Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

  Chapter Eight

  “I sincerely hope that you and I are going to have some time alone tonight,” Beau murmurs, his breath tickling my ear and washing goose bumps down my neck. He nuzzles closer as a shiver rips through me. I lean into his warmth and breathe in the scent of him, then spin in his arms as his fingers lock behind my waist.

  “I think that can be arranged,” I reply as our eyes meet and hold on, my mind wondering why the world seems intent on conspiring against our getting alone time.

  We’re in the parking lot at one of the town’s public docks, though, so nothing can be done about the heat in his gaze or the way it lights me on fire. I push onto my tiptoes, brushing my lips lightly over his while my fingers play with the brown curls at the base of his neck. Beau deepens the moment, molding my hips against his as his tongue sweeps over mine, leaving no doubt that he’s as steeped in desire as I am.

  I can’t remember ever being more excited to see someone naked.

  “Mmmm,” he growls, pulling back and stepping a few feet away. “You look beautiful, by the way. You’ll be the prettiest girl at the party, as usual.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not hard when everyone else is middle-aged or pregnant.”

  Not technically true. There are other young families like Mel and Will in town, but not many. The place is aging, and one could make the argument that Beau’s interest in me has more to do with finding a girl in his age bracket than anything else.

  “I’d say you’re exaggerating, but when have you ever been known to do such a thing?” Beau asks, a mocking grin on his full lips.

  It makes me want to jump back in his arms and kiss him until I forget my name, but we’re in public and Mel’s graduation party started twenty minutes ago.

  “You’d better watch your mouth, Mr. Mayor.”

  “I’d rather do other things with my mouth.”

  My face flames, and my nether regions tingle. He laughs, a deep, throaty sound that does nothing to help matters, while I swallow, attempting to drive all naughty images from my head. His shower-fresh scent, loose white linen shirt that hints at the body underneath, shorts, and boat shoes do little to help me get control. He looks like an honest-to-God GQ ad for sailing, and damn if I haven’t always been a bit of a sucker for the pretty boy.

  “You’re going to have to behave yourself or we’re going to end up creating your first in-office scandal.”

  “Now that sounds intriguing.”

  I laugh, walking toward the faded wooden ramp that leads to the dock and boathouse that hangs over the salty Charles River. White paper lanterns sparkle in the twilight, strung between lampposts and around the railings. Voices and laughter tumble through the humid evening to greet us as we get closer. The party is small, probably less than twenty people and nowhere near the to-do that Beau’s birthday had been.

  At least these are my people, not his, and if I embarrass myself it certainly won’t be the first time. Or a surprise.

  Beau and I haven’t had a chance to talk about his party; he’s been out of town, and the moonshiners hogged the majority of our lunch conversation yesterday. We’re planning to end up back at his house tonight, but I’m hoping there will be plenty to distract him from the total fool I made of myself at his party, too.

  Will’s mother, a sweet woman who had always treated me like a daughter, spots us first and rushes over to fold me in her arms. She smells like she always has—Dove soap and a faint whiff of lilacs—and it pulls me out of the present and turns me fifteen again, stinging my eyes with tears. I should have gone to see her before now, especially after my return to town almost inadvertently killed her son.

  “Graciela Harper, I am madder than a bee without a queen! You’ve been back in town almost three months and you haven’t been to see me!”

  “I know, Marianne. I’m so sorry. Things have been a little wild.”

  “I know, I know. No time for old women.” She smiles over at Beau, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Especially when there’s such a catch in the picture.”

  I groan silently, but Beau turns his charming dimples on Marianne Gayle. “You’re too generous, as always, Marianne. It’s good to see you.”

  He leans down to kiss her cheek, and her lips curl upward, but ever since she lost her husband, even her smiles look sad. It’s been seven years now, but no one expects to lose the love of their life at fifty-two. He’d died in a car accident, and the summer it happened strengthened the love between me and Will in a way that made it unbreakable—even after we parted ways. It had devastated them all, and me, too.

