Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery)

by Lyla Payne

  His presence eases the knot between my shoulders the slightest bit, although the snap of the cool metal cuffs around my wrists can’t exactly be counted as a comfort. “Officer, if you wanted to have coffee with me again, you could have just asked.”

  “I’m afraid this is official business. Security cameras caught trespassers on the property. Someone from the family will be at the police station to press charges.”

  “Graciela, perhaps you should mention that you’re employed here,” Daria prods.

  “Oh, right. Duh. I work here.”

  Dunleavy’s impressive eyebrows go up, but his moment of indecision is brief. “We’ll work that out at the station, I guess. Can’t just take a trespasser’s word for such a thing. ’Specially you.”

  I groan at his wink, trying to decide which of the Draytons would be considered the least evil. “Great. This is a bang-up Tuesday night.”

  “It is for me, since I get the pleasure of your company.”

  “Could you two stop flirting and put us in the cars already?” Daria’s hands are cuffed behind her back, too, and a portly, baby-faced cop who’s new to me holds on to them. Her features remain pinched, her face pale, and as she presses her eyes closed it reminds me to do the grounding thing she taught me the other night.

  The cops guide us into the backseat of their cruiser without further incident. There are two backup cars that trail us out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Daria doesn’t open her eyes the entire drive, but even closing those big mental doors and Dunleavy’s presence doesn’t relieve the growing pressure in my chest. I have the icky feeling Mama Lottie might be riding on top of the car like some sort of horror-movie freak, waiting to scratch through the roof and demand theoretical babies. Or blood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I see Cordelia Drayton’s face in the lobby of the police station, I think I’d rather be stuck in a horror flick with Mama Lottie after all. It had to be her. Of course it did. I wanted to call Beau but Dunleavy said no way, that we could have phone calls after the family came down to file charges, and now she’s bailed me out without asking.

  It feels rude, but perhaps a simple thank you is best, after someone bails you out.

  “Miss Harper.”

  “Mrs. Drayton. Thank you.” I almost add for getting me out of the slammer but she doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, at least not when it comes to me.

  She gives me a curt nod, signs some paperwork for the officer manning the front desk, and motions me toward the front door. “Shall we?”

  My head starts shaking before I know what’s happening. “No, no. You don’t have to give me a ride. I can call Millie or Beau or Will…”

  “Yes, I gather that anyone would be preferable to me, but given the circumstances, I do believe that you and I need to have a discussion. So please. After you.”

  This is worse than when Grams had to come get me out of the jail in Heron Creek. Even after the time I accidentally drove their golf cart into the river.

  Mrs. Drayton is about the most intimidating person on the planet and I’m about to spend five to twenty minutes, depending on where she’s taking me, alone in a car with her. I don’t see how to argue my way out of it, though, so into the car we go.

  She’s silent for so long that it triggers my nervous chatter. “I’m really sorry. I should have told someone I planned to go out there tonight on my own, but I didn’t know about the security cameras because Beau didn’t mention them when he took me the other night. I mean, I know he’s family and I’m not, but I still didn’t think…”

  “Graciela, please. This blather is tiresome. I’m not pressing charges against you for trespassing but am still considering doing so against your companion.” Her lips pinch as though she wants to continue but stops herself at the last second.

  My stomach sinks. I didn’t imagine she’d left Daria in jail. “Daria was only there because I asked her to come with me.”

  “Yes, I gather. You asked a local medium to come out to the property without consulting me or anyone else, and Sean tells me you’re considering an exhibit on paranormal activity at Drayton Hall? I’m appalled. This is not at all what we discussed, for one. For another, it’s completely unprofessional. I hired an archivist to help me best display this family’s long and storied history in this great nation, and you want to tell ghost stories. Honestly.”

  “Daria is a medium, but what I told Sean yesterday wasn’t the truth. I just didn’t want him touching my stuff and asking questions, so I made up an answer so he would go away.”

