by K. J. Emrick
Now Chloe was dead. Veronica had been the first one to find her. Maybe Darcy should start by talking to her.
She checked her watch. "Lorne, I really should check into my hotel. I want to go back inside and say goodbye to everyone, though."
"Oh," he said. "Uh. Sure. Sure, I understand. But, uh, would you maybe want to get together later for a drink? I mean, to talk about Chloe. I sure would like to remember the good times with someone."
Darcy felt like she needed that, too. "I'd like that. How about dinner? Give me your cell phone number and I'll call you from my hotel."
"Okay." He rattled off the number, with the area code. "What's yours?"
"I don't have a cell phone."
"Really? Wow. How do you manage without one?"
Because ghosts always get my number no matter how often I change it, she thought to herself. "It's a long story. I'll call you around seven, all right?"
"Thanks, Darcy. I really needed a friend right now."
Chapter Three
Back inside the house Darcy found Betsy Marrin in the kitchen again, scrubbing dishes that looked like they were already polished to a shine. She hugged Darcy again and thanked her for coming. She promised to talk with her more tomorrow at the services.
Darcy went into the living room and said her goodbyes, to Chloe's dad, and to Danson and Lorne, and Sami, and then to Veronica. She got a mixture of indifferent stares and waves. Lorne hugged her again. Betsy offered her a bag of cookies to take with her. "I've been baking to keep occupied," she admitted. "I have more cookies and cupcakes now than I'll ever know what to do with."
Thanking Betsy for the heavy paper sack, she smiled at Veronica. "Would you walk me out?"
Veronica blinked, as if she hadn't noticed Darcy was still in the room, but then shrugged a slender shoulder and got up gracefully, with the bored look of someone who would rather be somewhere else. She didn't seem upset at all about Chloe's death. Not to Darcy, anyway.
"So. I assume you wanted to ask me something?" Veronica said just as soon as they were outside. "That's why you wanted me to come outside with you, wasn't it?"
Darcy had been hoping to ease into the conversation. She hadn't expected Veronica to see through her admittedly thin excuse to get her alone. "Well, yes, actually. I mean, I was Chloe's best friend in college but Lorne tells me you were her best friend now. I'm just upset about all of this. Lorne said you found Chloe. Is it true? Did she really…you know?"
"Commit suicide?" Veronica said, her expression never changing. "Yes. She did. I don't pretend to understand it either, Darcy. We knew each other pretty well, or so I thought. I never had any hint that she was upset. Never. There was no way I would have believed it if I didn't see it myself."
Darcy didn't want to hear what Veronica saw. She had to force herself to ask the questions she needed answered. Truth be told, she'd much rather stick her head in the sand and forget any of this. But she couldn't. She needed to find out the truth. For Chloe.
"Did she leave a note?" she asked Veronica. "Anything to let people know why she would do this?"
Veronica regarded Darcy, considering something. "No. There was no note. In a lot of ways I guess it would have been better if there was one. At least then Chloe's mom would have some peace. Maybe some answers. Now?" She shrugged that shoulder again. "Well. It's just one more thing no one will ever figure out, isn't it?"
Darcy couldn't believe she could be so cold about it. It must have shown on her face, too.
"Look, you didn't see it," Veronica said with a sneer. "You weren't even there. You're supposed to be such a good friend of Chloe's? Where were you all these years? It's been me and Chloe, not you. We went out together on Friday nights. Me and Chloe."
She looked away, her voice flat and toneless. "I had been waiting at the Hoot Owl for her for over an hour. She was never late. Not that you'd know that, but it was the one day every week that we could just let loose and be ourselves. She wouldn't miss it. Not without telling me first. When I called her and she didn't answer, I went over to her place. The door was unlocked, and I went upstairs, and I found her lying in bed, just like she was asleep. Only she wasn't asleep. There was blood…"
Veronica's voice trailed off and her stony expression finally cracked. Her hand trembled as she covered her mouth to hide a sob, remembering what she must have seen the night she found Chloe. A thought occurred to Darcy that Veronica might be acting so cold because she was trying to keep from breaking down. Maybe it was just a defense mechanism. Everyone had different ways of dealing with pain.