  I really should have gone to see her before now.

  She squeezes my hand, letting me know there are no hard feelings, because with Marianne there never are. Except between her and God. There’s still a rift there.

  “We’re so proud of Melanie, finishing school and taking care of Grant at the same time. She’s a good girl.”

  “She is,” I agree. “And never one you’d want to underestimate.”

  She laughs. “That’s the truth. Keeps me on my toes with that little one. Can’t wait to meet the next Gayle baby.”

  “We’re all looking forward to that,” Beau adds, his voice warm and genuine.

  “Okay, well, you kids go mingle with the other youngsters. I’m going to go spike the punch.” She cackles as she leaves us, probably at the expression on Beau’s face, which suggests he’s trying to figure out if she’s kidding.

  “She’s not,” I supply.

  “Not what?”

  “Kidding.”

  He takes my hand, threading warm, strong fingers between mine as we wander toward the water. There’s a table set up against the railing that’s overloaded with catering from the Wreck, and we fill our plates with tacos and sticky rice, pick up glasses of punch, and settle at one of the picnic tables at the river’s edge.

  It’s quiet and peaceful, and all of the sudden I’m overwhelmed by the urge to throw a rock into my own spokes. At least that way I know to brace myself for the fall. “So how many of your friends told you to stop seeing me after the party the other night?”

  My question nearly makes him choke on his taco, but he manages to swallow without sputtering chunks of grilled Mahi onto the table between us. Once he recovers and washes the food down with half a glass of punch, he fixes me with a look that’s hard to decipher. Since Beau’s expressions are typically clear as day, it leaves me feeling that he’s hiding some truth at the moment.

  “What makes you think anyone suggested any such thing?”

  That makes me roll my eyes like a twelve-year-old explaining Facebook to her grandmother. “Come on. Your brother saw me talking to myself by the river, and then Ms. Massie announced to half the party that I think I see ghosts. It’s not hard to make a leap.”

  Beau fixes me with a look that’s not the least bit irritated, then reaches out to smooth a piece of my hair that’s being tossed around on the breeze. A shiver starts at the spot where the tips of his fingers brush my cheek, traveling in a lazy tumble toward my heart. “Graciela, sweetheart, I’d still want to spend time with you if Jesus himself told me it was a bad idea.”

  “He probably would,” I manage.

  “I doubt that,” he murmurs. He winks as he pulls away, leaving a cold swath in its place. “He always liked the troublemakers.”

  The desire to kiss him, right on the lips, wells up like an early tide. It’s strong, threatening to drown me, and even though we’re in public and my breath probably smells like fish tacos, I close the space between us. His lips capture mine, pliable but practiced, and for too brief a second, a preview of what’s to come dances through my mind. When we pull away, the first thing I see is Mel’s face.

  Which would kill the mood even if thunderheads weren’t rumbling in her brown eyes.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks, her voice tight. It’s hard to tell whether she’s angry or about to cry, but if I know Mel, it’s probably both at once.

  “Sure.”
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  I stand up, my legs and head a little fuzzy after that kiss, and follow her down to the end of the pier. It’s quiet out here, with the sun setting and a stagnant wind barely rustling the Spanish moss that drapes the oaks and cypress standing knee-deep in the water. It smells more like marsh and less like delicious food out here, but both are of equal comfort to me.

  “What’s up?” I ask softly as one of my oldest friends studies me from under long, thick lashes. Little droplets of water cling to them. My heart hurts at the pain etching lines at the edges of her mouth and eyes, and my conversation with Amelia rushes back.

  Guilt comes hot behind the memory, stinging where it touches. I’ve spent too much time wondering if Mel’s husband is involved in something illegal, even if he’s only guilty of looking the other way. Wondering if him ignoring what Clete and Big Ern and God knows how many other naked men in overalls are involved in means he didn’t see—or want to see—what they did to Glinda.

