Not Quite Mine

by Lyla Payne

  I can’t help but think that even those men weren’t careful enough to stay alive. Not in the end. Of course, none of us can stay alive in the end.

  A second shape moves behind the bushes, peeping around the post. I startle at the sight of Ellen’s ghost, an unhappy expression on her face as her dark gaze flits between Frank and me.

  “Are you still bossing my ghosts around?” I ask, moving up the uneven path without falling. After months navigating it, I know it again like the back of my own hand, but I remember having to focus in order not to fall in front of Mrs. Walters the first day I arrived back home.

  “This one’s stubborn.” Frank frowns up at Ellen, who folds her arms over her chest in a gesture that smacks of defiance. “Won’t say a word.”

  “She’s strong,” I correct, moving forward. The distance closes between us. There’s a bag sitting next to him on the steps and an air about him that, for some reason, makes me feel like this is not going to be a fun conversation.

  I’m not sure we’ve ever had a fun conversation, my father and me. Unless I count the time he told me that Beau and I aren’t related. That was a pretty good one.

  “What are you doing here, Frank?” There’s no point answering his original question. A quick peek reveals that Cade must have gone inside. The sun is starting to set, and the street is quiet. In the summer, kids would be out on their bikes and skateboards. The smell of barbecue and the sound of squealing laughter would hang over the scene, but tonight, it’s nearly silent.

  He pats the step next to him, and I sit, unable to find the energy to refuse. The slats of painted wood are still warm from the sun.

  “I have to leave, Graciela.”

  “Why?”

  Frank purses his lips. “I think we’re both better off if you don’t know the answer to that. I’ll have to ditch this phone and get a new one, too.”

  “And you actually thought to come tell me? I’m shocked.” Sarcasm never helps a situation, but it never really hurts, either. Especially when my insides are twisted in confusion as to how I’m supposed to feel about this. About Frank.

  I never even knew my father was alive until a month or so ago, and since then, he’s been flitting around the edges of my life like a hummingbird that never lights on the feeder. There’s no way to force him or, it seems, to figure out if I want him to stay.

  “I came to bring you this, mostly.” He nudges the bag with his toe. “I know I haven’t been too helpful as far as tellin’ you what I came here to make sure you knew, but the truth is…it’s the sort of thing every Fournier needs to find out for themselves.”

  “Well, I’ve been trying,” I complain. “I’m guessing the rest of you had it a little easier being raised Fourniers and not coming into it twenty-six years later.”

  He nods a couple of times. “True. You know…I need you to know that wasn’t my choice. I wouldn’t have made it, either.”

  “You mean, how you made it with Travis?” I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’s going to confirm, deny, or ignore my assumption that he is, in fact, Travis’s father.

  Frank chooses the latter, which shouldn’t surprise me. It’s been his modus operandi since the first time I brought it up. “You and me, we have a lot to learn about each other.”

  “And you taking off again is going to do wonders to fix that issue.”

  “You get your sarcasm from your mother.” His lips tighten into an odd smile, one that can’t decide whether it’s nostalgic or annoyed. “I can’t stay. It’s not who I am, and it’s not possible given my current…lifestyle. But I promise I’m not going to drop out of your life, Graciela. That’s never going to happen.”

  There’s nothing to do but nod. He’s not going to change his mind, and the truth is, aside from this whole Travis debacle, I’m not sure I want him to.

  “So what’s in the bag?”

  “Letters. They’re from Carlotta—not Mama Lottie, the first Carlotta—to her children. Your ancestors. They should give you a good idea of what it means to carry the legacy that comes with our last name.” He pauses. “You won’t be able to call me with questions, but you can either write them down or send them with one of your spirits here, and I’ll get them.”

  “They don’t do what I tell them. That’s your gig. And if you’re gone you won’t know who you can boss around anymore.” I stop, realizing that I never told him about Ellen, yet here she is, with Frank, and looking none too happy about it, either.