  The look she shoots me as we pull through the gate of the Draytons’ Charleston home could wither a dandelion in the middle of a rainy spring. It shoots straight into my heart, because a good and practiced liar can sense when the other party can see right through them. Cordelia either knows the truth about why I had that list of house slaves in the office yesterday or, at the very least, knows I’m hiding something now.

  She turns off the car, then unbuckles her seat belt and climbs out, clicking along in her three-inch heels up to the false front door that leads onto the huge porch instead of into the house. Once again, I have little choice but to follow her like a whipped puppy. It doesn’t look like anyone else is home—of course none of the kids live here, so the only other occupant would be Beau’s father. I say a fervent prayer that my first time meeting him isn’t going to be ten minutes after his wife bails me out of jail.

  The lights are off inside, leaving the two of us mostly in darkness. Cordelia riffles through her purse and comes up with a pack of cigarettes, shaking one into her palm.

  “No, thanks,” I reply automatically when she holds them out to me in a silent question.

  She lights it, takes a long drag, and settles back into some comfortable-looking wicker patio furniture. “Sit, Graciela. It’s time you and I had a serious discussion.”

  I do as she asks, but am unable to get comfortable in her presence. My butt perches on the very edge of the love seat, in a position that’s going to make it go numb inside of ten minutes. It’s a good spot for getting up to pace or maybe throwing myself off the balcony, depending on what’s about to go down.

  “I really am sorry about tonight, ma’am.”

  She ignores my apology again. “Do you know why I asked you to work on the new exhibition at Drayton Hall, Graciela?”

  “Because I’m good at my job?”

  “No. You are actually good at your job, but with your recent career changes and lack of direction, you’re hardly the most sought-after archivist in town.” She lets that sink in, taking another deep drag off her cigarette. “I wanted to get to know you.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t. My nervous blathering obviously annoys her.

  “Do you know what I’ve learned?”

  “No, ma’am.” The feeling that a shoe hangs over my head, maybe a heavy glass one with a spiked heel, makes me want to duck.

  “That you’re a sucker, for one. But more than that, nothing is more important to you than family. You’re very loyal.” She stubs out the cigarette, half-smoked. “We have that in common. But oddly, that’s where you and I come to a crossroads.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

  “I know you’re looking into what happened to Nanette Robbins out on the property all those years ago. A tragic event that is none of your business and has nothing to do with what I hired you for.”

  Words, maybe the beginnings of a defense, assemble in my mind, then drop to my lap in a jumble. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that someone must have told her—the assistant coroner, Vera, even Beau could have done it. Blood is thicker than water and all that.

  I don’t think so, though. The image of Reynolds’s broken, guilt-ridden face stays firm in my mind. It’s her. She’s connected to this somehow.

  “I don’t see how what I do with my free time is any of your business,” I reply, angry on Nan and her half sister’s behalf. “That
has nothing to do with my work at Drayton.”

  Her smile is ferocious. “It might have nothing to do with your work, but that incident has everything to do with the health of this family. A family you might one day want to be a part of, I gather.”

  “I think it’s a little soon to be discussing things like that.” Right now, Millie’s my family. It hasn’t been far from my mind that I’m sitting across from a woman whose family is out to help destroy mine.

  “I need you to drop whatever your interest is in that poor girl’s death. It was a tragedy, one that sadly involved us because of where she chose to take her life, and it took us a long time to put it fully behind us.”

  “You mean, it took Brick a long time to put it behind him. Because they were friends.”

  “They were nothing of the sort.” If Cordelia Drayton were an animal, she would be baring her teeth at me. As it is, she’s shooting daggers from her eyes.

  She’s a woman used to getting what she wants.

