by K. J. Emrick
She didn’t answer that, because she knew he was in for quite the night of reading if he started looking up Watson’s old reports. The fire at the town hall, the reported ties to the mafia, the death of their beloved mayor Helen Turner, and all the other things that had happened here. Darcy had been involved in almost all of it, to one degree or another. She knew more than the news stories had to say. More than she would ever tell anyone, except Jon.
“Why don’t you get some coffee, Mark? It’s a little strong, I’m afraid, but if you put enough sugar in it then it’s not that bad.”
Jackson Little heard her, of course, because he might be old but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. “Coffee is only good when you can taste it for days!” he called over to her from the book club’s tables, getting a mix of laughs and jeers from the others.
“It’s a little strong,” Darcy repeated in a whisper, emphasizing little in a way that made it obvious she meant it as an understatement.
Mark didn’t seem to notice. “That looks like a fun bunch over there. I’ll bet they’ve got lots of stories about this town. You take your time getting those books, Darcy. I’m just going to sit and relax over there for a while. Got nothing else going on today.”
“Well that group will certainly eat up your afternoon. I think the discussion has moved around to whether or not we need a McDonalds in town. I’m sure there’ll be some strong opinions there.”
“I’ll bet. I eat there all the time, myself. I move around a lot, place to place, and that means eating quick and cheap. Not sure you need one in a place like Misty Hollow, though. That would really take away from the small town feel of things, wouldn’t it? Kind of like putting a dollar store in the middle of the Vatican.”
Darcy chuckled. “Yup, you’re going to fit in just fine with them. Go and take a seat. I’ll get the books together. Oh, Eleanor is putting together a lunch order for everyone. She’s the one in the nice flower-print blouse. Wave hi, Eleanor. There she is. If you haven’t eaten already why don’t you have her order something for you? My treat today.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.” She figured it was the least she could do, considering she almost accused him of… what? Murder? Self-mutilation? She didn’t even know anymore. This mystery had her stumped, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
She went back into the stacks, to the section on spiritualism, and began pulling her aunt’s books one at a time. There were three of them that Darcy kept on the shelves for sale. They were actually quite popular among the tourists who wanted books on “weird stuff” written by someone who was an actual resident of Misty Hollow.
Darcy had toyed with the idea of writing a few books herself on communicating with ghosts. Maybe on some of the mysteries she’d helped solve with her abilities. She just wasn’t sure anyone would be interested in her life.
She had the three books balanced on the palm of one hand, one on top of the other, kind of like how Charlie Huntsman had been carrying their pizzas last night. She liked the feel of real hardcover books. There was a heft to them. A sturdiness that was comforting. If real books ever became obsolete, like newspapers and plastic straws, it would be like someone had yanked away one of the main pillars of Darcy’s life.
Maybe, she thought to herself, Colby got her penchant for drama from her mother. And then again, maybe she had the makings of a writer after all…
The book at the top of her stack flipped open suddenly. The cover threw itself back and several of the pages fluttered as if a strong breeze was rifling through them. Or like a ghostly hand was leafing through the opening chapters.
Darcy was still between the upright stacks of books so no one was there to see her, thankfully, as she stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet. She caught herself, and then slammed a hand down on top of the errant books as they threatened to spill out of her hands.
She looked down angrily at the open pages. “Millie, this is not the time for pranks. Save it for Colby. You know she loves to play hide and seek with you… when she’s… here…”
Her voice trailed off as she saw the section in the book that her great aunt had opened it up to.
Casting for the Dead Through the Living
She skimmed through a few paragraphs. She was familiar with this technique. Sort of. It was what the phony psychics at county fairs did for their audience. Call someone up to the stage, ask them questions, and then reach out to someone dear to them who had died. Usually, all of those sideshow psychics were fakes, using a high-pitched voice and a talent for gathering cues from the facial expressions of their marks. If they did it right, then everyone believed they really had made contact Grampa Joe or Cousin Nancy.
The difference was, Great Aunt Millie was no fraud. She’d had the same gift for talking to the dead that Darcy had inherited. She really could use a living person as a conduit to find a dead soul. It was hard work, and the few times Darcy had done it the process had left her completely drained. It could be very useful, however, especially when someone wasn’t sure if the person they’d lost contact with was dead or not…
Darcy gasped. That was it. That was what Millie was trying to tell her. They weren’t sure if Charlie’s brother Sam was dead. Charlie said he was still alive, even if that severed hand indicated otherwise. Come to think of it, they weren’t sure if Charlie’s girlfriend was dead or simply missing, either.
But if Darcy could use this technique without letting Charlie know what she was up to, then she would be able to create a connection to the other side through him. She could cast out for both Samuel Huntsman and Annie Pellegrino and just let them answer for themselves.
If they were dead. If they weren’t dead, well, then this technique might let them know that as well. This was perfect.
With a smile she closed the book again. “Thanks, Millie,” she whispered.
At the end of the pathway between the towering stacks of books, Darcy saw a shadow move. It was the dark form of a woman, and she was sure that was Great Aunt Millie making her presence known.
