by K. J. Emrick
“Beatrice,” she asked, “did anyone else know about this? About you giving the card back to your grandfather, I mean?”
“Oh, certainly. I told that nice girl about it just a few weeks ago.”
“Girl? What girl? Who was it?”
Beatrice blinked at her, her face pinched with thought. “You know, I don’t remember. Not my daughter. Not you…someone else. Yes. That’s who it was. It was someone else.”
Her eyes focused on Darcy again. “Your Great Aunt Millie was such a nice woman. You look so much like she did when she was younger. It’s a shame, what happened to her. She should not have died like that.”
Darcy’s heart leapt into her throat. “Beatrice, my aunt died of natural causes. Remember?”
Beatrice blinked, and blinked again, squeezing out more tears. Then she sprang up from the couch and toddled away into the kitchen. “Oh, dear. I shouldn’t have said that. No, no, you’re right Darcy. Death takes all of us. Even your sweet old aunt. Hmm. I was looking for something. What was it, now?”
Darcy’s head was spinning. What was Beatrice talking about?
Did it have anything to do with that page of writing Smudge had brought her?
“I remember now!” Beatrice exclaimed from the kitchen, making Darcy jump. “The girl I spoke to. She had a hat. Silly thing, really. I always thought women looked silly in hats.”
A woman. In a hat. Someone who knew about the valuables in the graveyard, even if it was just an old baseball card.
That was what Darcy needed. As far as what Beatrice had said about Aunt Millie, well, that would have to wait. Just like the journal page would have to wait. If there was any truth to it at all, she could come back some other time and talk about it then. Or just talk to Aunt Millie’s ghost, since she had decided to stick around and watch over Darcy.
She’d asked Millie several times now why she didn’t just move on to the afterlife. Her aunt had never really given an answer. Maybe there was more to it than Darcy realized.
Now wasn’t the time for that. Now that she’d spoken to Beatrice, she had to get to Jon and tell him what she knew.
“Beatrice, will you be all right? I need to go to the police station.”
“Of course, dear,” she said, popping her plastic cap back on her head. “I’m going swimming later. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“Um, sure,” Darcy answered.
What else could she say?
Chapter Nine
By the time she got back to the police station Darcy was really wishing she’d ridden her bicycle into town today. Misty Hollow was a small town and she’d walked from one end of it to the other any number of times, but today her thoughts were making her footsteps heavy. It would have been nice to be riding her bike instead.
Especially since Brianna Watson was waiting right at the front door of the station when she got there. At least on her bicycle she could have kept going.
“Why, hello there,” Brianna greeted her, standing between Darcy and the front doors of the building. “I knew if I stood here long enough I’d run into you.”
“That must be your reporter’s instinct working for you,” Darcy offered. She really didn’t hate Brianna. She just didn’t have the time or energy for any verbal sparring right now. “Did you run out of gossip at my bookstore?”
She nodded. “At your bookstore, at the bakery, at the library. I got thrown out of the Town Hall. I mean, literally thrown out. Your assessor can be so mean.”
“He’s, like, seventy years old.”
Brianna shrugged. “He’s been working out, apparently.”
She was wearing that same brown trench coat, this time with an attractive black pantsuit underneath. Darcy had to wonder if she used the coat like a throwback to old time investigative reporters. Or Columbo.
“Well, nice to see you again,” Darcy said, smiling and walking up the front steps.
“Are you here to help with the interrogation?”
Darcy stopped, one hand on the door. “What?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard yet? I thought for sure Jon would have called to let you know.”
“I don’t own a cellphone.”
It was Brianna’s turn to look stumped. “You don’t have a…? Why not?”
“It’s a long story. What interrogation?”
“That woman you were so interested in at the park yesterday.” Brianna smiled, proud of herself for knowing something Darcy didn’t. “The one with that oh-so-cute hat? Jon had her picked up an hour ago and escorted down here. Just glad I came down to the park to watch our mystery lady or I would’ve missed the whole thing.”
