by Lyla Payne
“What do you mean? I don’t want to involve everyone.” I want to bury my head in the sand and mope like a depressed ostrich, but I suppose that’s not an option.
“I’m not suggesting we get them wrapped up in this curse or with anything that’s going to hurt them. I’m saying we’re going to need several different excuses for getting into people’s homes, and these Draytons are family, however distant. They could talk, and if they realize halfway through that the same weird chick is showing up with the same half-baked story, you could run into trouble.” She shrugs. “We’ve got enough of that.”
“Amen.” The idea sounds better the longer it sits in my head, and Mel, Will, Amelia, and I have had plenty of experience getting into trouble together. And out of it. “Maybe we should. It would be fun to run a scheme all together again, and it’s pretty harmless.”
“I’m not sure collecting DNA for a voodoo curse without permission is exactly harmless.”
“Hey! You’re the one who just said this wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”
“It’s complicated.” My phone buzzes with a text message, distracting me. “Hold on. It’s from Jenna.”
“I want to meet her.”
“You’ll like her,” I say, opening the message.
Hey. Got what you wanted but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away this week. I have the practice defense of my dissertation and the Drayton reunion is next weekend. They’re keeping me hopping with prep, and guess what? You’re not invited.
Haha. I frown. Is there really a reunion? Who’s coming?
I don’t know, Draytons? Why?
Just curious. I bite my lip, wondering how far to involve her.
Can I sneak out and get the diary? Or I could meet you when you leave for lunch?
Sure. You can come out tomorrow. Cordelia’s having a planning meeting at her house, so it will just be me and the tour guides on site.
See you then.
“What was that all about?” Amelia cleans up the trash, mine and hers, and steps across the threshold into the house.
I follow, because it may be October, but it’s too hot to stay outside. Plus, I can hear Aunt Karen in my ear, whispering about all the little lines I’m getting around my eyes squinting at the computer like that in the sun.
I already bought eye cream. What more does that woman want from me?
“Well, it was about our luck changing. Maybe. Slightly.” Her eyebrows go up, a familiar curiosity and need for action back in her face. “It seems the Draytons are having a reunion at the house next weekend.”
“Beau hasn’t said anything?”
I frown, because I didn’t even think of that until she just said it. Not even when Jenna was joking about me not being invited. “No. I’ll have to ask him about it, though. I need to be there. I could possibly kill a few birds with one stone.”
Amelia winces at my choice of words, but my heart hardens. There’s no time for feelings, not now. Not when our feet are on the path.
“She also has Sarah’s diary, the one that talks about Mama Lottie. I’m hoping it’ll give me a little leverage, or at least, remove these blinders. There has to be more to her story.”
Maybe it’s not going to matter in the grand scheme of things but it can’t hurt. There’s still part of me hoping against hope that there is another choice and I just haven’t run across it yet.
“There’s always more to the story.”
“True.” Speaking of more to the story, I might as well continue the research theme of my day and get started with Travis. No way Clete is going to be as willing to pony up first as Mama Lottie was with her show of “good faith.”
“What are you going to do today?” I ask my cousin, noticing that she’s glancing down at her phone with more interest than usual.
“I thought I’d work in the garden for a bit, then maybe grab groceries for the week. We’re out of lunch stuff.”
“Sounds major.”
“It has to be done, Grace. Which you would learn quickly if I weren’t here to help.”
I kiss her cheek, making a loud smacking sound. “But you are here to help. Lucky me.”
“Yes, lucky you. You get to put off healthy adulthood for a few more months.”
“Speaking of which, I’m going upstairs to call Beau. He’s planning on coming over tonight if that’s okay.”
She nods. “I was going to call Mel and Will, see if they want to come over for dinner. Sound good?”
“Sure.” It would be better if Beau weren’t coming, maybe, so we could discuss the whole idea of Scooby-ing the Drayton family’s DNA.
Then again, we might not have to if I can get Beau to take me to the reunion. I’m lying about the curse, and my new alliance with Mama Lottie, but telling him we should keep trying to forge a relationship with his family would be the truth. That would be nice, for once.
Cordelia might be a lost cause, and I’ve yet to meet his father, but Birdie showed possible signs of liking me, or maybe starting to, when we ran into each other at the hospital. Brick seems to have grown a heart, or at least experienced an increase in size, after the whole thing with Nan floated back to the surface. I still haven’t met the third brother—Bennett—but I’d like to.
I face-plant on my soft quilt, my body sinking into the covers. I stay still, the thoughts of Birdie and Brick triggering reminders of secrets still being kept—from me this time, instead of the other way around. The mysterious Lucy. Birdie seemed surprised about my lack of knowledge on the subject, which must mean that whatever happened between the two of them might have some bearing on my relationship with Beau. I can’t imagine what it might be and haven’t had time to sit and stew over it.
Amelia has cracked open these past couple of days, exposed parts she’s kept hidden for years, but she still hasn’t told me about Brick’s kind words by the water fountain the other day or shared the business card he’d passed her in solidarity. Maybe it’s a depression thing, to assume that only someone who has been down that road can really understand. Maybe it’s even true, but Brick… He might be acting different, but I’m not prepared to trust him yet.
