Not Quite Alive

by Lyla Payne

  “I’m sorry for what I said the other night when we talked.” His words make it easier to breathe. “You just…it was a surprise, and one I wasn’t prepared to hear from you. Or from anyone, really, even though I know I should have been.”

  I pause, so grateful that he’s not leaving me now, when I need him more than ever, that it’s hard to formulate words. “It’s okay. I figured you needed some time to process it.”

  “Thank you for giving me that space. I’m ready to talk about it now, but I’ve also gotten a slew of messages from people in Heron Creek asking me whether you’re okay. What’s going on?”

  “Frank’s dead. That’s the biggest thing.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. I know the two of you weren’t that close, but I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. Also, they found him in the crawl space under the house. Along with all of the drugs he made one of his ghosts steal from the hospital last fall.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone goes on for so long that I check to makes sure we didn’t get cut off. It occurs to me that I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Surprisingly, the culprit still isn’t my old phone.

  “How is that possible?” His tone is even. Measured.

  I’m already super tired of telling the story about Clete, the anonymous tip at the police department, and how I haven’t the slightest idea why or how or even when Frank ended up under the house. It’s been about three weeks since I last saw him, closing in on a month, and I looked at his corpse for just long enough to know he was dead, not how long he’d been that way. One of the FBI guys said he thought two to four weeks, which means he could have been down there the entire time. Ever since he left.

  Once I’m done, I hold my breath, waiting for the second time since I picked up the phone for Beau to tell me that he just can’t do this anymore.

  “I’m going to come home.”

  “What?” Genuine surprise floods me, opening my eyes wide and shoving away the last, lingering bits of sleep. “No, you can’t do that. You just got there.”

  “You’re my girlfriend and you’re under federal investigation. I need to be there.”

  My eyes sting, my vision blurring. Sure, this hasn’t been the best week of my life, but there are multiple people who love me enough to drop everything if I’m in trouble, and that makes me one of the lucky ones.

  “I don’t want you to miss this session. I haven’t been charged with anything, and to state the obvious, I didn’t kill Frank or steal those drugs. So let’s just stay calm and see how things play out for now, okay? I promise that if I’m in real trouble, I won’t hesitate to drag you home.” I bite my lower lip, already wanting him here. “Deal?”

  “If that’s really what you want,” he tells me begrudgingly.

  I know Beau wants to be the hero, the white knight, because that’s the role he understands, the one he feels comfortable playing. I think one of the reasons we’ve had so many bumps is that I’m not all that easy to rescue, and half the time I’ve somehow figured out how to save myself before he arrives.

  Maybe not this time.

  “Tell me what happened when you talked to the FBI. Do you need Brick or Birdie?”

  “I might soon, but no. They didn’t charge me with anything, just told me not to leave town.”

  “I don’t want you talking to them again without them there. Got it?”

  My hackles rise at being bossed around. Or maybe it’s due to the fact that I didn’t even think about calling one of the Draytons for help, never mind a lawyer in general. You would think I’ve never seen an episode of Law and Order, ever, which is not humanly possible.

  “I’ll talk to Brick.”

  “That’s my girl. Okay.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. In my mind, he’s running his hand through his hair the way Will did this morning.

  I seem to have a special talent for frustrating the men in my life.

  “Actually, if we’re going to discuss Lucy,” he pauses, having stumbled over her name. “Then I think all three of us, and maybe Birdie, should talk together. Maybe we could FaceTime tonight? If Amelia’s not up to hosting, I’m sure Birdie would have y’all over to her place.”

  I’ve never been to Birdie’s place in Charleston. In my mind, it looks like Southern Living decorated Maleficent’s Castle.

  “I’ll talk to Amelia. What time works for you?”

  “Around eight should be good. We’re adjourning early tonight.”

  Having a job where eight p.m. is considered an early cut-off time will never be on my list of things to do, but then again, neither will politics. Too much beating around the bush.

  “I don’t see why that won’t work. It’s Friday night, so Amelia and Brick probably already have plans, anyway.”

  “That’s still going on, huh?” Beau muses, sounding pleased.

  “I guess. Though no one seems all that clear on what that is, exactly.”

  “Don’t worry, gorgeous. They’ll figure it out.” He chuckles. “You’d better do a better job getting in touch with me when little Jack decides to make an appearance. I’m coming for the big event, even if I have to turn around and fly right back an hour later.”

  “You’ve got it.” The fact that Beau wants to be there for the birth of Amelia’s baby tells me that he’s excited to be a part of our family, and that makes me want to smile despite the horrible few days that have just passed. “I don’t think it will be long now. Especially with all of the stress I’m putting on her.”

  “Hey, hey, Gracie Anne. Amelia loves you. She’s going to be fine, and so is Jack, and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Thanks.” I draw a shuddering breath, knowing that I will replay his words in my head a hundred times before the end of the day. “I guess you have to go.”

  “I should, yeah. You know how I feel about being late.”

  I chuckle, gripping the phone tight in an attempt to hold on to him a little bit longer. “Okay. I’ll text you about tonight.”