Of course, Veronica might be trying to hide something else, too.
The first person to find Chloe. If Chloe's death hadn't been a suicide, which Darcy was strongly beginning to suspect it was not, then that made Veronica a pretty strong suspect.
Veronica seemed to come back to herself, blinking and taking in a little gasping breath. "Oh. Sorry, I…I know it wasn't your fault you weren't here. But the fact of the matter is, you don't know anything about Chloe anymore. So don't go around trying to butt your nose in now."
"I was her friend, too," Darcy said, a little harsher than she meant to.
The smile Veronica gave her was cold. "No offense, Darcy, but you used to be her friend. The people back in that house are her friends now. We're the ones who have to deal with what she did. So. If you've heard enough about how Chloe died, I'd like to get back. Danson is probably wondering where I got off to. It was nice to meet you," she added as she turned away.
Darcy watched her go. There was definitely a mystery here. Everyone knew Chloe so well and knew she would never do something like commit suicide and yet no one was questioning it.
Well. Darcy was going to question it. Whether Veronica thought it was her place to do so or not. She was going to find out exactly what had happened, one way or the other. If ever she needed her special talents, it was now, when it could help a friend.
***
Her motel room wasn't anything special. Darcy picked the first one she came to in the downtown business district. The Cascade Inn was tucked in behind a Dollar Mart and a Laundromat, a row of connected rooms with red doors facing the parking lot and a tin roof that had been painted blue not too long ago. Out of the way and quiet.
It was cheap, and the rooms were clean. It was all she needed. She hadn't come to Smithsville for a vacation.
Putting her small travel bag down on the single bed's blue comforter, Darcy drew the blue curtains tight across the floor to ceiling window in the back wall, and sat down in the cushioned blue chair. She was sensing a theme here that was tied up into the painting of ocean waves on the wall above the bed and in the scallop-shell bathroom sink she'd seen on her way in. Small town chic.
Darcy liked small towns. After going to live with her Great Aunt Millie she'd finished growing up in Misty Hollow, a small town with the typical small town charm and small town issues. College for her and Chloe—and for Lorne Sommers too—might have been in the big city, but afterward she and Chloe had both come back to their small town roots. Her to Misty Hollow, Chloe here to Smithsville. The fact that Smithsville was a small town wasn't what bothered her.
The fact that someone in this town was a murderer was what bothered her.
She was certain of that now. Chloe's ghost coming to her and asking for help had set her suspicions on edge to begin with. Talking to Lorne and Veronica had convinced her. Chloe hadn't taken her own life, no matter what the evidence might say. Someone had killed her friend.
Darcy was going to see to it that whoever had done that was held responsible.
Sitting there in the gloomy room with the lights off Darcy went over in her mind what she already knew. An apparent overdose of medicine for epilepsy. But Chloe wasn't epileptic. Darcy was sure of that. They'd spent enough time together in college for Darcy to know everything about Chloe, down to the freckle that Chloe's teensiest bikini hid. She certainly would have known if her friend had been taking medication for epilepsy, or anything els
e.
Of course, sometimes people got diagnosed with things late in life. It had been a year since she and Chloe had talked to each other, and Darcy hadn't thought to ask…
She cursed at herself, twisting the silver ring on her finger furiously, biting the inside of her cheek. Well, that would have to be the first thing she asked Chloe's mom, Betsy, the next time she saw her. Or she could just ask Lorne.
Lorne. Their date tonight. She'd almost forgotten—
Whoa. Wait a minute, she told herself. This was not a date. This was two old friends getting together to talk about the passing of another friend. A friend who had been Lorne's fiancé, for that matter.
It was also Darcy's chance to find out information. That was all. She was not here to pick up a date. Sure, Lorne was cute and she remembered how he could be funny and how she'd maybe had a little crush on him for a while, but she had not given up on Jon Tinker.
