"Not like you can bring that up in court," Grace said after Darcy and Jon had come back out from the interview room and filled her in. "You can't go up to the judge and say you saw blood on the defendant's hands after reaching out to the other side and calling on the spirit of Justice."
"Grace," Darcy complained, "you know that's not how it works."
Her sister shrugged and rolled her eyes. "However you do what you do, it still amounts to the same thing. That's not proof."
"We have enough proof," Jon growled, sitting down at his desk again, throwing his pen down hard enough to make it bounce and fall over the edge onto the floor.
"Did she confess?" Grace asked.
"No." Jon shook his head. "Even after I told her we had a witness, she kept denying it and saying she was innocent. Of course, I couldn't exactly tell her that our witness was Darcy and her psychic abilities because then she would have just laughed at us instead of sitting there, all smug, knowing she's a fugitive from one murder and we've got her dead to rights on this one!"
Grace bit her lip and looked away from his rising anger. "I'm sorry, Jon. I know she's your sister. I shouldn't be treating her like just another perp."
He began tapping furiously on his computer keyboard. "Why not? She killed someone. The Widow Chartrand. An old woman who wouldn't hurt a fly, and my sister killed her."
He put his hands up over his face then and ran them back through his hair. Then he looked over at Darcy. "I don't know. Maybe it's genetic. Maybe it does run in the family just like the chief said. My dad's in prison doing time for white collar fraud. He might make parole in five years. Now this with my sister. I'm sorry, Darcy, I was going to tell you."
Darcy felt sympathy for him. This was a big burden he was carrying, this secret about his family and their criminal backgrounds. She didn't blame him for—
No. Actually, she did kind of blame him for not telling her. "Why would you keep this a secret, Jon? You know everything about me. It didn't occur to you that I might want to know everything about you before we got married?"
Grace sat up straighter at her desk. "Whoa. Married? When did that happen?"
Darcy looked squarely at Jon. "It looks like it's not going to happen. Grace, can you drive me home? I'm really tired."
"Darcy…" Jon said, motioning helplessly with his right hand.
Biting back the sting of her wounded pride, Darcy went over to him and kissed him on his cheek. "Don't worry. I'll be waiting at home when you're done here. Hopefully, you'll want to tell me everything then."
Grace got up from her chair, stifling a yawn as she did. "I'll take you, sis. Jon, I'm tired too. I'll be home with Aaron if you need a hand with any of this."
"Thanks, Grace."
Darcy walked out of the police station in a haze. Too many thoughts, too many feelings ran through her head. Jon's sister, his family, this job offer from Oak Hollow, all of it. Even his answer to her marriage proposal. This day, this single day, was possibly the worst she'd ever had in her life.
All things considered, that was saying quite a bit.
"Where is she?" a man was screaming, almost running across the parking lot at them. "Where's the woman who killed my mother?"
Darcy recognized Richard Chartrand, Vivica's son. He was a skinny man who always wore suits and ties that hung off him in wrinkled folds, like a kid trying to play dressup. Today, the suit was gray and the tie was bright red. Odd mix of colors, Darcy thought to herself. Then again, Richard was an odd man. His light brown hair was slicked back with too much gel and his glasses kept sliding down his nose. His face was beet red and it was obvious he'd been crying.
"Darcy, stay here," Grace said to her as she moved to intercept Richard.
Darcy watched her sister, pregnant and dead on her feet, calm Richard down. She couldn't hear what was said, but whatever it was took the wind out of Richard's sails. Darcy figured if her mother had just been murdered, she'd be that upset, too, but Grace did an amazing job of tamping down Richard's anger. His clenched fists slowly relaxed, his shoulders slumped. He choked back a sob or two before nodding to Grace and turning to walk away, his head hung low, wiping tears out of his eyes.
Grace came back over, her face set in a grim expression. "Richard was out for blood. He wants a piece of whoever killed his mother. I think I've got him calmed down. For now."
"I can't blame him," Darcy said. "He just found out his mother is dead. How would we react?"
Grace nodded, but didn't say anything. Both of them had their issues with their mother. Issues that only now, in their thirties, were being ironed out and healed over.
"I'm just saying," Darcy continued, opening the passenger door of Grace's car, "it’s better that Richard doesn't find out it was Jon's sister the police arrested any time soon. Not that Jon's good at telling people he has a sister, or anything."
"Don't be too hard on him, sis," Grace said to her when they got into her car. "He's in a tough spot now, having to work up a case against a member of his own family."
Darcy shut her door and clicked her seatbelt into place. "I know that, Grace. There's more, though. He got this job offer that might take him out of Misty Hollow for good, and he didn't even tell me about it."
