by K. J. Emrick
“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.”
Darcy thought about the vision that had jumped into her head just now. Yeah, you just never knew.
Later, after she and Izzy had made sandwiches for everyone, with potato chips on the side, Darcy excused herself from the table to send a text message to Jon. After the vision had taken hold, she’d nearly forgotten that he was trying to find Mark Franks to talk to him and here he was, sitting at their kitchen table, eating tuna fish.
Izzy hadn’t said more than two words to her after coming downstairs again. Darcy had apologized and promised to make it up to both of them, and it didn’t seem to matter. The blossoming feelings between the two of them must be stronger than she realized. Without meaning to, she’d put a crack in her friendship with Izzy that was going to take a while to fix.
Darcy could wait. Izzy was one of those rare people who were worth the effort.
Picking up her cellphone she leaned into the entryway to the living room, checking on Colby and Zane eating off plates on the floor in front of the television. The snowstorm was giving them lots of screen time, that was for sure. It reminded Darcy that they had promised to discuss getting Colby a phone of her own. She couldn’t forget to do that. No matter what else was going on in Misty Hollow, Darcy’s children came first. She never wanted them to think otherwise.
Her thumbs tapped a message to her husband.
Mark Franks is here. Not involved. Complicated. Short version is the deaths happened before the snow got too deep. Nothing to do with Mark.
The explanation for the bruise and the plagiarized novel on his laptop, could wait until later. Jon didn’t need to know all the details right now. He just needed to know he could stop looking for Mark.
She was just about to put her phone down and go back to eating when it buzzed in her hand. Jon was messaging her back.
Glad to hear that we can cross him off the list. Right now I�
�m up to my eyeballs in suspects.
Darcy stared at her phone. Now what did that mean? There had only been a few suspects this morning, including Mark Franks. Now that Mark was in the clear, who was left besides Lana herself?
Do you mean the family that the Harris’s were coming to see?
There was a long pause before there was an answer, while the three dots that indicated Jon was typing back to her danced up and down. He must have considered and reconsidered what he was saying because when it finally came through, it didn’t say much at all.
Easier if I show you. Can you come down to the station?
Darcy’s mouth turned down in a frown. Her kids were in the living room, trapped inside all day. This was supposed to be a day for them to spend together, watching Christmas shows on TV and looking out at snowbanks stacked right up to the windows. It was supposed to be a time for family. This mystery kept stealing her away from what should have been little moments with her children.
Such was life, she decided. You never got it all. There was what you wanted from the world, and what the world needed from you. What was it that Colby had said to her earlier? I’m a Sweet. My mother is Darcy Sweet… we don’t choose who we are when we’re born.
Her daughter never ceased to amaze her. Her kids would understand if she had to go and help Jon solve the latest murder in Misty Hollow.
It just sucked.
“Hey Izzy?” she said.
“Yeah, sure. Go help Jon,” she said, without Darcy having to say it. “I’ll be fine here with the kids. Again.”
She was still offended by what Darcy had done to her. Mark might have forgiven her, but Izzy hadn’t. Not yet.
Speaking of Mark…
He crammed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and then waved an understanding hand in the air. “Don’t worry about me, Darcy. I appreciate the lunch, but I should be getting back home. I can understand if you would be nervous about me being here with your kids, when you aren’t. I’m not a killer, but they don’t really know me.”
Darcy was immensely grateful for him saying that. She might not suspect him anymore, but she felt it would be irresponsible to leave him here with her two kids. Izzy was one thing, she was practically family. Mark wasn’t.
Izzy glared at her, and glared at Mark, and then concentrated hard on her food. Obviously, she’d been looking forward to spending time with him and here Darcy had gone and ruined that, too. Everything she did was turning out wrong. Well. Nothing she could do about it now. That would have to wait. For now, there was a mystery to solve.
Be right there, Darcy texted back to Jon. Just as fast as my skis can carry me.
Chapter 9
The weather outside was turning cold again. Not that it had gotten exceptionally warm, but the thermometer had risen enough that the snow had started to melt and birds had started to sing. Water dripped off the tips of icicles. The surface of the snow took on a glossy, shiny appearance and things that had been buried were starting to resurface. Darcy could even see the heads of the three shepherds in the Town Hall’s creche scene. Not the baby Jesus or his mother. Just the shepherds from the neck up.
But now, the clouds were beginning to roll back in and the cold was coming back. Darcy shivered as she unstrapped her skis and carried them into the police department. It wouldn’t be long before this temporary calm in the storm was over and the snow was flying again. She still hadn’t seen a single snowplow go by. The people in town were just going to have to hang on a little bit longer.
And at this rate, her mother might never be able to fly in for Christmas. She didn’t know for sure, because there hadn’t been so much as a text from her. Maybe that was her answer. No news meant no chance of it happening.
She scowled as she put her skis in the corner and got the desk officer to let her in the back so she could go find Jon.
