The Language of Death (A Darcy Sweet Coy Mystery) (2 page)

It was fogged over
now, the damp, moist air from the shower collecting on the glass.  She could still see herself standing there but now it was as if she had become a ghost, all hazy and indistinct.  Darcy the ghost.  She waved to herself and grinned at how silly she looked.

In the misty
image, words began to appear.

The skin at the back of her neck prickled.  Anyone else might have jumped and ran.  This was her life, though, and she was used to this sort of thing. 
It took a lot to scare her these days.  Ghosts communicated in a lot of different ways and she'd seen this one before.

Still, it wasn't part of her normal morning routine to have some ghost text messaging her. 
In her mirror.  There was a reason she didn't own a cell phone.  This was the reason, right here.  With ghosts, there really wasn't any such thing as personal space.

Darcy waited for the message to finish.  When it did,
the cold prickles at the back of her neck spread all over.  Her insides knotted in tight bunches.  It had to be a mistake.

"M
iss you like peanut butter," the note read.

Darcy put a shaky hand up over her mouth.  It couldn't be.  Oh, please God, it couldn't be.

When Darcy had been in college, she and her best friend Chloe Marrin had been inseparable.  They'd both been in the same literature courses and laughed at Death of a Salesman together.  They'd crushed on the same guys, made sure both of them got to class on time, and cried on each other's shoulders at graduation.  Throughout it all, they'd even developed their own little way of talking to each other.

Chloe had been the one to come up with "miss you like peanut butter."  It had been their way of saying good
bye whenever they had to go separate ways.  No one else knew that phrase.  There was no way anyone could know it, living or dead.  No ghost could have brought her that message.

Unless it was Chloe's ghost.

Darcy began to cry.  She hadn't spoken to Chloe in probably a year.  That was what happened after people graduated college and went to live at opposite ends of the country.  People grew apart, no matter how close they were.  Chloe had been alive, though.  Alive and happy and taking on a new job and dating someone she was being oh so mysterious about because they were just starting out.

Now…
  Was she dead?

The ghostly hand wrote more now, as if it had been waiting for Darcy to make the connection about who
was speaking to her.  In a wide swath the unseen hand wiped away the words that had been there.  In their place, just two words appeared.

"Help me."

"Are you sure you can do all this with mom?"

Grace managed to look insulted at the question, pursing her lips and staring at Darcy.  "I'm not dead, I'm pregnant.
  I can handle being alone with mom for a few days."

"You're s
ix months pregnant, sis," Darcy reminded her.  "I know you're tough.  I'm not saying you aren't.  I'm just being cautious for my future little niece."

"Or nephew," Grace added.  She didn't
know the sex of her baby.  She and her husband Aaron had opted not to have the doctor tell them.  They wanted to be surprised, a custom that had sort of fallen by the wayside for most couples.

"Right
.  Niece or nephew," Darcy conceded, although she had a feeling Grace was definitely going to have a girl.  When she felt something this strongly, she was usually right.  "Anyway.  I'm real sorry to dump all this on you but I have to go."

Grace had met her in Helen's café after several phone calls had confirmed for Darcy what she already knew.  Chloe was dead.  She had died last night, in bed
, and the service was in three days.  Chloe's mother had been surprised to hear from Darcy, surprised that the news of Chloe's death had reached that far so fast.  Darcy couldn't very well tell her that her daughter's ghost had left her a cryptic message in her bathroom mirror asking for help.

If she was going to get out to where Chloe had been living, a small town called Smithsville that was three states away, she had to leave now. 
Today.  Twisting the antique silver ring on her right hand Darcy tried to make a list of all the things she needed to do yet.  She'd need to borrow a car and she'd need to make sure her friend Izzy would be all right to watch the store for this week and oh, someone would have to take care of Smudge while she was gone…

Grace suddenly reached across the table where they sat inside
the Bean There Bakery and Café and took Darcy's hand in hers.  "It's all right.  Go be there for your friend's service.  Misty Hollow won't fall apart if you're gone for a few days."

They sat in silence for a little while.  Darcy was grateful for her sister's gentle encouragement. 
Grace might try to act rough and tough, but she had a very tender side a lot of people didn't ever see.  She was going to make a wonderful mother.

Their own mother was at one of the other tables in the
café, sitting with Helen, testing flavors of wedding cake.  Darcy looked over at them now, as they chatted away like old friends.  "I can't remember when I've seen her this happy," she said, meaning her mother.

"I know," Grace agreed.  "I can't wait to meet this man of hers. 
Speaking of men.  Have you, uh, told Jon?  About your friend Chloe, I mean."

"Grace.  Why would I do that?  Jon hardly speaks to me now as it is.  He's finding his own way. 
Or something."  She tried not to sound bitter about it.

"And you're giving him space to do it?"

Darcy shrugged.  "Yes."

Grace pulled at the hem of her maternity shirt, trying to make it not sit like a tent hanging off her shoulders.
  "Did you ever consider, sis, that maybe instead of giving him space what you really need to do is go after him and show him that he still has feelings for you?"

"And just how do you think I should do that?"

"I can think of several ways," Grace answered her with a wink.  "Do I need to draw you a picture?"

"Grace!" Darcy protested, although she was laughing as she said it.  "Look, Jon was the one who decided to leave me. 
There's a lot of things he and I need to talk about, to work out, but I can't think about that right now.  I just need to go say goodbye to Chloe."

Say good
bye, and figure out why she needed Darcy's help so badly.

***

Darcy had never liked driving.  She kept her license up to date because she never knew when she might need it.  Like now.  A day and a half driving in her sister's purple Honda was definitely not her idea of fun, though.  She had already gone through every CD her sister had and for the last forty miles she had driven in silence.

