Laid to Rest (A Darcy Sweet Cozy Mystery Book 18) (14 page)

The accomplice.  Elizabeth Archer.  They still needed to talk to her.

Smudge had given them a sample of the bad guy’s blood to analyze, but it came back to someone neither she nor Jon knew.  Bradley Scarston.  The name Scarston hadn’t been in the census Millie had shown them. That name didn’t mean anything to them. They still didn’t know who he was.

She shook her head as she read more of the journal.  So they were absolutely nowhere with solving this whole mess, but if her subconscious wanted to believe that everything was going to be all right, then sure.  Why not.

Reading around the ruined parts of each page, Darcy saw the familiar thoughts and reflections of her Aunt Millie.  She’d read this journal so many times now that she could probably recite parts of it by heart.  And look, here was that story about meeting the little girl’s ghost in the Applegate Road Cemetery, about how the ghost had warned Millie she was in danger, from some unknown man…

Darcy read the passage again.  It took up most of two pages, and the details were very specific, and suddenly things began to make sense.

The answer had been buried, too deep for Darcy to see.

Laid to rest for safekeeping, with the little girl left sleeping.

The poem.  The one her aunt had left in the Deseret code.  Next to the copied pages was the notebook with everything they knew so far, including the poem.

The little girl left sleeping.  Somehow, Darcy knew this was the girl Millie had been talking about.  This little ghost in the story.  Of course!  Smudge had told her to pay attention to Millie’s words because she had already seen the answer.  Right here, in this story in the journal.  This was where she’d seen the answer.

Whatever the bad guy was looking for, Millie had buried it in this girls’ grave for safekeeping.  “Laid to rest” was another way of saying buried.

Crazy as it sounded, it wouldn’t be the first thing of value to be buried in that cemetery.

She scratched her sleeping cat behind his ears.  “Thanks, Smudge.”

He huffed out a breath. 
You’re welcome.

But what was buried?  Well, they might not know that until they went looking for it.  Maybe then they could figure out who this Bradley Scarston was.  If they found what he wanted so badly, it might just point them in his direction.  Kidnapper.  Thief.  Murderer.  Who was he?

Possibly, one of her neighbors.

Now that was a scary thought.  Ellen was living here in Darcy’s house, hiding under an assumed name.  Izzy from next door had come to town under a false name, too, running from a man who wanted to kill her.  Could another resident of Misty Hollow be hiding in plain sight, but for a much more sinister reason?

She kept coming back to one of the other facts she had written in her notebook.  The person who did all this only took Smudge after she had mentioned having the beehive journal, down at Helen’s café.  Other than Izzy and Ellen and her and Jon, the only people who knew the book had been found were the people in the café that day.  She knew Izzy and Ellen had nothing to do with this.  That left the people at the café.

Blake Underwood had left before Darcy opened her big mouth.

Helen.  No.  She couldn’t believe Helen was living any kind of double life.  Not like that.  Darcy had been part of the reason for Helen’s husband going to jail a couple of years back but Helen had never held it against her.  Helen was a decent, honest person and always had been.  Darcy couldn’t bring herself to suspect her.

Roland Baskin.  She couldn’t stand that man but she had to cross him off the suspect list after being in his home and seeing how he cared for his little dog.  Not to mention he was too elderly to have crawled around the library’s sub-ceiling or to have knocked Grace in the head hard enough to send her to the hospital.

Which left Elizabeth Archer. 

That’s where her suspicions were.  She didn’t want to believe it, though.  Elizabeth was rough as sandpaper and very hard to get to know, but she had never seemed like a person capable of kidnapping.  Or theft.  Or assault.

Or murder.

It had to be, though.  When you eliminated the impossible, Sherlock Holmes had taught her, whatever was left had to be the truth, no matter how improbable.  Well.  She’d find out soon enough.  Elizabeth must have seen that note by now so she’d be coming to find Darcy, one way or the other.  It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t told Jon about what she’d done, leaving that note there as bait.  She probably should have, but he’d distracted her in a very nice way and it had slipped her mind.

When Helen closed up the café for the day that would be when Elizabeth would come around.  Well.  Jon should be back by then.  Maybe.  In the meantime she’d just have to be careful.  Of course Elizabeth might not have gone into work today, either.  She might have taken another day off to hide the scars that Smudge had given her.  That would mean Helen would have to close up early again because it was just the two of them there…

No.  No it wasn’t.

