by K. J. Emrick
"Oh? What ever about, dear?" Another few pieces went into their places. The border was complete now.
Darcy sat back into the couch, watching her aunt work. "He's been keeping secrets from me. First, he has a family, then his family is a bunch of criminals, then his sister is wanted on a warrant. Oh, and to top it all off, he took a job offer over in Oak Hollow without telling me."
Her aunt pursed her lips and nodded to each thing Darcy said. "Men. Tricky animals. I remember I had a devil of a time training your Uncle Phillip. We got it right in time to enjoy ourselves, though." She winked and Darcy felt her cheeks heating.
More of the puzzle went into place. Darcy couldn't make out the picture yet. It was just a riot of color to her, but her aunt seemed confident.
"As I recall, though," Millie continued, "your Jon didn't actually take the job. He had an offer, and he was holding off on accepting it until he could talk to you."
"Well, yes, I suppose." Darcy knew her aunt was right, she just wasn't ready to admit it. "That's not the point, though."
"Oh, I'm fairly certain it is the point. I'm old you know, which makes me smart." She laughed at her own joke, and put the last two pieces in place in the puzzle. "Well, I'll be. That is not what I thought it was going to be at all."
On the table, Darcy finally saw the puzzle together and complete. It was a picture of hot air balloons soaring up into the sky, all different colors and patterns. Her aunt looked almost angry at herself.
"I was sure," Millie said, "that it was going to be a field of flowers. Oh, well. I guess I'm not right all the time. I am right about Jon, though. Go easy on him. He means well, and you two are so good for each other."
She held out her arms, and Darcy leaned in to hug her aunt. "I miss you, Millie."
"I miss you, too, Darcy. Now, you've got plenty of work to do today." She leaned back, and looked at Darcy with twinkling eyes.
"Time to get up," she said.
Darcy woke up on the couch with a jolt. It was still dark out, although she could see grayish orange light in the sky outside her window. She looked all around, but she was alone. It had been just a dream. A very vivid, very real dream. From the stairs, Smudge looked at her and meowed, his fur standing up.
As she went to get up she bumped into the coffee table, which had been pulled in closer to the couch. On it, a jigsaw puzzle of soaring hot air balloons had been put together.
Maybe not just a dream after all.
Chapter Eight
After leaving a note for Jon, Darcy put her coat on over the same clothes she had been wearing last night and snuck outside. She had gotten her bicycle ready weeks ago for the first ride of spring. There hadn't been time before now, but this morning seemed like a great time to take a spin.
The air was clean and crisp as the sun came up over the trees. As she rode down into town, her tires swirled and disturbed the layer of mist that clung to the ground. It was thicker than she remembered it being yesterday, and she frowned at it. "Go away," she whispered, intentionally guiding her bike into little patches of the stuff to break it up. "We don't want you here."
She laughed at her game and let herself enjoy the feeling of the wind through her hair as she worked the pedals faster. Jon had gotten her the bicycle as a gift. It kept her from having to walk everywhere she went. Good thing, too, because the Widow Chartrand's house was a few miles outside of town in the other direction from Darcy's place.
She didn't know what she was expecting to find there, if anything, but she knew she had to look. Something wasn't right with this case. Darcy had to find out what. Jon might not approve, but right now what he wanted was low on her list of concerns. His lies still stung, and the argument they'd had last night was still fresh. She grumped to herself. Her good mood of a moment ago was gone again.
The bicycle didn't take the narrow road out to the Chartrand home as well as Jon's car had but it wasn't too long before she was there. Dismounting, she walked her bicycle up to a big tree with rough bark at the edge of the lawn, and leaned it against the trunk.
Streamers of yellow police tape still fluttered where they had caught in the grass. Tire tracks had dug ruts in the front lawn. The house stood tall and brooding just like it had yesterday, the shutters still closed, the dull gray siding a little more dreary in the bright sunshine. Darcy looked up at the second story window where she had first seen the specter of Vivica Chartrand's ghost yesterday. This time, nothing was there.
