Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery)

by Lyla Payne

  Tears prick my eyes. “But Nan…”

  “Who’s to say that outing Brick to the cops is what Nan’s ghost even wants? It sounds to me like she loved baby Brick, trusted him, even. That the whole thing went bad but maybe she doesn’t even blame him.”

  The reasoning twists, threads through me. Tries to come out making sense. “But the one thing she told me was that she didn’t kill herself. It has to be what she wants people to know.”

  “People? Or person?” Leo’s eyes wait patiently for mine to meet them.

  I see gentle friendship and something else, hidden deep. “Reynolds.”

  He nods. “The only time you’ve seen Nan away from Drayton is at her sister’s house. Listening to her talk about how she thinks she definitely killed herself.”

  “It must have killed Reynolds. To think she was giving Nan a real chance, and letting her into her life when she didn’t have to, only to have her sister kill herself anyway.” I swallow hard, biting back the swell of emotion at the memory of the thought that had changed Nan’s mind. Beau said they’d paid Reynolds to shut up, but I’d bet my one set of teeth they didn’t tell her the truth. Mrs. Drayton would never trust anyone else with that information. “It was her sister. The reason she was going to change her mind.”

  I stare into Leo’s eyes, hanging on for dear life. I’m still not sure whether this will make Nan happy, if it’s enough, but there’s a chance. A chance that I can salvage the pieces of my own life and not abandon that poor girl the way everyone else did.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, abandoning our stoic policy as easily as he had when I bury my head in his sticky bare chest, hugging him like I can squeeze happiness right out of his skin. I could use some extra.

  As though the universe is telling me not to get too comfortable with the idea of keeping the things that have grown dear to me again over the past several months, I come home to see Clete and Big Ern lounging on my grandparents’ front porch.

  The sun has just started to peer over the horizon, yawning the weakest pink and lavender beams into the new day. It’s early, but not too early for Mrs. Walters to be up watering her tomatoes and not too early for Amelia to roll out of bed either.

  I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I put my car into park and set out into the dawn, making the snap decision not to let them into the house this time. My…relationship with Clete has had its ups and downs, and has benefitted us both as much as it hasn’t, but his presence in my life brings more chaos, always. That’s something I don’t need right now.

  Especially with what’s going on with the theft at the hospital.

  The fact that Travis thinks Clete’s involved is curious enough, but if he is, the choice to use a fake ghost to throw off the cops feels personal.

  What feels more personal is that my father, who I just met, actually does use ghosts to steal things. The edges of the puzzle are all lined up but my mind can’t force them together. Suddenly, I’m not so sorry Clete showed up. It saves me a trip into the damn mountains.

  “Crazy Gracie,” he says by way of greeting, bare toes wiggling against the wooden porch. He and Big Ern share the green-painted porch swing, neither of them wearing shoes.

  Big Ern sports his usual filthy overalls, no shirt, and straw hat. Clete’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and jean shorts that look like they were stolen from a really dirty eighties pop star.

  “Clete, I know you have my phone number. A phone call before you show up would be nice.”

  “Don’t usually make plans like that.”

  I sit down on the steps and turn to face them, the fight going out of me. Sparring with Clete will take far more energy than I’ve got after the emotional upheaval of the past thirty-six hours. Or more.

  “What do you want, Clete?”

  He frowns. “I don’ think that’s any way ta speak ta yer friend, but I’mma let it slide since you look like ya been rode hard an’ put away wet.”

  “Thanks,” I reply dryly.

  “Don’ thank me. Yer not wrong. We’re not friends.”

  “I never thought we were.”

  He nods, considering. The expression on his face is part anger and part respect, and it’s hard to tell which one is going to win. Or whether it matters. “Good girl. I’d hate ta think my faith in yer smarts were misplaced. I was startin’ ta wonder if ya know shit from shinola after seein’ ya helping the law out with that there robbery at the hospital.”

  The statement takes me by surprise. “Is there some reason I should have refused to take a look at the tapes when Detective Travis asked me to?”

  “Detective Travis—” Clete spits a huge wad of tobacco onto the porch. My stomach turns as it slides sideways. “—is an asshole lawman thinks he knows ’bout how things work in these here parts when he don’t. Got it?”

  I nod slowly, a germ of fear trembling in my heart. “You don’t like Travis. Got it. He’s not my favorite person either.”

  Most of the time.

  “You know something interesting,” I continue, too tired to be careful. “Whoever stole those drugs from the supply room tried to make it look like a ghost did it. Why do you think that is?”

  “Don’ know. Curious, ya ask me.” Clete shrugs, his dark beady eyes fastened on me. Issuing a challenge.

  I’m not up for it, no question. These guys are like wild dogs, and right now, I stink like fear. “Seems to me that whoever was behind it wanted me involved. Since I’m the only girl in town who sees ghosts. On the regular.”

  “It’s an interestin’ theory, sure ’nough.” Clete doesn’t take his eyes off me as he spits onto the porch again. “Could be that person wanted ta see what side you was on.”

  Rock, meet harder place. I’m not on the side of criminals who steal drugs or sell illegal booze or anything else that goes on up in those woods, but I’m not dumb enough to say that to his face.

