Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

  Not to mention it’s my job to run the library.

  I wanted to be further along with the proposal on how to expand and focus the local archive section by now, but being accused of murder tends to derail even the best-laid plans. Ghosts, I can handle—maybe even more than one. But Glinda’s death has brought something else entirely.

  The diner, Suds and Rubs, is filling up for the lunch rush, so I sit at the counter, resting my feet while they come up with a latte and a green tea.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” Will’s voice floats from behind me, then he sits in the empty stool on my right. “Have you forsaken your café au lait from Westie’s?”

  “Never.” I give him a slight smile, trying to pull my mind out of my thoughts and into reality. I resist the urge to glance around, to check out who’s going to see us together and what they’re going to think. We can’t operate that way, or we might as well give up on being friends now. “It was packed, and I’m not technically on a break.”

  “Ah.”

  “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “Guy’s gotta eat. It is my official lunch break, though.” He pauses, squinting at me. “Are you okay, Gracie?”

  The genuine question, along with the comforting sound of my name on Will’s tongue, brings tears to my eyes. I focus on the specks littering the counter and blink until the wetness recedes. “Not really.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, as though he’s heard nothing of my arrest.

  “Oh, let’s see. Do you want to hear about the little things, like Millie still struggling with everything that happened and Mrs. LaBadie leaving us presents? Or the fact that I’m still seeing dead people? Or maybe we should go with my making friends with moonshiners or being arrested for murder? Oh, and there’s the one that’s probably most interesting to you: wondering whether my ex-boyfriend and longtime friend might be involved in at least some of it.”

  It all spills out accidentally. It’s been building inside me, the frothing lava created by the turmoil in my life, and the moment of kindness from someone I’ve always trusted brings it shooting over the volcano’s lip.

  For his part, Will appears shocked. Since only the last thing I mentioned is news to him, I imagine that’s the one that does it. “What? Why would you think that?”

  The waitress returns at that moment with my drinks, and I drop a ten on the counter and stand up. “Never mind. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  He follows me out the front door, hot on my heels, and I use the thirty seconds to try to get myself and my thoughts together. We don’t talk as he grabs my arm, nearly spilling Millie’s tea as he steers me away from the foot traffic on Main and sits me on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the little piece of green space in front of the police station.

  The location makes me jumpy—like I’m asking to run into Detective Travis and his handcuffs—but we’re alone except for a young mother rocking a stroller with her toe while she reads the latest John Grisham novel, too deep in the book to even glance up.

  The noise of the crashing water almost drowns out Will’s voice when he asks me again, “Why would you think I have anything to do with what happened to Glinda?”

  “Logic. Mel told us about the money problems y’all are having, and that it’s been a little rough on your relationship, too.” He looks away, shame flooding his cheeks. “If the moonshining business got Glinda killed and you’re taking money from them to look the other way … Well, you wouldn’t be the first person.”

  “I don’t know what happened to Glinda. And even though I haven’t gone to the sheriff about some of the things I’ve seen out in the hills, I’m not taking money from those gits, Graciela. I can take care of my family the right way; it’s just taking a little longer to get back on my feet than I anticipated.”

  “I know.”

  Will looks up, relief lighting his gaze. “You know?”

  “Yes. I mean, I’m not going to lie, I thought about it and the logic is there. But I know you, Will. You’re not a criminal. You’ve always taken the high road, even when it’s not the easy one, and lectured me for not doing the same. Fuck logic. We’re friends.”

  “Are we?” The relief on his face flickers to confusion, until it’s a hopeless snarl of uncertainty. “I don’t know if that’s allowed. Or possible.”

  “First of all, who gives a shit what’s allowed? Allowed by who?” He doesn’t answer, pressing his lips together. “The only people whose opinions on the subject matter are yours, and Mel’s, and mine. If we’re okay, then screw what everyone else says. Now, whether or not it’s possible … We’ve always been friends, Will. We’ve been more but never less, not even these past five years. If you would have called, would have needed me, I would have been here in a heartbeat.”

  “I would have done the same,” he says softly.

  “I know. So it’s possible, but like other things in your life right now, it may be taking a little bit longer to figure out than we would have liked.” I cover his hand with mine, feeling more confident in where our relationship is going to end up than I have since moving back home. “But we’ll get there.”

  The smile he gives me, real, the kind that could power this entire state, tells me he’s feeling the same way I am—like anything’s possible—at the moment.

  I give him a stern look. “And stop shutting Mel out. Knowing you, you’re operating on some obsolete piece of male nonsense that’s making you embarrassed about not being able to provide, or you feel guilty, or you’re trying to spare her the worry or whatever. But this is Mel. Even setting aside the fact that she’s your wife—your partner—you know she’s the person you want in your corner when shit is going down. Stop being a douche. It doesn’t suit you.”

  He gives me a sheepish laugh, running his fingers through his short blond curls. “Thanks, Gracie. I know you’re right.”

  “Good, now you’re going to help me. What do you know about Jasper Patton?”

