Not Quite Mine

by Lyla Payne

  What if we’re right, but we’ve been missing the reason?

  A girl like Elizabeth, from a family like hers…if she had fallen in love with the son of a colonist—or worse, a servant—her father surely wouldn’t have approved.

  My throat closes tight around a throbbing mess of emotion, and somehow, even though it’s conjecture, I know it’s right. They fell in love but she was forced to reject him, and he sailed west on a ship to find his fortune. Perhaps to prove himself. And he had. He had lived an amazing life, contributed great things, and left a legacy that would stun the most jaded of men.

  What if, after all these years, all he wants is to be good enough for her?

  A tear slips down my cheek, and this time I’m positive it belongs to me alone. I look at Henry and resist the urge to reach out and cover his hand with my own. If I’m right, this might be the saddest of all my ghost stories yet. Even if I’m wrong, I’m determined to do the one thing I can for Henry—to make sure people know his name.

  Instead of waiting until Saturday to drive up to Seabrook, I go after I close up the library at five. I have no plans for dinner other than hanging out with Amelia, and since she texted me an hour ago to tell me Brick was bringing over a movie, I’m not in a big hurry to get home. With Brick back in town, asking Travis to look after her feels superfluous.

  The truth is, Amelia needs me less as long as Brick is around. It’s freeing in a way, but a little bit sad, too. So much of the past six months has been swamped with worry over her, over Jack, and it feels almost strange to have an evening away from all of that, to be able to take a three-hour drive up the coast, get home after midnight, and not have anything blow up or anyone disappear while I’m gone.

  I text Beau so he won’t worry, telling him I’m going to track down some more information on Ellen and that I’ll call him later. It’s selfish of me since I know he can’t get away, and it would be nice to have company in some ways. In others, the road and the shuffle function on my iTunes sounds perfect.

  If this case had been different I would have asked Leo to come along. He’s not going to want to see his brother, even if I think Trent might need someone to lean on once he learns that he might be a father.

  I have to tell him. There’s no way to keep going without revealing that particular bit of information, and not only because there’s no reason to keep it a secret. Daria said Ellen left, that she’d decided to go stay with someone she trusted instead of crashing on the dusty couch in Daria’s home-slash-office, and all signs seem to point to that person being either Trent or Autumn. So, one of them is lying.

  It could be that Trent is an exceptional actor. That Ellen had gotten up the nerve to tell him the truth, and he flipped out and killed her.

  It just doesn’t seem likely. He doesn’t seem like the type. It’s as hard to believe he would do something like that as it would be to believe such a thing of Leo, but hell. If I’ve learned anything since coming back to Heron Creek, it’s that it’s nearly impossible to guess the limits of what people are capable of in every given situation.

  The drive goes fast, probably because my mind wanders far from how heavy my foot is on the gas pedal. No lights flash in my rearview mirror, though, and getting away with something is a relief. Even though that was the norm the first twenty-five years of my life, it certainly hasn’t been my luck in the past one.

  Seabrook is as quiet tonight as it was a few days ago. I drive by the Tin Shed, but it’s after seven and there are only a few cars in the parking lot, so I keep going, making a couple of turns to get back to the marina. I’m more than a little leery about running into the leering old man who runs the place and stuff my can of mace into my bag before climbing out onto the squishy grass.

  It’s still warm out, my jean jacket more than enough to thwart the chill, but I tug it closed around me anyway. Several of the boats are moored, but at least I know which one I’m looking for this time around—the Angel Face bobs quietly toward the end of the line, a soft glow oozing from its windows. Rigging twists around metal masts, clanging softly in the dark as I consider the proper way to get Trent’s attention.

  I’m not exactly the sort of girl who was raised at a yacht club. Amelia might know, but she’s not here and I didn’t think to ask. Do I knock? Holler? Request permission to come aboard or just leap on deck like a damned pirate?

  The last option twitches my lips up into a smile. More proof that even if Anne’s blood is gone, her spirit didn’t dissolve from my veins along with it.