  “Look, Clete. You and I have helped each other out here and there, when it was in our best interests to do so. But I don’t work for you and I’m not interested in altering that. So if you have a favor to ask that might benefit us both in some way, ask. If not, you leave me and mine alone.”

  “Hoo boy, listen ta that, Ern! Crazy Gracie put on her big-girl panties this morning an’ they’re all in a bunch!” He cackles like a loon, showing the dark stains of tobacco on his teeth before he stops like someone flipped a switch. His eyes glow and my body moves back a good foot out of instinct. “Listen up, child. We friends when I say we friends and I do what I want. Seems ta me I gotta lot of goods on ya, ’specially given that yer daddy robs places tha’ same way that there hospital got robbed. Terrible thing, havin’ a pa like that show up outta the woodwork.”

  My skin goes cold, crawls. How could he know about my father when I just found out he existed myself? I have the sudden urge to run upstairs and comb every inch of my room for a bug, but that’s not Clete’s style.

  “What do you want?” I hate the tremble in my voice but there’s no denying he scares me. Stupid Glinda’s ghost and her stupid insistence I go out into the stupid mountains and get all mixed up with these stupid assholes in the first place.

  “Nuthin’, right now, ’cept for you to know where I stand as far as Detective Travis and his long-term potential in this here fine town.” Clete stands, Big Ern at his heels, and they both stomp off the porch and down onto the sidewalk. Before they get too far, Clete points one bony, dirt-crusted finger at my chest. “Ya want to help that man, might be you could tell him ta back off yer friends in the mountains. Ain’t nuthin’ out there for him but trouble.”

  I know that from experience. The moonshiners turn and leave, but it’s several minutes before my shaking legs will hold me well enough to stand. And several minutes after that, I notice Mrs. Walters staring at me from down the street, the water from her hose missing her boxes of tomatoes completely as it flows like a little river into the street.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There’s no way sit
ting at breakfast with Amelia and acting like nothing is wrong is going to happen, especially after I spent the entire day in bed yesterday and snuck out before dawn, so I keep hiding. I hop in the shower and it feels amazing. Hot water, steam, and a really long shampoo are cures for some of the worst evils in the world, even though most weeks taking off my clothes beforehand and having to dry and fix my hair afterward seem like too much work for the bliss in between.

  Millie’s left for work by the time I get dressed and peek around the corner into the kitchen. I let out a giant sigh of relief and leave the house without breakfast or coffee. It’ll be impossible to avoid going to Drayton Hall today to work on finishing up the archives but there’s something that needs to be done in town first.

  My talk with Leo had made me feel better, I think. Maybe one more confirmation that nothing could be done, officially, would help.

  I avoid Westies, not knowing who might be there this morning. The thought of having to fake a smile makes me want to vomit and then go back to bed, so I head straight to the police station, hoping Travis is working. I get double lucky because not only is he here but he’s alone—no vicious assault by the Ryan twins necessary.

  “Miss Harper.”

  “Jesus, Travis. I’m not in the goddamn mood.” I drop into the hard chair next to his desk, pinching the bridge of my nose in a weak attempt to thwart an impending headache.

  He arches one of his thick eyebrows. “Yes, being arrested on a monthly basis really takes it out of a person.”

  “Do you have to constantly be such an ass?”

  “Some women find it charming.”

  “I find it annoying.” I heave a sigh, perfectly aware this back-and-forth is getting us nowhere. It crosses my mind to pass along Clete’s warning, just to mix it up, but that would only get us off track, and besides, I’m not a messenger boy. Girl. Woman. Whatever.

  “I have a hypothetical situation to run by you. I need your…legal opinion.”

  “Doesn’t your boyfriend have a law degree?”

  “Are you going to answer me or not?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a slow morning.” He reaches over and grabs a donut out of a box, then offers it to me. “Donut?”

  I take one and choose not to comment on the cliché. It pains me, though.

  “No comment? You must have something serious on your mind. Spill.”

  “Okay. It’s more than a decade ago. Two kids have a suicide pact and meet up to execute it. One of them gets cold feet and the other helps the first go through with it before attempting to kill himself or herself, too.”

  He steeples his fingers under his chin, gray eyes steady on my face. “Attempting?”

  “Yes. Second kid survives. Only the two of them know what happened, and the second kid’s not talking. First death is ruled a suicide.” I take a deep breath. “Is that second kid legally responsible for the death of the first, and is there anything that can be done years after the fact?”

  He thinks for a long time, finishing his donut and washing it down with half a cup of coffee that looks like tar. I wrinkle my nose like the coffee snob I’ve become, waiting as patiently as possible for him to process all the information.

  “Yes to the first question and doubtful to the second, unless some kind of independent proof came to light.”

  I already know Brick is morally responsible for Nan’s death, no matter what emotions and pacts and regrets cloud the situation. I suspected after my chat with Leo last night, the answer to the second—that with only two witnesses to the event, one of them dead and the other not talking—the cops would need more than the word of a girl who saw a ghostly reenactment to move forward with a case.

  I swallow back tears. I’ll have to hope that Reynolds knowing the whole truth about what happened will be enough to appease Nan.

