mirrors.
Darcy felt her eyes pop wide. "You knew! Grace, you knew he had the job offer, didn't you?"
Her sister cleared her throat, and then nodded. "I'm sorry, Darcy, but he made me promise not to tell you. He wanted to know more about it before he said anything. It's not like he's already decided to go or anything."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
Grace had nothing to say to that. They didn't speak another word to each other all the way back to Darcy's house.
***
Her house was the same house that had belonged to her Great Aunt Millie. It was a sturdy, two story home, with original windows that were drafty and original floors that creaked. Darcy had spent a lot of time here when she was younger. It had been easier on her than living with her mother, for a lot of reasons. Millie had the same abilities that Darcy had, for one thing. She didn't criticize Darcy over every little thing, for another.
Darcy unlocked the front door now and went inside, breathing deeply like the air inside her house might have magical healing properties. It was the same smell that she remembered from when Millie was alive. This house never changed. It was a fixed point in her life and it felt good to have something this ordinary, this reliable, that would always be here for her.
Scampering around the corner of the doorway to the living room, Smudge meowed for her attention and rubbed himself vigorously against her legs. Her big black and white tomcat was another fixed point in her life, always there for her when she needed him. Reaching down she scratched the fur between his ears.
"Nice to see you too, boy," Darcy told him. "Have you been keeping out of mischief while we were gone all day?"
The cat tilted his head to one side and slowly blinked his eyes, as if to shrug and say, "As much as I can. Trouble finds me, you know."
She laughed. Sometimes it was like she could understand him perfectly. Or, maybe that was just her putting words in the cat's mouth. "You're not keeping any secrets from me, are you Smudge?" she asked, her tone bitter. "No secret brothers or sisters that I don't know about or offers to go live in the neighbor's houses?"
Smudge meowed and raced over to his food dish, which was empty. He patted the side of the plastic bowl with his paw a few times, then looked up at her expectantly.
"That's what I thought," she said, glad that at least one of the men in her life was being completely honest with her. Even her sister had been keeping secrets from her! She got out a can of moist catfood for Smudge. He pranced around her legs, meowing hopefully as the can opener whirred.
She spooned the contents into his bowl, and he set about eating happily while Darcy sighed. What was she going to do about Jon? He must be having such a hard time of it, back at the police station, his fugitive sister under arrest for murdering someone here in town. Poor guy…
Shaking her head she went in to the couch and sat down sideways on it, her knees drawn up, her arms crossed over her chest. No. She wasn't going to feel sorry for him. Well, she did feel sorry for him. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he should have told her all of this stuff long before today. When they moved in together would have been nice. Before that would have been even better.
He had looked so miserable, though, when she'd left him there at the station. She'd left him all alone to deal with his sister and what she had done…
She growled at herself and threw her head back against the couch's armrest. It didn't matter how mad she wanted to be with him, she just kept coming back around to feeling bad for him. At least he hadn't had to see the image of his sister's hands coated in blood like that. She shivered at the thought of it.
Could she have done it wrong? She wondered about that. It was only the second time in her life that she'd attempted it. No, she knew what she was doing. It was a more advanced use of her abilities than what she was used to doing, but a lot more straightforward than calling up the dead to talk to them. A lot less draining, too.
Still, could she have missed something?
Debating back and forth with herself like that, Darcy jumped off the couch and went over to the living room's small book shelf. Mixed in with paperbacks with cracked spines and a telephone book and a few hardcover favorites, Darcy had carefully placed the book her Great Aunt had written. "Embracing Your Talent," by Millicent Carlisle.
It had been an amazing find for Darcy. She hadn't even known that Millie had written a book on the subject of paranormal gifts. Finding it in a Ryansburg bookstore by accident a few days ago, and reading it through, had been sort of like being able to talk to her aunt again.
Even now, as she gently slid the book off the shelf, she could almost feel Millie's presence, looking over her shoulder, encouraging her with the written words on every page. She missed her aunt fiercely. In town, in the bookstore Darcy had inherited from Millie, the old woman's spirit still hung around, making mischief and guiding Darcy in subtle ways. It wasn't the same as having her right here to talk to, though. This book, she decided with a sigh, would have to be enough for now.
Bringing the book back over to the couch and opening it on the coffee table Darcy turned to one of the back sections where Millie had written out techniques for the more advanced practitioner. The trick to find ghostly signs of murder on someone's hands was back here. She found it, and read through it again. And then again.
Closing the book, she tapped a finger against its blue cover. She had missed something. Something very, very important.