  “I’m sorry I ran out of the coffee shop the other day. I just … It’s still hard to see you and Will together.” She holds up a hand when I start to protest, biting her lip but barely holding back the tears dusting her eyelashes. “Don’t bother, Gracie. I knew you both when you were together, and nothing you can ever say will erase those images from my mind. It was easier when you were gone, but that doesn’t mean the part of me that was your friend—is your friend—isn’t glad to have you back. It’s complicated.”

  My heart squeezes, feeling ten things at once. Mel was one of my best friends. I love her, I need her—so much more than I ever needed Will’s romance.

  But she’s right. There’s no way for any of us to forget what was between Will and me as children. First loves are a strange kind of beast.

  “I know. But Mel, we just ran into each other. I swear I’ll try harder. I don’t want to make you sad or uncomfortable.”

  She shakes her head. “He told me. This is a small town, and you were Will’s friend, too. What kind of wife would I be if I took that away from him, or expected us both to act as though you don’t live here now, too?”

  “Things change when you get married. When you grow up. If you’d rather Will and I not spend time together just the two of us, I’ll respect that.” I pause, trying to gauge her reaction. “It wasn’t on purpose the other day. We ran into each other.”

  “That’s another thing, Gracie. What on earth are you thinking, running around those backwoods on your own? You could have been killed!”

  Her anger confuses me, and not just because it’s a one-eighty as far as our conversation goes. “I heard Glinda had a house out there, and I wanted to check it out. Besides, you let Will go out there. Aren’t you worried about him?”

  She turns toward the water, resting her forearms on the wooden railing as she takes a moment before answering. The breeze toys with her perfect Marilyn Monroe curls, and her loose dress flutters around her legs, tightening over her growing belly. Between her and Millie I’m surrounded by pregnant lady hormones, and even though I’m nowhere near where bringing another life into the mix would be a good idea, it reminds me of the things I used to want. Thought I wanted.

  The worry creasing her brow seizes my lungs, and I keep thinking about what Millie said about their money problems. I wonder again why her family isn’t helping them out—even if her father is being his typically detached, critical self, which is totally believable, I’m a little surprised he’s not more willing to yield to ensure his grandchildren have no roadblocks in life.

  “I’m worried about him,” she admits. “I’d rather they assigned him a different territory, but it’s not like he can change jobs right now. Hopefully soon, if the park bill goes through.” She slides me a sideways glance. “I’m sure Amelia filled you in on our troubles since he was out of work over the summer.”

  I shrug, unwilling to betray my cousin’s confidence but sure Mel knows that Millie and I are back to a place without secrets in our relationship. “Are you guys going to be okay? Can’t your mom help you out?”

  She shakes her head, her mouth pulling down into a grimace. “She’s always been a stand-on-your-own-two-feet kind of mother. You know that. She’s never been fond of my decision to marry a working man instead of one of the Charleston gentry she would have picked, so in her mind this is me getting what I asked for.”

  “That’s awful. Is she hoping this is going to break y’all up?” I hurry on, scared that the words sound wrong off my lips, as if maybe that’s what I’m hoping for as well. “Because y’all are stronger than that. Neither of you are the giving-up type.”

  Her shaky smile reassures me that she didn’t take my statement wrong but does nothing to make me feel better about how hard their lives are right now. Or convince me that things aren’t bad enough to make Will do something totally out of character.

  When had I become this person? One who sees clues and dishonesty in everything, one willing to suspect someone I’ve known better than anyone else of taking part in a crime?

  You’re not a detective, Gracie. You’re job is to figure out what Glinda wants from you, not solve her murder.

  Jesus help me if those turned out to be the same thing.

  “I want to believe we’ll be okay, Gracie. Will’s not talking to me, though, about much of anything. We spend time together with Grant, but the rest of the time he’s working. I’m hoping it’ll be better now that school’s out, but when I saw the two of you together, with him looking so relaxed, it hurt.” She swallows. “Not because of you, or even because I think there’s any chance of y’all rekindling anything. Just because I want to be the one to help him. I want us to band together to get through this instead of letting it put distance between us.”

