by K. J. Emrick
“No, I’m afraid not. No flat tire, no engine trouble, there was still a half a tank of gas, no damage anywhere on the car in fact. That’s what I was doing when you saw me out there. I was looking for any signs that the car might have been stopped by mechanical failure, or by hitting something. It wasn’t. It was just stopped there in the middle of the street.”
“What about the injuries we saw on the father? There was blood.”
Izzy had been about to take a bite out of her hotdog when Darcy said that. Instead, she stopped and put it back on her plate, looking a little pale.
“The dad’s neck was crushed,” Jon told them. “The blood actually came out of his mouth from internal injuries. His son… well, frankly I’d rather not talk about what happened to the son.”
The television was loud in the living room. There was no way that Colby and Zane could hear them talking. That wasn’t why Jon was reluctant to explain how Joel Harris had died. It was because even a seasoned police officer like him got squeamish when it came to children dying. He was a good man, and his heart was full of concern for innocent victims of horrible crimes. She wouldn’t want her husband to be any other way.
Darcy remembered Joel Harris’s ghost in the basement. So timid, so scared, and her heart went out to him, too. His rubber ball was back up on the shelf above the refrigerator. That’s where it was going to stay. At least, until he bounced it her way again.
The food on her plate had grown cold, but she didn’t mind. Just like Izzy, she suddenly didn’t have much of an appetite. “So now we just have to ask ourselves why the Harris’s were here in town, right?”
“That would be another good place to start,” Jon agreed. “If we can find Lana Harris, maybe she can answer that for us, along with how the rest of her family died.”
“She’s a suspect?” Izzy asked. “Couldn’t she be another victim?”
Jon nodded, pushing his own half-eaten dinner aside. “If she’s dead, she’s a victim. If she’s sitting nice and warm at the church waiting to leave town once the weather clears, then she’s a suspect.”
Izzy grimaced. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“Unfortunately, yes it does. That’s the nature of my business.”
She managed a weak laugh. “Heh. In my business I just worry about keeping the shelves stocked with books people want to read.”
“Trade you,” Jon joked.
“Not on your life, mister!”
Darcy knew Jon would never really trade his job to anyone else, for any reason. He loved what he did too much. Even on days like these. “So when do you think you can get someone over to the church? They’ll have to use the snowmobile to get there.”
He shrugged. “Or, we could just go right now.”
Darcy realized that he meant the two of them, her and him. She loved helping him out on his cases, and she dearly loved a good mystery. No way she could say no to this. She tried to contain her excitement as she said, “You want me to come with you?”
“Sure. After all, you are an official consultant for the Misty Hollow police department. You’ve helped us out on countless cases before. I always appreciate your help.” He motioned down to the plates on the table and the food still on each of them. “Besides, I don’t think any of us is hungry anymore. Might as well get to this case while it’s still warm.”
“Warm?” Izzy joked. “Obviously you haven’t looked outside.”
“Touché. So. What do you say, Darcy?”
Yes, was going to be her automatic answer. “But how are we going to get over there?”
“Simple. Same way you and Izzy got there. We’ll use the skis.”
“In the dark?”
“The streetlights are still on, and we’ll bring flashlights. It’ll be like an adventure. That is, if Izzy doesn’t mind staying here and watching the kids?”
“Not at all,” Izzy said without hesitation. “I’d rather be here with your two angels than out there looking for a murderer. Besides, Darcy, we did promise Pastor Phin we’d come help out at the shelter. This is the perfect excuse to go over there, right?”
“Then it’s settled,” Jon said, getting up from the table and collecting the dishes to bring them over to the sink. When he did, he stopped, and looked out through the windows into the gloom of early evening. “Hey, look. It stopped snowing.”
Darcy turned to look outside and found that Jon was right. The snow had finally stopped. The eye of the storm was here, giving them a little relief from all the snow.
She had to wonder how long it would last.
“So, I need to tell you something,” Darcy said as they were pushing themselves along with their ski poles. It was too dark to see her breath frost up on the cold night air, but she could feel the bite in the wind. Somehow, without the snow falling, it actually felt colder.
Next to her, Jon slowed his pace to look her way. He’d found a fur-lined aviator’s cap somewhere, and a multicolored scarf that Darcy distinctly remembered tossing out years ago. He looked absolutely ridiculous, but he was nice and warm.
“What’s up?” he asked her. “Something you didn’t want to talk about in front of Izzy?”
“Well, yeah, kind of. The ghost of the boy in that car came to see me last night. Remember when I saw you by the car earlier and I told you that I knew the victims’ last name was Harris? Well, that’s how I knew. The boy’s ghost told me. The noise we heard last night was his ghost looking to talk to someone.”
“Wow. You talked to the ghost of the kid? Oh, Darcy that’s… I can’t even imagine what that’s like. Are you okay?’
She let their skis go swish-swish-swish across the snow for a few heartbeats, just smiling to herself in the dim glow of the streetlights. She really loved this man. Here they were in the middle of another murder mystery and his main concern was still her, and her feelings.
“I’m all right,” she promised him. “It’s never easy to see a dead child, but it’s the same for you.”