  “Hey.” Travis’s arrogance evaporates as concern tightens his features. “Are you okay?”

  “No. That much should be clear by now.” I sniffle, taking the tissue he offers, and heave a wet laugh. “I’m a mess.”

  “We’re all a mess, Graciela. It takes a particularly brave person to show it.”

  I spend most of the drive out to Drayton Hall wondering why he looked so sad when he said that, and the sharp little slivers of pain around his edges make me feel the tiniest bit bad about not giving him that heads-up about Clete after all.

  The pinched, anxious expression on Jenna Lee’s face when I get out of my car at Drayton Hall warns me that the hits are going to just keep on coming.

  “Mrs. Drayton’s waiting in your office. She made me show her where you’ve been working and go through some of your files. I’m really sorry, sugar pie.”

  “It’s okay.” The earnestness on her sweet face make me rethink my assumption that she could have been the one ratting me out to my boyfriend’s mother this whole time.

  “I told her I haven’t been working with you so I didn’t know exactly what you’d done or what you were planning but she didn’t care.” She squints up her face. “Are you gonna get fired?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Getting fired is the least of my worries, but no. I don’t think so. I’m almost finished, anyway.”

  “Well, I guess you’d better go face the music or whatever.” She cuts a glance toward the office, then back at me. “You and I really need to get that drink now. I have a feeling you have a whole treasure chest of good stories.”

  Jenna bounces away, striding off to check on whatever Jenna checks on all day or simply to be generally fabulous. Being friends with someone like her will be a challenge for my self-confidence, for sure, but something tells me it might be worth it.

  “Well, Gracie, are you ready?” I say aloud. Talking to myself is starting to be the thing that makes me feel normal. That’s probably bad.

  The cold air in my office blasts me in the face, and I have to blink a few times to clear my vision before Cordelia comes into focus. She’s sitting in the chair no one ever uses, since there are few visitors to my little space and my butt is practically molded to the floor. The look on her face can only be described as cold, murderous, and controlled.

  “Miss Harper.”

  Oh dear. Second time this morning I’ve been addressed as Miss Harper and all of a sudden Dylan Travis seems as sweet as one of those poor church mice in Disney’s version of Robin Hood. The one with the sexy fox.

  Because Cordelia Drayton is definitely Prince John.

  Focus, weirdo.

  “Mrs. Drayton. I wasn’t aware you were coming out this morning. Would you like me to show you what I’ve been working on?”

  She presses her lips together and stands up. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would.”

  We go through the files I’ve made, separated into things that need to be refiled in the family archives, documents to contact the state or federal archives about, and what I believe will be the biggest draw if and when they decide to set up an exhibition here at the house.

  “You’ve done a credible job in a short period of time, Graciela. Really. All the references and recommendations I received on your behalf were well-founded.” Her monotone delivery, combined with the hard glint in her brown eyes, don’t match the positive reinforcement. Then again, Cordelia Drayton knows how to pick her battles, and my work—and reputation, at least as of now—is immaculate.

  “Thank you. I’ve really enjoyed it.” I make sure the honest truth of that statement comes through my trepidation. Truth for truth. “You have an amazing family.”

  “Which brings me to my next point. Our security team informed me that you were here again in the middle of the night and that you spent quite a bit of time underneath our tree. You know which one.”

  I nod, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “I do.”

  My gut says there’s no point in explaining that my coming here the other night had nothing to do with Nan. The fact that it had to do with Mama Lottie isn’t much better, anyway, and Mrs. Drayton is going to say what she’s going to say, reg
ardless.

  “I spoke with Beauregard, and he told me that you are somehow under the impression that you know what happened out here the night that Nanette Robbins tragically took her life.” She waits, as though expecting me to argue.

  There’s invisible steam coming out my ears, but I bite my tongue. I wonder if she really believes Nan killed herself after telling the lie out loud so many times.

  “My son may indulge your fantasies as far as these ghosts, but I certainly do not. I warned you to stay away from this case, to leave my family’s business to my family, and yet, you seem to be confused. Are you confused, Miss Harper?”

  “No, ma’am.” Stubborn, sure. Not all that bright on occasion, maybe. But not confused.

  “I’m going to clarify for you, just in case. Because I want you to be completely aware of the consequences should you choose to bring up your ridiculous version of events with one single person in Heron Creek or anywhere else.” She takes a step forward. It takes all my conscious energy not to take a step back. I hold up my chin, ready to take whatever blow she’s about to deal. “I will make sure your friend Will goes under investigation for what got him fired from the state. I’ll make sure his wife loses her job and has one hell of a time finding another one. I think once Mr. Freedman learns of your proclivity for breaking the law and my dissatisfaction with your work, you’ll be finished at the library.”

  All I can do is stare at her in disbelief, Leo’s words about the lengths a person will go to in order to protect their children ringing in my ears. That she would ruin my friends’ lives in ways that would be irrevocable in order to protect her own is despicable, though, no matter her reasons or motivations.

  The almost-funny part of this whole thing is that I’ve already decided to leave it alone. She’s doing all this, showing her true colors and tainting any possibility of us having a decent relationship in the future, for nothing.