I roll over, forcing myself into a sitting position and opening my laptop. The battery’s almost dead. Before my fingers can snag the charger from where I dropped it on the bedside table, it moves on its own. Right into the outlet.
Henry Woodward appears beside the bed, thankfully wearing his Spanish colonial garb today and looking pleased as punch. He gestures to the outlet and beams.
“Yes. Not only have you learned how to move objects around, you’ve discovered how electricity works. Pin a rose on your nose,” I huff, mostly to cover my surprise. “If you’d put half that effort into trying to tell me how to get rid of your old ass, we might be able to get somewhere!”
His expression turns pained, and he floats over to the corner, slumping down into his usual position. I can’t believe it, but I feel bad for yelling at him. Our unlikely friendship is getting a little out of hand.
“I’m sorry, Henry. Things are just a little crazy around here right now. It’s not your fault.” He looks up, wary. “I wouldn’t have time for you even if you started pointing all the right directions, and besides, who would I talk to if you weren’t here? Myself?”
That earns me a small smile, and the guilt in my chest loosens. If only it could be so easy to make amends with Beau after all of this dirty laundry spills out of the closet.
Maybe it will be. Or maybe the curse won’t affect him at all or it won’t work, and then he’ll never have to know.
Another glance at Henry reveals a suspicious expression, as though he can read my mind. It’s the second time that thought has entered my head. He’d better not have figured that out. To be sure, I check on the big blue doors in my mind that I use to let the spirits in and out, at least on my walks with Daria. They’re closed and locked, which doesn’t explain why I see Henry and the others without permission, but it makes me feel a little better, anyway.
“Oh, well. At least we can try to figure out if there’s anything about Dylan Travis that Clete can use.”
There’s no time to feel badly about helping the moonshiner, either, but that doesn’t mean it’s not tugging at me. Travis hasn’t been a friend, exactly, but he’s not an enemy. He’s been kind to Amelia, even though he drives me up a wall at least as often as he’s been helpful, and normally, that would be enough to keep him on my good side.
Not this time.
My fingers fly over the keyboard. I use my ex-fiancé’s login to get into some academic search engines, making a mental note to remind Mr. Freedman that we should buy access for the library, but come up empty. I text Will, and he texts me back that he doesn’t think he can use his department codes to search Travis without raising some sort of flag. If nothing comes up for me this afternoon, a trip to Charleston to visit the handsome Officer Dunleavy might be in order, even if it’s unclear how many more favors he’ll be willing to do without asking for anything in return. Not to mention he’s probably sore at me for never coming back with any gossip after he handed over that file on Nan Robbins.
After another two hours, there’s a short list of transgressions beside me on the bed. It contains a handful of details about Detective Dylan Travis that were hidden this morning, none of which are terribly interesting or incriminating. He was kind of a troubled kid, based on the background check I paid for—arrested a couple of days after his eighteenth birthday for possession. Not a felony amount, so he got off with some community service, but I’d be willing to bet he has a juvenile record that was expunged, too.
Still, there are plenty of kids who play wild and get their shit together later. I’m a good example, and even though none of my arrests here in Heron Creek or Iowa City were for drugs, they certainly could have been. There are also likely a fair number of troubled kids who go on to become cops. Heron Creek has two examples of those in the Ryan twins.
Other than that, I now know that he’s a Longhorn, that he has a master’s degree in political science, and that the FBI tried to recruit him but he turned them down. He’s an only child, both of his parents are still alive and living in a place called Longview that sounds like a Texan version of Stepford. He worked for three different departments in Texas and one in Arkansas before taking the job here in Heron Creek.
The most interesting part of the story is that, before coming here, Travis had been moving up the ladder in much bigger cities. More crime, higher profile, more of a chance to make a difference, plus a bigger paycheck. The reason for the downshift in his career spikes my curiosity, but there’s nothing in any of the reports or articles about him or interviews he gave that suggests he was fired or involved in any sort of scandal.
Beau’s going to be here any minute, I realize. The sound of the front door opening and closing about half an hour ago suggests Amelia is back from her shopping trip and would probably like help with dinner, if we’re making it. I wouldn’t mind working in the garden, either. Not because I love vegetables and mosquito bites, but because it reminds me of summers long gone. Gramps and Grams had rules about chores before river time, or movies, or meeting up with friends. If Will and Mel showed up here before we were finished, they were expected to pitch in and help.
We complained because we were kids, but those memories are nothing but good.
I’m still wearing the tank top and yoga shorts I slept in last night, and my hair is a rat’s nest of a bun. My armpits smell decidedly day-old and my teeth are fuzzy. In love or not, my boyfriend would probably appreciate a little grooming time. As would anyone else who comes within a ten-block radius of me. Amelia must be slipping; she’s usually the first person to comment on my lack of commitment to hygiene.
My mind strays to the image of her glancing at her phone more than usual. That might be the reason, but she and Mel are always talking about something or other.
