by K. J. Emrick
“It might not mean anything, Darcy.”
“And it might mean everything. Tell me.”
He shrugged. “Fine. Helen was in her clothes when they found her. She was in bed, and under the covers, but she was in her clothes.”
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t think that was odd?”
“Well, sure. I mean, when I got to her house on the morning of her death I saw she was still dressed, and I mean, it’s not the way I go to bed, but sometimes people do that.”
“Have you ever done that?”
“Well, I guess, maybe once or twice, when I was too tired to think about it. Or when I was drunk.”
She gave him an odd look.
“In college,” he explained quickly. “And only a couple of times. What? I had a life before I was a cop.”
“You have a life now,” she reminded him, reaching out to playfully smack that nice round bottom of his. “And, you have a wife who is very talented at knowing when things aren’t quite what they seem to be. You do remember me, right? Your wife? Darcy Sweet?”
He turned and knelt in front of her on the floor, resting his hands on her knees. “How could I ever forget Darcy Sweet? Usually, my dear wife, your intuition is dead on. I have always listened to you with your crazy theories because most of the time they’re right, no matter how bizarre they sound.”
Darcy kept herself from smiling at the compliment. She knew what was coming next.
“But,” he said, just like she’d expected, “this time I think you’re reaching for problems that aren’t there. Helen fell asleep in her clothes. If her body was already failing her when she went to bed… you know, if she was already dying? She might have been too tired to care about changing into pajamas.”
“Sure, I get that,” Darcy admitted. He was right, but still… “There are other things that don’t add up. I haven’t told you about how her award was missing from her house.”
“Award?” he asked. “What award?”
“You know, that award the town gave her for her years of service as our mayor?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. She loved that award.” Jon’s forehead wrinkled up as he tried to make the connection. “So, you’re saying it got misplaced?”
“No, I’m saying it’s gone. I was helping Bruce sort through things when we noticed it wasn’t there. It’s not in the house, and Bruce didn’t move it, and it isn’t down at Helen’s office in the Town Hall, either.”
“Hold on,” he said, in that way he had when he found himself stuck between being her husband and being the police chief. “So you went down to the mayor’s office? You’ve already been investigating this on your own?”
“Okay, yes, I did. I should have told you about it, but I wasn’t really sure myself until everything started adding up.”
“Everything?” he asked, sarcasm dripping through. “You mean, her being in bed in her clothes, and a missing award? That kind of everything?”
“No, not just that,” she argued, matching his tone. “There’s more.”
“Like what?”
“Like, there was somebody else there the night she died.”
She saw the way his expression changed when she said that. His police officer curiosity was at full attention now. “What ‘somebody’ are we talking about? According to Bruce, Helen was alone in the house when she died.”
“He wouldn’t know, he wasn’t there,” Darcy pushed ahead, becoming even more certain that she was right with each moment that passed. “Helen wasn’t alone, Jon. Someone else was there.”
“Who?” he asked her directly.
And all she could do, was answer truthfully. “I don’t know.”
Jon sighed, but he didn’t dismiss what she was saying. Not right away. “If you don’t know who it was, then how do you know someone was there?”
It came to me in a dream. Darcy wasn’t about to tell him that. Not when he was already having trouble believing her this time. Instead, she thought it through logically, based on what she knew and what she had guessed and yes, what a little puppy dog had told her in her dreams.
“Um. Helen’s dog. You said Helen’s dog was hiding inside the house when you got there, right?”
“Sure. I had to search everywhere to find him once Bruce calmed down enough to remember Cha-Cha was there. So what?”
“Well, there you go,” Darcy said. “If Cha-Cha had been hiding in the house all night and Bruce didn’t let him out to the bathroom, who did? The poor pup’s bladder would have been bursting by the time you found him if someone hadn’t let him outside, and then back in the house. Someone had to be there.”
“You don’t think maybe Helen did that the night before?”
“When she was so tired that she went to bed with her clothes on? When she was too weak to even change into her pajamas?” Darcy shook her head. “See? Once you start looking at the whole picture, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“So, let me understand,” Jon said drily, obviously not convinced. “You think someone came to Helen’s house and killed her. Then, our killer was nice enough to let Helen’s dog out for a pee break, waiting around to let him back in when he was done.”
“No. Of course not. That would be ridiculous. What I think,” she told him, quoting Cha-Cha’s words from her dream, “is that Helen let him out for his nightly break, and then the killer accidentally let him back inside when he left the house.”
“And the killer put Helen to bed?”
“In her clothes, not her pajamas. Yes.”
Jon stayed where he was, chewing on his lip, considering what she had said. “All right. There was no doggie door on the house, back or front. We both know how proud Helen was of that historic house she lived in, and she wouldn’t have put in something as convenient as a pet door if it meant sacrificing the original structure. So. She would have had to let Cha-Cha out when he needed to go. I agree that the killer wouldn’t have been that nice. So Helen must have done it.”
“Right,” Darcy agreed.
“But she still might have let him back in.” He squeezed his hands on her knees. “She might have died after letting Cha-Cha in from doing his business. There’s half a dozen different explanations that all mean our friend simply died in her sleep. There’s just not enough reason to start an investigation. I’m sorry, Darcy.”