Until she saw the shadow wasn’t wearing a floppy-brimmed hat. Instead, a necklace of heavy silver links flashed against a gray dress for just a moment before Willamena Duell threw her a smile and disappeared.
She wasn’t just in Darcy’s dream… now she was here, intruding on her waking hours as well.
Darcy had to take a moment to compose herself and push down her anger that this woman’s ghost was going to be in her life. And at Great Aunt Millie’s invitation, too. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair!
“Millie… I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
Looking down at the books in her hands, Darcy just let it all go with a sigh. Evil witch woman or not, Willamena had given her a very good idea. Now all she had to do was arrange to be alone with Charlie Huntsman long enough to seek out the ghosts of his brother and his girlfriend. If either of them were dead, this would prove it, and maybe even lead them to their killer.
Especially if that killer was Charlie himself.
So, it looked like it was going to be pizza for dinner again tonight. She doubted either Colby or Zane would complain too much about that.
Chapter 7
“I don’t think this is a great idea,” Jon said for the fifth time.
“This is a great idea,” Darcy told him, also for a fifth time.
“Darcy…” He sputtered his lips helplessly. “Anchovies on pizza is never a good idea.”
This debate was never going to end. Darcy just knew it. She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table where they were both sitting and gave Jon a deal-with-it shrug. They’d already placed the order. Done was done. “Zane wants to try fish heads. This will give him the chance, sort of, and then we’ll never have to hear about it again. Or, who knows? Maybe he’ll end up liking them.”
“Nobody likes anchovies,” he said, very seriously. “Nobody.”
“Jon, I only had them put them on half of one. The rest is just plain
pepperoni.”
“Okay, but I’m telling you he’s going to take one bite and that’s going to be the end of his fish heads infatuation.”
“Wow, say that five times fast. Fish heads infatuation, fish heads infatuation, fish heads fatustation… yeah.” She couldn’t do it. It was harder than Peter Piper and his pickled peppers. “Anyway. This is just so we can get Charlie down here again without him suspecting what we’re up to. After this there isn’t going to be any pizza ordering for a month while my system clears itself out.”
“You’re going to try an involuntary séance with Charlie,” Jon pointed out. “There’s no way he could suspect that’s what you’re up to. I could have put him in handcuffs and brought him down to the station, strapped him to a table and used waterboarding on him, and he still wouldn’t have suspected what we were really up to.”
“I thought waterboarding was illegal?” she teased.
“So is questioning someone in a criminal case without their lawyer present.”
“I’m not questioning him, per se. I’m questioning two possibly dead people. I’m just doing it through him. Show me the law against that?”
He shook his head, and then leaned in close to give her a kiss on her cheek. “You got me there. The law hasn’t caught up with the likes of Darcy Sweet. Not yet.”
“And it never will, buster. Now. Why don’t you go spend some time with your son until dinner gets here? Unless you want to tell me whatever Sergeant Maxwell Dillon and his state police buddies found out there in the woods today?”
“Nothing, actually. I don’t think they’re going to be happy with us poking our noses in without telling them about this, by the way, considering they worked all day with nothing to show for it. They had the cadaver dog go in and they searched both sides of the river a good distance out. They didn’t find any other signs of a body.”
Somehow, Darcy had expected that. Maxwell Dillon seemed to be putting just enough effort into this case to show he was doing something, and not enough to actually produce any results. “Did they check the cemetery on Applegate Road? I mean, the hand was pretty dried up. Maybe the rest of Samuel Huntsman is out there on Applegate Road in a shallow hole in the ground? Did Maxwell even think of that?”
“Yes, actually he did. He’s not a stupid man. He’s pompous and full of himself, sure, but he’s not stupid.”
“I never said he was stupid, I just think, maybe…”
“That he’s intentionally throwing this investigation off track?”
Darcy wouldn’t have put it in exactly those words, but… “Yes. I don’t trust him, Jon, and I have to wonder why he’s so reluctant to look more deeply into this mystery. Did he actually check the cemetery?”
“He did, and I had Officer Jaspers go down with him and the other Troopers to show them around. The thing is, you remember a few years ago when we had that string of grave robberies out there. We mapped out every single grave so that we knew who was buried where and if anything else was taken. We know every inch of that graveyard. His people checked, and everyone’s right where they should be with no extras.”
The subject of their conversation was anything but pleasant, but Darcy couldn’t help but smile. “I remember that case. It was when we got married.”
He nodded, and the corner of his lip curled up, too. “Lotta years between then and now. Any regrets?”
She reached over for his hand. “I regret that you didn’t come to Misty Hollow sooner. I regret that it took me so long to realize how beautiful you are. Sometimes, I even regret we only made two wonderful children instead of more.”
His eyebrows twitched, but his quirk of a smile never slipped. “Are you thinking of having more kids?”
“Oh, dear God, no. I mean, sure I would have loved to have ten kids running around here but let’s face it. We’re both busy people, and our lives are anything but normal, and we have a good size family now. We have enough attention to spend on them and enough money to afford them. I think we did good.”
