by K. J. Emrick
Next to her, Tiptoe bumped her head into Colby’s hip. It was like the cat was trying to tell her it was all right, because nobody was perfect.
“It’s okay, Starshine” Darcy promised. “You’re still a little young to be worrying about what questions to ask ghosts about their murders.”
Colby’s lip twisted up sarcastically. “I’m a Sweet. My mother is Darcy Sweet. Ghosts are kind of our thing. We don’t choose who we are when we’re born. We have to choose to be the best version of ourselves as we grow up. Right?”
That made Darcy laugh. Her daughter was so smart. How did she get so lucky with this one?
Her family meant the world to her. Zane, and Jon, and her wonderful daughter. Tiptoe and Cha Cha, too. Everything important to her lived here, in this house. Wouldn’t any mother feel the same about her family?
She frowned, because that made her think… Joel’s mother was locked up in the cells at the police department. She had been in the car when her husband and her son were murdered. She had to be. She had that bloody bar in her purse. She was obviously traumatized. Either by what she saw… or because she had killed them herself during the accident.
No. Not an accident. Joel’s ghost had apparently been very plain about that. Jon had said there was nothing wrong with the car. No damage. Wouldn’t that mean it didn’t run into the snowbank where it was buried, then? Wouldn’t that have caused damage that just wasn’t there? If there was no accident, then the only way the car could have been buried like that… was if it had stopped there before the snow started, when everyone was taking cover, and it stayed there while the snow fell, foot by foot. Just exactly like the storm had buried Darcy’s car in her own driveway.
Something had stopped the car out there on Main Street as the snow started to fall, and before it had gotten too deep.
If the murder had happened before the snow fell, like Joel’s ghost had hinted at, then they weren’t looking for a killer who could walk on the snow after all. They were looking for someone who knew the Harris family was coming to Misty Hollow. Someone who had met them on the road, waiting for them… and that’s why the car had stopped!
Or was it the other way around? Had the shouting Joel mentioned been an argument between his parents. Had Brian stopped the car to argue with Lana, and had Lana then killed him—and then her son?
Two possibilities, each of them just as likely as the other.
Shouting. Lots and lots of shouting…
She just didn’t know.
“Colby, are you sure Joel’s ghost didn’t say anything else about…?”
Her question was interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door.
Zane and Cha Cha were just coming off the top of the stairs, Darcy could hear her son down the hallway. “Mom? I think someone’s outside. They want to come in.”
Cha Cha barked twice. Then he barked again.
Zane sounded worried. “Cha Cha says they smell angry.”
Chapter 8
Darcy looked toward the stairs. Someone was here. Someone who wasn’t happy.
Why was nothing ever simple?
Down the hallway the doorway to the spare bedroom opened. Izzy stepped out, arms crossed, her expression smugly satisfied. “I called Mark. I told him everything you were saying. That’s him downstairs, by the way. He wants to talk to you.”
A heavy sigh blew out of Darcy. No. Nothing was ever simple.
“The kids?” she asked.
“Go on,” Izzy told her. “We’ll stay up here while you and Mark have a little talk. Try not to accuse him of anything he didn’t do this time, okay?”
Darcy had a feeling it was going to be more than a little talk, but at least she knew Izzy would keep Zane and Colby up here. She might be furious with her right now, but they were still friends, and nothing would ever change that.
For a moment she considered texting Jon. She’d feel a lot better if he was here when she and Mark had this ‘talk.’ But her cellphone was downstairs and to get to it she would have to literally stand down there, staring at Mark through the front door and hoping he didn’t come striding inside while she was dialing Jon’s number.
Better just to get this over with. Besides, if he started acting up, she could just hit him over the head with a tea kettle. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d resorted to that.
With a deep breath, Darcy took herself down the stairs. It was when she was crossing into the kitchen that she remembered the rubber ball was still in her hand. She saw the shadow of Mark Franks standing out on the front porch, through the curtain on the window. Somehow, she doubted that he was going to take her seriously if she confronted him about being involved in this mystery while she was holding a child’s toy in her hand.
She put the ball back up on the shelf while Mark knocked on the door again. Darcy went to answer it, just as Mark opened the door for himself.
He smiled at her surprise. “Izzy invited me,” he said. There was a tight edge to his voice that Darcy definitely did not like. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I showed myself in since she asked me to come here and all.”
“Mark, listen.” Darcy knew she was going to have to talk fast. “I told Jon about everything I saw in your house. I told him. He’s on his way here now. He just wants to talk.”
The door snapped closed as he leaned himself back against it, literally blocking the exit with his body. In his bulky winter coat and his gloves and his ski boots, he seemed much bigger than he was. He smiled when he saw the uneasiness Darcy was trying to hide. Then abruptly, he took a step toward her.
Darcy stepped back.
Mark’s smile got wider, showing his teeth. “Jon wants to talk to you,” he mocked, imitating her voice and inflection nearly perfectly. Darcy had always been impressed at the way he could change his voice. Right now, it just freaked her out. “What’s he want to talk to me about, Darcy? Huh? Is it… this?”
