A Darcy Sweet Mystery Box Set Seven

by K. J. Emrick

  “Actually that sounds very interesting. Who doesn’t love a good ghost story? Next time I’m here I’ll have to check those out.”

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to set some aside for you. This purchase comes to five-seventy-eight.”

  He reached around for his wallet with his left hand, the one that had been out of his pocket all this time, twisting his body as he tried to reach to his opposite pocket. When he did, he brought his right hand out of the hoodie pocket, too, and rested it against the countertop for balance.

  Darcy almost gasped.

  It was wrapped in bandages, from down past his wrist all the way up—and over—the tips of his fingers. It gave his hand an odd, misshapen appearance. Like a spatula covered up completely by tight layers of gauze. Nothing showed through. Not a hint of a fingernail or even a glimpse of skin.

  Really, she supposed, there was no way to know if there was a hand in there at all…

  He caught her staring, which wasn’t hard to miss considering her eyes were suddenly glued to those wrappings. They were pure white, fresh out of the box, like they had only just been put in place. Or maybe, she thought, like he had only just decided to hide the fact that he only had one hand. Jon said it was possible the hand belonged to someone who was still alive.

  Was that crazy?

  No. Not in the town where she lived.

  “I know it looks nasty,” he said with a weak grin. He held his hand up and moved it slowly back and forth. “It doesn’t feel very good, either. I accidentally burned my hand. Dropped it into a boiling pot of water. They had to wrap each finger and then wrap the whole hand against this flat metal plate. It’s been a few weeks now. The doctor says maybe in the next day or two, it can be removed. I can’t wait, I can tell you that much.”

  “Oh.” Darcy didn’t know what else to say. Was he lying to her? Was this the person they’d been searching for, walking right into her bookstore? Was Jon right? “Um. That sounds really bad. The burning I mean. Especially for a writer, I suppose?”

  He actually laughed. Setting his wallet down on the counter he opened it with his one hand and worked the debit card out of its slot. “Yeah, I’m way behind on my deadlines now. Not easy typing out the next Wuthering Heights or Harry Potter with just five digits. I’m Mark Franks, by the way.”

  “Er, hi,” she stammered, trying to keep up with everything he was saying. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Darcy Sweet.”

  “Sweet? Oh! Well, that explains the name of the bookstore then, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does. It used to be the Easy Reads Bookstore back when my Great Aunt Millie owned it. I changed the name to Sweet Read when it became mine.”

  That was a powerful and emotional memory for her, all tied up with her aunt’s passing and the years spent on her own and then, in the end, learning the real reason for Millie’s death. That was all in the past now, though.

  She took a breath, and smiled at Mark Franks, and put her mind back in the present. She had to tell Jon about this…

  But she wanted more information from Mister Franks, first.

  Darcy took his debit card, but when she went to ring it through she intentionally turned it around backward while keeping eye contact with Mark. When she slid it through the machine, it wouldn’t read it because the magnetic strip was facing the wrong way. The display screen read ERROR in green stick letters.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Looks like our machine isn’t working. Let me copy your information down so I can key it in by hand.”

  “No need for that,” he told her, taking the card back from her before she could object. He took a ten dollar bill out instead. “Here you go.”

  Trying to hide her disappointment she took the money and made change while her brain worked quickly. An idea came to her as she made change. “Perfect. Now, just let me write you out a receipt.” She had to push aside her tape dispenser and boxes of pens and a few other things on the shelf under the counter to find an old carbon-paper invoice book. “So, Mark. How do you spell your last name?”

  He spelled it for her, and then gave her an address when she asked. It was outside of Misty Hollow, but he did say that he was moving here, not living here yet. Would this be enough for Jon to check this guy out? This guy, who just happened to show up right when a severed right hand appeared in the river outside of town, with bandages covering up where his own hand should be... it was just too much of a coincidence, and Darcy absolutely hated coincidences.

  She turned the receipt form toward him and handed him a pen. “Just sign at the bottom, please.”