They had her already! Now she really needed to get inside and talk to Jon. They should compare notes. “Uh, thanks Brianna. I have to go.”
“Darcy, wait.”
“I don’t have time—”
“Psychic advisor to the police solves graveyard mystery,” Brianna rattled off. “Give me five minutes or that’s the headline we lead with on the six o’clock news.”
“Excuse me?”
One step at a time, Brianna came up to the door next to Darcy, lowering her voice. “You’re big news, Darcy Sweet. I can always count on you for some kind of story. I think my viewers would love to see some kind of investigative report about why, exactly, the police department made you an official consultant.”
Darcy was shocked. How did she find out…no, it didn’t matter. That kind of story would rain a ton of questions down on Jon’s head. Questions he didn’t need, especially since he had only just taken over as the chief of police. Not to mention the kind of attention it would bring Darcy.
“There’s lots of reasons why you shouldn’t run that story, Brianna,” she said very quietly, with more heat than she had meant to put into her voice.
“I know. I like you, Darcy. I do. I don’t want to run a story like that, but you have to admit it would make for great ratings.” She smirked, and then shrugged one shoulder. “Of course, if I had something else to fill my report with…”
Ah. So that was it. “What do you want?”
“Well, since you asked so nice like.” She leaned in closer, and Darcy just knew that anyone looking would already think the two of them were conspiring, whether they kept their voices down or not. “I want to know what happens in the interview with this woman in the hat. There. That’s not too much to ask, now is it?”
Darcy could have throttled the woman right there, if she didn’t think it would show up on Brianna’s precious six o’clock news broadcast and derail Jon’s whole investigation of the graveyard robberies at the same time.
So.
“No,” she said. “That’s not too much to ask. You know Jon would have given you whatever he could, just for the asking, right?”
“Well, Jon…I mean, Chief Tinker, has been a little standoffish recently. Avoiding me, dodging my calls, that sort of thing. It’s almost like I’ve insulted him somehow.” She laughed, brief and loud. “No, that can’t be it. More like he has something to hide.”
Oh, right, Darcy thought. They did have something to hide. A wanted fugitive under their roof. Couldn’t exactly make nice to the reporters until that situation got itself worked out. “Brianna, look. You’ve helped me and Jon out in the past. We would never freeze you out of a story.”
“Oh, ‘we’ is it? You and Jon?”
“Well, I am an official consultant, like you said. I’ll talk to Jon. As long as you don’t interfere with the investigation by, you know, running any stories you shouldn’t, then I’m sure we won’t have a problem giving you any information we come up with first.”
Brianna’s face brightened. “There you go. Just what I needed to hear. Thanks, Darcy. I knew I could count on you.”
Darcy forced herself to smile, then waited for Brianna to step back down to the sidewalk so she could get the door open. She didn’t hate Brianna, to be sure, but that little exchange just might have knocked her off Darcy’s list of favorite people for good.
&nbs
p; This time the police station was full of people. Some of them wore the dark uniforms of the Misty Hollow Police, with the town emblem on the one shoulder and the American flag on the other. Most of them were State Troopers, looking serious and stiff, drinking coffee or chatting with other officers. Darcy noticed Sergeant Vic Dunson right away, over at Grace’s desk, sitting in her chair, talking on the telephone with someone and looking very unhappy.
Every eye in the room turned to her as she walked in. A few of the officers she knew waved or said hello. When Vic saw her, he scowled, but motioned for her to come over to where he was.
“Don’t worry,” Sergeant Fitzwallis said, suddenly at Darcy’s side. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
Darcy took a cup of coffee that he offered her, holding back a grin. “I don’t know, his bark is pretty bad. You’re always here when I need you, aren’t you Sean?”
He bowed like a gentleman, making the gesture look smooth despite his age. “Always at your service. I better get back to my post. Oh. Jon’s waiting for you.”