Darcy’s head came up and the sudden motion startled Smudge off her lap.  Helen didn’t just work the café by herself, and Elizabeth wasn’t Helen’s only employee.  There was one other.

There was someone else who had been there, in the café, listening to Darcy talk about the beehive journal.

That meant the bad guy…was…

There was a knock on her front door.  There.  She was about to get her answer from Elizabeth.  This would tell the tale, one way or the other.  She checked the clock on the wall, wishing Jon would hurry up and come home.

She’d solved the mystery.  She should call Jon first.  Shouldn’t she?  Yes.  Maybe?

She wondered about that, walking out to the kitchen, staring at the front door, listening to another knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Of course, if she didn’t open the door, she might just find it broken in anyway.  Her life was in danger.  Now she really felt stupid for laying a trap without telling Jon what she was doing.  He would have just told her not to do it, probably, but even so she wouldn’t be standing here in the kitchen, defenseless, with a murderer knocking at the door…

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

She wouldn’t open it.  That was the safest thing to do.  She would keep it closed and pretend she wasn’t here and that way she could stay safe because the murderer was…

With a squeaky turn of the handle, the door opened.  It hadn’t been locked.

The murderer was…

Darcy’s breath caught in her throat.  It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t.

The murderer was…

It was Helen.  She stood there in the wide open doorway, holding up the note that Darcy had left for Elizabeth.  Her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled as she tried to find the words.

“I’m sorry, Darcy.”

“Helen?”

“Darcy,” she replied in a shaky voice, “why did you have to leave this note?”

“I needed to know…”  She trailed off, feeling stupid.  So very stupid.  Elizabeth wouldn’t be the only one to see the note.  Of course Helen would see it, too.

But it couldn’t be her.

Could it?

“I’m so sorry,” Helen said again.

“That’s touching,” a man’s voice said behind Helen.  “Now get in there.”

Helen stepped inside the kitchen, all the way, and only then did Darcy see the person standing behind her, urging her forward at the end of a gun.  It looked huge in his hand, and menacing.  And evil.

Darcy looked up at his long and angular face, the face of the man she had expected to see before Helen had opened the door, the one who was behind all of this.  The only other person who had been in the café that fateful morning when she had slipped up and mentioned finding the beehive journal.  The only person it could be.

Alan Lansky.

Helen let the note drop to the floor.  Her face was as pale as death and Darcy could tell she was no part of this.  Helen wasn’t an accomplice.  She was a victim.

The man she loved, the man who had asked her to marry him, was holding her at gunpoint.  Helen had trusted Alan.  Invited him to live with her, for that matter.  It had taken her some time to let another man into her life after what her ex-husband had done.  Alan had been the man to win her trust again.

When Darcy had gone into the café yesterday looking for Elizabeth, Helen had said she wasn’t there, saying that left her alone to do all the work.  Alone, because no one else was there to help her.

That meant Alan wasn’t there, either.  He’d stayed home.

Looking at his face now, Darcy could understand why.

“Like it?” Alan asked, seeing how Darcy’s gaze had gone to the left side of his face.  He ran his hand across the crisscrossing red lines there.  She recognized them for what they were.  Smudge had given those to him, fighting to escape.

The scratches went up to the edges of his thick, black hair.  Smudge had gotten him good.  It was Alan’s blood they had sent to the lab. 

“Your stupid cat did this to me.  Almost ruined the whole thing when he got loose from me before I could get the books.  But I got them anyway.  And now here you are with the solution to that cryptic little poem your aunt left us, so hey.  It all worked out.”

Darcy’s mind was spinning in a dozen different directions at once.  If it was Alan’s blood they had gotten off Smudge’s claws, his blood that the lab had processed, then that meant…

“You’re Bradley Scarston,” she said, calling him by the name Jon had told her.

His eyebrows rose sharply.  “Well.  You know about that, do you?”

Helen looked from Darcy to Alan, obviously not understanding what was going on.  “What does she mean?  What is she talking about?  Alan, talk to me!”

“Please sit down, Helen,” he said without taking his eyes—or his gun—away from Darcy.  “Our friend here figured out something I wanted kept secret, that’s all.”

“You’ve been in town a long time,” Darcy pointed out.  “You should know by now that secrets don’t stay secret here in Misty Hollow.”

“I have been here a long time.  Longer than you know.”  He stopped, and looked over at Helen, staring at her until she finally folded herself into a chair like he’d told her to.  “That’s a good girl.  We won’t be here much longer.  Now.  Mrs. Darcy Tinker…or is it still Darcy Sweet?  Whatever.  I don’t have all day for this.  Tell me where my diamonds are.”