  With a nod he took the pen awkwardly in his left hand and scratched out something that was probably supposed to be M. Franks. It looked like a child had written it. He must be a right hander, Darcy told herself.

  Assuming he even still had a right hand…

  She gave him the carbon copy and took the top sheet for herself. That was going to go to Jon just as soon as this man was out of her shop.

  When she looked up from the receipt, he was watching her, and she realized that she’d been staring again, this time at his signature.

  “Um, so,” she said in a rush, “it’s nice to meet you. If you want to come back tomorrow, I can have some of my aunt’s books ready for you to look at. She was really, er, knowledgeable about her subject matter.”

  The family gift was her subject matter. To say Millie was ‘knowledgeable’ about that was putting it lightly. She was just filling the silence though, talking to this Mark Franks just to keep things civil until he was gone and Darcy could call Jon to tell him what she had found out… and what she suspected.

  He took the paper bag with his book inside when she handed it to him, but he had to set it aside again so he could carefully—very carefully—tuck his bandaged right appendage back into his hoodie. “It’s nice to meet a new neighbor,” he told Darcy. “Such a friendly town. I’m definitely looking forward to living here. See you tomorrow, then!”

  Waving his left hand still gripping the bag, he turned and whistled to himself as he stepped outside, making the shopkeeper’s bell ring again.

  Darcy sighed out a relieved breath.

  When the back door slammed shut, she jumped, but then remembered that was just Izzy and Zane coming back from walking Cha Cha. For Pete’s sake, she needed to relax. It was hard, though, when all she kept picturing was that flat, immobilized lump wrapped in bandages on the end of Mark Frank’s right arm. He bothered her. There was just something about him, and the way he seemed so familiar, and the whole thing with the hand…

  “Izzy,” she asked her friend, “would you mind—”

  “Watching the store while you run off to jump feet first into a mystery?” Izzy interrupted. She chuckled at the look on Darcy’s face. “Oh, come on. I’ve been your friend long enough to know when you’re hot on the trail of a clue. There’s this gleam in your eyes whenever you get like this.”

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. One thing about being your friend, Darcy Sweet, is that nothing is ever predictable in your life. You’re going off to talk to Jon, I’m guessing?”

  “Yes. There was just someone in here, while you were outside, and I need to tell him about it. I’ll take Zane with me, but can you watch Cha Cha for a bit?”

  “Sure thing. I love that little doggie of yours. We’ll be fine until you get back. Did you get the invoices squared away?”

  “All fixed. Thanks, Izzy.” She grabbed her faked receipt form off the counter and then took Zane by the hand. “Are you ready to go and see your daddy, little man?”

  Zane hopped up and down excitedly. “Yay! Let’s go, let’s go! C’mon, Cha Cha!”

  “Oh, no honey, I’m sorry. Cha Cha’s got to stay here. This is just going to be a quick trip…”

  But the dog was already there, standing next to Zane, his pink tongue lolling excitedly out of his mouth at the thought of a ride to the police station. Obviously he’d heard Zane, and Darcy could just imagine that if sh
e left him behind now that he’d be all mopey and sad until they got back. She definitely didn’t want that.

  “Okay, guys,” she relented. “Let’s go get in the car.”

  Chapter 4

  When she was younger, Darcy hadn’t owned a car. There’d been no reason to. She could get everywhere she needed to go in Misty Hollow on her bicycle. That was before the days of children and pets, of course. Jon had a car of his own, but it was a department vehicle, given to him by the town board for him to use as the police chief. So her car had become the family car by default.

  Sometimes they took it to go on picnics. Sometimes, she was driving just down the street to the police station with a hyperactive dog in the backseat.

  “Okay, buddy,” she told Zane as she parked in the little area off to the side of the building. “Let’s go see daddy for a quick minute and then we’re going to go back to the bookstore until the end of the workday, okay?”

  “N’kay,” he said.

