21 Death Takes a Letter Page 7

  “Is that what this is?” she asked her belly. “Is this you telling me what you like? That’s fine by me, as long as you don’t start asking for caviar and escargot. Deal?”

  The hot dogs were cooking in a frying pan and the macaroni was boiling, and Darcy wanted to be off her feet for a few more minutes. Jon was really going to owe her that foot rub tonight.

  When she turned back around, Smudge was there on the table again. This time, he had one of the letters Linda had brought Darcy, holding it by a corner in his teeth.

  He looked at Darcy. She looked at him.

  After a moment, he dropped it back on the table, and then slowly walked over to the edge, and hopped down to his chair.

  Darcy knew she should scold him again, but he was obviously trying to tell her something.

  Also, she knew these were the last few years she would get to share with him. Sad as that fact might be, she had to face up to it. Smudge was, like, a hundred years old in human years now. Not as many years as Tiptoe had given him but he was definitely an old cat. He would be with her for as long as he could, and then he would go on to the place that cats and other good pets went to after their life had been lived. She would be so sad when it happened, but for right now she still had him in her life.

  She decided she could let his being up on the table go, just this once.

  “All right, Smudge. We’re looking for another way to solve this mystery, and you bring me Erika Becht’s letters. I’m guessing you want me to see something. So. What’s the secret that I’m missing?”

  He looked from her, to the stove, and back again. From her, to the stove.

  Darcy looked back at the stove.

  Just in time to see the water boiling over the top of the macaroni pot with a hiss of cascading bubbles.

  “Oh, no!” Darcy leapt for the oven mitt hanging over the stove and quickly moved the pot aside, but the damage had already been done. The starch-filled water splashed onto the burner and hissed into steam as it got caked on with the smell of burnt caramel. “Wonderful. Just great. You couldn’t have warned me sooner, Smudge?”

  The macaroni wasn’t even done yet. She had to put it on the back burner to finish cooking. She wouldn’t be able to clean the burner until it cooled down so for now there was nothing to do but finish dinner. The strainer for the macaroni was in the cupboard over here…

  With a great deal of difficulty Smudge managed to get up onto the counter next to the stove. His back paws scrabbled at the edge, and then he was on. In his teeth, he had one of the letters in its envelope.

  “Aren’t you a little old to be an acrobat? I’ll take that, thank you.” She took the letter out of his mouth, and then picked him up and placed him back on the floor. He felt so small in her arms. He’d never felt small before. “Enough of you getting up on stuff, too. You’re old, fine. I get that, and I love you dearly, but I’m not having cat hair in my food tonight.”

  He looked up at her, obviously surprised at what she’d done, and meowed.

  “What? Were you trying to show me something again?”

  Of course he was. He knew there was something wrong, and he knew the answer could be found in these letters. But… what was she supposed to see? She’d read everything in them already. She’d read the words of love and disappointment and about the plans they were making, and Leighton’s final apology two days after Erika’s death. An apology that either meant Leighton didn’t know Erika was dead, or that he knew it all too well because he’d killed her and then sent that letter from the other side of the country to create an alibi.

  So which was he, the loving boyfriend or the crafty killer?

  Proving it one way or the other might very well be impossible almost half a century after the fact. It wasn’t like she could just go and ask Leighton Reeves if he murdered a woman he was supposedly engaged to…

  Then she looked at the envelope in her hand.

  This was the third letter, the final letter written after Erika died. There was a return address on it for Leighton, out in Arizona. Granted it was decades old, but… could it be that simple?

  With a little luck and a few hours of internet searching, she might be able to find Mister Leighton Reeves. Bending down, she made sure to scruff up Smudge’s fur just the way he liked it. “Good boy, Smudge. I’ll save some hot dog for you and Tiptoe for later, okay?”

  Speaking of that, she had to roll the dogs in the pan before they got burnt on one side. And stir the macaroni now that it was boiling again. And she still had to get the strainer out. Jon would be home any minute and she hadn’t even thought to ask Colby if she had homework. And, she really had to go to the bathroom.

  Darcy smiled. This was what it meant to be happy.

  Smudge meowed to her from the doorway to the living room. Darcy stopped on her way to the sink to drain the macaroni. She saw the look her cat was giving her.

  There was something else he wanted to tell her.

  The front door flew open and Jon came in, muttering to himself as he kicked off his shoes and closed the door again, maybe a little harder than he had to. When he saw Darcy standing there he forced a smile, but it was too late to hide the fact that today had not been a good day for him. “Hey, honey,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No, it’s not that,” she promised, hastily placing the pot of macaroni next to the sink so she could go back and rotate the hot dogs again. “I’m just in the middle of making supper and I was having a conversation with Smudge…”

  She looked down at where Smudge had been just a moment ago. He was gone.

  Jon’s arms wrapped around her waist, carefully, and he kissed the side of her neck. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Me too.”

  4

  Darcy’s bed was calling her name by the time she fell into it that evening. In a new nightgown she’d bought last week to fit over her expanding waistline, she snuggled into the layers of her blankets and then cozied up next to Jon.