  “The sheriff in Berkeley County?” His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Not much. He’s pretty standoffish, but I’ve only met him a few times, when I’ve been at their county seat for research.”

  “Do you think he’s the type to take bribes from Clete and those guys? Look the other way?”

  “I really can’t say, but you might be on the right track, at least with his department. Most of the guys working in that police station are from the hills themselves.” He shrugs, then straightens up. “You know what, though, I think I did hear something about him struggling with money lately. Something about his kid sister being in an accident, maybe?”

  “Okay.” The news makes my insides feel swampy. I don’t want Jasper to have the kind of problems that make it easy for someone like me to forgive illegal actions.

  Will’s hand covers mine, making a sandwich, and I look up to find worry in his light blue eyes. “What are you doing, Gracie? You’re not a detective, you’re not a cop. You’re in way over your head snooping around out in the hills trying to find out what happened to Glinda. Clete and the others aren’t fooling around.”

  I wave a hand, my mind still clicking over the possibilities. “They’re fine. Clete even let me go out and poke around the house the other day. Beau thinks I’m being silly, but I just don’t think it’s them. They’re not so … covert.”

  “Maybe not, but don’t trust them. They sure as hell don’t trust you.”

  I don’t trust them, but I don’t think that means much other than that I have a brain in my head.

  “I’ve got to get lunch and then back to work, and so do you. Millie’s not going to be thrilled if her tea is cold, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past three years, it’s not to anger a pregnant woman.” He leans in and snags me in a quick hug, his breath moving strands of hair on my neck. “Everything’s going to be okay, Gracie. We’ll figure this out.”

  I watch him walk away and sit alone for a few more minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to fi
nd a way to believe him. It’s nice to hear that things will work out, but it’s not true. Unless I figure out what happened to Glinda and who’s trying to frame me for it, things are not going to be okay.

  Going to jail for murder is going to suck, but the worst part will be the endless haunting by Heron Creek’s pushy dead hairdresser, who will surely point at me for the next fifty years, waiting for me to get back to that house and behind that locked door.

  If nothing else, getting Glinda the closure she wants is motivation enough. It may be that I’m putting my life on the line, that I’m out of my depth—that last part is for certain—but there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of other options.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After work I hike back to the police station to have a heart-to-heart with Heron Creek’s newest transplant. He seems surprised to see me, and the genuine expression on his face brings back my initial reaction from the other night—Dylan Travis is super good-looking.

  Surprise transforms to curiosity in the blink of an eye; either is preferable to suspicion. He’s alone in the station, seated behind one of the desks with his red tie pulled loose around the unbuttoned collar of his light blue shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms that flex when they grasp the chair and propel him upward. They’re pale, telling me that he’s not much of an outdoorsman, unlike most of the men in this town. He’s going to have trouble making friends since he doesn’t seem like the type to be much of a drinker, either.

  “Can I help you, Miss Harper?” Suspicion makes his voice lighter, less gravelly. Almost as though he could be a likable person and not a cyborg police officer.

  “I wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes. About Glinda.”

  “Of course.” He starts to lead me back to the interrogation room but stops and turns slowly when I laugh.

  “No need for that. I won’t be confessing or anything. Your desk is fine, since we’re alone.”

  My response seems to amuse him, if anything, when a day ago it would have made him angry. It occurs to me that he and I have never been alone, with the exception of my interrogation the other night, and that doesn’t actually count since I assume there are cameras in that room and other officers were in the building. Maybe he’s more comfortable without an audience.

  It’s dumb luck that I haven’t run into the Ryan twins, who’re surely dying for the chance to give me endless shit about my latest bout of trouble. Or maybe they’re avoiding me because they sense that this time it’s more than that and nothing to joke about.

  The thought twists my stomach into a knot. I drop into the chair on the opposite side of the detective’s desk before my knees turn to water. He walks around and sits back down in his own chair, turning those peculiar gray eyes on me. They’re quiet, and not as sharp as they’ve been on previous occasions.

  As though maybe he plans to listen this time, and not with his ears full of his own assumptions.

  It takes me aback, though it would be dumb to complain. There’s no way to understand what caused the slight shift in his approach without getting to know him better, and while that will probably happen if he decides to stay in Heron Creek awhile, it likely won’t take place while we’re stuck in this cop-suspect dynamic.

  So I say what I came here to say, squashing the hope that he might be any more receptive to the idea that I’m innocent than he has been over the past couple of weeks. “I have some information about Glinda’s life that might be of interest to you in this case.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “She wasn’t just a hairdresser. She used to be married to this guy Merle—I don’t know any details—and he was a moonshiner out in Berkeley County. Has a house and everything, and according to Glinda’s granddaughter and a bunch of super choice woodland characters I’ve had the pleasure of meeting over the past weeks, Glinda took over his business after he died.”

  His eyes widen. Being from the city, I’m guessing the word moonshine and the idea of backcountry dudes running half naked through the woods are pretty much fiction in his mind. Hell, I’m from here and they didn’t seem real to me before I met them.