Chapter Six
Darcy waited up until almost midnight for Jon. She had been pacing the floor, solving the crossword puzzle in the paper, and doing little chores around the house to keep herself awake for when he got back. Now she sat down on the couch, tired and worn out from the adrenaline not just of today but of a lot of things piling on top of each other over weeks. Smudge climbed up onto her lap and began purring, a warm and comfortable weight. She stroked his fur over and over, rhythmically, calmly…
"Darcy?"
Her head bounced up from the back of the couch and her eyes popped open and she stifled a yawn that almost came out as a scream when something with claws and fur leapt its way off her lap. Smudge, she realized. She'd fallen asleep with the cat on her lap.
Jon stood ov
er her, baggy circles making his eyes dark. He had been gently shaking her arm to wake her up. "Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
She stretched, feeling the crick that had formed in her neck from sitting at an odd angle in one place for so long. "No scared me." She cleared her throat. "You didn't scare me, I mean. Guess I fell asleep. What time is it?"
"It's after two in the morning," he told her, sitting next to her to take off his shoes and toss them at the nearest wall. "I thought you'd be up in bed already."
She stretched again, ending up close to him with her arm around his neck and her head on his shoulder. "I wanted to wait up for you. Is everything all right down at the station?"
After a moment's hesitation, she felt his body relax against her. "No. Everything is not all right. Unless you count booking your own sister on murder charges all right. Which I don't." He lowered his voice and scratched at his chin. "Then, I had to call our mom and let her know that Aimee is alive, and that she's okay, and oh by the way I just arrested her for killing someone else."
She heard the edge to his words. "It's alright to be mad at her, Jon. Do you want to talk about it?"
He turned to her, the lines on his face easing just a bit as he exhaled a breath. "Yes. More than anything, Darcy, I want to tell you about all this. If you're still willing to listen?"
When she nodded, he hugged her tightly, and kissed her lips. His mouth was soft against hers, and she wished they had the whole night to do just what they were doing now. Unfortunately, events kept conspiring against them.
She sat with one leg hooked over his, leaning close in, keeping her eyes on his the whole time that he talked to her about his family. His sister, the upstart child who always broke the rules and got caught up on the wrong side of the law early in life. But then, what could the family expect, he asked. She came by it naturally from their father.
Their dad had given their mother a loveless marriage where she never wanted for anything except his companionship. They didn't find out until much later that the money he brought in was actually scammed from other people. The law caught up with him, too, and sent him to prison. Twice.
Then there was Jon. Jon Tinker, the black sheep. He stayed in school, got good grades, and became a police officer. No matter how hard he worked, though, he couldn't escape the shadow of his family.
"She even came here," Jon said, miserably. "She came here, to where she knew I was, and she killed someone else."
Darcy bit her lip. "Um. About that? I read over my aunt's book again. I may not have done the procedure correctly."
Jon stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"According to the book, that process shows when a person has guilt on their hands. I thought it was to show murder, strictly murder and nothing else, but it turns out it's for just about any sin you want to mention that could hurt someone else. Hit somebody with your car, break their legs and then leave without confessing? That will show up as blood on your hands. Poison your neighbor's cat? Blood shows up on your hands. But, it's all to varying degrees."
"I'm not following you," Jon admitted. "You know I can't see the things you do. Dumb it down for me, will you?"
"It's simple. The worse the act of violence against someone else, the more blood the practitioner—that's me—should see. For a murder, Aimee's hands should have been dripping with blood. There should have been blood oozing out from her skin and pooling all over the interview room."
He winced. "Thanks for that image."
"Uh, yeah. Sorry. That was kind of gross, wasn't it? Jon, Aimee's hands had blood on them, sure, but there wasn't enough to show murder." She shook her head. "I don't think she did it."
"So, what are you saying Darcy?" he asked, his tone annoyed. "You think she poisoned someone's cat?"
"No," she said immediately, then rolled her eyes to the side. "Well, maybe. I don't know, Jon. You said she was into a lot of bad stuff as a young girl, maybe it had to do with something back then. And she has a warrant of arrest, don't forget."
"The warrant was for murder, too, Darcy. Don't forget that. Are you going to tell me she isn't guilty of that one, either?"
Darcy hadn't thought of that. Here was a woman accused of two separate murders, and according to Darcy's abilities she wasn't guilty of either one.
"Jon, I trust my abilities. I saw blood. She's guilty of something. I just don't think she's guilty of killing Vivica Chartrand."
Jon threw his hands in the air and pushed up off the couch. "You aren't being reasonable. I can't…I can't talk about this right now. I'm going to bed."