  “Was I ever this tired when I was pregnant with Colby?” she asked. Her hand trailed up Jon’s naked chest. He was in just his pajama bottoms and even as tired as she was, it was giving Darcy some very interesting ideas. “Oh, I could just sleep for a week.”

  “Mmph,” he grunted.

  She leaned up on her elbow, looking at his tight face and his closed eyes. “You’ve been pretty quiet all night, Jon. Is everything all right at work?”

  He rolled over to his side, facing her. The light was off, and the moon cast a faint glow over everything. His eyes were open but in the darkness all around them she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Jon?”

  His arm fell across his face, hiding his expression completely.

  “Hey,” she prodded him, poking him gently in the side. “You can talk to me. I know your work is frustrating sometimes.”

  “That just about covers it,” he mumbled. “Today was not a good day. We thought we were getting close to finding our missing girl and now it looks like she may not be in town after all. My suspect was in the interview room today basically laughing at me. Not that he doesn’t have every reason to laugh. For all I know I’m way of course on this one.”

  Darcy listened to her husband narrating his day, to all his complaints and troubles. This was something the two of them had always done, listening to each other when they needed to talk about the bad or the good or the in between. It was part of their nightly routine. It brought them closer as husband and wife, and as friends.

  Tonight she just felt left out. She wanted him to ask about her day, about how she felt and how things were going with the letters and Linda Becht’s mother. It was foolish. She knew that she was being foolish. Her fingertips traced the lines of muscles up and down his front. She loved this man, and she didn’t need to be the center of his entire world. Just… a large part of it. That wasn’t too much to ask.

  In the dark, she rolled her eyes at herself. Maybe it was
the baby hormones that were making her feel like this. She was being foolish, wasn’t she? They’d always been a team, her and Jon. He needed her attention, too.

  “Do you want to tell me about the case?” she offered. “Maybe I can help.”

  “No. Thank you, but no.”

  He said it so quickly. Like he’d already dismissed the offer before she’d made it. For a moment she lay there in the bed next to him, listening to him breathe, waiting for him to say something else. Like an apology.

  When he didn’t, she shifted up in bed, sitting up against her pillows, and folded her arms over her knees. “It’s not like I haven’t consulted for the department before, Jon.”

  “This is different.”

  Darcy was pretty sure it wasn’t any different than the dozens and dozens of other times that Jon had not only accepted her help, but asked for it. It wasn’t like she had changed since then…

  Oh, but wait. She had.

  “Are you saying,” she said to him, purposefully keeping her tone of voice in check, “that because I’m pregnant I can’t help you with police cases anymore?”

  Now Jon sat up in bed as well. “That’s not exactly what I’m saying, no.”

  “Oh, so you’re only sort of saying that?”

  “That’s not—”

  “For Pete’s sake, Jon! If I was wearing lavender lipstick, would you let me help then? Is me being pregnant turning you off?”

  There was silence in the room after her outburst, and she realized she was the cause of it. That crack hadn’t been fair to him. It was how she was feeling in the moment, however, and there was no helping it. She’d said it, and there was no undoing it.

  Take a breath, she told herself. This is Jon, and this is you. Just… take a breath.

  His hand found hers, and she let him hold it even though she didn’t want to.

  “Darcy,” he said gently. “Listen. We’ve both been through a lot in the past few years. I’ve literally got the scars to remind me. Now you’ve got Colby to take care of, and this house, and your store, and you’ve got our baby growing inside of you. I don’t think it would be fair of me to ask you to do one more thing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You’re the one who almost died,” she reminded him. “Have I asked you to stop being a police officer?”

  “No, and I love you for that.”

  “You’d better.”

  “I do. I promise.” He kissed the rise of her baby belly through her nightgown. “At the same time, have I ever asked you to stop being Darcy Sweet?”

  She wanted to tell him yes, he was doing it right now. “I just offered to help. It’s not like I’m going to go swim the St. Lawrence River or something really dangerous like that. I mean, I’ve already decided against doing a spirit communication to call up the ghost of Linda’s mother and ask her if she was murdered or not.”

  In the gloomy light of the moon she could feel him watching her. “You did?”

  Darcy shrugged, and the strap of her nightgown slipped down her shoulder. “Well, yeah. I’m worried it might put too much stress on the baby, or… I don’t know. Aunt Millie never said if exposure to ghosts is bad for a developing fetus. I doubt there’s any medical evidence one way or the other but I’m erring on the side of caution. For now.”

  He leaned over and kissed her belly again. “That’s what I’m doing, too. I want you to enjoy your pregnancy—”

  “How can I do that if I stay cooped up in this house all day!” she demanded. Then she realized how loudly she’d said it, and looked uncomfortably toward the door, knowing that Colby was asleep just across the hall. Well. Hopefully she was still asleep.

  In the silence between them, she heard how silly she was being. Jon wasn’t keeping her cooped up in this house. He hadn’t stolen her shoes away to keep her barefoot and pregnant. He was just worried about her, and over the same exact things that she was worried about. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at for it. He deserved the Husband of the Year award for putting up with all of her ghosts and her oddities and now, on top of everything else, her pregnancy hormones.