Unfortunately, she knew he was right. Logically speaking, he was right. None of this would hold up in court, even if they could figure out who Cha-Cha had seen in the house. None of that changed the fact that she believed what the little dog had said. Even if it was in a dream, she believed it. Sometimes her dreams were real. It was part of her gift.
There had been someone else there at Helen’s home the night she died. Someone who killed her.
But without proof of the sort that could be brought to a judge and a jury, Jon and the police had no reason to look into Helen’s death. Especially considering how politically charged an investigation into the death of the mayor would be. Darcy would just have to do it herself. Yes, her friend was gone, but that didn’t mean she was just going to be forgotten.
Not if Darcy had anything to say about it. In her world, love was eternal. Friendships like the one she had with Helen lasted long after death.
Chapter 5
The Sweet Read bookstore was on the main street through Misty Hollow, where most of the shops and businesses were located. Tourism was still the number one money-maker for the town. It helped that every few months some sensational story came out in the news about a murder or a robbery or some crazy caper that happened here. Darcy wouldn’t have wished any of that on anyone, but people were always drawn to tragedy.
Reports of Mayor Helen Turner’s death hadn’t hit the news cycle yet, but Darcy knew it would today. When it did, Misty Hollow was going to have to brace itself for an influx of news reporters, with tourists following right behind.
She tried not to think about all those people coming here to be a part of the tragedy as she stocked a shelf
near the front of the store with books about easy Christmas decorating and a hundred ideas for Christmas cookies and several on sightseeing New England in the wintertime. Thanksgiving hadn’t even arrived yet, but it was just the right time to put out a selection of books that customers might want to buy as gifts to exchange on December the twenty-fifth. After all, the only way to stay ahead in business was to literally stay ahead of your business. That’s why all those Walmart stores put out Valentine’s Day cards on New Year’s Day.
Darcy felt a pang of sadness that she should be here, at her job, stocking shelves and humming snatches of Christmas tunes when Helen was gone. It didn’t seem fair. She knew it was a silly thought, but she couldn’t help it. People came and went from life in their own time. Fair had very little to do with it. Death came for us all, eventually. It was actually the fairest thing in life.
Unless someone had helped Helen die. In that case, there was nothing fair about it.
Darcy shoved a little do-it-yourself book on fifty ways to reuse wrapping paper into its slot on the shelf a little harder than she really needed to. She was getting angry. She knew Helen had been murdered. She knew it for a fact. The frustrating part was that it didn’t matter what she knew. Not if she couldn’t prove it somehow.
There was that word again. Proof. What was that movie with Denzel Washington? The one where he kept screaming it’s not what you know, it’s what you can prove? Darcy couldn’t remember, but it was certainly true.
The book she had just pushed into place pulled itself back out again, sticking out halfway from between the books on either side.
With a sigh, she pushed the book back in with one finger. “I’m not really in the mood to play right now, Aunt Millie.”
Millie’s ghost liked to hang around the bookstore. It had been Millie’s business first, back when Darcy had arrived in Misty Hollow as a teenager. Now that she was passed over to the other side, she liked to keep an eye on everything from right here. She’d watched Darcy grow up in this store. Then Colby, too, and now Zane. It was comforting to Darcy to know that her great aunt was still here. Until she kept trying to push books off the shelves. That tended to get a little annoying.
Like now, when the wrapping paper book came wriggling out again.
Darcy caught it before it could fall and tossed it aside on the metal cart she was using to move the books around. Her temper rose and fell. “Millie, please. I don’t need help with wrapping paper. I need help with solving Helen’s murder. Got any advice for that?”
The only answer she got was silence.
That, and the quiet snuff snuff snuffing of a puppy dog exploring the stacks of books. Cha-Cha was getting a lot of enjoyment out of exploring this strange place Darcy had brought him to. So many new smells! From the paperbacks, to the coffee over at the corner refreshment table, to the rug under his paws. Darcy still didn’t know what his deal was with the rug, but something about it sure held his attention. He’d been from one end of the store to the other, following his nose.
No one was in the store at the moment. It was too early for most people to be browsing through books. Even so, Darcy made sure to keep her voice down as she talked to Millie’s spirit about leaving the books alone. She didn’t want anyone thinking she needed a one-way trip to the funny farm. People were willing to believe in just about anything until you put it right in front of their face. Then, they only wanted to believe in their normal life. If that meant calling you crazy, then they called you crazy so they could be sane.
She frowned at herself, trying to rein in her thoughts. She’d been stewing all morning, feeling a rising anger in her that she knew had everything to do with Helen’s death and nothing at all to do with the way she was treated back when she was a teenager with a strange gift to see ghosts. That was all behind her now and she owed that, in large part, to Millie.
Darcy thought it was odd, in a way, that Millie was still around after all these years, but she still hadn’t seen Helen’s ghost. Her friend had died at someone else’s hands and then just moved on? It didn’t make any sense…
“You look like you’ve got something eating at you,” her friend Izzy told her.