"Jon!"
"No, Darcy!" He realized he was yelling, and pressed his hands to his face as he drew in a deep breath. When he took his hands away again his face was calmer, but his eyes were still stormy. "My sister is a murderer. It's just something I have to accept."
She went over to him, put a hand gently on his arm. "What if I can prove she's innocent?"
"And just how do you plan on doing that?"
"Hey," she said, with a shrug and a smile, "isn't that what we do?"
His expression eased a little more. "Yeah, I suppose. We're a pretty good team."
And there was the other thing that had been weighing on Darcy's mind all night. "If we're such a good team, then why are you considering taking a job over in Oak Hollow?"
"They offered me the job, Darcy. I didn't go looking for it."
"That doesn't really answer my question, does it?"
Over on the stairs, Darcy saw Smudge reappear, looking at them through the staircase balusters, his cat eyes big and wide, curious what all the shouting was about.
She wanted to tell him it was okay, but she wasn't really sure herself. "I don't care who offered you the job," she said. "I just don't understand why you would keep something like that from me."
"I wasn't keeping it from you. I just didn't want to say anything about it until I knew it was a certain thing."
"And now you know?" It didn't come out so much a question as an accusation.
"Darcy, it's a good opportunity. A lieutenant's position. Good salary, good benefits. I'll be in charge of a lot of people, be my own boss."
She waited, but that was all he had to say, apparently. "And what about me?" she asked. "Where did I fit into this great opportunity?"
"What do you mean?"
She couldn't believe he'd just said that. "I mean, I didn't hear you mention me in there at all. What am I supposed to do while you're off taking this great opportunity?"
"Oak Hollow isn't that far away," he offered.
"Far enough, Jon. What, I'm just supposed to stay here and wait for you to come home on the weekends or come visit you sometimes?"
Now it was her with her voice raised. She couldn't help it. After everything they've gone through together, he was going to just forget her for a job?
"That's not what I meant," he said, almost like he'd read her mind. "I meant, you could come there with me."
Darcy was stunned. On the stairs, Smudge mewled. He didn't like the idea of leaving any more than she did. "My life is here, Jon. I have my business, I have this house. All my friends. Grace and her baby. I can't just leave all of this!"
They stared at each other. This had been all of the stuff Jon had wanted to talk to her about earlier today. Things that they should have talked about long before now. She wondered, if he'd brought this up sooner for her, the stuff about his family and about this great job offer of his, would it have made any difference?
Probably not. She didn't know what to say. Neither did he.
Turning away, Jon went to the stairs, and up to bed.
More frustrated than she'd ever been in her life, Darcy sat down hard on the couch, holding her head in her hands. Smudge curled up to her, stretching his paw out to her in a very human way. Stroking his fur, she held back her tears, and fell asleep.
Chapter Seven
"Darcy, wake up, child."
It wasn't Jon's voice. She recognized it immediately for who it w
as. A strong female tenor graced by age and touched by a wry sense of humor even when she was serious. Her Great Aunt Millie had been dead for several years now, but it wasn't unusual for Darcy, with her gifts, to still see her from time to time. It was always in Darcy's bookstore downtown, though.
Not in her own living room.
Darcy sat up on the couch, suddenly fully awake. Smudge protested with a yeowl and pounced away. Millie smiled down at Darcy, white hair done up in a bun, a full length red dress set just so across her shoulders and cinched at the waist with a thin silver belt. "There's my girl. You can't sleep the whole day away, you know."
"Millie?" Darcy wondered. Her throat was dry and her voice was thick with sleep and she couldn't quite shake the fog out of her brain. "Millie, how are you here?"
Her aunt sat down on the couch next to Darcy. "Why, I live here dear. This is my house. I may have left it to you in my will, but that doesn't mean I gave up all rights to it."
"No, that's not…in your will?" Darcy couldn't wrap her mind around what was going on. If Millie was dead, how could she feel so real? If she was really here, then what did that mean?
"Am I dead?" Darcy tried.
Millie laughed. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Darcy. Of course not. So. Let's talk. Just us girls."
She reached out to pull the coffee table closer to the couch. On the table a huge jigsaw puzzle had been spread out. Most of the border was already done, and patches of the inside had been pieced together and sort of set in place. Millie picked up a single piece, studied it, and then set it in place near a corner. "Ah. There. That’s looking better. Now, what's going on with that man of yours?"
"You mean Jon?" Darcy felt foolish. Of course Millie meant Jon. "Um. We sort of had a fight."