Family Secrets (A Darcy Sweet Cozy Mystery #8) (2 page)

On the
dark hardwood floor lay the body of the Widow Chartrand.  She lay on her chest in a black dress, and her white hair was tied in a long braid.  Blood had dried around a wound in her back and pooled in an uneven spread across the floor.  Her hands were stretched out over her head.  Her fingers were clawed, like she had tried to crawl away from her death.

Darcy couldn't see the woman's face, but she knew it was the same person she had seen in the upstairs window, the ghost that had stared down at everything with such foreboding.
  Vivica Chartrand, dead in her own home.

Jon leaned down closer to examine the body.  Evidence markers had been set in place.  Everything had already been photographed and cataloged.  The only thing left was to remove the Widow
Chartrand and do up the reports.  That, and catch the killer.

"Do you know if she live
d with anyone?" Jon asked.

"No. 
I mean, I didn't know her very well, but from what I understand she's lived alone since her husband died about fifteen years ago.  She has a son, Richard, but he lives over in Meadowood.  I think."

Jon nodded, standing up again.  "She was stabbed in the back.  I'll have to check with the Chief to see if there was any forced entry but it almost looks like she
knew her attacker pretty well."

"Why do you say that?" Darcy asked.

"You don't turn your back on a stranger," was the answer.

Jon
looked around the kitchen.  Darcy didn’t notice anything out of place.  She still felt a chill prickling at her skin, but she attributed that to the death that had occurred here.  Now that she saw it, she could see how violent and unexpected it had been.  Something like that always caused a spirit unrest.

That wasn't what was bothering her right now, though.

"What letter did you get from Oak Hollow?" she asked Jon suddenly.

"What?"

"The Chief said he was holding a letter for you from Oak Hollow."  Darcy started twisting the antique silver ring around and around on the finger of her right hand.  It was a habit she indulged in whenever she was nervous.  Or worried.  "What did he mean?  What letter?"

Jon walked over, standing close to her, and met her gaze directly.  "That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. 
Needed to talk to you about, actually.  I didn't want to say anything until it became a real offer.  Now it has."  He took a deep breath and she could see him trying to contain his enthusiasm.  "I got offered a promotion."

"You did?" she said, instantly excited for him.  In the next moment, however, she realized what he meant.  "Oh."

"Right," he said.  "The job offer is from the Oak Hollow Police Department.  They were very impressed with the part we played in finding Aaron and bringing that Manning character to justice."

Aaron
Wentworth, Darcy's brother-in-law, had been kidnapped during a botched bank robbery in the city of Oak Hollow this past Valentine's Day.  Darcy knew what Jon was talking about.  As good as the police might be over there, they would never have solved that case without her and Jon's help.  It had been a very trying time for everyone, but things had worked out all right.  Darcy had no idea that the Oak Hollow P.D. had been in contact with Jon since then.

"So, u
h," she said, trying not to sound annoyed that she was only hearing about it now, "a promotion, huh?  That's good news, I guess?"

"It was something I wanted to talk to you about before I did anything," he assured her.  "I would never have made a decision without talking to you first."

That made her feel a little better, and she let him pull her into a gentle hug.  He was warm, and the feel of his body against hers was always nice.  Opening her eyes again to look past his shoulder, she saw Vivica Chartrand standing in the doorway that led to the dining room.  She smiled at Darcy, then looked down at the floor, to where her own body lay.  Shock and dismay twisted her features before she disappeared like smoke being blown away by a strong wind.

"Jon," Darcy said, pushing back a little from him.  "Can we maybe continue this outside? 
Where there isn't a dead person lying on the floor?"

"Oh.  Oh, right.  Sorry."

They walked back out past Officer Partridge and stepped out of the way of the coroner's people, a two man team with a black nylon body bag held between them, wearing blue gloves and serious expressions.

Down the steps, then down the driveway, Darcy felt like her chest was getting tighter and tighter.  Why hadn't Jon mentioned this
promotion before?  How long had he known about this offer?  Maybe he was planning on taking it, and that was why he hadn't said anything yet.  Endless what-if's swirled through her mind.  She didn't want to stand in his way if this helped his career.

She didn't want to lose him, either.

"So was that what you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked him as they were approaching the line of three marked patrol cars down at the road's edge.

He hesitated, like he was gathering his thoughts.  "That was part of it.  There's more."

One of the junior officers came up to them at the edge of the lawn.  "Jon, she's been asking for you.  We've got her in the back of Unit Two."

Jon
nodded, his face carefully neutral.  "Is she handcuffed?"

The junior officer looked uncomfortable.  "Yeah, she is.  I'm sorry, Jon.  It's procedure."

"I know, I know.  It's not anyone's fault but her own."  He turned to Darcy and she almost thought she could see an apology in his eyes.  "Come on.  I want to introduce you to the Widow Chartrand's killer."

He led her closer to the cars.  Unit
Two was running, it's red lights strobing, with the back window halfway down.  There were metal bars on the inside of the glass, and behind them sat a blonde girl with high cheekbones in an oval face.  She would have been pretty, except for how red her eyes were from crying.

"This is your suspect?" Darcy asked.  She certainly didn't look like a killer.  "Who is she?"

Jon's jaw clenched and he sighed out heavily through his nose.  Then he turned his back to the patrol cars and folded his arms over his chest.  "That," he said to Darcy, "is my sister."

Jon stifled a yawn from where he sat behind his desk at t
he police station.  It was just after eight o'clock, but it had been a very long day.  "Well," he said.  "I'm ready for bed."

