The Language of Death (A Darcy Sweet Coy Mystery) by K.J. Emrick Page A

hair back behind an ear.  It was out of its usual braid now, loose and wispy.  She smiled at Darcy, and then winked.  "If it ain't true, don't fix it," she said.
    Darcy couldn't help but laugh out loud.  The private language they had come up with in college.  It was something she hadn't used in years, but she remembered every word of it.  "If it ain't true, don't fix it," had been their way of saying you can't worry about the things you can't change.  It was the Serenity Prayer for girls like they had been.  Girls with the world in the palm of their hands.
    Don't worry about the things you can't change.  Chloe was dead.  Darcy couldn't change it.
    "But I can help," Darcy argued.  "I can bring your killer to justice.  Just tell me who it was.  Was it Veronica?  Or Sami?  Someone else?"
    Chloe put a finger to her lips.  Then she pointed off to the left, through the gathering of mists.
    Darcy turned her attention to that part of the vision.  In the plane of the communication, distance and time meant nothing.  The spirits she talked to here could show her anything that they had personally witnessed.  Something from ten years ago, or ten minutes ago.  Something that had happened in the comfort of their living room, or else from halfway around the world.
    This time, Chloe was showing her a freeze-frame moment from her mother's house.  Darcy was surprised to recognize herself in the scene.  She remembered it.  This was from earlier today, when she had first met Veronica and Sami and Danson and Lorne.  Chloe's dad sat in his easy chair at the far end of the room.  Betsy had been out in the kitchen at that point.
    Chloe's ghost had been trying to scream out her frustrations, kneeling in front of everyone, invisible to all but Darcy.  The scene moved forward slowly in time, and Darcy watched again as Chloe's hand swept around the room, palm up, fingers spread…
    Wait.
    The scene backtracked, and played out again.  Backtracked, and played out again.  From where Darcy now stood watching the whole thing, she saw something she had missed earlier when she'd actually been there.  Chloe's spirit hadn't just been acting out in rage and frustration.  This had been a deliberate action.  It meant something.
    Chloe wasn't just moving her hand.  She was indicating everyone in the room.  She wanted Darcy to take special notice of the five people seated there.
    One of them was her killer.
    Darcy took a rushing step forward, hoping to study the scene closer, but it disappeared back into the mental mists around her.  "No," she complained.  "Oh, come on Chloe, you can show me.  You know you can.  You know what I can do.  Let me help you."
    Chloe's spirit reappeared beside her again , the long white dress flowing in a breeze that wasn't there.  "I knew you'd come when I needed you," she said.
    Pink froth dribbled out form the corner of Chloe's mouth.  Darcy tried to ignore it.
    "I came when you died," Darcy said miserably.  "I should have been here more.  I should have come to visit like I promised all those times.  If I had…"
    Chloe took Darcy's hand.  "Not your fault.  Hey, remember when Lorne tried to ask you to the movies but you had to study for a final so I went with him instead?"
    Darcy nodded.   That had been a pattern for Darcy in college.  Studying had come first.
    "Well.  Thank you for that," Chloe said with a big grin.  "We wouldn't have known how much we liked each other if you hadn't ditched him."
    "I didn't ditch him!" Darcy said, then laughed at herself.  Chloe had done it again.  She had managed to make Darcy laugh even when there was no reason to feel anything but sad.  She'd always done things like that in college.
    This wasn’t college, though, and Darcy knew she couldn't afford to get sidetracked.  "Chloe.  Who killed you?"
    "North and south," Chloe said.
    Darcy blinked.  That didn't make any sense.  It wasn't part of their old code.  It certainly wasn't an answer to her