Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6)

by Lyla Payne

  “We’re checking back in two hours!” Will yells after us as we step off the porch.

  “Lock up behind you,” I shout back, not bothering to turn around. Will knows where the spare keys are hidden so there’s no need to go back.

  Beau follows me around the back of the house. We’re retracing the steps I took earlier when I went looking for Millie myself, and impatience chokes me. It’s not a bad idea to look again, I know. I could have missed something in my panic.

  After searching for a while, it turns out I didn’t miss anything. There’s no sign of my cousin on our grandparents’ property. We do as Beau suggested, walking along the bank of the Charles River from our house to his. The current rushes toward us, unconcerned by the anxious humans at the river’s edge. We don’t speak, but unlike the burning awkwardness at his house earlier today, this silence is companionable. I almost forget that things aren’t the way they were.

  “I found some interesting things in the investigator’s file on Lucy. I’ll follow up on the leads and let you and Brick know if I find anything.”

  “Sounds good.” I don’t press for more information. I couldn’t process it right now anyway.

  “Thank you for telling me what Brick found,” he adds, taking my hand to help me through a patch of brambles that snag the hem of my jeans. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  I don’t know if he thinks that because of our recent decision to take time off from each other or because of Lucy’s involvement, but either way, he’s wrong. My heart hangs heavy at the thought of him thinking that just because we’re not sleeping together, I don’t owe him simple courtesy. It’s a reminder of the kind of family, the kind of environment, that nurtured him into a man. I squeeze his hand tightly for several seconds before turning it loose.

  “Yes, I did.” I lick my lips, wishing I’d shoved ChapStick in my back pocket. “Just because things are off between us as far as couple stuff doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I like you, and not only because of the butterflies and kisses and other fun things. Do you really think I can turn it off like a switch just because we had a fight? What kind of person could do that?”

  He pulls me to a stop so abruptly that I stumble. He catches me, his arms holding me up while I regain my balance, and I look into his face with exasperation. The tortured confusion twisting his expression stops me cold as his hands cup my cheeks, then bring our lips together in a rough, needy kiss that’s anything but romantic or soft. It’s the kiss of a man torn in half by his desires.

  Beau’s teeth drag across my lower lip, parting me for him so our tongues can explore. The animal need rips open a well of lust in my center, and a growl emits from my throat. I kiss him back, just as hard, my hands fisting in his hair in an attempt to hold it in place forever.

  But we don’t have forever.

  It’s as though we share that thought at the same second, and the moment pops like a balloon. Or maybe I’m the balloon, because my body feels more deflated than ever.

  He leans his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I know this isn’t the right time or place but I…I want this to work so bad. I just don’t know how to make it happen.”

  Now it’s my turn to reach up, to touch his cheek. It’s red and cold, chapped from the wind and flushed with emotion. I wait until he looks at me, wishing more than anything for a way to soothe the anguish in his eyes.

  “We can’t make it happen. It’s going to happen or it isn’t, but I have faith. I do.” I rub my thumb over his sharp cheekbone. “Give it time. Give us time.”

  He presses his face into my hand and closes his eyes. “We deserve it.”

  A smile touches my lips. “Yeah, we do.”

  We resume our walk, scanning for Amelia. Somehow I know we’re not going to find her in the trees or the underbrush, and not in the icy cold water of the Charles River, either. It should make me glad—it’s cold enough out here that she might not make it if we did—but not finding her only means that she’s been taken somewhere. And if she’s being held hostage by a ghost, well…I have no idea how we’ll get her back.

  That gives me a thought, and I whip out my phone as we near Beau’s property. The screen is so bright it makes me squint in the near darkness.

  Beau glances over, his eyes hooded. “Who are you texting?”

  “Daria. We might need to find a way to convince her to help.”

  “How are you going to do that? Play on her sympathy?”

  “I don’t think she has that.” I frown as I text her, a simple Can we talk?, then shove the phone back in my pocket. My lips twist in a wry smile. “Maybe I can convince Officer Dunleavy to go out with her. She thinks he’s hot.”

  “Who’s Officer Dunleavy?” Beau leads me around to the front of his house and then uses the keypad to open the garage. “We can take my other car back to your house to meet up with everyone.”