  “Looking forward to seeing that face.” He pauses. “And I really am sorry about shutting you out for a couple of days. It was harder than I thought to hear the news.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure that it is okay. I understand needing space, but a text would have been nice.

  At the moment, we’ve got enough other crap on our plates. We don’t need to argue about something that’s over and done, not when he’s so far away and the universe just upset the checkerboard of my life. There are pieces all over the damn place, and I don’t need Beau to be one of them.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Gracie Anne. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Ten

  Both Birdie and Brick jump at the chance to come over and conference with Beau and me about what to do next regarding Lucy. For the ghost’s part, she’s decided to make herself scarce, which doesn’t help matters.

  I dug the large atlas out of my gramps’s old office and have it under my bed, the maps of the Middle East tabbed with sticky notes and ready to go. My hope is that Lucy will be able to point out a city, or at least a region, and that will give us somewhere to start.

  “What time are they coming over?” Amelia asks, sitting up from her nap on the couch. “What time is it?”

  “Calm down, you’ve still got twenty minutes to make yourself beautiful.” I give her a once-over. “Not that you need it.”

  She snorts. “I’m a beached whale, Grace. It would take more time than I’ve got.”

  I toss a pillow at her face, which she bats away. “Whales are pretty awesome. Even Brick says so. They’re his faaavvoorite.”

  “I have to pee.”

  Amelia and Brick did have plans tonight—they were going to see a movie and take a walk in the hopes of encouraging Jack to make a slightly early appearance. While her doctor did say Jack’s developed enough to do fine out here with us, he also told Amelia she was nowhere clos
e to going into labor. She’s getting desperately uncomfortable, though, and I thought she was going to rip her doctor’s head off when he assured her that her complaints are perfectly normal.

  At any rate, she wasn’t too upset about canceling the movie plans, but made me promise that either Brick or I would take that walk with her after we’re done talking to Beau. It was an easy enough agreement to make, even if it is cold outside—I’m guessing that after a few hours with Beau’s siblings, the fresh air will represent much-needed relief.

  Brick and Birdie said they would bring dinner, and when I open the door to find them on the porch with bags from the Lowcountry Bistro, one of my favorite restaurants in Charleston, my mood improves a hundred percent.

  “Oh my god, please tell me you got the fried green tomatoes,” Amelia says, reaching past me to grab the bags from Brick’s hands.

  He chuckles and follows her into the foyer, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it in the front closet like he lives here. For her part, Birdie doesn’t look nearly so comfortable.

  “Can I take your coat?” I ask, taking pity on her.

  “Thanks.” She pauses as though listening, and must hear the same thing I do—the rustle of paper bags and the quiet conversation between her brother and my cousin. “Brick told me about…Lucy. I mean. How you saw her.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not…are you sure, Graciela?” Her lips press into a thin line at my affirming nod, and she gives me a nod in return. “Okay. Then we’re going to find her. Bring her home.”

  “I hope we can,” I confess. “I can ask Lucy questions, maybe gather a few clues on where she is or how to locate her body, but if she’s still in Iran…it’s going to be complicated, at best.”

  Birdie nods again, her eyes sad but her mouth set in a determined line, and motions for me to lead the way into the kitchen. We find Brick and Millie setting food out on the dining room table, and I quickly pass out plates and grab drinks for everyone. We all go for alcohol, except for Amelia. To be fair, the three of us need it more tonight.

  We’ve only got twenty minutes before we’re supposed to FaceTime with Beau, so we eat quickly and without saying much, besides some small talk between Brick and Amelia. Neither of the Drayton siblings poses any questions to me regarding what happened yesterday with the police. Maybe they don’t know—they don’t live here, after all—and I’m not excited about bringing it up.

  At least, not until I need a lawyer.

  Amelia offers to do a quick cleanup while the rest of us gather in front of the computer. On a normal night, neither Brick nor I would let her do it alone, but my stomach is full of jumping beans and the lines of tension on his face have deepened into grooves since he and Birdie arrived. It was hard for me to even enjoy dinner all that much, which makes me sad. Especially because it was free.

  Beau answers our FaceTime request immediately. He looks older than he did when he left me a week ago—his face drawn like his brother’s—which makes me wonder whether maybe I do, too. It seems like it’s been longer.

  “Hey, Gracie Anne. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  My face feels a little hot, but neither Brick nor Birdie reacts to the compliment. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  His gaze goes to Brick, then Birdie, and he sighs. “Okay, guys, so now we all know that Lucy is gone. She’s asking Gracie for help, and I think we can all assume that she wants us to find her.”

  “And probably put away the bastards who did this to her, the ones who treated those kids like test rats.” The disgust in Birdie’s voice is so thick it makes me want to check my shoulder for saliva. The thumbnail video of us on the FaceTime screen isn’t small enough to hide the gleam of passion in her hazel eyes. “I’m going to string them up myself.”

  “We all feel that way, Bird, but we have to find her first. So how do we do that?” He pauses, and purses his lips at his siblings’ silence. “Brick? Any intel from the investigator that we could use?”

  “Maybe, but not enough to go on alone.”

