Chapter 2
Shock passed through me, as chilling as the winter air. “Dead? What do you mean dead?” My voice quavered.
Firth didn’t look away from the body, although the expression smoothed from his face like candle wax as he sat back on his heels. It was like the moment he’d acknowledged that the woman was dead, his mind had shut down.
“Firth, what happened?”
He traced the cuff of his sweater with one hand but was otherwise motionless.
I staggered over and dropped to my knees next to the woman. Did I know how to do CPR? But pressing a shaking hand to her neck told me there was no need. The woman was already gone.
“Please talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
His gaze didn’t stray from the dead woman’s face, but he opened his mouth as if to respond even though no words came out. In the moonlight, his face appeared extra pale.
Christmas lights flickered on at the neighbor’s house in the distance, and Firth flinched in the sudden glow.
“Is everything okay over there?” a man called. “I thought I heard someone scream.”
“We need help!” My words tripped out of me louder than intended. “Please call the police.” My phone was somewhere inside, but going in felt like too far of a distance.
A cat jumped onto a branch, its two different colored eyes blinking slowly at me as it licked one paw.
Then a head of curly hair appeared between the trees from the direction of the neighbor’s yard, Christmas lights wrapped around his neck like a scarf.
The man took in the scene at a glance, and his eyes grew wide, rising into his fuzzy gray eyebrows.
“I’m on it,” the old man said, ducking back to his side, but not before giving Firth a long look.
He couldn’t have killed this woman. My gaze flicked to the body. Could he?
I pulled the blanket tighter like it could protect me from the reality sitting in front of me: my new husband kneeling over a dead body.
The sight of it shattered the security of my new life like an icicle.
I’d let my guard down and look what happened.
Just like that, my safe, carefully negotiated marriage turned into an episode of Fae Crime Files.
Almost before I realized it, the police had shown up, their red and blue flashing lights glinting off the snow blanketing the yard. The view that had seemed so peaceful through the window was now nothing more than a crime scene.
“I’m sorry to do this on your wedding night, but can I ask you a few questions?” a male officer asked.
I didn’t recognize him, but it was no surprise that he knew about the wedding. News traveled fast in Austen Heights, especially when even some of the mailboxes were spelled to share secrets. “S-sure.” My teeth chattered, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the shock.
“Do you know what happened?” The man gestured toward Firth, who sat talking to a few officers from the back of a police car with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“Not really.” I shook my head and brushed a few flakes off my shoulders before they could soak into my blanket. “I was reading on the couch when I heard someone scream, and once I came outside, I saw him kneeling over that woman’s body.”
The officer jotted something down in his notebook, which glowed softly and turned the ink a shimmering violet. As he looked up at me, his eyes caught the porch light and flashed silver. I took a step back, my stomach twisting. His eyes reminded me of Hugh.
“Ma’am?” His tone told me he was repeating a question.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts for you?”
“I was alone inside, but you can still see my book and cup and the boxes I was unpacking before I started reading on the couch.”
The officer motioned to someone else who went into the house, presumably to check my story.
“Do you know the victim?” the officer continued.
“She looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t know her.”
“Do you know if your husband knew Dahlia?”
The name trickled over me like ice water, and I shivered. “My friend Tessa told me she came to town to visit her uncle.”
“Yes, we heard that, too,” he said.
“I don’t know if Firth knew her.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot.
“Did your husband seem off tonight or did anything unusual happen?”
I blinked. “Besides us getting married today and then this happening?” I resisted the urge to glance at Dahlia’s body or Firth.
“I don’t really know. He seemed normal enough.
” Or as normal as he ever seemed considering his awkwardness.
He’d checked our calendar and hotel check-in information three times and had everything lined up and ready to go.
“Charlotte!” Tessa hurried across the yard, the handcuffs at her belt jingling with the movement.
“Tessa.” Some of the tension in my stomach uncoiled at her appearance, at least until I took in her expression.
“What happened? What are you two still doing here?”
“Firth got a call from Lady Catherine and said we had to postpone a day so he could go see her.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” The first officer’s eyebrows shot up.
“Didn’t he tell you that?” I asked.
“No. I’m afraid he hasn’t been able to tell us much at all.” The man’s tone was odd.
Tessa glanced between us, then held up a shattered ornament that looked like a cracked snowflake. “Do you recognize this, Charlotte?”
I studied the small silver pieces. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“It was found near the body, but we’re not sure if it’s the pastor’s or Dahlia’s.” Her voice choked on Dahlia’s name, and she scrubbed at her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I put a hand on her arm.
She gave me a grim smile. “I will be once I find out what happened.”
An officer across the yard called, “Dusty. Tessa.”
The officer speaking to me turned at the sound. “What?”
“Can you two help canvas the area? We want to make sure we don’t miss anything.”
“We’ll be right there.” He turned back to me. “Don’t go anywhere. We might have more questions for you.”
“It’ll be okay, Charlotte. We’ll figure this out.” Tessa gave me a quick hug, then headed across the yard.
I nodded and stomped my feet in place, trying to keep them warm inside Firth’s old boots. Firth couldn’t be guilty of killing someone—not the sweet man who’d promised to treasure me even though he’d admitted he didn’t love me—but what other explanation was there?
Despite the late hour, a few neighbors had gathered, their whispers surrounding me.
“What happened?”
“Could Pastor Collins have done this?”