  It’s clear that I should give it to her. There’s nothing to be gained here—not for me, not for Beau, not for us. Not for poor Nan Robbins, who’s been dead more than fifteen years now. Setting fire to the life I’ve fought so hard to erect these past several months just to figure out what happened to her doesn’t make any kind of sense, yet the sense of obligation is burned into me like a brand. It’s possible that strong compass-bearing comes part and parcel with these strange gifts that have found me. If I ever see Frank Fournier, criminal extraordinaire, again, I’ll have to ask.

  Regardless, my chin’s jutted out and my gaze doesn’t waver from hers. My stubborn streak’s a mile wide, and came straight from Grams’s side of the family. In fact, after meeting Anne, I’m pretty sure I know exactly where it started.

  “I know what people say about you in Heron Creek, Graciela. That you were an impulsive child and you came back a troubled adult. Then there’s this ghost nonsense, which is clearly only growing into a bigger part of your life, given your choice of new friends.” She makes a sour face, as if she sucked on a lemon, at even an abstract mention of Daria. “I chose to give you a chance despite all that because Beauregard is very fond of you, but you are dangerously close to losing my good will. I’m asking you as your boyfriend’s mother and as your employer to drop this thing about Nan and to cease and desist all investigations, or whatever you want to call them, into paranormal activity at Drayton Hall. If there are spirits out there, it’s past time to let them rest.”

  I bite my tongue, desperate to tell her that’s exactly what I’m trying to do—help Nan rest. The situation with Mama Lottie’s more complicated, and if she thinks believing in ghosts makes me unstable, there’s no way bringing up an old voodoo curse is going to change her mind.

  While my brain flicks through and rejects possible responses to her rather rude assumptions and bossy requests, she gives up and continues.

  The way Cordelia sits forward, like she’s thinking about putting her next cigarette out on my forehead, makes me scoot back.

  “I’m sure you’re a smart enough girl to follow this conversation through to the end, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you go without saying it: if you continue against my wishes, I will replace you. Furthermore, I’ll make sure you never work in any historical capacity in this town again.”

  There are a lot of opportunities in Charleston. It’s the second best-preserved city in the world, which makes it kind of my Mecca, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that she has the kind of power it would take to essentially snuff out my career before it gets started.

  “Noted, Mrs. Drayton. I’ll take everything you’ve said under advisement. And thank you again for not pressing charges tonight.” I swallow, forcing down a bitter dose of pride along with the kabob leftovers Amelia and I had with our knitting. “If you could find a way to do the same for Daria, I’d be grateful, and we could just forget this night ever happened.”

  “I’m willing to do a lot of things, but forgetting what’s transpired since you set foot on my property isn’t one of them.” She stands, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling me with an impressively passive stare. It’s as though we’re discussing scones or whether her camellias will bloom instead of my future. “And Graciela? If you’ll remember how we began this tête-à-tête…with your family? I’d think long and hard about what you’re willing to put them through if you decide to continue with this nonsense.”

  Before I can react to the threat—or really wrap my mind around it at all—Brick steps out of the shadows inside and onto the porch. He’s dressed as though he just came from work, which, from what the movies tell me about lawyers’ hours, he might have—and wears a cool, detached expression that’s impossible to read.

  “Mother.”

  “Darling. Thank you for coming at such a late hour. Graciela needs a ride home.”

  “What?” My senses fly to attention. I’m lost in this world where a woman just threatened my Amelia, a woman whose son, standing here now, is already trying to take away her baby.

  Will, Mel, Leo, and everyone else I love in Heron Creek aren’t technically family, but something tells me that if Cordelia Drayton gets it in her head to make me pay for disobeying orders, no one dear to my heart will escape unscathed.

  The conversation with Dunleavy that first day at the police station plays on a loop in the back of my mind, and he’s right. He’s so right, but he’s also too kind. If messing with Cordelia Drayton and her family would only ruin me, maybe it would still be worth it. My life is pretty much shit, anyway. But the rest of them are having a hard enough time because of me. I can’t make it worse, not knowing I have the chance, here and now, to stop it.