  My boyfriend locks eyes with me through the computer. Even with a screen in between us, a familiar shiver of delight and desire zips down my spine. “Can you help, Gracie?”

  “I’m going to try. She can’t talk, but I’ve got an atlas up in my room and I’m hoping she can point us in the right direction the next time she’s here. If your investigator combines that information with whatever he’s found, maybe we can narrow it down.”

  “I think we should go talk to the woman in Beaufort again,” Brick growls. “Maybe she told us everything, but maybe she didn’t.”

  He’s talking about Lucy’s boss from the aid organization, the one who helped us get my cousin’s in-laws off her back in the custody case. The Middletons are an old, powerful family, which ended up working in our favor. They want to keep it that way.

  “That’s true,” Beau agrees. “Now that we’ve got the Middletons under control, she might open up more. She could have been afraid of reprisal from them.”

  “We can go see her this week.” I cast a glance toward Amelia as she waddles into the living room. “I’ll take Amelia. No one can resist a giant woman about to give birth.”

  “Hi, Beau,” Millie says, leaning in front of the screen long enough to wave. She plops in Gramps’s old chair and puts her feet up on the coffee table.

  My computer shakes as Beau tells her hi back, and then the three of us agree that our plan of action is as good as it’s going to get for right now: I talk to Lucy, Brick talks to the investigator, and we all talk to Marcia Strickland, Lucy’s old co-worker from Iran, to see if there’s anything else she knows.

  My own plan of action includes looking into Frank’s murder, too, and that will mean talking to Travis first thing. But they don’t need to know about that.

  There’s a pause, and the hesitation on Beau’s face tells me he has more to say. Another suggestion, maybe, or a thought that he’s sure at least one of us isn’t going to like.

  “Birdie, what do you think about getting in touch with Mallory Flores?”

  The suggestion is met with dead silence, and the look of pale shock on Birdie’s face, combined with the hesitance radiating off Beau and the way Brick shifts slightly away from his sister, explodes my curiosity. Amelia meets my gaze, our matching eyes wide with unasked questions as we wait for Birdie to respond to her eldest brother’s mysterious request.

  “I haven’t talked to her in over a year. People say she went nuts.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time to reach out. You know if anyone can find Lucy, it’s Mal.”

  Birdie’s sigh is defeated and sad, but she nods. “I’ll see what I can find out, okay? Last I heard she was working with the military on a contract basis, so maybe you could poke around with your new friends, too?”

  “Wait, who is Mallory Flores?” I finally ask, unable to stop myself for another second. “How can she find Lucy, and why haven’t you said anything about her until now if she can?”

  Beau looks at Birdie. At my side, Brick turns to stare at her, too. Amelia can’t help but follow suit, and soon enough, we’re waiting on her to tell me who this woman is and how she can help.

  “She’s a woman I used to know,” Birdie sighs out. “I’ve known her since college and she has this…sort of a talent, I guess. Or a curse.”

  “What sort of talent?” Amelia asks, clearly suffering from the same dying to know affliction that has me in its grips.

  “She can find things.”

  “What sort of things?” my cousin follows up.

  “Anything. She’s like a bloodhound—you give her something connected to the thing or person that’s lost, or tell her the story or whatever, and she doesn’t stop until she’s found it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, frowning.

  “Neither does a person seeing ghosts,” Birdie snaps. “But apparently we’re supposed to believe that.”

  “Fair enough.”
There’s no other way I can reply without coming across like a huge hypocrite. “Do you think she’ll help us?”

  “Honestly?” Birdie shakes her head, looking as lost as I’ve ever seen her. “I haven’t the slightest idea. No one knows how or why she decides to take some cases and ignore others.”

  “But she was your friend, right?” I press. “Doesn’t that give us a leg up?”

  “Maybe not,” Beau says, ending our inquisition of his baby sister. “Not all friendships end well.”

  I think about Clara, and how I was on the fence about contacting her after all this time. It worked out, but there was certainly a chance that she might have ignored me completely.

  “We’ll never know unless I try.” Birdie swallows, the determination back in her eye. “I’ll call her. Lucy is worth a little discomfort.”

  We say goodbye at the door not long after, and judging by the way my cousin is pacing the living room when I get back, it’s clear that she’s as agitated about all of this as I am. Their explanation about this Mallory woman is bizarre, to say the least.

  Amelia lets me off the hook for that walk I’d promised her. We bat around theories for a while instead, but we don’t know enough to figure anything out. The Draytons are nothing if not mysterious, and Lord knows they won’t tell us a damn thing they don’t want to.

  It is curious, though, that they might have had a way to find Lucy this whole time. Why haven’t they pulled the trigger? Whatever the reason, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting her.

  It’s not Lucy, but Henry Woodward, who’s staring at my face from less than two inches away when I wake up the next morning.

  “Jesus,” I gasp, coming fully awake in the space of that one word. “What are you doing?”

  This aggressive behavior isn’t like Henry at all—he prefers his dark corner, which keeps him as far away from the sun as possible. Right now he’s standing in a sunbeam that seems to be telling me that I’ve overslept, and the expression on his face is almost panicked.

  “What?”