Family Secrets (A Darcy Sweet Cozy Mystery #8) (6 page)

Vivica
stood up abruptly, and the chair behind her tipped over and the table bounced on its legs twice, hard enough to disturb the orderly piles of papers on its top.  They slid around, landing haphazardly.  Darcy swallowed, and waited for the display of ghostly rage to be over.  The Widow Chartrand couldn't lift a pen, maybe, but it would be smart not to make her mad.  Darcy made a note of that.

The ghost
started pointing repeatedly at some of the papers.  Darcy picked up the ones she thought Vivica meant and looked through them.  Bank statements.  Mortgage documents.  It was all a little hard for Darcy to understand, but it looked like maybe Vivica had been behind in her mortgage payment.  The page showed a hefty sum owed.  No, wait.  Borrowed, maybe?  Hm.  Interesting.  She'd been hoping for a bloody glove or a hand written confession, but working with ghosts you had to take what you could get.

"Thank you…"  She looked up, and
Vivica was gone.

Folding the papers and stuffing them away in a pocket to look at later, Darcy took a quick look through everything else on the table. 
Bills.  Magazines. Recipes. Nothing of real interest.  The living room yielded more nothing, without even a paperback book to be found.

She went to the stairs.  There was something she needed to see for herself.

There were five rooms upstairs, and a square panel in the center of the ceiling that probably led up to an attic.  She wanted to avoid going up into the attic if she could help it.  Dark, dusty spaces full of spiders did not appeal to her.

The first room on her left was the bathroom.  She noticed the
two toothbrushes immediately.  In the shower, there were two shower poofs.  So.  Two people were living in the house.  Vivica, and someone else.

Aimee.
  Aimee had said she was living here.  This wasn't proof of that, but Darcy was hoping in the next room she'd find what she needed.

The next room was empty, wall to wall, not even a stick of furniture.  Well, maybe the next room.

She opened the door across from the bathroom next.  It was a bedroom.  Not the master bedroom, just a guest room with a simple single bed and a small dresser.  Across the bed there was a pair of jeans and a shirt laid out, a woman's clothing, but far too young to have appealed to the Widow Chartrand.  The jeans had stylish rips across the knees, and the top was purple and red with the logo of a brand name underwear company across the chest.

Darcy nodded. 
Definitely Aimee's style.  She knew she was pressing her luck, but she went to the closet to see what else she could find.  Maybe some luggage, or a coat or something with Aimee's name in it.

She tripped over her own feet backing up and landed sitting on the bed as
the closet door flung open to reveal a woman scurrying out of it.  Before Darcy could scream out in surprise the woman frantically moved towards her.

"Hold it, hold it," the woman said to Darcy, holding her hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you.  I'm leaving.  I'm leaving right now."

The woman was a few years older than Darcy, maybe, with short dark hair cut in a pixie style and makeup applied just so on her cheeks and eyes and lips.  The corner of her mouth was turned up in what was probably a permanent sarcastic smile.  Her long beige trenchcoat fluttered as she stepped out quickly and made for the door.

Recovering from her fright, Darcy jumped up and stepped in front of her, arms crossed, trying to look braver than she felt.  It wasn't like Darcy had a right to be in
Vivica Chartrand's house, either.  "Who are you?" she demanded.

The woman tried for a real smile, and sort of succeeded.  "Look, I was just seeing if there was any kind of story here.  There's not, so I'm leaving. 
Promise.  Cross my heart, even."  She made an X over her heart with her index finger, her hand folded around something.

"Story?" Darcy asked, confused.

The woman sighed and put her fist on her hip, hanging her head and mumbling to herself.  "Should've known there'd be somebody here.  Too much to ask for a nice, empty house to go through."  She sighed again, bringing her piercing dark eyes up at Darcy.  "Maybe if I introduce myself.  I am Brianna Watson.  I'm a reporter for the Chronicle.  You've heard of me?"