No, wait. That wasn't what she meant. She meant she still believed Jon would come back whether or not a good looking guy was taking her to dinner.
No, no, not that either. Jon was still part of her life no matter what guy was here now…
Darcy made a little frustrated sound in her throat and gave up trying to untangle her thoughts about the wonderfully absent Jon Tinker.
Wonderful and absent, she meant…
This wasn't helping.
Getting up out of the chair she began pacing the distance of the small room, the dark blue rug making soft noises with each step. She forced herself to think. Suspects. Who had killed Chloe?
There were already plenty of people to look at. First, Darcy did not suspect either Chloe's mother or father. She had seen the pain in their eyes. They were grieving for the loss of a daughter, and Darcy had recognized a similar look on her own face at the loss of such a good friend as Chloe. Betsy and Kevin had been caught off guard just like Darcy had. They didn't do it.
There were still the friends who had been gathered in the Marrin house this afternoon. Could one of them have been involved?
Some of them certainly made good suspects in Darcy's eyes. It would be nice if her gift allowed her to look at someone and see their sins. Unfortunately it didn't work that way.
There was that one technique that allowed her to see figurative, ghostly blood on someone's hands when they had hurt someone else, but Darcy doubted she would be able to convince everyone to let her hold their hands and perform a paranormal ritual on them.
"Hi," she imagined herself saying. "My name is Darcy Sweet and I'm here to accuse you all of murder. Now. Let's hold hands."
Darcy snorted. Sure. That would go over like a ton of bricks. Veronica already looked at her as a meddling outsider. There was a reason she kept her abilities to herself. Very few people could keep from looking at her as a weirdo when she let them in on her secret. She hadn't even told Chloe everything about them. Just the basics of it all. Just enough, apparently, so that in the afterlife Chloe knew to seek her out for help.
So, that left good old fashioned investigating, if she was going to find Chloe's killer.
Start with what you know, she reminded herself. Chloe had overdosed on epilepsy medication. Did Chloe have a medical condition? Was the medication hers? If not, where had she gotten it? She wrote these questions in a mental notepad, then turned to her list of suspects.
Veronica Theissen. Like that actress Tiffani Theissen. Veronica even looked a little like her, come to think of it, except for the excessive jewelry and makeup. Veronica had been the one to find Chloe. She sort of had an alibi, if Darcy could just talk to someone at this Hoot Owl bar to verify it. Or bust it. Veronica had been very cold and aloof, too, and certainly hostile toward Darcy. She wasn't quite convinced that all of that had been because of how upset the woman was. On the other hand, Lorne had said that Veronica was Chloe's best friend here in Smithsville. Good friends didn't usually kill each other. Hm.
Then there was Sami Wilmer. She'd been in the room with the others but had hardly spoken. She'd seemed friendly, if a little shy. No one had quite mentioned what her connection to Chloe had been. Another friend, probably. So really, there wasn't a whole lot to go on with her. Darcy wasn't ready to cross anyone off the list, though.
Danson Sommers. Veronica's fiancé and Lorne's brother. He'd been smug and abrasive, and it had been obvious he was only there because Veronica was. Drop dead gorgeous, the kind of guy who was used to people paying attention to him. Probably would have been around Chloe a lot, too, since his fiancé and Chloe had been such good friends. She'd have to talk with him at some point and find out what he knew.
So. Lots to do, and nowhere specific to start. Well, that wasn't quite true, she supposed. Normal investigative police-type sleuthing was all well and good, and this was where having Jon with her really would have helped. Not to mention it would be nice to have someone to hold her and comfort her tomorrow at Chloe's services. But. Jon wasn't here. She'd have to do the investigating—and the crying—on her own. The difference between her and the police was that she wasn't limited to questioning suspects and looking at reports.
She had her own special ways of doing things.
In her travel bag was her Emergency Communication Kit. It was something she had put together after the last time she'd been caught out of town without her supplies. Her lips twisted into a quirk of a smile as she took out the nylon case from her bag. Emergency Communication Kit sounded like something you would find in the seasonal aisles at WalMart.