  But I’m not a pirate, and I feel like I might fall in the water if I try knocking. Voices rumble from inside the boat, and the fact that he’s not alone makes me feel a bit better. At least it won’t be only the two of us and my pink container of mace if I’m wrong about the sort of man Trent is.

  “Hello?” I try, then clear my throat. “Hello? Trent?”

  The sound of my voice is followed by silence from the boat, then scrapes and footsteps. Trent’s head pops out of the cabin—or whatever it’s called—and he squints at me in the darkness. “Graciela? What the fresh hell you doin’ out there in the dark?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Hell, no. I am drinking, though.”

  “Um…permission to come aboard?”

  “Do you play poker?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you play poker? You know, with chips and cards? We’ve got a game goin’ on, and if half the things I’ve heard about you are true, you’ll be awful bored just sittin’ and watchin.’”

  “Is that so?” He grins and looks so much like Leo that it gives me a start. “I’ll play a few hands. You’re lucky I’ve got some cash on me.”

  “Luck ain’t got nothin to do with it. Come on.”

  He disappears belowdecks, not bothering to help me onto the Angel Face. It takes me a few minutes to figure it out on my own, and no amount of grumbling about what a shitty boat captain he is magically brings him back on deck.

  By the time I descend into the belly of the boat, I’m sweating and feeling ready to take some cash off him just to prove a point.

  My stomach tumbles at the sight of Knox grinning at me like he knows what I’m thinking. I cover my reaction with a raised eyebrow, then study the other three men at the table. They’re all older and grayer, with the exception of the one on Trent’s left who has no hair at all.

  “It smells like fish in here,” I inform them. My comment cracks them up, and the brightness of their eyes tells me I wasn’t totally off with my question about excess drinking. “Well, deal me in, I guess.”

  I can’t talk to Trent about the fact that he might have a son running around somewhere with these others here, but there’s also no good way to get him away without showing my cards, so to speak. Might as well sit and play a few hands, maybe earn a little extra cash in the process.

  Knox winks at me as he unfolds a sixth chair and wedges it in the spot between him and Trent.

  I sigh. “Can I have a beer?”

  One isn’t going to hurt. I’ll be able to keep my wits about me and start moving the direction of home in an hour or so.

  “’Course.”

  Knox sets a bottle of Bud Heavy down in front of me, the lid already twisted off. I drop my purse on the floor after grabbing a couple of twenties from my wallet, then set the money on the table. My nose wrinkles. “Seriously, it’s nice up on deck. Why not take advantage of the fresh air?”

  “We can’t smell ourselves, I suppose,” Knox confesses. “We’re around fish twenty-four hours a day so, to us, that’s just how the world smells.”

  “Twenty-four hours a day? There are fish in your shower?”

  “Okay, fine, all but twenty minutes a day,” Knox amends.

  I sip my beer and try to pay attention as Trent introduces the strangers, all fishermen themselves, and he hands over a stack of chips in exchange for my forty bucks. I’m no poker expert but I did go through a period in college when playing was a weekend activity. It didn’t take m
e long to figure out that men are predisposed to assume women don’t know what in the hell they’re doing—not just at the poker table, but it certainly applies here—so when they start explaining the rules to me I put on an interested, slightly confused expression and act like I’m listening.

  Four hands in, I get one I can use and play it just right. It doubles the stack in front of me and the guys’ expressions go from amused to varying degrees of annoyed. Except for Knox, who shoots me a look with one eyebrow raised and his lips twisted into an impressed smile. I get the feeling he would applaud if we were alone.

  Three more hands and two of the older men have run out of chips and decided to call it a night. It’s nearly eight p.m. now, and if I don’t get Trent away for a chat soon, I’m going to be getting home later than I should with having to work tomorrow.

  I go for the jugular, running the third guy and Trent out of chips in the next half hour, and try not to feel too bad about the fact that I’ve tripled my unexpected investment in just over an hour. Trent walks his guests out, grumbling my general direction on his way, and Knox holds up his hands in defeat.