She thanked him and went over to the desk where Vic was just finishing up his phone call. He dropped the handset back into the cradle and then picked it up to slam it back down again. “I don’t know what infuriates me more,” he said, “people who act stupid or people who think they’re smart.”
“I vote for the second choice.” Darcy wasn’t sure he had wanted an answer, but she felt like giving him one anyway. “I’m really here to see Jon. Did you need something?”
“How about a month long vacation and a raise?”
He took out his handkerchief again to mop at his forehead. Darcy hadn’t noticed any sweat. Maybe by now it was just a habit. Darcy was surprised he wasn’t going bald already.
After another moment he shook his head and stood up. “I was about to go back and see how the interview is going. You know we brought in this Phoebe woman?”
“Yes, I just heard—”
“Good. Let’s go, then.”
Darcy pressed her lips together to keep herself from telling him exactly how rude she thought he was. Sean Fitzwallis had been right. The man was all bark. Rough and abrasive. Not to mention, someone needed to cut him down to size.
Down the back hallway, they found Jon and Wilson standing in front of the interview room window, the one-way mirror that allowed them to see inside while keeping anyone in there from looking out. A speaker box on the wall would let them hear anything being said.
“How’s it going in there, Chief?” Vic asked him, positioning himself in the hallway so Darcy had to walk around him to be at Jon’s side. “Any progress?”
“Hi, Darcy,” Jon said to her, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before answering Vic’s question.
Darcy had the pleasure of seeing Vic bristle at being ignored, even for a few seconds.
“My detective is just getting into the serious questions,” Jon said. “So far, our suspect hasn’t given us anything at all.”
Through the glass, Darcy could see her sister sitting at the simple metal table, across from Phoebe Stewart. The woman sat there, back straight, one leg crossed over the other, her hands resting just so against her thigh. That hat of hers sat on the table next to her. She looked very calm, and very sure of herself.
“You had Grace do the interview?” Darcy asked.
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I thought Phoebe might be more comfortable talking to another woman.”
“Did it work?”
“Nope. I have a feeling Phoebe wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to anyone.”
Darcy knew what that meant. “So she has something to hide.”
“Exactly. How did your talk with Beatrice go?”
It didn’t take long to give the highlights of what Darcy had learned. The baseball card buried with her grandfather. The woman in the hat Beatrice had talked to. She left out the part about Beatrice wearing a bathing suit.
She also left out what Beatrice had said about Great Aunt Millie. That was for her to figure out. Later.
“Wow. Willie Mays rookie card.” Jon seemed impressed. “Those cards can be worth thousands of dollars. If it was in plastic or something else to protect it in the casket, it could still be in mint condition. There was one that went at auction for something like ninety thousand dollars not too long ago.”
“So, if someone knew about that card being there,” Darcy reasoned, “then they would definitely target that grave to dig up.”
“And the woman in the hat got that information when she talked to Beatrice.”
“Exactly.” Looking in through the glass, Darcy pointed to the hat on the table, and to the woman it belonged to. “The woman in the hat. Phoebe Stewart.”
“Phoebe,” Vic grumbled. “She should be named something else. Phoebe isn’t a name for a grave robber. It’s too common. Too…cute.”
Darcy and Jon turned to look at Vic.
“You know what I mean,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Miss Stewart,” they heard Grace say from inside the interview room. “We know that your mother was Annadine Chisolm. We know she was one of the people who had their grave desecrated. You apparently showed up in town right at the same time.”
Grace paused, waiting to see if Phoebe would say something. It was a good technique, and Darcy had seen Jon use it any number of times. Guilty people often felt silence as a pressure, building up against them, until they had to fill it with words.
Phoebe sat there in silence, arching one eyebrow.
Jon was right. This woman was cold and collected.
“Can you tell me why you’re in Misty Hollow?” Grace asked after the moment had passed.
“You have such a lovely town here,” Phoebe answered.
“That’s the only reason?”