She'd named the kit herself. Communication Kit, because it carried her candles and a piece of chalk and a few incense sticks and other things. Emergency, because she could carry it like a first aid kit and always have it ready.
Don't leave home without it.
Darcy needed to go to the source and find out what information she could. Chloe's ghost had asked for her help, and she was going to give it, but Darcy would need Chloe's help too. She wasn't looking forward to calling up her friend's spirit. It was complicated enough talking to the ghosts of random strangers. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Ghosts couldn't communicate in straightforward questions-and-answers like people did. They gave you answers in terms of what was most important to them, whether what they had to say answered your question or not.
Add into that the emotional turmoil that a communication brought her, and multiply it whenever the object of the communication was a friend or relative, and speaking to the ghosts of someone she knew was like trying to read a take-out menu for a Chinese restaurant written in German. Confusing and frustrating and kind of painful.
She'd done a communication with her ex-husband Jeff's ghost not that long ago. Even then, she hadn't gotten the answers she'd wanted. She'd gotten the answers Jeff thought she needed. That had been hard enough. She knew it would be harder this time.
But she was willing to do it anyway. For Chloe.
In the middle of her thoughts, her stomach growled. She put a hand over her tummy, realizing she was hungry, and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand next to the bed. Was it really that late? She'd promised to call Lorne and go to dinner with him. She looked down at the thick white candles from her kit in her hands, their smooth white surfaces lined with rows of melted wax. She needed to talk to Lorne, but she needed to talk to Chloe. What she really needed was to be in two places at once. Something else her gift couldn't do for her.
Darcy sighed. The services for Chloe were tomorrow. If she didn't go to dinner with Lorne now, he might think she was standing him up and not offer her a second chance to find out what he knew. On the other hand, Chloe's ghost didn't have to worry about things like eating dinner. Chloe would have to wait. For now.
She put the emergency kit back together and stuffed it back into her travel bag next to the hastily packed shirts and jeans and shampoo. Then she went to the room's phone, a blue plastic push-button thing with a long twisted cord, and took Lorne's phone number out of her pocket.
When she had dialed the number she hel
d the phone to her ear and turned back to the bed to find her candles and incense sticks were unpacked again. She startled, jumping back a step, her heart racing.
Apparently Chloe wanted to talk to Darcy pretty urgently.
"Hello?"
Lorne's voice in her ear made her jump again. She ground her teeth together and stamped her foot and fisted her hand at her side. She was used to ghosts coming out of walls to find her and even had a Great Aunt haunting the bookstore she ran back in Misty Hollow. Why was she so jumpy all of a sudden?
"Hello?" Lorne asked again.
"Hi, Lorne," Darcy said to him. "Hi. It's me. Uh, Darcy. Hi. Ready for dinner?"
One of the candles rolled off the bed and fell to the floor with a thump. Darcy tried to ignore it. Dinner first, communication second.
After making arrangements for Lorne to pick her up, Darcy collected her things and packed them away, again. She took out a new shirt, something that showed just a little less skin than the tank top she was wearing. Not a date, she reminded herself. Just going to meet Lorne to talk. Maybe he could point her in the direction of the right suspect.
Halfway to the bathroom she stopped. Something she had forgotten suddenly rushed to the front of her mind, making her blood chill.
She'd forgotten a name on her suspect list. She'd forgotten Lorne himself.
Chapter Four
In Smithsville, just like in Misty Hollow, the selection of restaurants was limited.
The Armadillo Café was a small place with a small dining room. It was actually below street level on Main Street, concrete steps leading down to a black door that had a brightly painted sign on it. In red and blue letters it read, "Roll On In, We're Open!"
Lorne had picked her up at the motel and driven them here. The whole drive had taken maybe five minutes. Darcy had offered to meet him here, but he told her that Smithsville was more complex than it looked. He didn't want her getting lost.