“Diamonds?”  Darcy was so surprised that the word slipped out before she could think better of it. 

He took a step closer to her.  “You didn’t know.  You didn’t know, did you?  Darcy, you lied to me.  Your note said you had what I wanted.”

Darcy swallowed against a suddenly very dry throat.  The only way she stayed safe in this situation, with a gun pointing at her in the hands of a crazy man, was if the crazy man thought she was useful.  She felt so exposed, standing there in her pajamas and sock feet.  She needed to keep him talking.

“I know where they are,” she said, playing one of her few bargaining chips.  “I wasn’t sure what they were.”  Diamonds.  Of course. 
Stars worth more than stones.

What else could it have been?

“Yes, diamonds.”  Alan…no, Darcy corrected herself, Bradley Scarston…actually smiled at her.  “Not just any diamonds, though.  Black diamonds.  Very rare.  Very precious.  Very, very expensive.”

Black diamonds.  Like the one he’d given Helen as an engagement ring.  Darcy looked down at Helen’s left hand.  She covered it up quickly, folding her other hand around it like she felt guilty to be wearing it.

“See, I’m a thief by trade,” Bradley was explaining.  “I take things that aren’t mine and sell them.  It’s a living.  Always was a good living, too.  My biggest score was supposed to be a pouch of black diamonds.  A single carat is worth nearly two grand and I had a whole pouch of them.  At least, I did, until your aunt poked her nose into my business.”

That sounded just like Millie, Darcy thought.

Then again, it kind of ran in the family.

She forced herself to ask the question.  “You killed my aunt, didn’t you?”

He hesitated, then shrugged.  “I figure you already know that part.  Yeah, that was me.  She wouldn’t tell me where the diamonds were.  She wouldn’t tell me where that journal of hers was, either.  It was a little hasty of me, I know, but I figured if Millie was dead this house would be empty and I could tear it apart from roof to basement.  I wanted my diamonds back.”

“Oh, Alan,” Helen breathed, tears in her eyes.

“Pay attention,” he growled.  “My name is Bradley.  Call me Brad.  Since we’re going to be married and all.”

Helen struggled to get the words out.  “I’ll never marry you!”

“You’ll feel different.  When I’m rich.”

Darcy clenched her hands together.  This man had killed Millie for a pouch full of diamonds.  For money.  Now that she knew, she couldn’t help but feel cheated.  It was such a stupid reason to lose her aunt.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the teakettle on the stove.  That same teakettle she had armed herself with so many times before.  Could she get to it before Bradley Scarston shot her?

No.  She’d be dead if she tried.  Her best bet was still to keep this thieving liar talking until Ellen or Jon came home.

“So, you’re a Mormon?”

“What?”  He shook his head and stared at her like she’d lost her mind.  “What are you talking…oh.  The code written in the Deseret language?  Nah.  I’m not a Mormon.  Far from it.  I saw that little code your aunt was writing in her book one day, when I came to threaten her and demand my diamonds back.  She said no, but not before I saw what she was writing in that beehive journal of hers.  Didn’t click what she was doing ‘til later.  The diamonds were gone but I knew where to look.”

He touched the scratches on his face.  Darcy could tell they hurt.

Good.

He shrugged.  “She was such a goody-goody, your aunt.  Took those diamonds when I wasn’t looking and then threatened to go to the police with them if I didn’t turn myself in.  I got a little angry, I don’t mind telling you that.  When I got here, she’d hidden the diamonds and the journal and she kept trying to talk me into giving myself up.  Blah, blah, blah.  Didn’t have time for all the talking back then, don’t have time for it now.  Give me my diamonds.”

“Why didn’t you just kill me, too?” she asked.  “Huh?  I was living in this house after Millie…died.”  She stumbled over the word and she hated herself for doing it.  “Why didn’t you kill me too, Bradley?”

“Couldn’t,” he answered.  “I’d already killed your aunt.  Don’t know why the cops weren’t all over that, but I don’t really care either.  I admit it was a blow to my plan when you inherited the house.  I couldn’t search the place with you in it.  Couldn’t kill you right away, either, because it would look too suspicious.  One death in this house, I get away with.  Two deaths?  Nope.  That’s pushing my luck.  I stayed around town long enough to figure out you didn’t know anything about my diamonds, and then I left.  Stayed away from this town and waited until everyone forgot who I was.  It’s been the longest con I’ve ever played in my life, I can tell you that.”