She was tidying up the paperback romance novels on the shelves in the next section. Darcy always made sure to put those close to the front, too. It was usually the first thing people looked for when they came in to grab a quick book to read. Lots of tourists would take them out one by one until they found the one they wanted. People weren’t exactly careful about putting the newest Danielle Steele back in its place next to Alisha Rai’s latest, until the entire section looked like a dyslexic’s library. It took constant attention to keep them alphabetized.
Isabelle McIntosh, Izzy to her friends, smiled over at Darcy to take some of the sting out of her comment. Darcy knew she looked distracted. Her thoughts had been running away with her all morning. She’d thought that diving into her work here would settle her mind, so she’d been doing all sorts of little things now that Zane was down for his nap in the back office. It wasn’t helping.
“You still upset about Helen?” Izzy asked her, pushing a hand through the short, feathered hairstyle she’d adopted not too long ago. She’d added streaks of purple to the dyed blonde tresses and Darcy was admittedly a little jealous over how young it made her friend look. Izzy’s boyfriend was a lucky guy. Even dressed up in business attire, slacks and a blouse the same as Darcy, Izzy was obviously a catch.
Jon would say the same about her, Darcy reminded herself, even though he’d already put a ring on her finger. He didn’t have to keep trying to make her feel beautiful, but he did it anyway. That was good enough for her.
Darcy pushed her cart back over to Izzy and stocked a few more books into this section. “I was thinking about Helen, yes. Jon and I were talking about the whole thing this morning. I guess it’s still on my mind.”
“Mine, too.” Izzy shrugged with a heavy sigh. “She was a good woman. She did a lot for this town and she never asked for anything in return. I tell you what, I really miss having her bakery around. That woman could bake cupcakes like nobody’s business!”
The memory of Helen working at her bakery lightened the mood for Darcy. “She sure could. I hear that holistic foods store that went in where her bakery used to be is going out of business.”
“Well, of course it is,” Izzy said matter-of-factly. “Who wants to drink low sugar coconut water or eat bean sprouts when you could have a blueberry lemon tart instead?”
Darcy found a sad smile slowly crossing her lips. Helen’s blueberry lemon tarts were legendary. No one in town would ever have them again, now that she was gone. Maybe Bruce would be willing to share the recipe with Darcy. Thanksgiving was coming up after all. Not that she thought she would ever be half as good at making them as Helen…
“Hey Darcy?” Izzy said, gently breaking into her thoughts again. “If you need another day off, or two, I’ll understand. You were a lot closer to Helen than I was. I can handle the store.”
Darcy gave her friend a quick hug. “I know you can, Izzy. Making you a partner here was one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s okay, though. I think I’d like to be here and help you with the customers for a change. I mean, it’s only fair.”
“You do more than your share here. We help each other. That’s what friends are for.”
“Sure, but I seem to leave you alone to mind things by yourself an awful lot.”
Izzy folded her arms over the push bar of the cart and looked around dramatically at the empty store. “You mean, alone with all of these maddened book fiends coming through our doors? Gasp, Darcy. How will I ever cope?” She snickered at her own joke. “It’s not like there’s a big rush of people today—”
Before she could finish the sentence the shopkeeper’s bell over the door rang, and in came a tall man with a broad chest and a trim waist and a smile so perfect that Darcy had long ago decided it must have been surgically implanted. He nodded to both of them as he hitched up his plea
ted slacks and straightened the cuffs of his monogramed shirt, before heading over to the non-fiction section.
“I stand corrected,” Izzy said with a grunt. “Although, I think I would prefer the empty store again. I’ll be in the back. I’ll check on Zane while I’m there.”
Darcy thanked her but didn’t comment on her sudden departure from the sales floor. Izzy had never cared for Carson Everly. Even before Helen’s death, the other candidate in Misty Hollow’s mayoral race had never been one of her favorite people. Darcy remembered the word “pompous” being thrown around by Izzy more than once. There were a few other words that she’d used, too. Ones that they were sure not to repeat in front of Zane.
“She doesn’t think much of me,” Carson said abruptly, motioning with a book to the office door that Izzy had just closed. “Your employee, I mean.”
Darcy forced a smile that had maybe a tenth of the wattage Carson was pouring through his. “Izzy isn’t my employee. We’re partners in the business.” She waved a hand around, indicating the store, and the stacks of books, and the racks of t-shirts and sweaters with their logo, The Mysterious is all Around Us.
“Ah, I see,” Carson replied, never missing a beat. He nodded, and when he did his perfectly clipped fifties-style hairdo never moved. How much product did he have in there, anyway? “Well, I’ll need to learn all about the people here once I’m mayor. Might as well start now. I plan on developing a very impressive business plan to give a real shot in the arm to the economy.”
“I’m pretty sure our economy was doing just fine before,” Darcy said with false sweetness. “Our mayor knew what was good for our town.”
“Well, sure, but who couldn’t use more income?” he said, almost like he was ignoring her words entirely. “I think I’ll buy this one. Have you read it yet?” He placed the book—an autobiography of a well-known millionaire—onto the counter. “Such a rags to riches story. So inspirational to know that anyone can become anything they want in this country.”