  “I know when I’m beat. I think I’ll hold on to my last ten bucks so I can afford to eat this weekend.”

  “Hope you weren’t planning on taking your lady out to a nice dinner,” I say.

  “No lady here.” His gaze is intense on my face, which heats in response.

  My stomach does a flip and a spin at the attention, which is flattering. Especially considering I have a hard time believing Knox doesn’t have his pick of pretty much any young lady he stumbles across.

  “Well, I find that hard to believe.”

  “You have a bad habit of judging books by their covers. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  I cock my head and think about it. “No, actually. And I’m a librarian.”

  Maybe I have been making certain assumptions about Knox and the other fishermen based on my idea of their lives when, in reality, I haven’t the slightest clue exactly what they do, when they work, what sort of fish they catch or money they make. Bad Gracie.

  “Listen, I don’t want to give you the boot or anything, but I really need to talk to Trent in private.”

  That gives him pause, and the look on his face turns the slightest bit sour. “I feel the need to tell you that you’re not his type. He likes blondes.”

  I snort. “Now who’s judging a book by its cover?”

  “You’re not interested?”

  “That would be a no.” The thought makes me feel almost slimy, as though Trent were my brother and not Leo’s, which makes little sense. But there it is. “He’s, like, way younger than me for one, and for two, I’m friends with his brother.”

  “Which one? Doesn’t he have like fifteen?”

  “Maybe not quite that many. And Leo.”

  That startles him, no matter how he tries to hide it. “Oh.”

  “Wait, does he talk about Leo?” I want so bad to know what happened between the siblings but feel like my loyalty to Leo prevents me from asking. Which really sucks because asking questions is, of course, the best way to find things out.

  Knox shrugs. “No, not really. Not anymore. He used to, right after it happened.”

  My mouth is open, ready to ask what on earth happened, when the sound of Trent’s footsteps on the short staircase has me swallowing the words. Dammit. What the hell happened?

  Knox gives me a look that’s impossible to decipher, then stands up and gives an exaggerated stretch. “I think I’m gonna roll out, too, man. Have a boat of tourists looking to catch themselves some snapper in the morning.”

  “It’s only eight-forty,” Trent comments, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “I know, but I’m bushed.” He smiles at me, leaving me a little blind. “Graciela, it was nice to see you again. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Knox gives his friend a pat on the back as he scrambles up the ladder and onto the deck, and a moment later, I hear his feet hit the dock. I don’t tell him that after I figure out how to help Ellen, I’ll probably never be back here. Curiosity aside, my loyalty is to Leo, and I know without asking that he would hate the idea of me hanging around his brother, regardless of the reason.

  “Did you tell him to get lost? Because if you did, can you teach me how you made it work?” Trent jokes, picking up empty bottles and tossing them into a purple recycling bin in the kitchen.

  The space inside the boat is cramped and small—really just one room that serves as kitchen, living area, and bedroom—but it’s cozier than I expected. Fine for one man, and the gentle rock of the craft lulls me into a false sense of comfort.

  It’s almost as if I don’t care that the little bit of safety I had just left with Knox, and that I’d asked him to. At least if Trent kills me and dumps my body in the water there are a few witnesses who will attest to the fact that I was here tonight.

  Well, who could attest to the fact I was here tonight. Whether or not they will depends on where their loyalties lie, and there’s a good chance it’s not with me.

  My mouth goes a bit dry, and I reach for a second beer from the cooler on the floor. “It’s a bit stuffy in here. Can we go up on deck and have a chat?”

  “Sure.”

  Trent leads me up the stairs, and my worries turn from being murdered to the fact that I’m about to change his life forever. If he doesn’t already know he’s a father, he’s about to. The last time I saw him I told him Ellen is dead, and now I’m about to dump the news that she believed she was pregnant with his child when she passed.