  Is there another way he can know which ghosts have contacted me for help? How?

  The thought makes me feel watched and almost violated in a way that has me wondering how soon I’ll be able to take a shower. I don’t ask him a thing. Maybe I don’t want to know.

  “If you give them a question, I’ll get it. Okay?”

  He stands up and stretches, then steps down off the porch, leaving the bag where it is. “Henry seems happy with whatever you’re doing.”

  I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. “Really? I haven’t seen him much.”

  While that’s true, he has seemed in a better mood when he has been around, especially when he’s watching my progress on his article. It will be a good feeling to finally be able to help him let go and stop wandering. And finally be rid of Frank, hopefully.

  “Trust me. He’s around, but if you keep doing what you’re doing I don’t think he will be for much longer.” Frank smiles as he looks at me, and it’s a good feeling. Like he sees me, like he’s proud. “You’re doing good work, Graciela. Maybe you’re even making up for some of the shit I’ve done. Not that it’s your job to do any such thing.”

  I stay silent, thinking that he’s right but, at the same time, basking in his pride. It’s been such a long time since I’ve stood in the warmth of parental affection that it’s like a hit of some kind of drug.

  “As far as Dylan Travis…”

  “Yeah?” I ask, perking up even though he seems disinclined to finish his own thought.

  “Don’t judge your mother too harshly. She wasn’t cut out to be a parent. Some people aren’t.”

  He turns to leave, and I shoot to my feet.

  “Frank!” He keeps walking. “Frank, come on! I know Travis isn’t Felicia’s son, so why does he have anything to do with my opinion of her? Frank!”

  “Go check on your cousin!” is his only reply, and then he climbs into a car a couple of blocks away with a wave of his hand over his head. He never looks back.

  His parting words shoot through my frustration like a flame-tipped arrow of panic, and I whirl toward the house. Ellen’s face looks more alarmed than anxious for the first time since I met her, and I fumble for my key, shoving it into the lock and pushing the door open on the third try.

  “Amelia? Millie?” My throat feels tight, a million thoughts tumbling through my head at once. This was supposed to be over. I was never supposed to walk into the house again and have to worry about how or if I’ll find my cousin.

  “In the kitchen,” comes her weak reply.

  My knees turn to water. It takes some concentration to keep moving forward, but I have to see her to believe she’s okay.

  I slam to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen, stunned by the scene in front of me. The sliding glass door to the patio is partially open, a gap about two feet wide admitting fresh evening air. Amelia’s sitting at the table, her knees drawn up and folded to keep her feet off the floor, which is littered with dead mice.

  The critters are in various stages of decomposition, some broken and battered, others looking as though they might stand up and scamper off at any moment. A few are bones with bits of hair stuck to them in places, nothing more.

  My mouth falls open, my eyes wide, and it takes a good amount of effort to get words into my head, then more to get them off my tongue. “What in the hell is this? Where did they come from?”

  “I don’t know. I got home from the store ten minutes ago and I found it like this.” She gulps. “I stepped on one in my bare feet.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, Millie. Why didn’t you call me?”

  She looks at me, her eyes crinkled on the edges as if she doesn’t understand the question. “I don’t know. I called Brick. He’s coming over.”

  “Oh.” There’s nothing more to say about that.

  “I’ve been trying to gather the nerve to clean them up.” A visible shudder rolls down her spine. “I don’t know why I didn’t call the police. It’s just… What are they going to do about a bunch of dead mice?”

  I wave a hand, letting her know I don’t blame her for not doing either thing. My eyes trail to the back door. “Did you bring the groceries in through the back?”

  “No.”

  The pieces fall into place all at once. My fingers curl around the threshold between rooms, doing their best to hold me up. “Jesus, someone broke in to leave a bunch of dead mice?”

  “That’s not all.” She nods toward the kitchen counter.