“Didn’t Dahlia start volunteering at the church lately?”
I stiffened and made my way over. If Dahlia had been volunteering at the church, then she must have known Firth. But what was she doing volunteering if she was just visiting?
“How lucky that we had our midnight gardening club today at Harold’s house,” the woman said to her friends. “Otherwise we would’ve missed all the drama.”
“Hi.” I pretended I didn’t hear her and waved at the group, the woman with beautiful long white hair, a small sprite with shimmering green wings, and the man from earlier, the lights around his neck hanging askew.
He must have been Harold. The woman sipped from a mug of what smelled like cocoa, as if she were always ready for drama in the middle of the night.
“You’re the new wife,” the small sprite said in a trilling voice.
“That’s right.” And of course I found my husband standing over a dead body on the night of our wedding. That was what I got for saying I had my life figured out—it just had to throw a curveball at me. “Did one of you say that this woman volunteered at the church?”
The tall woman shrugged, her thick scarf matching her white hair. “I’ve seen her there a few times with Pastor Collins around.”
“Me too,” the sprite added. “Weren’t they arguing at church last week?” The sprite shot a pointed look at Firth, who was talking to a policewoman from the car’s backseat.
“Were they?” I asked.
Tessa moved slowly across the yard, one hand extended and faint blue magic shimmering around her fingers that raised the hair on my arms. “No signs of a struggle in the yard,” she said to an officer next to her.
The air tingled faintly, the way it always did after fae magic—like static and peppermint.
“She was definitely killed by fae magic,” the officer murmured back.
It was quiet enough that I realized the people around me had also stopped gossiping to listen in on the officers.
“Mrs. Collins,” a man called.
The woman next to me nudged me. “Isn’t that you, dear?”
“What?” I jerked around.
“They’re calling you over,” the woman said. “I know it’s a bit jarring to hear your new name. I remember when I got married almost two hundred years ago—”
“Oh hush, Lenora, or the poor girl will be stuck here all night and the police will never get to talk to her,” Harold said.
The woman, Lenora, scowled.
“Mrs. Collins, can you come here please?” an officer repeated patiently.
“I better go see what they need,” I told the group before they could get into it anymore. My footsteps crunched through the snow, no longer a smooth blanket but a chaotic mess of prints that led toward the trees.
I made my way to the police car where Tessa stood next to an older officer with black hair and dark brown eyes.
Firth sat in the back seat, his face pale, hair disheveled, and expression blank.
A blanket was wrapped loosely around his shoulders, but he was still running a hand along the cuff of his sweater as if it was the only thing grounding him in the moment.
It was odd seeing Firth in the back of a police car. Wrong somehow.
“I’m Officer Hernandez,” the older officer said, pulling his wool cap low over his ears. “Sorry to tear you away from your friends, but we were hoping to ask you a few more questions.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can,” I said, doing my best to steady my voice.
“Would you mind clarifying a few things for us?” Tessa asked, her voice strangely formal.
I nodded, and Officer Hernandez rolled down the back window so Firth could join the conversation. The protective runes etched into the door glowed with a faint golden light.
For a long moment, Firth didn’t react, then he turned his head slightly, the movement slow and uncertain. He stared at me, blinking once or twice before his hand stilled on his sweater.
“You got married today, correct?” Tessa asked.
“Right.” I chewed on my bottom lip, giving her a questioning look.
Firth gave me a hesitant smile. “Congratulations!”
I blinked. Why was he saying it like that?
“And when were you supposed to leave for your honeymoon?” Tessa continued.
“Tonight.” I watched Firth carefully. He flinched as the lights flashed again. “We were about to leave when he got a call from Lady Catherine.”
“You know Lady Catherine?” Firth’s smile turned genuine. “Isn’t she simply amazing? I’ve never met a woman with more poise or grace. I’m lucky that my home is so close to Rosings Park, because—”
Officer Hernandez put his mittened hand on his shoulder, and Firth fell silent.
“And can you confirm the name of your groom for everyone here?” Tessa shot me a small frown.
I narrowed my eyes, pulling the blanket tighter like a shield. “What are you talking about, Tessa? You were there. You know who my groom was.”
“Right, but I still need to hear you say it.”
I blew out a breath and pointed to Firth. “I married him today and half of the town was there, so can you please stop being ridiculous so we can figure out what happened tonight?”
Firth’s mouth fell open. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying we need to figure out what happened tonight and prove if you did or did not kill Dahlia.” I folded my arms.
“No, not that part, although I’m sure I didn’t kill Dahlia. I don’t even know anyone named Dahlia, and I would never kill someone.” He blinked hard as if rewinding a mental tape. “But us married? That doesn’t make sense. I’d never forget something like that.”
My mouth fell open, and my chest twinged. How could he say that after this afternoon?
He’d kissed me just hours ago, and now he was looking at me like I was a stranger.
Firth turned to Tessa. “I don’t know what’s going on tonight, but believe me when I say that I am not married to this woman. I don’t even know why she was in my house.”
My face flushed. “Of course we’re married. You had Brexton do the ceremony.”
“A man wouldn’t forget a wife like you.” His gaze lingered on me a beat too long, though he never fully made eye contact with me.
Even still, my cheeks flushed.
The older officer rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Tessa gestured for me to step away with her. She glanced back at Firth once more, then met my gaze. “It would appear that your husband has amnesia.”