Something passed over his face. She wasn’t sure if he agreed with what she had said, or if maybe he was the one thinking about having more children. Could he be…? Truthfully, she hadn’t given it any more thought after having Zane. Their two kids took up most of their time and all of her energy. Especially with their special, unique gifts. Her life was full as it was, and she liked it that way.
But if he was maybe thinking of adding a third…
He leaned over and kissed her again, and then got up from the table, and the moment passed. “I love you, Darcy Sweet. I hope you know what you’re doing with our friend Charlie. I’ll go see what Zane’s up to until that pizza comes.”
Colby was still at her friend’s house. Darcy had made sure to tell her she didn’t need to be home until later. This way there was only Zane to watch out for when Charlie Huntsman arrived.
Jon’s hand stayed in hers until he was far enough away that their fingers broke contact. A simple touch. Just the brush of his hand against hers, and even that made her love him. Funny, how that seemed to be what this mystery was all about. Hands. She’d never thought about hands so much as she had in the last few days. A little reading in the bookstore had reminded her that the mystical arts claimed several minor chakras resided within the hand to allow energy to flow in and out of the body. Palm readers claimed the lines on everyone’s hands were unique and significant and could possibly even tell your future.
For her, Jon’s hands meant security and safety. They meant relaxing back rubs and tender touches that made her feel loved and wanted. They represented playtime for him and Zane, piggyback rides and swinging his son around like a helicopter with both feet off the floor while he held on tight to his father’s big, strong hands.
As far as she was concerned, the hands were the sexiest part of any man.
Less than fifteen minutes later the knock on the door announced the pizza man’s arrival.
She called to Jon upstairs and then counted to five before she went to answer it. They couldn’t be sure that Charlie would be the one to deliver to them again, but Darcy had requested the nice guy who was here yesterday with the added promise of a ten-dollar tip. That should have done the trick.
It did. There stood Charlie Huntsman, in the same windbreaker from yesterday and the same gloves and the same expression on his face.
“Just so you know,” he said to her immediately, “I only came out here because my boss made me. I told you and your police officer husband yesterday that I didn’t have anything more to say to either of you. Not about Samuel, and not about Annie. So. Here’s your pizza. Here’s the bill. Give me the money and I’ll be on my way.”
Darcy took the double slip of paper from him while he balanced the box on his other hand, the white copy on top and the yellow customer copy underneath. She took it over to the kitchen table and made a show of trying to find a pen. “I know I have one here somewhere.”
“Just give me the money, Mrs. Tinker, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, it’s Sweet, actually,” she corrected him. “My husband and I kept our names when we got married. I’m Darcy Sweet, he’s Jon Tinker. Funny story, actually. Come on over and sit down. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“No, really, I don’t want to stay—”
“Oh, hi there Mister Huntsman,” Jon said as he came into the kitchen. Darcy was glad to see that he left Zane up in his room. “Good to see you again. Say, maybe you’d like to talk more about your brother?”
“No,” was the exasperated answer. “Look, I’m here to do a job and that’s all. Here’s your pizza.”
He came inside, over to the countertop, and set the box down. He kept one hand curled into a fist as he reached out to Darcy for the receipt with the other.
She went to hand it to him, but then held up a finger as if she’d just remembered something. “I know where the pen is. Hold on. Jon, can you hold the receipt for me?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Thanks, baby.”
Jon had the little rectangle of paper. Now Charlie’s attention was on Jon. Darcy slipped past him as if she was going to a drawer for that pen.
And when she was behind him, she put her hand on his shoulder, and casted through him to the other side.
In a normal séance, or spirit communication as she preferred to call it, Darcy would hold onto something important that had belonged to the deceased. In this case the only personal item she had of Samuel Huntsman’s was his severed hand and she was not going to hold a dead man’s hand while she went into a séance. No way, no how. Then, in a regular spirit communication, she would be able to reach through to an in between place that existed in the middle ground between the worlds of the living and the dead. In that space, she would spend minutes, sometimes hours, waiting for the spirit to hear her call and respond. She would be able to have an entire conversation with them, although when ghosts talked, they weren’t always clear with their answers.
What she was doing now was different. Casting through a person was like swiping through their friends list to see if someone they loved had changed their profile status from living to dead, so to speak. She didn’t need to have any long conversations with anyone. She just needed to know if the ghosts were there, and that would mean these two people were really dead.
First, Charlies girlfriend.
She reached into him, deep inside his soul, and searched for that part that was connected to Annie Pellegrino. The love he felt for his girlfriend. The concern for her wellbeing. Every relationship created connections between people like strings. Sometimes those strings were tight and strong. Sometimes they were weak, slack, ready to fall away and be forgotten. Deep within his psyche, she found the connections that Charlie had made with Annie.
They’d been cut. Severed, as if Annie was no longer a part of his life, the ends frayed and twisting in a proverbial breeze.
Like she’d died abruptly and without warning, cutting the bonds they had shared.