In one quick motion he pulled the glove off his left hand and threw it up in her face and Darcy stepped further back, bumping into one of the chairs around the table. Across the back of his hand, she saw the livid purple bruise again.
His hand got an inch away from her face. She was sure, just for a split second, that he was going to hit her.
When he didn’t, she swallowed and told herself she was standing her ground because of her own resolve, not because the table was behind her, blocking her way.
“You lied to me,” she said, forcing herself to make the words steady.
He flexed his fingers and in spite of her resolve, Darcy flinched.
“What did I lie about? You saw this bruise on my hand and decided it meant I killed someone, right?”
She blinked. “Well, actually…”
“Yeah, that’s what Izzy said. You know, you really should thank her for being such a good friend. She called me to tell me all these horrible things you were saying because she was worried about you.”
Darcy crossed her arms in front of herself and met Mark’s stare. “Oh, really? I think she was just worried about what might happen to you, actually. And I think you’re here just to give me excuses about… whatever you did.”
He flexed his fingers again. “Do you honestly think I could kill anyone?”
“I… I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
After a moment of silence between them, he lowered his arm. “Well, you always were honest to a fault. Darcy, this mark on my hand doesn’t mean anything, except that I’m a klutz. When I went to get my skis out of the closet two days ago, I accidentally cut the string on a compound bow I’ve had since I was kid. Those things are under a lot of tension and the string whipped out and caught me across the hand. It hurt like mad, I can tell you that.”
Darcy studied his face. The set of his jaw. The direct look in his eyes. If he was lying, she couldn’t tell.
“You broke your bow?”
Mark shrugged. “Not very manly to admit, I know, but I’m clumsy. I told Izzy about it when it happened. You can ask he
r, if you don’t believe me. Accidents happen. And that’s all this was. Just an accident.”
An accident, Darcy thought to herself. Like the car accident the Harris family got into on the far end of Main Street…
But no, because that wasn’t an accident. It happened before the snow got too deep to travel in, when people were just starting to take cover and before everyone got snowed in, when anyone could have been out and about.
Anyone, including Mark Franks.
But then what would be his motive? She didn’t know the answer to that, but she did know one thing.
“You still lied to me,” she insisted. She worked her way back around the kitchen table, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. She just felt better with the table between them. “You lied to me about being a writer. That novel on your laptop is just a copy of one that’s already been published. Colony 41 is selling pretty well in my bookstore and I’ve scanned through it enough to recognize it when I see it. You’re no writer. You’re just a plagiarist.”
“And a liar?”
“I think that’s implied when someone steals someone else’s ideas, yes.”
“And a murderer?”
Yes, was what she wanted to say, but she had no proof and no motive. No basis to accuse him. She still felt uneasy with him here, standing there all menacing, but that didn’t mean he did this terrible thing.
When she took too long to answer, Mark snorted. “You’re a strange lady, Darcy Sweet.” In a British accent, he added, “A proper woman, with good bearing and brains I say, and just like a bulldog when you’ve got those teeth of yours into a thing, wouldn’t you say?”
Darcy felt the smile on her lips. This was the Mark Franks she had come to know. Witty. Enchanting. He was the kind of guy everyone wanted to be around. Not the kind of guy you associated with criminal behavior.
But here she was, accusing him.
Again.
“You’re still a liar,” she said, crossing her arms again.
He shook his head back and forth. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re no writer. Name me one book you’ve ever written.”
“Now you know I can’t do that. I write freelance. It’s called ghostwriting for a reason. Everything I’ve ever written has a non-disclosure agreement attached to it. My publishers are happy with my work, but no one will ever get to know the brilliant mind behind all those stories they’re reading. Can’t give you the names. Sorry.”
“How convenient. I don’t believe you. That story on your laptop isn’t yours.”
“No, it’s not.”
She was surprised. She didn’t expect him to actually admit to it. “But then… why is it on your laptop?”
Mark smiled with his teeth once more. His hand shot out, and grabbed a chair, and dragged it out so he could sit down. Darcy jumped at the sharp, sudden sound. After another moment, Mark settled his elbows on the table and steepled his hands together. “Writing isn’t as easy as you think. You don’t just sit down and start putting words on the page and expect a best-selling novel to come out. You have to plan, you have to chart out the plot and the subplot and make sure your characters are as detailed as real people. There’s a lot of skills involved with writing, and just like any skill, you have to constantly practice if you want to get better.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It can be, but it’s also a lot of fun. Especially when you’re good at it like I am.”
“I’m happy for you. What’s this got to do with you plagiarizing Colony 41 on your laptop?”
“Like I said, you have to practice to hone your skills when you’re a writer.” He spread his hands wide, and Darcy’s eyes focused on the line of that bruise as it moved back and forth. “There’s lots of ways to do that, but the one I like best is to type out a book as I’m reading it. That allows me to get a sense of the style used by other successful authors. It lets me see the things that are working for the fans. The way they craft a scene. How they structure their paragraphs. Little phrases that are better than the ones I use. Things like that.”
“So you’re saying that was just an exercise for you? Practice?”