“Sure, but I see them on this side of the world. Just their bodies. I don’t have to see them as spirits, wandering and confused.”
“Yeah, well. In a lot of ways that’s easier.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” After a long moment, he shrugged. “Did the ghost say anything to you?”
“Not much. He was scared. I’m not sure he even understands what’s happened to him.”
The church was just up ahead. There were lights on in all the windows. Someone had been busy shoveling off the front steps, too. That had probably taken all of Pastor Phin’s volunteers working together just to do that much. Darcy was actually kind of impressed.
The Misty Hollow Community Church wasn’t a big building. Just one single level with a finished basement underneath. The upper floor was for church services, and Sunday school classes, and support groups for different gatherings that the church hosted. The lower section, in the basement, was one large meeting room sectioned off with a sliding accordion door that went from one wall to the other. Darcy was sure Pastor Phin had opened the downstairs up for his shelter, down where the furnace room was, which was the warmest place in the church.
They didn’t bother knocking. They carried their skis and poles inside and set them standing up in a corner of the entryway, where they could dry off without dripping water on anything. The sound of voices filtered up from downstairs. Laughter. Talk. Darcy thought she might have even heard someone singing.
“It sounds like Phin’s shelter is a success,” Jon commented. “I hope he gets a four-star rating on Yelp.”
She nudged her shoulder into his. “Very funny. At least we know where everyone is.”
Not everyone, she corrected herself, as a man came out from a side room. There was a stack of folded linen in his arms, taller than him, and three boxes of Ritz crackers leaning haphazardly on top. He peeked around the side of it all to see his way down the hall and when he did, he found Darcy and Jon standing there.
“Hey guys,” Akers Pennington greeted them. His puffy
cheeks broke into a smile. The boxes wobbled to one side, and he had to turn the other way to see around them again. “You come to join the party?”
Akers was a heavyset man who worked as a self-employed plumber. His large hands were a testament to the way he made his living through hard work, the palms worn to a lighter color than his otherwise dark skin tone. He liked to refer to himself as proudly Black, with a lineage that stretched back to Booker T. Washington, the author of Up From Slavery.
Darcy had recently had the chance to learn a little bit more about her own family history, and she was far less proud of her lineage than Akers was. Her first ancestor to come to the Americas was… well, less than nice. In fact, the woman was a literal witch.
“What can I do for you?” Akers was asking them.
“We came to see Pastor Phin,” Jon told him. “It’s sort of police business.”
“At this hour? You guys know it’s late, right?”
“The police department’s always open. We’re like a 24/7 convenience store.”
Akers frowned at that. “Except you don’t have slushie machines.”
“Nope. All we serve is justice.”
“Ha! Oh, that’s funny. That sure is… um.” Laughing, he shifted the bundle in his arms and tried to point toward the stairs, but the boxes of crackers leaned the other way, and threatened to spill off the top of the linen, and then he had to grab everything again. He swung his hips and shifted his feet until he looked like he was doing a little dance, but he managed to keep from dropping anything.
“Whew,” he said. “Can’t drop those crackers. They go all crumbly in the box and then nobody wants them and that’s just a waste. Pastor Phin sent me up ‘cause we got a lot of hungry people down there. Tired, too. That’s why we’re bringing down the altar linens. The Pastor figures they’ll make passable bedsheets. Uh. Yeah. Anyway, he’s downstairs with everyone. Want me to—” The stack of linen and crackers wobbled again, until he steadied it. “Want me to show you the way?”
“We know where the stairs are,” Jon assured him. “You want us to help you carry those?”
“That would probably be a good idea, thanks. Guess I should have taken two trips.”
Darcy took the three boxes of crackers, and Jon took two of the folded linens from the stack. Akers nodded gratefully. He looked like he’d been running ragged for the last few hours. He could probably use a break. The storm was taking its toll on all of them.
The stairs leading down were thickly carpeted, not that they would have been able to hear their footsteps if they were wearing clogs and performing River Dance. The sound of people talking became much louder as they descended. There was music playing from a radio on a table in the corner. Cots were lined up against the far wall, although Darcy had to wonder where Pastor Phin had gotten his hands on those. The accordion divider was wide open to maximize the space, just like she’d expected, and even so it was cramped.
Folding tables were set up in the center of the large space. People sat in chairs around them, eating meals on paper plates, or playing cards, or just talking. There were five tables, and Darcy did a quick head count, coming up with sixteen people, a fairly equal mix of men and women, sitting around them. Lana Harris wasn't among them.
There were four others, all men, standing off to the side and talking with cups of coffee in their hands. Two of the men were dressed in suits, another man in jeans and a sweater, and the last man in what looked like workman's pants and a jacket. None of them were Lana Harris either, obviously.
Darcy didn't recognize any of these people so they must all be from out of town. One of the cots had someone curled up on it, under a blanket. That made twenty-one people in Pastor Phin’s shelter. Not including him, or the volunteers like Akers. Phin was there as soon as they got off the stairs. “Hey, Darcy. Thanks for stopping by.”