“Well as you say, my mother was buried here. Was, I might emphasize. I can’t say that I’m happy to know she was dug up and dumped in the woods.”
Darcy could hear the sarcasm in her voice, but there wasn’t any real anger in her words. It was like the idea of her mother’s grave being disturbed didn’t bother her at all. Or like…
“She already knew the grave had been dug up,” Jon said, putting into words exactly what Darcy had been thinking. “Good, Grace. Keep going.”
“I see,” Grace was saying. “That doesn’t really explain why you’re here. Or why you didn’t come to us when you heard about your mother’s grave.”
Phoebe twitched. Just a simple little motion of her hands and her lips. That was all. Darcy saw it, and she knew that Jon saw it.
Grace had seen it, too.
She leaned forward, closer into Phoebe’s personal space, another tactic to put a suspect off their guard. “Why was that, Miss Stewart? Why didn’t you come to us? If my mother’s grave was dug up and her bones were disturbed—”
“Stop it,” Phoebe muttered, almost too quietly for the speakers to pick up.
“I wouldn’t be sitting around on a park bench watching the world go by.”
That little flinch again.
“What were you doing in the park?” Grace pushed. “Tell me that. Your mother’s been treated like garbage—”
“Stop it.”
“—and here you are taking your ease on a park bench on a beautiful sunny day.”
“I said stop it.”
“What were you doing, Phoebe?”
“I said…”
“What were you doing?
“I said…”
“Your mother’s been dug up and you’re sitting in a park. Now tell me why!”
“Stop it!”
Darcy saw a single tear roll down Phoebe’s face. It was like it signaled the opening of the floodgates. The woman’s solid exterior broke as she wiped it away.
“I was sitting on that park bench looking for my mother’s killer!” she yelled at Grace. “All right? That’s what I was doing on the bench! That’s why I didn’t come to you people, and that’s why I’m still here!”
<
br /> Grace took a moment for that to sink in. They all did. “You were there…for what, now?”
Phoebe crossed her arms and turned her face away, but there was no taking back what she had said now. “I was contacted two weeks ago by a woman named Maven Sirles. She said she had information about my mother’s death.”
“Maven Sirles,” Grace repeated. “The county coroner.”
“I guess.” Phoebe shrugged and wiped at her tears angrily. “She said she had examined my mother’s remains and found evidence that she had been murdered.”
Now Phoebe did turn back to glare at Grace, her eyes sharp, her lip twisted. “As far as I knew, Detective, my mother died from a fall at home. She broke her neck on her own stairs. As far as I knew. Her husband, my step-father, had been there when it happened. He gave a statement to the police and they closed the case up all nice and neat and then we all moved on. I was all of eleven years old at the time. So I grieved, and I cried, and I got over it.”
Uncrossing her legs, she leaned in to jab her finger against the desk between her and Grace. “But now I get this phone call, and this woman Maven Sirles tells me it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a fall. She was killed. So what does that do to my step-father’s story? Hm? Kind of puts the lie to it, don’t you think? So I did the only thing I could think of. I packed my bags and I got in my car, and I raced back here to a town I had left in my dust.”
Grace was quickly jotting down notes as Phoebe talked. Jon and Darcy, and Vic, listened intently.
“Only,” Phoebe continued, “before I get to talk to Maven Sirles, before I even get to town, Maven dies. Is that a thing here in Misty Hollow? People dying at the most inconvenient times?”
You have no idea, Darcy thought to herself.
“You were saying that you came to talk to Maven Sirles,” Grace prompted, unfazed by Phoebe’s anger.
“Sure I did. I came here to talk to the woman who promised she could prove my mother was murdered. When I found out this Maven woman was dead, I did the only thing I could think of.”
“And what was that?”
“I sat in that park, and I waited. I’ve been gone from town for so long and I don’t know where he lives anymore, so I waited for him to come walking down that street with his head held up high and without a care in the world.”