by Lyla Payne
Not that he seems to mind.
The thought makes me smile in spite of everything. Maybe that means our relationship is moving forward into a comfortable place where we can settle for a while without my even noticing it. Being content and settled doesn’t sound half bad, especially after the events of the past several months.
Downstairs, Beau is shrugging out of his coat and giving Amelia a peck on the cheek. She hangs it up in the hall closet, beaming over whatever he said to her.
“Hey, back off my boyfriend,” I tease, stepping onto the tile and nudging her aside. I go in for a hug and a kiss of my own. His arms are warm and strong, and he smells like heaven. “How you doing, handsome?”
“Mmm, better now.” He rests his chin on top of my head for a moment, then kisses me one more time.
“You guys are like horny teenagers. Can we eat dinner before it gets cold?” Amelia huffs, spinning around and heading into the kitchen.
Beau and I grin at each other and then, with the smell of food calling me, I tug his hand to follow her.
“You know,” my boyfriend comments to Amelia as he slides my chair in behind me and then goes to sit down. “Maybe living with Gracie will be good practice for when Jack is a teenager.”
“God help everyone in this town if he turns out anything like Grace,” Millie grumbles. “I might not survive a second one of them.”
I decide not to dignify that with a response and dig into the chips and queso instead. Beau starts rolling a fajita, and Amelia scoops up a giant mouthful of refried beans, resulting in silence for the better part of the next ten minutes. That’s all the time my cousin needs to scrape her plate clean and start attacking the chips and queso.
“Well, Beau’s here, now,” she says. “Can we talk about Ellen?”
“Who’s Ellen?” Beau asks around a mouthful of tortilla and steak.
“The new ghost lurking around,” I admit with a sigh, poking at what’s left of my rice.
I stare at my food, waiting for Beau to say something, and when he doesn’t, I look up to find him watching me with a resigned, amused expression. “When did this happen?”
“A couple of days ago. I’ve been trying to figure out what she wants.”
“How do you know her name?”
“She’s from here.” I drink some water, trying to delay the inevitable. Beau’s been the mayor long enough that he would have heard about Ellen’s case, and any way I slice it, digging around about it could lead to trouble. “Ellen Hargrove.”
“The missing girl?” Beau grimaces and puts down his fork. “Damn. That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. I don’t think her family really held out much hope, but you know… They always keep a little.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been to see them?”
I nod. “Her mother. And her ex-boyfriend, who’s Leo’s brother. And a friend in Driftwood.”
“You’ve been busy.” Beau smiles to let me know that he’s not angry with me for holding out for even a couple of days. “Do you have beer?”
“In the fridge.” Amelia waves her hand in that direction, her gaze shifting between the two of us like a kid who’s worried her parents are about to have a fight. “What did you find out from Autumn?”
The question is directed at me, and I swallow some more water before answering. Both Amelia and Beau are good for bouncing ideas off of. Maybe I should be better about taking advantage of my friends instead of hiding things until the last possible moment.
“Not much, to be honest. She—and Trent and the mother—told the police the same things a year ago that they told me—that she did run away, but no one thinks she would have gone this long without checking in, not by choice.”
“You’re right. That’s not much.” Beau takes a couple of long swigs of his beer. “What about the boyfriend? What was going on with them?”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I remind him. “But they were sort of on-again, off-again. He said she called a week before she disappeared saying she wanted to see him but never showed up.” I pause, then dive into the rest. “The girl we talked to today, Autumn…she told the police she barely knew Ellen. Now she says they were close friends and that Ellen was running away because she’d gotten pregnant and her parents couldn’t handle it.”
“Was it Trent Boone’s?” Amelia’s eyes are wide. “Did he know?”
“In answer to the first question, I don’t know, and neither did Autumn, but Ellen said it was. As far as the second, she said Ellen planned to tell Trent before she left town, to gauge his interest or support or whatever, but she doesn’t know if Ellen followed through.”
Beau’s fingers drum an impatient pattern on the top of the kitchen table. “So this Autumn says Ellen was going to tell the boyfriend about the baby, and the boyfriend says she called but never showed up. Something doesn’t add up there.”
I shrug. “I thought that, too, but maybe Ellen chickened out. Maybe she got a bad feeling from the phone call, or didn’t think Trent would be happy about it, and couldn’t take the thought of facing him at all.”
“Or maybe she did go see him and he killed her,” Beau suggests, flinching halfway through his own theory.
“That’s awful,” Amelia comments, finally disgusted enough to stop eating, apparently.
I think about it for a second, because it’s certainly possible. With kidnappings and killings, it’s almost always someone the victim knows, and that pretty much leaves the people I’ve spoken to in the past thirty-six hours.
Still, my head starts shaking before I even realize I have an opinion. “I don’t think so. He seemed…genuine. More upset than her parents or even Autumn.”
Granted, I didn’t tell Autumn her friend is dead, but she seemed oddly aware of the fact. She’s probably given up hope after a year of no word from Ellen.
“Maybe it’s the guilt,” Amelia suggests.
