by K. J. Emrick
Tiptoe meowed up at her, swishing her tail indignantly.
“You’ve had enough,” Darcy told her, but she gave in when Tiptoe flicked an ear. “Okay, all right. One more piece and then you’re done.”
Zane might be able to communicate directly to animals, but every good pet parent knew what their furry friend was saying. At least, a little bit.
“Hey, Mommy?” Zane said to her. “Cha Cha says remember what he said.”
Darcy turned, but before she could ask what he was talking about another memory from her dream last night snagged at her. Listen to your dog, Great Aunt Millie had said. You just need to listen to your dog.
But what was it Cha Cha said? She strained her memory…
“Mommy,” Zane said, as if it should have been obvious. “Gotta look under the top.”
That was it. She remembered now. Cha Cha had been talking to Tiptoe in the dream. He was talking about where he hid things. Under the top, he’d said, and at the time it had just seemed like senseless banter between him and their cat. But was it more than that?
I hide all my best stuff under the top.
All well and good, but what in the world was he talking about?
“There it is,” Jon said to her, ruffling Zane’s hair. “You just have to look under the top.”
Right. Because that made it so much clearer.
Jon looked happy, though, kneeling down next to Zane. He’d done a good job so far, figuring out what Zane could do. She was going to suggest that he find some way to explain to their son that this wasn’t normal, that what he could do was very, very unique, but that could wait. They would have to be delicate about it and make sure that Zane knew he was special, not strange or weird. She still remembered that moment when she’d figured out that none of the other kids could see her special friends. The ghosts were there, and they were real, but she’d felt like a freak for being able to see them when no one else could. She’d felt isolated, and alone.
She was going to make sure that her son never went through that. No. Just like Colby, Zane would grow up knowing this really was a gift. Their family gift.
Chapter 6
“I think that went really well,” Jon said as he got into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest. “I mean, I knew Zane was special, but wow. I never realized exactly what that meant.”
Darcy was brushing her hair in front of the mirror on her dresser, watching him over her shoulder in the reflection. “You’re taking this really well.”
“Hmm? Why shouldn’t I?”
Setting her brush down after one hundred strokes, she turned and leaned her hips against the dresser. “Because, you’ve had to put up with so many degrees of strange since you met me and now here comes one more layer on the weirdness cake, and you’re just taking it all in stride. That makes you some kind of special in my book.”
“Well, my mom always told me I could be whatever I wanted. So I decided to be special. Just never came true until I found you, Darcy Sweet.”
She smiled fondly at him. She knew he was kidding, but the fact that he loved her enough to put her on a pedestal made her feel all warm inside. She liked that he could still do that to her, even after years of being married. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she said, thinking ahead. “Do you have to go into work or do you maybe want to stay home and hang out with Zane? Maybe you can learn some more about his gift.”
“Maybe,” he said, nodding to the ceiling as he thought about that. “I do kind of need to check in with the guys in Meadowood. Their chief isn’t back until next week and this case... this has the potential to be a big problem for them if they can’t solve it. The hotel owner is already making noise like he’s going to the press with the whole thing, trying paint the Meadowood PD as incompetent.”
Darcy had seen firsthand what the power of the press could do if it was used against someone. A case like this could draw out all sorts of bad publicity. On the other hand, a quick resolution and an arrest would look good not only for the Meadowood PD, but for Jon Tinker as well, and in turn for his people at the Misty Hollow PD. It would be a win-win.
Or it would, if only they could figure out how a man wound up dead inside of a locked room.
“Oh hey,” he said, turning his head her way, pointing at the dresser behind her. “That’s the jewelry box from your mother. It looks nice there.”
“Yes, I thought so too.”
It was sitting in the middle of everything, displayed proudly among her perfume bottles and little knick-knacks. She ran her fingers over the smooth metal of the lid, feeling the wear from years of use, and the lines of the only three letters still visible. I and L, then a space and an E. Millie had told her that it wasn’t EILEEN spelled out there, like she’d always assumed. It wasn’t her mother’s name. So whose was it, she wondered again?
She flipped the lid open. The smell of old metal was a gentle reminder of her childhood. She loved that smell. If memory had a smell, she imagined this was what it would be like. Smiling, sleepy and ready for bed with her husband, she closed the lid.
But then an idea came to her, and she opened it once more.
She felt around inside, touching the hinge, and the velvet covering the top and bottom, and the empty compartments within. It took her a moment to realize the material covering the differently sized catch pockets was different than the material lining the lid. Across the curve of the top it felt… not as old, maybe.
And heavier. Almost like there was some sort of padding behind the velvet under the top
Under the top.
Darcy hesitated to do what she was considering. Millie had said to listen to Cha Cha, however, and this had been the puppy’s advice. He hides all his best stuff under the top, is what he said.
Could it be? If she was wrong, then she was going to ruin something that had great sentimental value for her. She’d missed this jewelry box ever since her dad had stolen it from her when she was a teenager. Now it was finally hers and she could just leave it alone and be happy with it sitting right here on her dresser for the next ten or twenty years, until she passed it on to Colby.