"Okay," she said to herself, looking around. "Now what?"
The first thing, she figured, was to look for clues. But where? Vivica had been murdered inside. That seemed like a reasonable place to start.
Walking up the long driveway, Darcy was very cognizant of the fact that she was trespassing. It wouldn't be the first time for her, but she knew if she was caught that she would be in deep, deep trouble. Of course, Vivica couldn't complain about her being here. Not to the police, anyway.
That didn't mean her son Richard wouldn't be here to object. Object, and file charges against her. "Oh, for Pete's sake," she whispered at herself. She was here now. May as well see what there was to see.
The door creaked open easily to Darcy's push. It wasn't even locked. Darcy wondered at that. It seemed like the police or Vivica's son would have made sure the place was locked up tight. Richard, the poor man, had been very upset so it might have slipped his mind. Either way, the door was open.
Inside, she stepped into what had once been an immaculately kept kitchen. The counters were clean of dust and clutter. Spices were arranged in a rack over the stove, in alphabetical order. The painted white cabinets were spotless. Vivica had apparently been something of a neat freak.
A floorboard above her head squeaked. Darcy tensed and looked up. The noise didn't repeat itself. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she shrugged it off. Old houses settled all the time. Her own house had a few creaks and groans that she thought gave it character.
The thing that spoiled the neat picture was the bloodstain on the hardwood floor. Darcy sighed, remembering a technique from her aunt's book that involved touching spilled blood to see the last image a person had seen in life. But Vivica Chartrand had been stabbed in the back. That wouldn't work here. Just as well, too. Darcy didn't like the idea of touching a dead person's blood.
Through the doorway that led out of the kitchen was a small dining room area, and past that Darcy could see the living room and a set of stairs with a heavy railing leading up to the second floor. She hadn't gone this far into Vivica's home when she and Jon were here yesterday. There'd been no need. Now, she wanted to find out whatever she could.
From the corner of her eye she caught movement. Turning quickly, she saw an old woman sitting at the dining room table, blinking confused eyes. Vivica Chartrand's spirit put a hand gently to her face, as if to reassure herself that she really was there. Then she looked around the room, searching for something.
Darcy sat down at the table across from Vivica. "Uh, hello," she said, smiling.
Vivica's head whipped around to face Darcy, a scowl on her lips. Sometimes, a person's ghost could be so connected to the real world that they could actually interact with people. Move objects, write messages, even talk sometimes. Millie was like that. She was always throwing books around the bookstore in town as a prank, and she'd helped Darcy find things any number of times. Maybe Vivica's apparition would be like that, too.
The ghost tried to say something to Darcy, mouth open and moving, but no sound came out. Darcy could see her getting more and more frustrated as she tried in vain to get a message across, her eyebrows knitting, her hands clenching. On the table were any number of papers in neat stacks and a few pens. Vivica reached for one of the pens, trying to grab it up, write a message maybe, but her hand went right through it and the table both.
Darcy nodded, her smile sad. She'd figured as much. Vivica might have every right to be angry with what had happened to her but she wasn't going to be able to tell Darcy anythin
g directly.
"Can you help me find something?" Darcy asked her. "Anything that will show me who your killer was?"
Vivica blinked at her. Ghosts could always hear Darcy, just like she could always see them. "It's all right," Darcy offered. "I'm here to help. Is there something in this room, or in this house maybe, that would show us who your killer was?"
Vivica stood up abruptly, and the chair behind her tipped over and the table bounced on its legs twice, hard enough to disturb the orderly piles of papers on its top. They slid around, landing haphazardly. Darcy swallowed, and waited for the display of ghostly rage to be over. The Widow Chartrand couldn't lift a pen, maybe, but it would be smart not to make her mad. Darcy made a note of that.