In that silence, her thoughts brooded.

She still couldn't believe that Chloe was dead.  They had always made promises to get together again but with their different lives and the distance between them it had just never happened.  Now they would never get that chance.

She came into
Smithsville just before noon on Monday morning.  The place was a town just about the size of Misty Hollow, with houses lining narrow two-lane streets and hometown shops and trees and green lawns everywhere.  People walked dogs down the sidewalks and said hello to people they passed by.  Chloe's service would be tomorrow.  There was a little time to get settled in, but she wasn't here to sight-see.

Chloe's mother had given her address to Darcy when they spoke on the phone.
  With printed directions from the internet she made a right turn at the post office, then a left at the next stoplight.  On Wheeler Avenue she checked addresses until she found Forty-Five.  It was a low two-story home painted green with red trim, a happy looking place that seemed at odds with why Darcy was here.

There were already several cars parked in the driveway. 
Another was parked in front, up on the lawn, straddling the sidewalk.  She took the example and parked behind that one, putting her sister's car on a slant up on the curb, the tires on the one side settling on the sidewalk with a soft crunching sound.

Taking a moment to build up her nerve, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and blew out a breath.  When she was ready she got out of the car and locked the doors behind her
, going up to the front door at the end of the paving stone walkway.  She knocked tentatively, biting her lower lip.

The woman who answered the door looked so much like
Chloe that there was no mistaking her for anyone other than Chloe's mother.  Betsy Marrin had the same soft blue eyes as her daughter, wet now with tears.  Little laugh lines at the corners of those eyes showed her age.  Her golden brown hair was graying in streaks that zigzagged each other in a long braid.  This was Chloe's face, just thirty or so years older. 

Her clothes looked like they had been
selected with very little thought to them, black jeans and a red top that didn't match.  Darcy doubted that anyone would fault Betsy for that.  As she looked up at Darcy a smile smoothed away the wrinkles and lightened the shadows of her face.  "Darcy," she said.  "I'm so glad you could make it."

She drew Darcy into a tight hug and Darcy could feel te
ars stinging her own eyes.  "I wasn't sure you'd know who I was.  I'm sorry to intrude on you."

"Nonsense!"
  Betsy stepped back, wrapping her arms together.  "My daughter has shown me so many photos of the two of you together that I feel like you're part of the family.  Oh, the stories she's told me about your time at college.  No, dear, you'll always be welcome here."

Darcy felt a lump forming in her throat.  It was exactly the sort of thing that Chloe would have said, and it reminded her of how much she would always miss her friend.

"Please, come in," Betsy said to her, holding the door aside.  "There's people here you should meet."

The entrance led directly into a small room
lined with storage shelves and hooks where winter jackets sat forgotten in the warm weather.  An open entryway led to a living room.  This was a cozy space, not very large, with two couches that faced each other and then two easy chairs at the far end.  A doorway to the left led to what Darcy could see was a kitchen.  Everywhere the walls were painted either blue or green and sometimes a combination of both, and windows had their curtains pushed aside to let light in.  Betsy kept a tidy house, just as cheerful on the inside as it had looked from the street.

There were five people
sitting in the living room on couches or chairs, and every one of them turned to stare at Darcy as Betsy brought her in.  An older man with wispy gray hair and wrinkled clothes and a sour stare must be Chloe's dad, Darcy figured.  He stood up now and shuffled over to Betsy.

"I told you to take it easy, Betsy," he said, reaching out to take Betsy's hands.  "You've been going nonstop.  You'll wear yourself out."

Betsy smiled at him and turned her face for him to kiss her cheek.  "Kevin, I told you.  I need to keep busy.  It's better than…"

Everyone in the room managed to look away, knowing what
Betsy was leaving unsaid.  It was better to keep busy than think about how her daughter had died.

"Well.  Just don't overdo it."  Kevin Marrin squeezed his wife's hand and then turned to Darcy.  "You must be the famous Darcy Sweet.  It means so much to us that you came.  Thank you, so much."

He had to stop for a moment, choked up himself.  Darcy could feel the emotion in the room as a tangible thing.  A heavy blanket that weighed down on everyone.  Two women sat on the couch to Darcy's left, both about Darcy's age, dressed up in black.  One wore black slacks, a black top, and black shoes with straps that crisscrossed the tops of her feet.  She had several gold rings on her fingers and gold dangly earrings.  Dark hair in a pixie cut framed a thin face with a pinched mouth.  She looked at Darcy with narrowed eyes.

The other woman was blonde and had round glasses in dark frames,
her brown eyes wide and round like an owl's.  She was very thin, and her black dress clung tightly across her chest and hips.  Her smile was friendly though, and she even managed a little wave.

Betsy leaned against her husband and waved a hand at each of the women in turn.  "Darcy, this is Veronica
Theissen, one of Chloe's friends," she introduced the one with the flashy gold jewelry.  She nodded slowly to Darcy, and Darcy realized she had seen Veronica's type before.  She might be dressed in black like she was in mourning, but it was really to keep the attention on her.

"And Sami Wilmer."
  The second woman blinked at Darcy from behind her glasses.  She smiled again, a little shyly.

On the other couch, two men sat side by side, both of them as different as could be.  The one was in blue jeans and a blue button down dress shirt, his black hair trimmed and swept to the side, his face gorgeous with a
strong jaw and expressive eyebrows over crystal green eyes.  He had an arm over the back of the sofa, totally at ease here in a room where everyone was grieving.  The other was in a black suit with a deep blue tie.  His face was wide and Darcy supposed he was handsome in a cute sort of way.  His blonde hair was a little unkempt and his dark blue eyes were the color of the ocean.  And he looked…