Page 6 of Charlotte's Story
“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?”