The ghost started pointing repeatedly at some of the papers. Darcy picked up the ones she thought Vivica meant and looked through them. Bank statements. Mortgage documents. It was all a little hard for Darcy to understand, but it looked like maybe Vivica had been behind in her mortgage payment. The page showed a hefty sum owed. No, wait. Borrowed, maybe? Hm. Interesting. She'd been hoping for a bloody glove or a hand written confession, but working with ghosts you had to take what you could get.
"Thank you…" She looked up, and Vivica was gone.
Chapter Nine
Folding the papers and stuffing them away in a pocket to look at later, Darcy took a quick look through everything else on the table. Bills. Magazines. Recipes. Nothing of real interest. The living room yielded more nothing, without even a paperback book to be found.
She went to the stairs. There was something she needed to see for herself.
There were five rooms upstairs, and a square panel in the center of the ceiling that probably led up to an attic. She wanted to avoid going up into the attic if she could help it. Dark, dusty spaces full of spiders did not appeal to her.
The first room on her left was the bathroom. She noticed the two toothbrushes immediately. In the shower, there were two shower poofs. So. Two people were living in the house. Vivica, and someone else.
Aimee. Aimee had said she was living here. This wasn't proof of that, but Darcy was hoping in the next room she'd find what she needed.
The next room was empty, wall to wall, not even a stick of furniture. Well, maybe the next room.
She opened the door across from the bathroom next. It was a bedroom. Not the master bedroom, just a guest room with a simple single bed and a small dresser. Across the bed there was a pair of jeans and a shirt laid out, a woman's clothing, but far too young to have appealed to the Widow Chartrand. The jeans had stylish rips across the knees, and the top was purple and red with the logo of a brand name underwear company across the chest.
Darcy nodded. Definitely Aimee's style. She knew she was pressing her luck, but she went to the closet to see what else she could find. Maybe some luggage, or a coat or something with Aimee's name in it.
She tripped over her own feet backing up and landed sitting on the bed as the closet door flung open to reveal a woman scurrying out of it. Before Darcy could scream out in surprise the woman frantically moved towards her.
"Hold it, hold it," the woman said to Darcy, holding her hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm leaving. I'm leaving right now."
The woman was a few years older than Darcy, maybe, with short dark hair cut in a pixie style and makeup applied just so on her cheeks and eyes and lips. The corner of her mouth was turned up in what was probably a permanent sarcastic smile. Her long beige trenchcoat fluttered as she stepped out quickly and made for the door.
Recovering from her fright, Darcy jumped up and stepped in front of her, arms crossed, trying to look braver than she felt. It wasn't like Darcy had a right to be in Vivica Chartrand's house, either. "Who are you?" she demanded.
The woman tried for a real smile, and sort of succeeded. "Look, I was just seeing if there was any kind of story here. There's not, so I'm leaving. Promise. Cross my heart, even." She made an X over her heart with her index finger, her hand folded around something.
"Story?" Darcy asked, confused.
The woman sighed and put her fist on her hip, hanging her head and mumbling to herself. "Should've known there'd be somebody here. Too much to ask for a nice, empty house to go through." She sighed again, bringing her piercing dark eyes up at Darcy. "Maybe if I introduce myself. I am Brianna Watson. I'm a reporter for the Chronicle. You've heard of me?"
She acted like Darcy should recognize her name on the spot. She had heard it somewhere, she thought, but she couldn't place where. "I know the Chronicle," she offered. "It's published out of Ryansburg, right?"
Brianna Watson smiled like Darcy had just stated the obvious. "Right. And I'm a reporter there. I'm sorry if I'm trespassing in your house but I didn't mean to cause you any trouble and I didn't touch anything."
"You mean other than whatever was in the closet," Darcy observed.
Brianna looked down at her hand. "What? This? Oh. Uh, yeah. I should leave this here. Wallet belonging to that woman they arrested. Nothing special in it."
Aimee's wallet. There was Darcy's proof that Jon's sister had been staying here. "You went through her things?"
A shrug was her answer, before Brianna brushed the question aside and threw the wallet over on the bed. "So, no harm no foul, right? I leave, you don't press any charges, and at the end of the day everyone's still happy. Maybe I even put a few quotes from you in the story about this whole thing."