Grace didn't say anything. She adjusted her rearview mirror, settled more comfortably in the driver's seat, checked her mirror again. When she started the engine, she checked her sideview mirrors.
Darcy felt her eyes pop wide. "You knew! Grace, you knew he had the job offer, didn't you?"
Her sister cleared her throat, and then nodded. "I'm sorry, Darcy, but he made me promise not to tell you. He wanted to know more about it before he said anything. It's not like he's already decided to go or anything."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
Grace had nothing to say to that. They didn't speak another word to each other all the way back to Darcy's house.
Her house was the same house that had belonged to her Great Aunt Millie. It was a sturdy, two story home, with original windows that were drafty and original floors that creaked. Darcy had spent a lot of time here when she was younger. It had been easier on her than living with her mother, for a lot of reasons. Millie had the same abilities that Darcy had, for one thing. She didn't criticize Darcy over every little thing, for another.
Darcy unlocked the front door now and went inside, breathing deeply like the air inside her house might have magical healing properties. It was the same smell that she remembered from when Millie was alive. This house never changed. It was a fixed point in her life and it felt good to have something this ordinary, this reliable, that would always be here for her.
Scampering around the corner of the doorway to the living room, Smudge meowed for her attention and rubbed himself vigorously against her legs. Her big black and white tomcat was another fixed point in her life, always there for her when she needed him. Reaching down she scratched the fur between his ears.
"Nice to see you too, boy," Darcy told him. "Have you been keeping out of mischief while we were gone all day?"
The cat tilted his head to one side and slowly blinked his eyes, as if to shrug and say, "As much as I can. Trouble finds me, you know."
She laughed. Sometimes it was like she could understand him perfectly. Or, maybe that was just her putting words in the cat's mouth. "You're not keeping any secrets from me, are you Smudge?" she asked, her tone bitter. "No secret brothers or sisters that I don't know about or offers to go live in the neighbor's houses?"
Smudge meowed and raced over to his food dish, which was empty. He patted the side of the plastic bowl with his paw a few times, then looked up at her expectantly.
"That's what I thought," she said, glad that at least one of the men in her life was being completely honest with her. Even her sister had been keeping secrets from her! She got out a can of moist catfood for Smudge. He pranced around her legs, meowing hopefully as the can opener whirred.
She spooned the contents into his bowl, and he set about eating happily while Darcy sighed. What was she going to do about Jon? He must be having such a hard time of it, back at the police station, his fugitive sister under arrest for murdering someone here in town. Poor guy…
Shaking her head she went in to the couch and sat down sideways on it, her knees drawn up, her arms crossed over her chest. No. She wasn't going to feel sorry for him. Well, she did feel sorry for him. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he should have told her all of this stuff long before today. When they moved in together would have been nice. Before that would have been even better.
He had looked so miserable, though, when she'd left him there at the station. She'd left him all alone to deal with his sister and what she had done…
She growled at herself and threw her head back against the couch's armrest. It didn't matter how mad she wanted to be with him, she just kept coming back around to feeling bad for him. At least he hadn't had to see the image of his sister's hands coated in blood like that. She shivered at the thought of it.
Could she have done it wrong? She wondered about that. It was only the second time in her life that she'd attempted it. No, she knew what she was doing. It was a more advanced use of her abilities than what she was used to doing, but a lot more straightforward than calling up the dead to talk to them. A lot less draining, too.
Still, could she have missed something?
Debating back and forth with herself like that, Darcy jumped off the couch and went over to the living room's small book shelf. Mixed in with paperbacks with cracked spines and a telephone book and a few hardcover favorites, Darcy had carefully placed the book her Great Aunt had written. "Embracing Your Talent," by Millicent Carlisle.
It had been an amazing find for Darcy. She hadn't even known that Millie had written a book on the subject of paranormal gifts. Finding it in a Ryansburg bookstore by accident a few days ago, and reading it through, had been sort of like being able to talk to her aunt again.
Even now, as she gently slid the book off the shelf, she could almost feel Millie's presence, looking over her shoulder, encouraging her with the written words on every page. She missed her aunt fiercely. In town, in the bookstore Darcy had inherited from Millie, the old woman's spirit still hung around, making mischief and guiding Darcy in subtle ways. It wasn't the same as having her right here to talk to, though. This book, she decided with a sigh, would have to be enough for now.
Bringing the book back over to the couch and opening it on the coffee table Darcy turned to one of the back sections where Millie had written out techniques for the more advanced practitioner. The trick to find ghostly signs of murder on someone's hands was back here. She found it, and read through it again. And then again.
Closing the book, she tapped a finger against its blue cover. She had missed something. Something very, very important.