A crash shatters the quiet pause, so loud and unexpected that I shriek and Amelia leaps out of her chair like a pregnant Batman. It sounds like breaking glass.
Beau’s racing out of the kitchen before I can get my feet underneath me, and with Amelia’s current state, he’s crouched down in a puddle of broken glass in the front sitting room by the time we skid in.
The big picture window has a hole in the middle about the size of a bowling ball. Shards of glass glitter on the carpet, and he pulls his sleeve over his hand to roll over a large landscaping brick. There’s string tied around it, and on the underside, a folded, white scrap of paper drops my heart into my stomach.
Beau nudges it loose without touching it directly, then swivels his head to look up at me. “I’m going to go ahead and assume this is for you.”
“Jesus.”
“I doubt it’s from him,” my boyfriend says softly, giving me a smile that’s reassuring enough to let me expel the oxygen that’s been staling in my chest. “Amelia, why don’t you call the police…”
I start to protest that they’ll only slow down my investigation, but stop before even a single syllable leaves my lips. There’s no point. Beau will insist on it, and besides, Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally will need a police report if they want to file the damage in an insurance claim. Not to mention it’s the normal thing to do when one’s house is vandalized.
My grandmother’s old sewing station is on the wall behind me. I open the rolling door to reveal a pile of her handmade handkerchiefs and pluck a delicate white one from the top. Green vines and yellow flowers adorn the edges, glaringly pretty in the context of using it to take the note from Beau’s outstretched hand.
I set it down on the top of the workstation, trying to unfold it without touching any of the paper with my fingers, blowing my hair out of my face with frustration at the tedious process.
“Don’t you have any latex gloves?”
I shoot Beau a look that I hope communicates how strange his question is. “Why would I have latex gloves?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you make a habit of breaking
into places and they might come in handy?” His sarcasm stings, his disapproval of how I go about things clear.
“Regular old gloves work for that, silly.” I try to keep my response light, but my heart struggles to climb back into my chest, to beat normally.
Someone just threw a brick through my goddamn window.
Amelia runs back into the sitting room, her cell phone clutched so tight her knuckles are white. “They’re on their way. Will answered.”
I sigh. Of course he did.
“What does the damn note say, Gracie?” Beau’s face and words are tight, and behind his snappishness, I see worry.
I turn back to the desk and manage to get the note open enough to read. My heart starts to beat now, but it’s far too fast. All of the blood drains from my head, leaving a dizzy disconnect between my brain and my body. Although the latter is freaking out, the former feels nothing but anger.
“It says,” I start, trying my best to unclench my teeth, “People who stick their noses where they don’t belong end up with mangled faces.”
My fingers crumble the paper, all of my lingering fear over the text turned to rage. How dare someone threaten me in my home? We’re supposed to be past all of this shit, and yet here we go again—my life putting Amelia’s in danger.
“Well, that’s eloquent.” Beau’s standing over my shoulder now, reading the note for himself. His big hands lift to my shoulders and offer comfort, protection, and warmth.
I’m not sure which feels the best at the moment, but there’s no doubt I need them all.
“Is this about Ellen, do you think?” he asks.
“What else would it be about?” I answer Beau quickly and turn toward Amelia. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Grace, I’m fine.” Her hands go to her belly. “Jack and I have been through worse. We’re tough. If someone thinks a brick through the window will scare either one of us, they can piss off.”
A laugh bubbles up from my middle, unexpected and slightly painful in light of everything. “That’s right. They can startle me but scare me? Bah.”
Beau shakes his head. “You two are something else. I about shit my pants.”
“Whatever,” I say. “You’re as stubborn as we are.”
He smiles down into my face and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m proud to know you, you know that? What scares me, though, is the thought of something happening to you, Gracie.”
“Beau…”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you to back off or anything else that would be a waste of breath. I admire the fact that you want to help these people no matter what it might cost you, because everyone deserves a voice. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be scared about what I might lose.”
A rush of affection floods my blood, making me warm and woozy and unsure exactly how to feel about anything in the world except the man standing in front of me. “I love you, Mr. Mayor.”
He kisses my nose. “I know. I love you, too.”
“I’m feeling left out over here,” Amelia pouts. “And it’s cold in here now.”
Beau reaches out with his other arm and snuggles her into our circle. Her swollen belly presses against my flat one, and I feel the baby kick. It makes me smile.
Headlights sweep across the front of the house, and we break apart. I’m cold immediately, as well, and pause in the front hall to dig our coats out of the closet before we open the front door to let in more cold air. And people. Neither of which I feel like welcoming into our house at the moment.
Will steps over the threshold first, worry lines creasing his face. I rethink my position from a moment ago because it’s always good to see Will and he’s exactly the kind of person who can make the shittiest night better.
It hasn’t been a shitty night, though. Only the past ten minutes.
“Hey, Gracie, are y’all okay?” Will asks, his eyes scanning me first, then Amelia, then connecting with Beau’s. He nods. “Mr. Mayor.”
“We’re okay,” I tell him.
“Where’s this brick?” He gets down to business, and I realize he’s alone. No Travis, no Ryan brothers.