Or, she could take a risk to find out why the box felt so important.
Every time she laid eyes on it, there was a feeling of déjà vu that she could not explain that told her this was more than an heirloom. There was some mystery attached to this box, she was sure of that.
Under the top.
“Oh, Cha Cha,” she whispered. “You had better be right.”
Biting down on the corner of her lip, she carefully worked her fingernails into the seam around the edge of the lid.
“Darcy?” Jon asked her as the seconds rolled past. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered, only because it sounded better than saying she was tearing apart a family heirloom on a hunch.
The red velvet had started to pull away from the lid, and then it came away completely as one rounded piece molded to the inside. It hadn’t been glued in place like she’d expected it to be. Instead, it had just been wedged in tight so that now it came away in her hand, almost like it had been waiting to be removed. If no one had ever thought to try this, it would have stayed there forever.
From behind the velvet liner, a folded square of yellowed paper slipped out.
It was brittle to the touch as Darcy picked it up in trembling hands. She was excited, and a little nervous. All this time there had been this mystery in her life, and she hadn’t even known! Neither had her mother. Neither had her father, for that matter. He’d stolen the box because it had real world value as a unique piece crafted by someone famous. It was probably worth a few hundred dollars just for its weight in silver. As an antique jewelry box, probably a few thousand.
But now she knew it had another sort of value altogether. Something that couldn’t be measured in terms of money.
She unfolded the paper, sitting down on the edge of the bed to look at it more closely in the light. Jon rolled over to her. One of his hands fell on
her thigh below the line of her nightgown, warm against her skin as he pushed himself up on one elbow to read with her.
“Wow,” he said.
Darcy couldn’t have put it better herself.
It was a letter, short and sweet, dated 1801.
* * *
Dearheart
If this is the only thing I can send with you, then know that it carries my heart with it.
* * *
Darcy turned it over carefully, and then held it up to the light, but that was all there was. It was written in a looping cursive that would have been all but indecipherable to kids Colby’s age who had never been taught this archaic form of penmanship. It was a man’s handwriting Darcy guessed, judging by the strong slants and bold strokes, but it was unsigned. There wasn’t even anything to give a clue about who this “Dearheart” was.
Jon tapped a finger against her leg. “Well. That’s kind of anticlimactic. I don’t know about you, but I was sort of expecting a treasure map or something. X marks the spot, and all that.”
Darcy was trying to puzzle out what this letter could mean, but his touch against her bare skin was extremely distracting. In fact, she thought maybe the whole mystery of the jewelry box, and whose name was really etched on top—I, L, a worn space and then an E—could wait until morning.
The mystery had been waiting since 1801, after all. Another day wasn’t going to spoil the surprise.
Putting the velvet liner back in the lid she closed the box and put it back on her dresser. She carefully folded the letter again and placed it beside the heirloom, wishing “Dearheart” a silent goodnight.
Turning out the light, she rolled herself into bed with Jon, sealing her mouth around his before he could ask any questions, letting the mood do the talking for her.
“Darcy? Hey Darcy, wake up.”
A soft paw, with the claws thankfully retracted, swatted her on the cheek. And again. And again.
Darcy pulled her hand out from under the tangled sheets and swatted at the cat. “Tiptoe, stop it. I’m too tired. Let me go back to sleep, okay? If you do, I’ll let you play videogames next time I have a dream like this. Promise.”
“Ahem. Wrong cat.”
Her eyes popped open. With her head buried in her pillow she hadn’t really been paying attention but now she realized that the voice wasn’t Tiptoe’s. It was a male cat who sat on her chest, smiling with his whiskers laid back, his green eyes dancing with mischief like they always used to do when he was here and living under Darcy’s roof.
“Smudge!” she practically squealed, throwing her arms around her favorite black and white tomcat and holding him tight. “For Pete’s sake, Old Man, it’s been way too long! Why aren’t you here every night?”
“Ack,” he said, “can’t breathe… can’t breathe…!”
“Oh, sorry sorry sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you I’m just so glad to see you. Even if it’s in a dream.”
“I’m not bound by my body anymore,” he said, sounding almost thrilled by that fact. “It’s kind of fun going where I want, whenever I want to.”
“Didn’t you used to do that before? I gave up trying to keep you in the house. You always found a way.”
“Yup. I always did.”
“So you’re a ghost now, right? Are you in Heaven? Um, cat heaven, I mean. Is that what it’s called?”
“What happens when we pass on is life’s greatest mystery.” He winked at her. “No spoilers.”
Of course. She should have known that would be the answer. She set him down next to her in the bed. He was young and strong again, the way he’d been when he was younger and not the frail old feline that he’d been in his final year. There was plenty of space for the two of them on the bed. Jon wasn’t here but that wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. This was just a dream. He’d be there again when she woke up.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Smudge asked her, curling his tail around his paws. “You get used to the strangest things in life.”
Darcy sat up cross-legged, arranging the blankets around her. “What do you mean?”
He looked at her blankly, as if his meaning should be obvious. “You’re in the middle of a dream, and here I am, and you’re not the least bit freaked out.”