  She could have walked them here, maybe, but she was in too much of a rush to get this information to Jon and any walking trip with Zane always ended up taking twice as long as it needed to. She liked to encourage his youthful curiosity, but not when she was in a hurry. He was pushing himself up in his car seat now to peer out the window at the police station, a one-story brick building with a flagpole out front. He’d seen it dozens of times before, but he was still fascinated by every little thing he saw.

  Cha Cha stood up on the seat next to him. Darcy watched the two of them staring at each other in the rearview mirror.

  Then Zane reached as far forward as he could to tap his mother on the shoulder. “Mom? Cha Cha wants t’know if there’s doggie treats in the police house.”

  “It’s a police department, honey. We live in a house. Your daddy works at the police department.”

  “Right,” Zane agreed in a ‘that’s-what-I-said’ kind of way. “At the partament.”

  Close enough, Darcy decided. “Well, I’ll bet your daddy has a few dog biscuits in his office, if Cha Cha can be good.”

  Zane turned a very stern expression on Cha Cha. “You hear that? You gotta be a good dog. No bark bark, you gotta be shush. Okay?”

  The dog’s mouth opened in a doggie grin, and his floppy ears perked up. Even Darcy could read that expression. Who, me? I’m an angel.

  She rolled her eyes, and then got out of the car.

  The inside of the police station hadn’t changed much over the years. The walls had been repainted recently, but even then, in the same color as before. Everything else was still the same. The cramped foyer with those ugly plastic chairs, the service window where the desk officer greeted people, and the door that led to the inner rooms. Jon had added five more officers to his total staffing level since taking over as chief of police, and still they were using the same small building to keep the peace for Misty Hollow. Even the man greeting her at the window was the same as always.

  Sergeant Sean Fitzwallis was a tall, thin man with a full head of gray hair. He was always quick with a smile and always ready to help his community. He’d been the same, gray hair and all, ever since Darcy had moved to Misty Hollow. That was decades ago, and the man never changed.

  The mystery of how that was possible was one Darcy had already solved. She had forgiven Sean for what she found out about him, too. Mostly.

  “Hey there, Darcy,” he said now, standing up from his chair at the communications desk on the other side of the window. He leaned his elbows on the service counter, looking over the edge to find Zane standing there with his mother. “Oh, and there’s young Mister Tinker himself. And Cha Cha, too. Well, how’s things for you, puppy dog?”

  Cha Cha sat and smiled up at Sean, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. He and Sean had always gotten along well. They said that animals had a sixth sense about people, especially dogs. If that was true then Cha Cha definitely approved of the good sergeant and that was definitely a point in his favor.

  “Hi, Mister Fitz,” Zane said with a wave of his hand. It was the best he could do with that complicated last name. “We’re here to see my daddy.”

  “That so? Well. That sounds like fun. He’s right in his office. Your mother knows the way, right Darcy?”

  She certainly did. “We won’t be long, Sean. Is he busy?”

  “Er, you might say that, I suppose.” Sean scratched at the side of his nose, and then shrugged. “Something tells me he’d want you to be part of it, though.”

  Well, that was sufficiently cryptic. “Be part of what, Sean? Should I not bring Zane down there right now?”

  Coming over to stand next to Sean, Grace appeared at the window. Darcy’s sister did not look happy. Especially since those looked like the same exact clothes she’d been wearing yesterday. “I can watch Zane and Cha Cha for a few minutes, sis. Sean’s right. Jon would want you to hear what’s going on.”

  “Okay. Um, sure. I’ll head right down. Did you get any sleep at all last night, sis?”

  “No, I did not. Thanks for asking,” she snarked, but she said it with a little grin to let Darcy know she wasn’t mad. Just tired and stressed. “Turns out a severed hand showing up in the river is the least of our problems. And no, don’t bother asking me, I’m going to let Jon explain it. Come on, Zane. I’ve got some coloring books at my desk. Can you and Cha Cha keep me company until your daddy can see you?”

  “Uh-huh,” Zane said right off. He liked being with his Auntie Grace. The whole reason she had started keeping coloring books at her desk was for when Zane stopped by. Colby was too old for coloring now. At least, she liked to think she was.