I push it aside, reminding myself not to borrow trouble. Everyone else’s secrets will have to take a number and there’s not much trouble Amelia can get into in town.
The shower feels good since my head was getting itchy, and my hair looks halfway decent after a blow-dry. The breeze wafting through my open window is a pleasant temperature, not too humid. We’ve entered the rarest of all the seasons in South Carolina—non-frizzy hair season. I throw on a sundress, a little bit of makeup, and forgo shoes since we’re just hanging out here, then hop downstairs to find my cousin in the kitchen, staring at her phone again.
There are late-season vegetables on the counter that need to be washed—squash, some mutant zucchini, a whole tub full of green beans, and a fair number of potatoes. Gardening had been one of Gramps’s passions but I hadn’t realized how much of the produce kept growing on its own after he got too wobbly and sick to take care of it.
“Nice work! There’s no way the two of us can eat all that so it’s a good thing people are coming over.” She doesn’t answer, typing furiously into the tiny keypad. I slink closer, trying to get a look at the screen without her noticing, but fail.
My cousin looks up, fog in her eyes taking a moment to clear. As though she’s just now realized she’s not alone in the kitchen. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s a good thing people are coming over for dinner.”
“Why?”
I jerk my thumb toward the excess of vegetables on the counter, concentrating on not asking her who she’s talking to. I’m not her mother or her husband, thank goodness, and if it’s Travis, it’s better for me to pretend that it’s not.
“Oh. I asked Mel and Will to bring pizza. I didn’t feel like cooking.”
“Maybe we can give some to Mrs. Walters. Like a peace offering.”
Amelia snorts. “Grace, that woman is not going to like you no matter how hard you try. Not to mention she’d probably send it off to be tested for poison and everything would spoil before she got the results.”
“Hmm.” I grab a zucchini and start washing, cold water splashing onto my wrists. My mind wanders back to the angst I felt upstairs. Henry wasn’t much help, advice-wise. “Do you think I’m horrible for not breaking up with Beau?”
“Why would you break up with Beau?” She looks genuinely confused.
“Uh, because I have to steal DNA from his family so I can put a curse on them?”
“You’re not really putting the curse on them, though. You’re just kind of an accomplice.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that distinction will make much difference when it comes to light.”
“Why would it even come to light? I mean, we’ve had this curse on our family for two hundred years and not one person suspected it until you started seeing Anne Bonny. The Draytons may never know about it, and if you don’t know exactly what it entails, then you don’t have to feel bad about not telling them.”
It sounds reasonable, her enabling of my bad decision, except for the part where I’m basically lying to the man I love. Oh, and one more thing… “Yeah, no problem unless I one day become part of the family and find myself on the shit end of yet another curse.”
“Well…at least you’ll know?”
The front door opens and closes without a knock. It’s either Mel and Will or a bold-ass murderer. When our old friends pop into the kitchen, they’re not alone.
Grant clings to his mother’s legs, all white-blond curls and bright blue eyes. The sight of him still shocks me on occasion, because he looks so much like the Will I first met. Amelia moves from her chair at the table, tucking her cell phone into the pocket of her dress as she crouches down awkwardly to say hello. It takes her less than ten seconds to coax Grant out of his shy stage, after which he doles out a hug to my knees, too.
>
Will drops two large pizzas onto the counter and then takes Grant out back to run off some energy. It’s probably an excuse to get out of the hen house, in truth, but that’s okay. I’m coming to terms with the way things have changed in Heron Creek, and having both of them in my life after everything is one of the best surprises about being back.
“So, what have you two been up to today?” Mel asks, scooting over to turn on the oven before rearranging her face into a killer imitation of Mrs. Walters. “I didn’t see you at church, you know.”
“We were planning on it, but then Millie expressed a reasonable concern that the whole place might spontaneously combust if I walked through the door.” My comment makes Mel choke on the gulp of water she just took from a bottle. “Plus, I didn’t want to leave Henry alone. It’s a vulnerable time for him.”
“Yeah, I can see how being dead might depress a person,” she comments dryly, wiping her chin. “So what were you doing?”
It occurs to me that if she doesn’t know, then she’s definitely not the person Amelia’s been chatting away with for half the day on her phone. Interesting.
“Research,” I answer, my gaze lingering on my cousin. Who just checked her phone again.
“Oooh, do tell.”
“On the Draytons. I finally got the chance to chat up Mama Lottie again last night. Also some on Travis, because Clete agreed to help us.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Mel says, grabbing a handful of green beans and settling into a chair. Her fingers expertly snap off the ends, tossing the tips into the trashcan. “Tell me everything.”
I do, starting with Mama Lottie but switching gears when Beau rings the bell five minutes later in favor of Clete and Travis. My friends have a few suggestions here and there about looking into Travis’s reasons for leaving Texas or for coming to South Carolina, specifically. The best one is to e-mail his parents under the guise of a grad student researching the rise and evolution of people who become officers of the law. It would be a way in, anyway, and his family might tell me something of use even if they don’t realize it.