“That’s because it’s you. I’ve never been scared of seeing you or Great Aunt Millie when I’m asleep. Oh, do you remember that time we were at a tea party like in Alice of Wonderland? Now that was a little freaky. Tiptoe comes into my dreams sometimes now, too. She’s every bit your daughter. You should be proud of her. Oh, and Cha Cha’s there a lot.”
“Yeah. The dog.” He shook himself and resettled his tail at his feet. “You know, I probably would have been climbing the walls if you’d brought a dog in this house when I was here. Dogs are… not my kind of people. My daughter’s taking it pretty well, all things considered.”
“Tiptoe and Cha Cha… well, they’re not quite friends,” Darcy admitted. “But they’re getting there. He’s a good dog. You’d like him.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, not really a yes and not really a no. “You mean I’d get used to him. Maybe. Sometimes you get used to things you shouldn’t.”
“He really is a good dog, Smudge. We’ll raise him right. Me and Jon and the kids. Tiptoe, too.”
“I’m not talking about the dog,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Although, I’m sure you’ll teach him not to chew on Jon’s shoes eventually…”
“Oh! And I have to tell you this,” Darcy interrupted him. She didn’t know how long this dream would last. There never seemed to be enough time, even if there should have been all the time in the world in her dreams. “Get this. Zane can talk to animals! Can you believe that? I don’t think there’s ever been a male child with the gift in our family, so nobody knows how it manifests in a boy. That might explain why it’s appearing so early, too, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined he’d be talking to animals!”
His whiskers twitched. “You and me never needed the gift to talk. We just always understood each other.”
“That’s because you’re special,” Darcy told him, reaching out to stroke his head around his ears the way he’d always liked. “You always were.”
He took her hand between his front paws in a way that would have been impossible in real life. “You’re pretty special too, Darcy Sweet. So are your kids.”
The way he said it caught at her attention. “Hold on there, Old Man. Is that what you meant when you said I sometimes get used to things I shouldn’t? Something about my kids?”
“Well, one of them does talk to animals now.”
“I know, sure, but that’s nothing bad is it? I read through all of Great Aunt Millie’s journals last night. There’s nothing in there about anyone in our family being able to do that. Zane gets to be the first. I don’t think I’ll ‘get used’ to that, do you? Jon either, but he’s being a really good sport about it.”
“Hmm,” he purred deep in his chest. “You’ve got two kids, Darcy. Zane and Colby both need you. So tell me, how’s Colby doing?”
“Well, she misses you, of course. We all do, Smudge, but she’s doing fine. Good grades in school. Smart as a whip. And the gift is so, so strong in her. You wouldn’t believe it. I can hardly believe it. She’s maturing so fast and trying to figure out who she’ll be when she’s older. There’s a lot of Jon in her, actually.”
“A lot of you, too,” he reminded her. He took his paws back, laying down on the bed, looking up at her with just one eye. “Sometimes we see so much of ourselves in the people we love that we forget to see them.”
Darcy felt her eyes getting heavy as sleep tried to reclaim her, but she fought it for just a few more minutes with Smudge. She would always love this cat. Even after it was her turn to pass on beyond the veil and discover the greatest mystery in life for herself.
He was saying something to her, and she knew it was important. Her furry friend was always there to help her when she really needed it. So… what was he here to help her with now
?
“Smudge? Tell me why you really came here tonight. What are you saying about my daughter?”
“I’m afraid for her,” Smudge said, and closed his eyes.
Then his eyes opened again.
“Maybe you should ask the person who owned your jewelry box.”
“What? What did you say?” She could feel something was wrong. Little prickles of unease crawled across the skin at the nape of her neck. Something was very wrong.
“Tell Jon I said hi,” Smudge said, which didn’t answer her question at all.
“I’ll tell him, sure, but tell me what’s going to happen with Colby first.”
His eyes held hers, and without moving he got closer, and closer, and…
“Darcy?”
She woke to Jon’s voice, to his face right in front of hers, calling her name with a hushed urgency.
“Darcy?”
The dream evaporated. Darcy jerked under the sheets, sure that she had just been sitting up and talking to Smudge about how much she missed him and how her kids were growing and the jewelry box heirloom her mother had sent her and… and…
There was something else in there, but it was already fading into the recesses of her foggy mind.
“Hey, Darcy?” It was Jon again, or rather it had always been Jon saying her name even when it had been Smudge in the dream.
Blah, she was all turned around. What was going on?
“Darcy, you need to wake up.”
She pushed the dream away, and all the things that Smudge might have been trying to tell her and forced the dark bedroom to come into focus by squinting. “Wha’?” she asked sleepily. “What’s it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Colby,” he told her. “She’s burning up and she keeps passing out. I have to get her to the hospital. Stay and watch Zane. Keep your cellphone close. Um. As soon as I know something, I’ll call the house phone but if I need to shoot you a quick text, I’ll use your cell.”
“Colby…?” Panic became a cold knot deep in the pit of her stomach. This was the thing that was wrong. This was the thing that Smudge had been trying to warn her about! “Is she okay?”