“I did promise to come in to help.” She looked around at everything set up in the room for all these people stranded by the storm. “Looks like you’ve got everything running smoothly though.”
“Thanks to some good people like Akers.” He gave the man a smile and took the extra linens from him. “Lots of donations from Clara Barstow, too. Thankfully the storm’s let up and the next band of snow isn’t set to hit us until tomorrow afternoon. Should give some folks a reprieve to take care of things. Shovel driveways and clear off their cars and such. Still don’t think anyone’s going to be able to leave town. Why don’t you check back with us tomorrow? I’m sure we’ll need more help then.”
“I’ll be happy to. I’ll bring Izzy, too. I’m just hoping this break in the weather will allow a few planes to get up in the air.”
“Oh? Expecting family?”
“Yes, my mother and her new husband. Well, he’s not a ‘new’ husband anymore, I suppose, but I still tend to think of him that way. Yesterday they said they were delayed. Today… well, I haven’t heard from them today. I hope they’re all right.”
“I understand. Family’s important. You and I both know the truth of that, right?”
He smiled at Darcy. Neither of them had to explain what he meant. Darcy knew his family history, and how much he’d overcome to become the man he was today.
“Well, we’ll come back tomorrow… um, but Jon has a question first.”
“Oh? Ah, not just a social visit, then. No, no, that’s fine, Jon. In your business, you don’t keep normal office hours.”
“Heh,” Akers chuckled. “He doesn’t serve slushies, either.”
“But I am always working,” Jon said. From the inside jacket of his winter coat he took out the wallet Tiptoe had brought to them. He opened it up to show Phin the driver’s license photo. “Have you seen this woman here? At your shelter, I mean, here in the church?”
“Let me see that,” Akers offered. “I know most of the people here. Their names, where they come from, where they’re going to…”
Darcy had already scanned the faces of everyone here, at the tables and standing around, and hadn’t seen Lana Harris among them. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been here before.
Pastor Phin looked at the license, holding it at an angle to keep the glare off the plastic sleeve, and then nodded. “Sure. Didn’t know her name until now, but sure. She came looking for shelter here. Poor woman, she hasn’t said hardly anything.”
Jon’s face brightened. That was a break in the case, to be sure. Lana Harris was still alive! “Do you know where she is now?” he asked. “Did she say where she was going?”
“Going? No, she didn’t go anywhere. She’s still here. Right over there.”
He pointed over to the cots, to the person curled up under the blanket. It was the only person in the room whose face Darcy couldn’t see.
“I don’t think she’s said two words since she got here,” Phin explained. “She showed up at my door with a purse and a thousand-yard-stare, like she’d seen something awful. Not even a jacket. I figured the storm had got her upset, so I showed her down here and gave her some warm soup. Ever since then, she’s been there, on that bed.”
“Well,” Jon said, putting the wallet away again. “I guess we should go wake her up.”
“Um, Jon?” Phin said, hesitation in his voice. “You’re not going to make a scene here, are you? These people are hiding it well, but they’re all worried. About their families, their jobs, how they’re going to get home. I’m trying to create a peaceful place here for them to rest until the roads can be cleared and they can get on their way again.”
“I don’t plan on upsetting her,” Jon said, but he kept his face carefully neutral. If Lana Harris didn’t know what had happened to her family yet, the news Jon had to give her would be nothing but upsetting.
But, if she already knew what had happened, and she was hiding here in Phin’s church until she could make her getaway, then this would be upsetting in a different way entirely.
They both went and sat on the cot next to the one she was asleep on. Jon cleared his throat, and then after a mome
nt he coughed more loudly. Lana didn’t stir.
Under the cot, on the floor, Darcy saw the corner of a large tan handbag. She slid it out and set it down on her lap.
Jon reached over and set a hand on Lana’s arm. He shook her gently and when he did, she jerked upright and spun her head left and right, her eyes wide and unfocused.
“It’s okay,” Jon told her gently. “You’re still in the church. My name is Jon Tinker. I’m the chief of police in town. I need to talk to you. Lana? Can you answer me? We need to talk to you about… uh, about what happened.”
She was looking at him, but her eyes were looking through him. They were pale brown eyes, probably very pretty when they weren’t so cloudy with pent up emotion. Her long brown hair fell over the shoulders of a blue sweater. Her face was angular, her lips puffy. Her long gold earrings swung against her neck as she continued to look around like she expected something to be coming for her. She was the spitting image of her driver’s license photo.
In that face, Darcy could see the resemblance to her little boy, Joel.
She unzipped the handbag and looked inside.
Jon reached out to touch Lana gently on her wrist. “Lana. Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember what happened to your car? To your family?”
She looked his way again, and this time her eyes cleared, and her gaze focused.
Darcy stared inside the bag. Personal items. Makeup. Papers. And…
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Jon?”
He didn’t hear her. He was still talking to Lana. “Do you remember what happened? We found your car. We found… we found your family.”
The woman’s lips moved. She was trying to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Lana,” he pressed. “I need to know what happened. Did you and your family come here together?”
She nodded, slowly, while her lips kept trying to form words.
“Jon,” Darcy tried to get his attention again.