"Uh, well," Darcy realized the position she'd put herself by trying to stop Brianna from leaving. "This isn't my house. So, I guess I can't stop you from being here."
Brianna raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Trespassing just like me, are you? You working for another newspaper? The Dispatch or something?"
Darcy shook her head. This woman never stopped talking, she realized. "No. I'm Darcy Sweet. I'm just a…friend of Vivica's."
Not the truth, she thought to herself, but not exactly a lie.
"Friend of the victim. Well, then I definitely want to talk to you," Brianna said excitedly, stepping forward to hook her arm through Darcy's. Before Darcy could say anything, Brianna had them walking back down the hallway towards the stairs. "Let's say we get out of here, though, before someone who actually does own the house shows up."
The ghostly figure of Vivica Chartrand floated up the stairs in front of them as if called up by that comment. Her face was angry. Darcy tried to ignore the specter, knowing that Brianna couldn't see her.
"Yes," Darcy said. "Outside would be good."
Vivica began shaking a finger at both of them, scolding them in silence, words forming and dying on her lips. Her anger was a force that Darcy could feel as a pressure against her skin. Brianna walked them past her and they started down the stairs. "Cold in here, isn't it?" she asked Darcy.
"Houses get like that after someone is killed in them," she said without thinking, seeing the odd look that Brianna gave her.
Darcy didn't talk to people about how she could see ghosts. Jon knew, and Grace did too, and several other people in town knew she was "odd" and could do things that normal people shouldn't be able to do. But she had found that opening up to people with a "Hi, my name is Darcy Sweet and I can contact your dead grandmother," usually led to uncertain smiles and whispered comments behind her back.
Some people avoided her altogether. That was all right. Darcy knew who her friends were.
Vivica floated down through the ceiling, feet first, and paced next to them as Darcy and Brianna continued down the stairs. "So who does own this place now?" Brianna asked, a hunger in her voice for any tidbit of information she could glean from Darcy.
"Well, I suppose Vivica's son Richard does," Darcy answered. She couldn't see any harm in telling things that were public knowledge.
Vivica tried to slam a hand down on the stairway railing. It passed right through, and the ghost looked down at herself, a puzzled look on her shadowy features. Then Vivica noticed her feet weren't on anything but air and she began to sink down, down, do
wn, until she disappeared through the floor.
Darcy suppressed a smile. Some ghosts had a lot of trouble with the transition from living, solid flesh to a state of incorporeal being.
Vivica's head poked up above the floor just high enough for her eyes to follow Darcy with a glare.
The bloodstain on the kitchen floor was just as vivid as Darcy remembered it. Brianna stopped there, taking her hands back from Darcy's arm and putting them in the pockets of her trench coat. She shivered. "I've reported on dozens of murders and accidental deaths. You never get used to it, you know?"
"I know," Darcy had to agree.
Brianna nudged her shoulder against Darcy's. "I think I like you, Darcy Sweet. So what can you tell me about all this that wasn't in the official reports?"
"Nothing," she said quickly.
"Oh, come on." Brianna took one last shuddering glance at the blood stain and then stepped around it, going to the door. "There must be something."
The fresh air outside felt good on Darcy's face. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten breakfast because she'd been in such a hurry to get out here and find the evidence she needed to clear Aimee. She'd confirmed that Aimee had been staying here, and she had the bank statements Vivica had pointed out to her in her pocket to go over later. She had to wonder, though, if Brianna here might have found out something else that was worth knowing.
"Tell you what," Darcy said. "I'll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine. Deal?"
Brianna's eyes lit up. "Deal. First question. Is it true the suspect is related to one of the police officers here in town?"
Darcy immediately regretted making this bargain. She hadn't expected this to get Jon's name involved. Still, even that was public information. She wasn't giving out any real secrets, she told herself. So she tried to make it sound like it wasn't any big deal. "Yes, she is. A sister he hasn't seen for years."