  “I don’t need a ride, Brick. I’ll call Beau or Millie and have them pick me up.”

  “Nonsense. It’s late and he’s here. You’ll need to go back to Drayton Hall to pick up your car, and it’s right on his way home.” The way she walks forward, herding me toward the exit, leaves no room for discussion.

  My shoulders slump. Even if I got to my phone and texted someone, she’s not going to let me hang around until they get here. On the upside, this way, no one at home has to know about my extremely embarrassing evening of being knocked down a few pegs, at least not yet. This time, I’m definitely going to want to be the one to tell Beau what happened—before she can spin it.

  I need some time to wrap my mind around everything that’s happened at the Draytons’ tonight, not to mention the communication with Mama Lottie that was interrupted earlier. The thought of her gleeful, crooked smile sends a shiver straight down my spine.

  “Come on, Gracie. I’m not that scary. It’s a ten-minute drive.” Brick’s teasing tone isn’t backed up by his smile, which looks tired.

  It takes me by surprise, his vulnerability, and I nod. “Let’s go.”

  “Remember to think about what I said, Graciela. I hope that you and I will come to a mutually beneficial understanding.”

  “Thank you again, Mrs. Drayton.” The reply physically hurts me, but it’s in everyone’s best interest.

  She doesn’t smile, or nod, or acknowledge what I said. She just turns her back and walks into the house, leaving me in her son’s capable hands.

  Capable of what, is anyone’s guess. As I slide into the front seat of his luxury sedan, I see Nan’s face and wonder if his face is the last thing she saw, too.

  “I made a call about your partner in crime. She should be out of jail soon.”

  The unexpected and unasked-for kindness takes me aback. “Thank you.”

  He nods, focused on the road. “My mom’s pretty pissed about you digging up what happened to Nan.” Brick brings up the elephant in the room on his own, without prodding.

  It had crossed my mind to question him, try to get the real story since we’re being forced to spend time together, but my world has taken a beating tonight. I’m unsure about which way to go, how to move, whether there’s a big fat predator waiting behind the bushes along the side
s of this conversation, and if he hadn’t said her name, the courage to do it myself probably wouldn’t have shown itself.

  His frank tone catches me off guard. Brick seems different tonight. Less defensive, more open, and maybe a little defeated. When he shoots a quick glance my direction, his dark eyes are sad. “She’s a sensitive subject…Nan.”

  The way he says her name, like he’s trying to hold on to some part of her with it, leaves no question in my mind that the two of them were close. While it’s hard for me to believe Brick cares about anyone after the way he’s treated his brother and me, it’s impossible to deny. It sort of hurts in unexpected places to realize how much he must have changed since she died. How hard it must have been to become this man his mother can approve of, and what it could have cost him.

  “I gathered.”

  “How did you find out about her? And please don’t give me some line of bullshit about seeing ghosts.”

  “I saw her ghost.”

  “Dammit, Gracie. You’re so ridiculous, you know that?” He smiles, a real smile, disarming me. “Nan would totally haunt some shit. That’s right up her alley.”

  “She says she didn’t kill herself.” He’s silent for a long time. Now that we’ve come this far, I do prod, because curiosity is waking me up from my numb state. “Did she kill herself?”

  “Nan talked about killing herself all the time. It was, like, an obsession. She researched Internet sites back when the Internet was new and sort of slow—you remember that whole AOL dial-up noise?” I shake my head, because I don’t and also because talking about it will derail the conversation. “You’re a little young, maybe, but man. That sound was the soundtrack at Nan’s house.”

  “So she did kill herself.”

  “She wanted to die.” His fingers grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “Her parents were dead. Everyone at school treated her like dirt, and the worst part was, she started to believe what they said.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That she’d never amount to anything no matter how good her grades were. That she’d end up taking their orders at McDonald’s, that kind of unoriginal middle school shit.” He blinks, then swallows. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t true, but to be honest, I wasn’t the picture of mental health back then.”