  I put a hand over hers, and she piles her other one on top, clinging hard to my sweating skin. “Relationships are hard, Mel, and sometimes they’re not worth the trouble. But yours is, and you guys are going to figure this out and be the better for it.”

  She slings her arms around my neck and squeezes, whispering in my ear, “From your lips to God’s ears, Gracie. Thank you.”

  I hug her back, my throat burning. It’s true, what I said, and after what happened with David and me, there’s a chance that no relationship is ever going to seem worth it to me again.

  Then Beau’s gaze catches mine, his eyebrows raised and a concerned expression tightening his cheeks. I give him a small smile, and relief washes over his face, pouring a delight through me that makes me wonder if he could be the one to change my mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Beau opens a bottle of wine while I admire the view from the island in the middle of his kitchen. He spins around with two glasses, and I change the direction of my gaze at the last second, which means he catches me watching the pots and pans suspended from a rack mounted to the ceiling.

  The thing makes me nervous as hell.

  “Gracie Anne, I’ve told you that thing is safe. But we can sit at the table if it bothers you.”

  He’s taken to using the nickname, and even though I don’t mind it, something about the familiarity makes me uncomfortable. Like he’s sliding one step closer without asking if I’m ready.

  “No, it’s fine. You just don’t understand how things that seem safe for most people take a turn toward dangerous around people as clumsy as I am.”

  “Fair point,” he agrees, sliding onto the stool next to mine and pouring two healthy amounts of red wine into the oversized glasses. “It looked like you and Melanie are on the path to rekindling your friendship. What had her so upset?”

  Part of me doesn’t want to say—their financial troubles aren’t everyone’s business and I’m also worried that Beau might get the wrong idea about Will and me. The latter worry makes me angry. Sick, almost. The pre-David Gracie would never have withheld innocent information in order to spare herself an argument with her boyfriend. But David had been a jealous, controlling dick who assumed every other male I interacted with either wanted me or I wanted them. It made
me tentative and frightened, but not anymore.

  “She saw Will and me coming back from the woods. I apologized, even though I hate the idea of not being able to feel normal about running into him and having a conversation. But I get it.”

  Beau studies me for a moment, his greenish gold eyes thoughtful. “That’s gracious of you. To understand.”

  “Of course I understand. I’m a woman. If your first love waltzed into town and wanted to start having coffee with you three days a week, I’d hate it.”

  That makes him smile, and heat sizzles in my belly. “That’s excellent news. But it’s not quite the same with you and William, given that you were friends long before your relationship.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I refuse to reveal my sources.” He reaches over and takes the glass of wine from my hands, even though only a few sips have gone down the hatch. Too few to calm the racing of my heart.

  Beau sets his own glass down, then mine next to it. He trails his hands down my bare arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. His fingers wrap around mine and tug me to my feet, then forward until my body slides between his knees.

  My hands take on a life of their own, reaching out to touch his cheek, scratchy after a long day. His hair feels soft by contrast as it runs thick between my fingers, and I give it a slight tug.

  He closes his eyes as I touch him, full lips slightly parted. His grip is tight on my waist, holding me close, but not close enough. Desire heats my blood and mingles with excitement, with anticipation, because this moment is finally here. I don’t care if every goddamn ghost in Heron Creek shows up to watch, nothing is going to stop me from enjoying this sexy, thoughtful man who has made every single day back in this town a little bit better.

  My mouth lands on his, drinking in his needy gasp and the taste of wine on his tongue as it slides against mine. Beau claims me with his lips, devouring my mouth, my neck, my throat. When the strap of my sundress gets in the way he pushes it until it slips toward my elbow, and his tongue flicks across my pulse, fingertips brushing my collarbone.