She acted like Darcy should recognize her name on the spot.  She had heard it somewhere, she thought, but she couldn't place where.  "I know the Chronicle," she offered.  "It's published out of
Ryansburg, right?"

Brianna Watson smiled like Darcy had just stated the obvious. 
"Right.  And I'm a reporter there.  I'm sorry if I'm trespassing in your house but I didn't mean to cause you any trouble and I didn't touch anything."

"You mean other than whatever was in the closet," Darcy observed.

Brianna looked down at her hand.  "What?  This?  Oh.  Uh, yeah.  I should leave this here.  Wallet belonging to that woman they arrested.  Nothing special in it."

Aimee's wallet.
  There was Darcy's proof that Jon's sister had been staying here.  "You went through her things?"

A shrug was her answer, before Brianna brushed the question aside
and threw the wallet over on the bed.  "So, no harm no foul, right?  I leave, you don't press any charges, and at the end of the day everyone's still happy.  Maybe I even put a few quotes from you in the story about this whole thing."

"Uh, well," Darcy realized the position she'd put herself by trying to stop Brianna from leaving.  "This isn't my house.  So, I guess I can't stop you from being here."

Brianna raised an eyebrow.  "Oh yeah?  Trespassing just like me, are you?  You working for another newspaper?  The Dispatch or something?"

Darcy shook her head.  This woman never stopped talking, she realized.  "No. 
I'm Darcy Sweet.  I'm just a…friend of Vivica's."

Not the truth, she thought to herself, but not exactly a lie.

"Friend of the victim.  Well, then I definitely want to talk to you," Brianna said excitedly, stepping forward to hook her arm through Darcy's.  Before Darcy could say anything, Brianna had them walking back down the hallway towards the stairs.  "Let's say we get out of here, though, before someone who actually does own the house shows up."

The ghostly figure of
Vivica Chartrand floated up the stairs in front of them as if called up by that comment.  Her face was angry.  Darcy tried to ignore the specter, knowing that Brianna couldn't see her.

"Yes," Darcy said.  "Outside would be good."

Vivica began shaking a finger at both of them, scolding them in silence, words forming and dying on her lips.  Her anger was a force that Darcy could feel as a pressure against her skin.  Brianna walked them past her and they started down the stairs.  "Cold in here, isn't it?" she asked Darcy.

"Houses get like that
after someone is killed in them," she said without thinking, seeing the odd look that Brianna gave her.

Darcy didn't talk to people about how she could see ghosts.  Jon knew, and Grace
did too, and several other people in town knew she was "odd" and could do things that normal people shouldn't be able to do.  But she had found that opening up to people with a "Hi, my name is Darcy Sweet and I can contact your dead grandmother," usually led to uncertain smiles and whispered comments behind her back.

Some people avoided her altogether.  That was all right.  Darcy knew who her friends were.

Vivica floated down through the ceiling, feet first, and paced next to them as Darcy and Brianna continued down the stairs.  "So who does own this place now?" Brianna asked, a hunger in her voice for any tidbit of information she could glean from Darcy.

"Well, I suppose
Vivica's son Richard does," Darcy answered.  She couldn't see any harm in telling things that were public knowledge.

Vivica
tried to slam a hand down on the stairway railing.  It passed right through, and the ghost looked down at herself, a puzzled look on her shadowy features.  Then Vivica noticed her feet weren't on anything but air and she began to sink down, down, down, until she disappeared through the floor.

Darcy suppressed a smile.  Some ghosts had a lot of t
rouble with the transition from living, solid flesh to a state of incorporeal being.

Vi
vica's head poked up above the floor just high enough for her eyes to follow Darcy with a glare.

The bloodstain on the kitchen floor was just as vivid as Darcy remembered it.  Brianna stopped there, taking her hands back from Darcy
's arm and putting them in the pockets of her trench coat.  She shivered.  "I've reported on dozens of murders and accidental deaths.  You never get used to it, you know?"