The scene that met her was a surprise, to say the least.
Every officer in town must be here and on duty at the moment. She counted eight of them in this room alone, in their blue uniforms and black winter jackets. She saw Grace at her desk, next to the other senior detective, Wilson Barton. They were both busy at their computers, taking statements from two separate people.
In fact, every officer in the room was taking statements from different people, and there were still five others lined up against the wall, waiting to be seen. She had never wondered before if the police department had a maximum occupancy but if it did, they had to be over it now.
“Crazy times, aren’t they, Darcy?”
She wasn’t surprised to find it was Sergeant Sean Fitzwallis standing at her shoulder. He always knew when she was around. Sean had been with the police department for as long as anyone could remember. Long enough that he’d known her Great Aunt Millie personally. He always seemed to be in the police station, too. At least, whenever Darcy was here.
“Hello, Sean. What’s going on here?”
“Behold,” he said with a wave of his hand, “the many suspects in the murder of Brian and Joel Harris.”
His uniform shirt was baggy and hung off his arm. Sean was tall and lanky, almost frail, and even though Darcy knew he was a lot stronger than he looked, his weathered face and his steel-gray hair showed he was an old man. Even so, nobody would ever guess his real age.
Darcy looked all around the room again. So many people… “All these people are suspects in the murders?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call them suspects. I think the correct term is ‘persons of interest.’ Nobody really suspicious yet.” He scratched at the side of his nose with a finger. “Turns out, all these people are from the Levison family, which is the people our victims were coming to see. They live in two houses, side by side, and they have for generations. Three brothers, and their wives, four grown children home for the holidays and their spouses. All of them knew the Harris’s were coming. So we have to get statements from all of them.”
Darcy quietly shook her head. Now she understood what Jon meant when he said he was buried in suspects. Did any of these people realize that Lana Harris was in the back, in a holding cell, still not talking to anyone, still in some sort of shock? How well did they know each other, these two families? She tried to read their expressions as they spoke with the officers. Most of their faces were blank. Maybe they were having a hard time accepting this tragedy, on the eve of the holiest day of the year.
Maybe, one of them already knew about the murders, because the killer was in this room.
If that was true, she certainly didn’t envy Jon the task of narrowing the list of who-done-it down to just a few, and then down to one. Either someone in this room, or the woman in the back of the station. Somewhere here there was a killer.
“Where is he?” Darcy asked Sean without looking at him. She didn’t have to say who she meant, they both knew she was talking about Jon.
“Back in his office. Got one of the Levison brothers in there taking his statement.”
“Okay. So tell me, Sean.” She lowered her voice so no one but the two of them could hear. “Do you see a killer in this room?”
She wasn’t just asking him to make conversation. Sean could see things in a way that most people missed. He had a unique experience with the human condition. Sometimes when you asked people the right questions, and really listened, you were entertaining angels without realizing it.
“Does a killer look any different than anyone else?” Sean asked her in return. “It’s not as easy as looking for a scarlet letter ‘K’ on someone’s forehead. If it was, then we wouldn’t need people like your husband to find the bad guys. Or people like you, either.”
He meant it as a compliment. Darcy gave him a smile and decided to take it that way.
“Tell Grace I’ll come back to see her in a minute, will you? I want to see if Jon needs me.”
“Sure thing.” He tipped his policeman’s cap to her. “Merry Christmas, Darcy.”
“Same to you, Sean.”
; It was kind of odd that he didn’t have some words of insight to give her. She’d kind of grown accustomed over the years to him having more to say than just a simple hello and goodbye. Was it possible that he’d run out of pithy nuggets of wisdom to pass on to her? That happened sometimes, when you knew someone long enough. Although, there was always wisdom in silence, wasn’t there? Listening was sometimes more informative than a thousand words could ever be.
Now where had she heard that recently…?
Down the hall, she knocked on Jon’s office door. She could hear voices inside, and Sean had already told her that he was doing an interview, so she didn’t want to just walk right in and interrupt anything.
It turned out she shouldn’t have worried. She heard Jon say, “Come in,” even before her knuckle hit the door a third time. It was like he knew it was her out here.
Jon was behind his desk, an open folder in front of him and a pen caught between his two hands. He was twisting it between his fingers over several pages of notes. On this side of the desk, a man in a fur-lined leather jacket sat with his head hung low. His light brown hair was a mess from the ski cap he’d been wearing. The same one he was wringing in his hands now.
“Anyway, like I said,” the man was telling Jon, “I had my roof fixed up just in the nick of time. With family coming over I wanted to get that leak fixed but the guy no sooner hammered in the last nail and the snows started to set in, and we couldn’t go nowhere, and we just figured Brian and his family weren’t able to get in like we planned, either. This was supposed to be a fun vacation for all of us. All the brothers home for the first time in years, our kids too, and my good friend Brian, his wife Lana, and his son Joel. This was going to be the best Christmas ever…”