Helen fisted up her hands and opened her mouth to say something, but then the wind went out of her, and she crumpled in the chair.

“Just a minute, honey,” Bradley said to her.  “I’m almost done.  See, Darcy, eight years I stayed away.  When I came back I inserted myself into the town working at Helen’s café.  Got a fake identity from a guy who died in Florida so I could work here.  Helen got to know me as Alan, I got to know her.  Even let her fall in love with me.  I had all the time in the world, after all.  The diamonds weren’t going anywhere.”

“And now here you are,” Darcy said, flicking her eyes to the clock.  Where was everyone?

“Yeah, here I am.  Imagine my surprise when I find it isn’t just you living in this house.  It’s Jon Tinker the police officer.  Then it’s this Ellen woman and her son.  What was I supposed to do then?  Couldn’t burn the house down.  The diamonds are probably here in the walls, right?”

There it was.  No more time for stalling.  She had to tell him something, whether it was the truth or a lie, to keep him occupied.

“Come on, Darcy,” he said to her.  “Where’s my diamonds?  I’m done with this game.”

Downstairs, she thought.  She could tell him they were in the basement.  It was a cramped space and there was a bunch of junk down there that might make for decent weapons.  She would have a fighting chance.  Maybe the only chance she would get…

From out of nowhere Smudge was there, pouncing and screeching and hissing, claws out, leaping up onto the counter and then off again, sailing through the air, going for Bradley’s face.  Blood sprayed under the vicious attack, and the black and white ball of fury held on with claws dug into Bradley’s skin. 

He cried out and stepped back and the gun came up wildly as he squeezed the trigger.

The noise of the gun going off was like a cannon in the small space.  Darcy was sure her ears popped.  Helen jumped up and flattened herself against the wall.  Smudge tore off for the living room with his ears flat against his head.  For a moment, everything stopped.

Then Darcy came back to her senses.

Bradley was crouched down to his knees, one hand up to his face, thick red liquid dribbling between his fingers.  He swore and cursed and promised to kill that cat and when his eyes were closed Darcy took her chance and lunged for his gun.

“Uh-uh, little girl,” Bradley shouted at her, pointing the automatic at her face again.  “I’ve only lost one shot and I’ve got nine more in here.”

He stood up again, grabbing a dishtowel off the handle of the stove and pressing it to his face and neck.  “I don’t want to shoot you, Darcy.  You know where my diamonds are.  I just want them back, and then me and Helen are going to get out of here.  We’ll be long gone, and you’ll never see me again.  The thing is, I don’t have to kill you to make you talk.  I can shatter both of your kneecaps.  Would you like that?”

Darcy definitely would not like that.

Bradley sighed as he held the towel out to look at the red stains, and then pushed it back against his torn skin again.  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your aunt.  I…liked Millie.  She only had the diamonds in the first place because I showed them to her, trying to be a big shot.  She was still pining for that husband of hers, though.  What was his name?  Phillip.  That was it.  She wouldn’t give me the time of day.  So I showed her the diamonds thinking that would win her over but oh, no.  Not her.  She had to try to do the right thing.”

He got up, coming closer, stepping past where Helen stood cringing, and put the barrel of his gun right close to Darcy’s ear.  “I hate it when people do the right thing.  Now.  Give me the diamonds.”

Bradley Scarston’s gaze was sharp and intense, and Darcy’s pulse was a hammer pounding in her ears, and the barrel of the gun smoked from the heat of his single misfire.  This was a moment she would remember forever.

A flash of something smacked into the back of Bradley’s skull.  His head bobbled, and the gun fell out of his limp hand.

Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled to the floor.

Helen stood behind him, panting in each breath, holding the handle of a Teflon coated frying pan in a death grip.

Wow, the thought came to Darcy.  Better than a teakettle.

Helen’s eyes lifted to Darcy’s.  “That is not the man I was going to marry.”

Darcy knelt to retrieve the gun from the floor.  There was a slight chance that Helen had just killed this man, but she wasn’t taking any chances.  Of course, if he was dead, Darcy certainly wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.  Smacking someone in the back of the head with a frying pan wasn’t like they showed on television.  It didn’t just knock a person out.  Usually it cracked their skull and damaged their brain.  It was an easy way to kill someone.

But just in case, she wanted the gun in her hand this time.
 

***

“I don’t understand.”