"I know," Darcy had to agree.

Brianna nudged her shoulder against Darcy's.  "I think I like you, Darcy Sweet.  So what can you tell me about all this that wasn't in the official reports?"

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"Oh, come on."  Brianna took one last shuddering glance at the blood stain and then stepped around it, going to the door.  "There must be something."

The fresh air outside felt good on Darcy's face.
  Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten breakfast because she'd been in such a hurry to get out here and find the evidence she needed to clear Aimee.  She'd confirmed that Aimee had been staying here, and she had the bank statements Vivica had pointed out to her in her pocket to go over later.  She had to wonder, though, if Brianna here might have found out something else that was worth knowing.

"Tell you what," Darcy said.  "I'll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine. 
Deal?"

Brianna's eyes lit up. 
"Deal.  First question.  Is it true the suspect is related to one of the police officers here in town?"

Darcy immed
iately regretted making this bargain.  She hadn't expected this to get Jon's name involved.  Still, even that was public information.  She wasn't giving out any real secrets, she told herself.  So she tried to make it sound like it wasn't any big deal.  "Yes, she is.  A sister he hasn't seen for years."

"Is that why she was in town?" Brianna asked.

"Wait, I haven't asked my question yet."

The
reporter snorted, a very unlady-like sound.  "True.  Fine.  Ask away."

"Did you find anything else in the house besides that wallet?"

Brianna chewed on her lip.  "You get right to it, don't you?  Yes.  I found a letter that the Widow Chartrand had started writing.  In her bedroom.  It isn't addressed to anyone but whoever it's for, it says she can't give them any more money.  I'm guessing it was written to this Aimee woman.  I figure she was freeloading in the house and mooching off the old lady.  When things came to a head, Aimee killed her."

Brianna looked back at the house, like she was picturing the scene as it unfolded.  "
Maybe it was an argument, maybe Aimee thought she'd just kill her and steal whatever cash was lying around and then run away, but she got caught before she could leave.  I'm not sure.  Would you care to comment on that?"

There
was a lot of things wrong with that theory, as far as Darcy could see.  "Aimee was arrested in her pajamas.  Not exactly what a girl dresses in if she's planning on killing someone and running."

"Hm.
  Good point.  Didn't know that, about the pajamas."  Brianna pulled a small spiral bound notebook and a pen out of an inside pocket of her long coat.  "That will make a good detail for the story.  Thanks."

"Sure," Darcy grumped.  She looked around
them, noticing something for the first time.  Trees.  The dirt road.  "Where's your car?"

"
Oh.  I parked it down the road that way.  Didn't want anyone to see it.  That counts as your question, you know."  She smiled triumphantly at Darcy.  "So tell me.  Was Aimee in town because her brother is a police officer here?"

Darcy weighed her answer a couple of different ways and then chose her words carefully.  "She knew Jon was an officer here.  She hadn't had any contact with him."

That answer made Brianna's eyes practically sparkle.  "Oh.  Jon.  Excellent.  Now I have a name to go with the story."

"But he didn't do anything," Darcy protested.

Brianna looked up sharply.  "You know him?  You act like you know him."

"Uh," Darcy cursed herself.  "That's an extra question. 
Can't answer it.  It's my turn.  How did you find a note that Vivica Chartrand was writing when the police had already searched the house?"

She shrugged.  It seemed like she did that a lot.  "
Police are human, too.  They miss things.  The note was all crumpled up in the waste basket.  No one ever thinks to look through the trash.  I mean, those bank statements on the table?  Everyone must have seen those and the police left them, so obviously they aren't important."

Darcy felt her face fall a little.  She really, really hoped Brianna was wrong about that.

"But stuff in the trash?  That's always important.  It must have been a first draft that the victim was writing and then tossed away."  Brianna was proud of herself, and didn't mind showing it.  "Now.  My turn."