  I pick my way over to have a look, my hand flying to cover my mouth at the sight of the words written in smudged blood: Last Warning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Brick leaves, Beau has shown up and so has my anger. I’m not scared—the person doing this is a sneak, someone who doesn’t want confrontation at all, and all they’re doing is pissing me off. I hate that someone is trying to threaten me, but more than that, I’m furious that following a ghostly trail has once again upset Amelia.

  Beau nods off, warm and naked beside me in the bed, which normally would convince me to follow. But not tonight. I’m keyed up from my emotional trip to Seabrook yesterday and from saying good-bye to Frank, even though it occurs to me now that neither of us said those actual words. Most of all, though, I’m riled from promising Amelia that she and Jack were safe after Mama Lottie gave up and moved on, only to be proven a liar by some asshole a couple of weeks later.

  I think it’s the anger that blocks the truth from me for so many hours. Or perhaps the precursor to Beau’s naked state had more to do with it, but either way, it hits me now like a fish to the face.

  Only three other people in the world—possibly four—outside of my inner circle know I’m still investigating Ellen’s disappearance. Which means Trent, Autumn, or maybe Lindsay Boone is behind the threats being delivered to our house, and I can include Daria on that list if I’m feeling more paranoid than usual.

  I throw off the covers, my limbs thrumming with unspent energy. The need to know more about Autumn—what she was like, what her friendship with Ellen was really like—moves me out of the bed, carefully so as not to disturb Beau, and into a pair of yoga pants and a flannel shirt. My boyfriend must be spent because he hasn’t stirred, and doesn’t when I press a kiss to his forehead and sneak out with my purse and coat, either. I’ll be back long before he wakes up.

  Even though it’s only a little after ten thirty, I should be drained after getting home so late last night and working all day. But Ellen’s nerves have infected me, and the pressing worry about where the baby might be now makes the idea of lying around sound like torture.

  A brisk wind kicks up outside, and I’m glad I took the time to zip up my coat before grabbing Amelia’s keys off the hook by the door and stepping onto the porch. It feels as though I’m being watched as I hurry down the sidewalk and slide behind the wheel of her SUV.

  My fingers press a few buttons on my phone, and Travis picks up after a couple of rings. He sounds tired. “Hello?”

  “Someone left a bunch of dead mice in our kitchen this afternoon and they scared the daylights out of Amelia. Where were you?”

  “What time?” he asks, sounding more alert now.

  “I don’t know, between three and five?”

  He pauses, then clears his throat. “I didn’t see a soul, Graciela, I swear. Nothing between when she went out and when you got home and I left.”

  “Crap.” It would have been too easy, I suppose, if Travis had seen one of my suspects sneaking in or out of the house this afternoon. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Gracie. If you could tell Amelia then I could stay closer. With her, even.”

  I frown. “No. I don’t want her to feel like this is a big issue.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not, then,” he says gruffly before hanging up the phone.

  It’s clear that Travis doesn’t approve of my handling of things. That’s nothing new, but now that he’s no longer the lead detective in town, he’s not in a position to tell me what to do. Not that it ever worked, anyway.

  The drive to Leo’s house takes no time at all. I cut the headlights before swinging into his driveway so they won’t sweep across Marcella’s darkened room. Lindsay’s car isn’t here, which means she must still be at work. I can wait, and maybe Leo will take pity on me with a beer or a glass of wine. A frown tugs at my lips as I realize that Victoria might be over, that my visit might be an interruption of the worst kind, but there is no other car in the driveway or the street, and I turn off the engine and climb back out into the night.

  I text Leo instead of knocking, and he peers out the window, then unlocks the front door for me a few minutes later.

  “Marcella asleep?” I ask, stepping over the threshold.

  “Yep.”

  “You alone?”

  His smile is wry. “Yep. Come on in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Without discussing it, Leo leads me into the kitchen and pulls two bottles of Dos Equis Amber from the fridge, popping them open with nothing other than the heel of his hand and the edge of the counter.