“Uh-huh. You should have seen me copying J. R. Ward. I learn a lot by copying the greats.”
Darcy pursed her lips. That would explain it, certainly. It seemed like a lot of work to her, just to get ideas for your own writing. Well, musicians listened to other music to hone their own skills, didn’t they? Chefs copied dishes from other chefs. In a way, she supposed, it was the same thing.
“I guess… that makes sense,” she admitted.
“There. So you see? I’m not a liar. I’m not a plagiarist.” He dropped his hands to the table and began drumming his fingertips. “I’m just one of your neighbors. I didn’t even see the car you’re talking about when I was out on my skis. The snow had covered it by then.”
Which was another good point. “Actually, it turns out that Brian Harris and his son Joel were killed when the snowstorm was just starting. Before the car was buried there.”
“There, you see? I had nothing to do with it.”
With a deep breath, Darcy unfolded her arms, and allowed herself a real smile. “I guess you’re right. And… I guess that means I owe you an apology.”
Mark cocked up an eyebrow. “And Izzy, too?”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Yes, and a big one for Izzy, too.”
Now she stepped around the table, and she didn’t feel the need to move away as he stood up. It had been foolish to be afraid of him. There was just something about him that made her keep distrusting him, time and again. She couldn’t place her finger on it. It wasn’t him, obviously. Every time she accused him of something it turned out to be wrong. Whatever the issue was, it must be hers.
She held out her hand to him, ready to apologize again.
When he reached out and grasped her hand in his it was like electricity danced along her skin. Her vision blurred into a bright white light with static around the edges. Sound buzzed in her ears, an overwhelming hiss of noise that gradually resolved into two separate voices. A man, and a woman.
This was a vision, she realized. She was seeing a part of someone’s life. Past, present, future… it was hard to say, because this wasn’t her life. She was seeing through someone else’s eyes. She tried to remind herself of that as the vision swept her away.
It was the man’s eyes she saw through, the man’s voice she spoke with, and it didn’t take her long to realize who the man was. Mark Franks. Touching his hand had sparked her gift, and now she was in the middle of a moment he was sharing with…
Izzy. That was the woman in the vision.
They talked casually about the weather and what they had done today. It was warm in the room where they were. A kitchen. Izzy’s kitchen in her house. The window was open, and a warm breeze blew in as Darcy—or rather, Mark Franks—walked up behind Izzy. Her back was turned toward Mark as she put dirty dishes into the sink.
“I had a great time,” she told him.
Mark didn’t answer.
“I think tomorrow,” Izzy said, “we should invite Darcy over to join us for dinner.”
Darcy felt Mark’s hands as they came up, fingers spread wide.
“I know you and Darcy are still mad at each other, but she’s my best friend, and when we get married, I want her there.”
Mark’s hands reached for Izzy’s neck.
Darcy tried to change the vision. She tried to make it stop. He was going to kill her. Mark was gong to kill Izzy and all Darcy could do was watch it happen, and feel it coming, and hear Mark’s heavy breathing as his fingers brushed against the back of Izzy’s neck.
She couldn’t stop it. She wanted to scream because she couldn’t stop the vision from playing itself out.
“Mark?” Izzy asked, standing very still. “What are you doing?”
His hands settled on her shoulders.
“Mark?”
His arms wrapped around Izzy, and he held her
tight… and kissed her neck.
“Izzy McIntosh,” he told her, “I think I love you.”
She leaned back into him and laughed softly. “You’d better. After all, you’re marrying me.”
Darcy jerked back and let go of Mark’s hand and for a moment, she was disoriented to find herself in her own kitchen, right where she should be. Married? They were getting married? They weren’t even dating yet… oh, for Pete’s sake. Of course. That was a flash of the future that she had just seen. A possible path into the future, something that could happen, maybe… or maybe not. Whenever her gift showed her something about the future, it was like looking at her reflection in a lake just before dropping a stone into the water. One action changed everything.
For a moment, she flashed back to the dream she had not so long ago. A dream of herself, pleading for help. Flashes of the future, she thought to herself. Could that be what that dream of herself had meant? Was that her future? Was that an image of a time weeks, months, years from now where she needed help?
Had it echoed all the way back through the years to reach her in the present?
That was a bizarre thought. Something that seemed completely impossible.
But ‘impossible’ was the entire meaning of her life.
She blinked at Mark. He and Izzy might get married someday. Here she was accusing him of something really, really bad and all he wanted to do was be a friend to her and Izzy.
“You okay?” he asked her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost,” Darcy promised. “Maybe, um, I’m just seeing something I missed before. Would you like some coffee, Mark? Something to warm you up before you go back home?”
He clapped his hands together cheerfully. “That would sure hit the spot.”
“Maybe you could even stay for lunch. I know Izzy would like that.” She smiled coyly, finally relaxed with him here. “She does seem to like spending time with you.”
“Yeah, she does. Don’t ask me why, but she really does. It’s just one of those things, I guess.” With a twist of his lip, he made his voice sound like Liam Hemsworth, Australian accent and all. “I dare say you never know where something like that may go.”