  “That little old lady? Running moonshine?”

  I frown. “If you’ve been investigating this whole thing and are still describing Glinda as a little old lady, then I’m concerned you haven’t been talking to … anyone in this town, really. But even so, she wasn’t running it. She was paying a guy named Cooter—”

  “Cooter.” A smile plays with the edges of his mouth.

  Which is when I get pissed off. “Yes, Cooter. And his cohorts are Big Ern and Clete, and none of them own fancy shoes. Can I continue?”

  “By all means,” he drawls, making me wish there were a way to kick him in the shins.

  “She was paying Cooter to basically run her business—make the stuff, use Merle’s old contacts to sell it and collect the money, and probably pay off the right officials in the process.”

  “And you think her association with that ilk might have gotten her killed.”

  “Obviously. Plus, Clete’s pretty much the leader and he doesn’t have anything good to say about her or Merle. Seems they’ve been in some kind of feud for years.”

  “And since you’ve been running around asking questions on your own, it would seem, they know you’re involved and are trying to frame you.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him what I told Beau and Will and Amelia—that I really don’t think Clete’s behind any of this—but more than anything, I want a professional to be the one figuring all of this out, separating truth from gut feelings, and Dylan Travis is my only hope. Wash my hands of the murder part of this investigation and get back to following ghosts.

  So, I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “That it?” His tone dismisses me, as though he prefers to spend the rest of his time in the station alone taking a nap instead of solving the first murder in this town for sixty years.

  “No. I also think it’s possible that the county sheriff, Jasper Patton, or someone in his office might be involved. I know the moonshiners have to pay people off to look the other way on occasion, and he’s a good guess. He and Glinda knew each other, and he’s a big hunter.”

  Detective Travis narrows his eyes, and they turn from gray clouds to solid slate. “I don’t take accusations against any kind of law enforcement lightly, Miss Harper. And you know as well as I do that one of the reasons you aren’t behind bars awaiting trial right now is the fact that most everyone south of the Mason-Dixon line is an avid hunter. And, as you’re so fond of pointing out, everyone knew Glinda Davis.”

  “Everyone in Heron Creek,” I clarify, feeling defeated.

  Cops stick together. I think of Beau’s reaction to the same suggestion. So do lawyers.

  But where does that leave me?

  The answer is clear: on my own. Sure, Will wants to help, and so would Mel and Amelia, but this isn’t their problem. They’ve got pretty big ones of their own to tackle at the moment. Beau won’t support any kind of vigilante action on my part, and Detective Travis clearly thinks I’m grasping at straws—ones that offend him, to boot.

  There’s always Leo, but he’s got Marcella to think about now. I can’t take him down with me, and going after Jasper or any of the moonshiners won’t do him any good.

  I get up, unwilling to say anything else that might piss the detective off or land me in any hotter water. My ass is scalded as it is.

  “Miss Harper,” he says as I put my hands up to push open the glass door to the parking lot. “I want you to know that I’m not lazy, and I believe in the Bill of Rights. You’re innocent right now because no court of law has proven you guilty. Hell, I’m still waiting on the evidence that’s going to convince me you’re guilty. In the meantime, I’m continuing to work the case. I’ll check into this moonshining angle.”

  I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. That last thing I want is for him to think his lackluster promise to help made me cry.
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  The moment it takes to get my voice back reminds me I’m not out of clues to follow on my own, and the room brightens from the dungeon-of-doom look it has taken on in the last ten minutes. It propels me out the door and into the sunshine. A glance at my cell phone reveals one good thing about Detective Travis hustling me in and out of his presence: it’s still a little before six. Time enough to run by Beau’s office and read the minutes from the last town council meeting for myself, since he said he and his staff would be working late tonight.

  With the excitement of the morning, I’ve yet to look into who benefits most from the renovations to the park.

  Karen, Beau’s executive assistant and a woman who’s seen me in my diapers, looks up from her turkey club with fries when I enter his office in Town Hall. It takes a moment, but recognition lights in her eyes. “Oh, Graciela. I’ll tell the mayor you’re here.”

  She’s quick enough to abandon her lunch that I know Beua’s left instructions on what to do should I ever pop in, and him thinking about me, not wanting to keep me waiting, makes my stomach do a little flip-flop. It’s still a hard thing for me to get used to—being thought of, having him do things for me that I didn’t ask for—but it’s getting less abrasive and intrusive and other nasty little words every time it happens.

  She comes back alone thirty seconds later, apologies written all over her pretty features. Karen isn’t that young, about ten years older than me and still as cute as I always thought.

  “He’s on a phone call with our state representative, but he’ll be off real soon,” she promises. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.” My fingers are twitchy, my stomach antsy. Desperate for action. “Actually, I was hoping to read the transcript from the last council meeting. Is that possible?”

  “Sure.” She doesn’t act as though this is a weird request. It’s one of the first times in the past couple of weeks that someone hasn’t treated me like a pariah. It’s kind of nice. “Follow me.”