  “Porch?”

  I nod in response, clutching my beer as we head out to the four-season porch on the back of the house. It’s my favorite spot at Leo’s, and since he’s popped in the windows in response to the chill outside, the space is toasty. Leo settles into a rattan chair and props his big feet up on the matching, glass-topped coffee table. I settle on the love seat and tuck my legs underneath me, tugging a blanket from the back and snuggling in.

  “So what’s up?”

  I love that Leo lets me in without needing an answer to that question up front. I love how comfortable I feel back here, like all of the troubles and everyday worries and prying eyes are safely at bay.

  “I came to talk to Lindsay about Ellen’s ghost, actually, but I see she’s still at work.”

  “Ah, just what everyone wants—to be told he’s a second choice.”

  “Why aren’t you hanging out with Victoria?” I ask, ignoring his sarcasm.

  “Mr. Latimer had a bad day so she had to stay.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s been a nice evening, just me and Monkey like the old days.”

  “She’s growing up so fast.” Something about Marcella’s age—four going on fourteen—makes her seem so grown up. I already miss the little baby I met six months ago.

  “I know. So are we, I guess. Growing old, not up.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself.”

  He chuckles, then salutes me with his beer. “Fair point, Bugs. What about you? No hot date with the mayor tonight?”

  “He’s asleep already.”

  Leo’s face rearranges into a neutral expression that leaves me wondering what he’s thinking. “Damn. We are getting old.”

  “True story. I blame all of the pregnant women in my life. And my ghosts.”

  “What’s going on with Ellen?” His voice is as even as his face, though he must have opinions and questions. He must be wondering how his brother is doing with the news that Ellen died.

  “I’ll fill you in when your sister gets home. That way I don’t have to say it twice.”

  “Okay. Well, what do you want to talk to me about, then? Or should we sit in silence?”

  We do just that for a few moments, but it doesn’t take me long to search my heart. “Beau might not be the mayor much longer.”

  He chokes on his beer. “What?”

  “Yeah. You know how Congressman Wilt is stepping down?”

  “I saw the press release today. His wife is dying, right? Too bad.”
>
  “Yes, it is.” My own beer salves my throat with cool relief. “Anyway, Governor Haley wants Beau to fill his seat until the end of the term.”

  It takes a minute for that to sink in, the wheels in Leo’s head turning almost audibly. “She can just do that?”

  I shrug. “Apparently. In South Carolina the governor just picks someone and they serve until the next election.”

  “Shit. Is he going to do it?”

  “I don’t know. He says he’s still considering it, but I think he wants to.” I pause, wondering how much I can tell Leo without betraying my boyfriend. Maybe I’ve already said too much.

  “But…?” Like he does so often, Leo reads my mind.

  “No but. He’s worried that there are more qualified people and he’s only getting the shot because of his family.”

  “Could be true, but I mean, that’s not really his problem, is it?”

  I study his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he’s worked hard to be his own man. I’m sure he could already have a seat in Congress, or he could have gone for the mayorship in Charleston, which would certainly have been more prestigious. He’s proven that he’s earned this on his own no matter if she’s giving him the job because he’s a Drayton. Right?”

  It makes sense, what he’s saying, and in my heart I know it’s true. It’s too bad I don’t have Leo’s quick thinking or maybe Beau would be feeling better about the whole thing. I smile. “Maybe you should be the one dating Beau. He probably would have already said yes.”

  A deep belly laugh from Leo warms my chest. “I don’t think he’s my type.”

  “Not like Victoria.” I sing her name like we’re back in the third grade, and damn if it doesn’t look like Leo’s blushing.

  “How do you feel about Beau taking the job?” he asks, quickly returning the focus to me.

  I think about it for a couple of seconds but there’s no point in pretending. Not with Leo. “I think it will change things, but there’s no way to know how until he does it. If he wants to continue in politics he’s going to outgrow Heron Creek sooner rather than later.”