  Beside Zane, Cha Cha barked softly and walked to the end of the leash in Darcy’s hand, eager to get into the office and hang out with Grace as well.

  “Cha Cha promises being good,” Zane told Grace. “He won’t bark or nothing.”

  “But I might,” Grace told him with a wink.

  Zane giggled. “No! You’re not a dog. You’re a people!”

  “Well, sometimes people bite.” She clacked her teeth together hard a couple of times, getting peals of laughter from Zane, and a quiet whuffing out of Cha Cha. After all, the dog had promised not to bark while he was here.

  Sergeant Fitzwallis pushed the security button to open the door to the inside, and then Darcy brought herself down the central hallway to the closed door to Jon’s office. Zane was happily adding color to pictures of horses running through fields back at Grace’s desk. The horses were all red and green, but at least the color was staying mostly inside the lines.

  Jon opened the door for her almost immediately when she knocked. It was like he’d been standing there waiting for her.

  “Come on in,” he told her. The expression on his face was less than amused. “You’re going to want to join this party.”

  She almost asked what he meant by that, but then the door swung all the way open, and she saw the other man in the room. Sergeant Maxwell Dillon sat on this side of Jon’s desk, legs crossed, one arm over the back of the chair, looking back at her over his shoulder. There was no smile on his sharp face. His uniform was identical to what Darcy had seen him in yesterday but unlike Grace, she got the impression these clothes were fresh. They were pressed and shined, with no sign at all of the dirt and mud they had trekked through by the riverbank. The man must have spent hours cleaning those boots. Even so, he looked perfectly rested.

  And smug.

  “You can’t be serious,” Maxwell said, his piggish eyes narrowing at the both of them. “She’s a civilian, Chief. Not only that but she’s your wife, for the love of God. No offense, lady, I think it’s finer than spun gold how you found that hand and called the police to do your civic duty and all, but this is police work now.”

  Darcy gasped. She couldn’t help it. “My ‘civic duty?’ Is that what you just said? Let me tell you something. I did that because it was the right thing to do. Some people still do things just for that reason.”

  Maxwell didn’t cra
ck a smile, or a frown. He just shook his head. “Not in my experience.”

  There was the strongest urge building in Darcy to slap the arrogance right off this man’s expression. Instead she fisted her hands to keep them at her sides. There was something going on here and blowing her stack at this pompous fool would only serve to waste time. “I take it,” she said to him instead, “that since you’re here, something must have turned up in the case?”

  He bounced his foot in the air. Darcy saw his thin little mustache quiver as he pressed his lips closed. He wasn’t talking to her. She was just a civilian, isn’t that what he’d said?

  Ooh, he so needed to get slapped!

  “You can talk in front of her,” Jon advised the state police sergeant. “Darcy is my wife, yes, but she’s also a registered consultant with our department. I’ve got the paperwork to prove it and everything.”

  Maxwell seemed surprised. “You’re going to let me see those forms so I can check for myself, I assume?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake…” Darcy started to blow up on him.

  Jon saved her from saying something she would probably have regretted. Eventually. “Yes, I’ll get you copies of the paperwork. Now. Tell her what you told me.”

  With a shrug, Maxwell sat up in the chair and folded his elbows on his knees. “All right, then. If that’s the way you play things in your town, Chief. Like I said, no offense to your lady wife here.”

  “Darcy,” Darcy told him. “My name is Darcy Sweet.”

  That got one of his sculpted eyebrows to pop up. “Sweet? Jon’s last name is Tinker. You didn’t take your husband’s name?”

  She could actually feel the blood rushing to her face. When she had first met Maxwell Dillon, she’d taken an instant disliking to him. That dislike was quickly becoming a persistent loathing. “When we got married,” she explained, very slowly, “we agreed that Jon would keep his name, and I would keep my name. Our daughter has my name, our son has Jon’s name. Now, if we’re done talking about me, can you please tell me why you’re here?”