  It wasn’t easy being a woman. Jon got points for understanding the truth of that statement.

  Leaning her head back, she took a long breath in as she adjusted herself around him, laying her arm across his back, their opposite hands still held tight. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m being ridiculous, I know.”

  “I never said that,” he told her. He kissed her belly again, only this time he lifted up her nightgown before he did it to kiss her bare flesh and make her skin tingle. “You’re entitled to your feelings. I’ve always said so, and you being pregnant doesn’t change that. I’m just trying to save you from any more stress.”

  “You’re keeping it bottled up inside,” she said, and then shivered when his lips crossed her skin in a trail of kisses. “And you’re trying to distract me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He moved her nightgown up further, and she helped him by shifting her body until it was well out of his way. Then he kissed her all over her belly, and her sides, and in several tender ticklish spots.

  “Jon…”

  “Hmmm?”

  She had to hold her breath for a moment as he touched her, and after that she completely forgot what she’d been going to ask him.

  Then, as if he could read her thoughts, Jon showed her it wasn’t just her body he was interested in.

  “How are you doing with Linda’s letters?” he asked in between finding new places on her skin to put his lips.

  “Um.” It was very hard to concentrate when he was doing this to her. “Um. I was thinking about finding the boyfriend. Leighton Reeves. Oh, that’s kind of nice. I like that.”

  He moved closer, and then he was kneeling over her, and his attention wasn’t just for her belly anymore.

  “Uh, Jon?”

  “Mmmm?” he murmured.

  “What do you think—” She squeaked when he breathed hot air against her knee, and then down her leg. “I mean, what do you think about finding the boyfriend?”

  “You’re already married, silly.”

  Now his tongue flicked against her toes and he knew that was not fair. “Jon, I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious, too,” he teased. “You can’t tell how serious I’m being?”

  She laughed when he tickled her with his fingers and kissed her belly and then she was pulling him in closer, carefully, putting his face up to hers to kiss him full on the lips. “You want to see serious?” she told him in a husky voice. “I’ll show you serious. Just as soon as you answer my question. What do you think about trying to find Leighton Reeves?”

  He shrugged, bracing himself above her belly with his hands against the mattress. “It’s a good idea. Not sure if he’ll even still be alive, but I’ll help you with it tomorrow.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Our case is stalled, and what good is being the police chief if I can’t wield my power for a good cause?”

  Darcy loved this man. Every day he found new ways to remind her just how much she loved him. “Tomorrow, then?”

  He kissed her lips, and then her cheek, and then the rim of her ear as he whispered, “Tomorrow. Meet me down at the station.”

  “You’re going to be pretty tired tomorrow,” she warned him.

  “Really? You planning on keeping me up?”

  “Yes,” she promised, stealing another kiss. “Yes, I am.”

  * * *

  Morning came way too early for Darcy. Just like she’d promised Jon, there hadn’t been much rest for either of them. When she did finally close her eyes it was to fall into one of the deepest sleeps she had ever known.

  It was just way too short.

  Her nightgown had found its way back on during the middle of the night when she’d gotten a chill, but she wanted to cover up more before she went downstairs.

  “Jon,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, “where’s my robe?”

  A moment later it
came falling onto her face. She startled and swatted at it as if it were a spider, laughing and calling him a jerk. A royal jerk. The most spectacular jerk that had ever lived.

  He rolled out of bed on his side, combing with his hands at the mess she had made of his usually perfect black hair.

  Up on the mattress, Darcy ruffled his hair up even more, on both sides, and then danced away very ungracefully when he tried to grab her. Folding the robe around her and tying it tight she yawned behind her hand. “I’m going for a shower before Colby wakes up. You stay here. If you try to join me neither of us will get to work on time.”

  “Hmm. That’s true. Colby’s already up though. She was at our door earlier, waving good morning to me.”

  “Oh really? She must be excited to get to school today.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jon yawned wider than she had. “I remember how I used to love going to school when I was that age. Then I grew up.”

  She put a quick kiss on his cheek. “No, you didn’t.”

  He slapped her behind as she danced away again. There was no doubt that talking to each other last night had made them both feel better. Not that Jon had revealed a whole lot of what was going on with his case but now, in the light of morning, she was okay with that again. She reminded herself that the next time she was feeling bad—about anything—she just had to talk to him.

  After her shower, Darcy called to Jon that it was his turn. They passed each other in the hall with a quick hug and a few murmured words of love. In their room again, Darcy picked out a pair of stretch waistband slacks and a maternity shirt with pleated sides. Pregnancy clothes had come a long way from when women had to wear muumuus. Thank God for that, she thought to herself. She just wouldn’t look good in something like that.

  When she was dressed, she picked up her wedding rings, and put them on. Millie’s ring was tighter than she remembered it being yesterday but it went in place, too. She might have to start leaving that one at home. It was her good luck charm, and she didn’t want to part with it, but it could bring her luck from her bedside table too, couldn’t it?