From the desk next to Jon's, Grace snorted a laugh.  "There's no rest for the wicked, Jon."  She rubbed at her eyes and pushed back strands of her dark hair that had fallen out of place.  Resting a hand on the
little bulge of her baby belly, she sighed.  "I should know.  Nobody told me how hard it would be to sleep when your body is still getting used to being pregnant."

"Is that why you're here instead of at home?" Darcy asked her.  "You need your rest, sis."

"We can take care of this, Grace," Jon put in.  "You don't have to be here."

"Jon," Grace said, "
your sister is under arrest for murder.  You think I'm going to just go home and put my feet up?  I've already called Aaron and let him know I'll be late."  She looked at both of them, her voice defensive.  "I'm fine.  Stop worrying so much."

"You're carrying my first ever niece, Grace," Darcy pointed out.  "If I'm going to be an aunt, then it's my job to worry."

"It might be your first ever nephew, you know."

Darcy shrugged. 
"All the more reason to worry.  Boys can be so much trouble."

She looked over at Jon as she said it, and he had the good sense not to say anything back. 
Obviously he'd been right when he'd told Darcy that they needed to talk.  How could there be so much about him that she didn't know?  They needed to have a very long conversation about all of this.  And, about his family.

And, about his answer to her marriage proposal.

Chief Daleson came into the room, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.  "You know, Jon, I'm beginning to think stubbornness runs in your family.  I've been in that interview room with her for over an hour now.  She won't talk to me.  She'll only talk to you.” He levelled a look towards Grace and frowned.  “Grace, go home," he said.

Grace growled and shook her head.  "Why is everyone insisting I go home?  I'm fine. 
It's not like I'm going to deliver this baby tomorrow or anything.  Women have been carrying babies around since the beginning of time, you know."

Jon
sighed and stood up, grabbing a notepad and a pen from the corner of his desk.  Darcy knew that to everyone else in the room he looked like he was putting on a steely game face, his expression determined and his jaw set.  She knew him better.  He wasn't looking forward to this at all. 

He turned to her, tapping the pen against his thigh.  "Darcy, do you want to come in with me?"

The Chief cleared his throat.  Jon looked over with a shrug.  "She's sat in on other interviews for us, Chief.  It's unusual enough as it is to have me interview a member of my family.  I'm invested in this.  Darcy might pick up on something that I miss."

Chief
Daleson rolled his eyes.  "Fine," he said in that gruff voice.  "Just make sure the recorder stays on.  And don't forget, Jon, that she's already in hot water."

"Believe me, Chief, I remember."

Darcy followed along behind Jon with a quick glance at Grace.  Her sister shook her head.  Whatever secrets Jon was keeping about his family, Grace obviously didn't know, either.

On the walk down the hallway to the interview rooms, Jon kept his eyes straight ahead as he spoke to Darcy.  "My sister's name is
Aimee.  Spelled with two e's.  My parents thought they were being cute.  She and I haven't spoken for years, except for maybe a letter or two that I've gotten from her."

"Why?" Darcy asked.
  "And what did the chief mean about her already being in hot water?"

He stopped, waiting for one of the uniformed officers to pass them,
then he lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Do you remember a couple of months back when Izzy and her daughter showed up?"

Darcy scrunched her eyebrows, remembering. 
"Of course.  She was hiding because there was a warrant for her arrest.  Everyone thought she had murdered her husband."

"Right.
  I think you know how I reacted to all that.  I tried to be supportive of what you were doing for Izzy, trying to clear her name and all, but I was, uh, a little…"

"Cranky?" Darcy offered.  "Testy? 
Quick to snap at everyone around you?  Myself included?"

"Right, right.
  Okay, I think we both get the point."  He twisted one side of his lip, not quite a smile, not quite a frown.  "I told you that was because I'm a police officer and I have to uphold the law no matter what my personal opinions are about the person or what they've done."

"I know, Jon.  I agreed with you.  I also appreciated how you let me do what I thought was right."  She pushed up on her
tiptoes and kissed his cheek.  "I love you for that."

"I love you, too, Darcy.  I didn't tell you all of it, though.  The other reason that whole thing with Izzy was hard on me was because it reminded me of my own situation."

"Your own…?  What, you're on the run from the law because they think you killed someone?" she tried to joke.

He didn't laugh. 
"No, not me.  My sister."

Jon set the pad squarely in front of him as he sat down on the one side of the metal interview table.  Darcy sat in a chair off in the corner, still trying to absorb what he had told her.  His sister,
Aimee, had been accused of killing her boss six years ago and stealing thousands of dollars from the company.  Tens of thousands of dollars.  She had been arrested, and arraigned in front of a judge on the charge.  A boyfriend of hers had posted bail for her.  Once she was out, she had run away and disappeared. 

Jon had gotten a few letters from her since, telling him that she was okay, and not to worry.  None of them had a return address.  As far as Jon had known,
Aimee was on the other side of the country.

Instead, she had found her way to Misty Hollow. 
Right where her brother, the police detective, lived and worked.

Darcy studied him now.  He was a rock.  Every muscle in his body was tight and rigid.  His eyes were hard flecks of blue stone.  This must be so hard on him, she thought to herself, sympathy pouring out of her heart for him.

When he spoke, his voice was coiled steel.

"I'd like to say it's good to see you again,
Aimee."  He didn't look up at her.  Uncapping the pen, he started writing the date and time on the top sheet of the notebook.

"Yo
u're angry," Aimee said to him.

Jon snorted.  "There's an understatement.  I passed angry with you years ago.
  Sometime around when you ran away from home and broke mom's heart."