  I sure am a barrel of fun. Maybe I should consider dressing like the Grim Reaper for the remainder of this investigation just to give people fair warning.

  The fresh air helps calm me down the slightest bit. I try to focus on Ellen. She’s the reason I’m here. Hearing the news might rock Trent’s world, but at least he’s still in the world. Ellen is dead and her baby is missing, and she’s relying on me to make at least one of those things right.

  That she came here with me the last time, that she boarded his boat like an old friend and never once tried to warn me to stay away, all give me the courage to sit beside Trent near the starboard bow. Our feet dangle toward the water, the beer cold in my hand.

  Trent stares out at the calm waters in the port as a wistful sigh slips out of him. “We used to sit here like this…Ellen and me.”

  “How long have you been fishing?” I ask, unsure whether I want to know or I want to avoid the unpleasantness for a few more minutes.

  “Right after high school. I bought the Angel Face with the money I earned working summers for a crew since I was fourteen.” He closes his eyes for a minute. “She was proud of me.”

  “I’m sure she was, and that your family is, too.” I can’t help bringing it up, the same way I can’t help thinking that maybe if I knew what happened there would be a way to help Leo find his way back.

  The Boone clan had been tight-knit, as I remember them. Always together. While Mel, Will, Amelia, and I made up one gang of kids, the one across town we always battled was all made of Boones. They never had much money, and lived in a house too small for all those kids, but they were fiercely loyal. It means this falling out makes even less sense, and I hate the fact that Leo is the one left out in the cold.

  “My dad sure was.” He’s almost whispering now, and not bothering to hide the tears shining in his eyes. “I think part of it was relief, like one less kid to support, but he liked that I made my own way.”

  My heart squeezes at the grief in his tone, and at the use of the past tense. I had no idea Mr. Boone had died. Leo hadn’t mentioned it, but we don’t talk about his family—other than Lindsay—much. Or at all. “He died? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  He laughs, a brittle, hateful thing. “Oh, you mean Leo hasn’t mentioned it? Shocker.”

  I ignore the barb, my chest tight. “What happened?”

  Trent doesn’t answer, sipping his beer and shaking his head slowly fr
om side to side. I realize he’s not going to answer long before he changes the subject.

  “What are you doing here, Graciela?”

  I’ll get no more information about the Boone family fallout from Trent, at least not tonight. The clues I did get go right into pockets in my mind, where I can drag them out later and see if I can make any sense about why their father’s death would have caused such a rift.

  I suck in a deep breath, blow it out, and decide my Band-Aid theory applies to this situation, too.

  Rip it off.

  “Ellen was pregnant,” I say, my heart aching and my voice soft. “Did you know?”

  The news hits him like a physical blow. His body jerks away from me, all of the muscles on his face going slack as horror spills from his eyes and peppers me with guilt.

  It takes him awhile to get himself back together, and when he does, his first question comes as no surprise. “Was it mine?”

  “She thought it was.”

  His eyes are shining with tears again, and this time, one slips loose. “Why didn’t she tell me? Is that what she called about?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it probably was. I don’t know why she didn’t tell you. Maybe she was scared.” I reach out and put my hand over his, unable to sit beside his pain any longer and not at least try to help. “He was born alive, I know that much.”

  “He?” Trent swallows in quick succession. “Oh my god. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I think that’s what Ellen wants me to find out. She’s worried about him.” I pause, feeling my way along. Everything about his reaction tells me Trent had no idea he was a father before now, which means he can’t have seen her again after she left.

  Which means he can’t have killed her.

  “I think maybe she wants you two to find each other even though she’s gone.”

  A second tear rolls down his cheek, but he angrily wipes it away. The fact that he seems okay with crying in front of me is such a Boone family trait—not caring about what others think.

  “How can I help?” he asks.

  “I found out where she was staying for a few months after she left home. Ellen told the woman she was staying with that she’d decided to go stay with a friend until the baby was born.” I eye him. “I’m pretty convinced now that wasn’t you. Any idea who else could it be?”