“It’s in the sitting room,” I tell him. “You alone?”
“For now, yeah. We’re short-handed without Travis.”
Travis. Maybe I should rethink just having him watch the house when Amelia is home alone. If he’d been here, we could have already solved the damn case.
We all move back into the sitting room. Will’s expression hardens as he takes in the damage, then sets down the bag over his shoulder and unzips it. “Y’all can wait somewhere else if you’re cold. I just need to photograph everything and then sit tight until the fingerprint guys get here.”
“How long will that be? I mean, if we want to have someone board up the window?” Amelia looks tired, as though the past half hour has taken a toll.
“I can do it before I leave, Mill. And I can take your statement tomorrow if you’re tired.” He smiles at her. “I know Mel’s dozing before her feet are off the floor these days, and it’s almost eight.”
“Thanks, William Gayle. You’re good people.” My cousin pecks him on the cheek, then turns to me. “I’m going to take a hot shower and then crawl into bed and read.”
“That’s code for fall asleep at a toddler’s bedtime,” I inform Beau and Will. Amelia rolls her eyes, and I laugh. “Fine. Good night, Millie. I’ll look in on you in a while.”
“Night. It was nice to see you, Beau.”
“You too.”
She heads out, leaving the rest of us frowning at the mess on the floor. More glass litters the sofa under the window, but the thing is, like, ninety years old and no one ever sits on it as it is. We should throw it out, but neither Amelia nor I has had the energy—or the heart—to change much about our grandparents’ house at all.
“Why don’t the two of you tell me what happened.” Will flips open his pad of paper and digs a pen from his pocket. “The forensic guys from Edgewater should be here in twenty minutes or so.”
Heron Creek isn’t big enough for any sort of fancy evidence gathering. Come to think of it, the DNA kit I promised Travis would probably go through their office, too.
Beau gives me an encouraging nod, which I take to mean he wants me to go first. I shrug, knowing there’s not much we can tell Will that will be useful. “We were in the kitchen having dinner when we heard a big crash. We all ran in here and found the window like this and the brick on the floor. There was a note tied around it. It’s over here.”
I point to the sewing station and Will moves over quickly, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. He carefully presses the note flat and reads. When he looks up, his face is pale and his blue eyes snap with anger. “What the hell is this about, Gracie?”
A defeated sigh winds out of my chest. Whoever is texting me and leaving messages on bricks isn’t going to like an entire town of people knowing Ellen’s dead. Will already knows I’m looking into what happened to her.
“It’s about that case I’ve been sniffing around,” I admit. “Ellen Hargrove. And this is technically my second threat.”
“Goddammit, Gracie Anne,” Beau growls, glowering at me as I hand my phone, and the display of the offending text, over to Will.
He reads it, his neck turning redder by the word. “Son of a bitch. Why didn’t you tell me you needed help when you asked for the file? I’m the police—you’re not.”
“I know that,” I snap. “But if I came to you and told you a ghost needed you to open her cold case, how exactly would you explain that?”
“I don’t know.” Will rubs his face, looking lost.
Beau’s expression twinkles a little, as though he’s amused watching someone else go through the same emotions he’s struggled to conquer since he met me and I met Anne Bonny. Not in that order.
“You could have let me know this had the potential to be dangerous. I could have…I don’t know, said I go
t a tip and then backed you up.”
“Look, I don’t even know if what she wants from me has anything to do with what happened to her. Maybe it was an accident! The point is, it’s not your problem.”
“Gracie…” Beau inserts himself into the argument, looking less pleased now that he’s a player and not an observer. “Maybe Will’s right about this one. Ellen deserves justice, and I don’t see how having more than one person fighting for that can hurt.”
Stubborn resistance thickens inside me. I fold my arms over my chest and jut out my chin, knowing he may be right but refusing to be bullied into revealing anything about my ghost that I don’t want to.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally grind out. I already asked Travis for help, but that’s not the same thing. “I’ll come by in the morning and make a better statement, including who could be targeting me and why, okay?”
Will nods, looking as tired now as Amelia did before he sent her upstairs. “Okay. Make sure you do.”
There’s a second knock at the front door, distracting all of us from the argument.
“No way that’s the forensics people yet,” Will says.
It’s not. It’s Cade, Mrs. Walters’s handsome grandson. The sight of his chiseled self under the glow of the porch light makes me squint.
“I don’t want to intrude but I just…I heard a commotion and wanted to make sure you two were okay.” His gaze slides to Beau, whose warmth slides around my shoulders. “You’re obviously fine.”
“I’m Mayor Drayton.” Beau extends a hand over the threshold. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Oh, sorry,” I fumble. “Beau, this is Cade Walters, Mrs. Walters’s grandson. He’s here in town taking care of her house and everything.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” my boyfriend says, his tone sincere in the way only a genuinely nice person’s can be. “She was a fiery woman.”
“Thank you. We weren’t close.” Cade smiles, his eyes sliding from Beau to me. “Well, tell your cousin I came by, and that I’m more than happy to put up those Christmas lights like she asked. Just say when.”