  “That’s a good idea. Maybe we could drive through some neighborhoods to look for Millie, too. Just in case.” I slide into the passenger seat of his silver Buick, then flick on the seat warmers. He casts me an expectant look, and I search my memory for the question I failed to answer. “Oh, Officer Dunleavy. He’s the cop who arrested me at Drayton the first time, and we’ve had a few more run-ins here and there. Jenna likes him, too.”

  “Must be quite a guy.”

  “He’s as curious as a cat, and given he only has one life and not nine, that may not end up working in his favor.”

  “But it works in your favor?” He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look away from the road.

  I’m not sure what he’s implying, but whatever it is tugs on my guilt. Am I using Officer Dunleavy? Putting him in bad situations for my own personal interests?

  The answer is yes, but no one is forcing him. He’s bored, I think, and I provide some much-needed intrigue in his life. If he wants to go out on a limb for a little entertainment, well…I’m not sure I should feel guilty about that. Beau’s judgy eyebrow suggests he thinks otherwise.

  “Well, yeah. He likes helping me, I think.”

  “I’ve got no doubt about that.”

  Beau’s not smiling or judging me this time, but I choose to ignore the statement. It sounds like common, everyday jealousy, and I suppose that’s normal. If he mentioned to me that he had a woman friend who his pals thought was attractive and then intimated that she enjoyed helping him out, I’m quite sure I would feel the same way.

  In another time, another place, I would have teased him about it before reassuring him in any number of fun ways that he doesn’t have to worry about me considering my options. Since those options aren’t on the table, I keep quiet as we cruise through the dark, quiet streets of Heron Creek.

  We don’t find Amelia. Nothing moves at all, in fact, other than a couple of stray cats and one of the fattest raccoons I’ve ever seen. The latter stares at us from atop Mrs. Walters’s trash cans, its eyes glowing yellow in the black night.

  I’m cold all over again, from the inside out. Amelia is gone, I know it even before the rest of the search parties report where they searched and that they came up empty.

  Everyone offers to stay with me so I won’t be alone. I refuse them all, one at a time. Travis and the Ryan twins take off first, followed closely by Lindsay, Will, and Mel. Travis promises to alert state and federal authorities, begin the process of getting Millie listed as a missing person and on the news, things like that. I know he’ll do his best to resolve this through legal channels, and it makes me feel good to know that’s all being done. Alerting the authorities means I’ve got to call Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally before they hear it from someone else. The realization sinks my stomach all the way into my butt.

  Beau lingers but finally gives in, reluctantly kissing my cheek and promising to have the grounds at Drayton Hall checked half a dozen times, especially the riverbanks where Mama Lottie likes to hang out. I’m grateful, even if I would rather go myself. Not that the ghost would show herself to me, anyway.

 
It pains him, visibly, that Leo’s still in the house, but I need to ask him a favor. One I can’t ask any of the others.

  One I know he’ll agree to, regardless of his better judgment.

  I watch Beau’s car back out of the driveway, exhaust puffing out in a cloud as he drives off. The Buick is sparkling in the driveway still. I’ll have to return it tomorrow, but it won’t be soon enough to stop Mrs. Walters from spreading gossip about the mayor and me all over town.

  A sigh burbles up from my chest. I clench my hands in a fruitless attempt to warm up my fingers, then head back into the living room. Leo is sitting on the couch, staring at an infomercial for exercise equipment on the television. I flop next to him and grab a blanket, then wrap myself up like a taco.

  Fish tacos from the Wreck… I miss them almost as much as I miss Beau bringing them over for dinner.

  “You look like shit,” Leo informs me.

  “Thanks.” I manage a wry smile. I can always count on Leo to shoot straight.

  He hesitates, and my lungs squeeze. “What’s up with you and the mayor?”

  I suspect Leo knows at least a little about what’s happened, since he and Mel talked the other night, but it’s not like it’s a big secret. Or at least, it won’t be for long in a town this small. “I don’t know. We had an argument when he found out that I hid the whole Mama Lottie thing from him. We’re taking a break.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “A break, huh?”

  “Yes. And don’t give me some crap about breaks being halfway to a breakup or whatever. We’ve got a lot to think about, and right now, I don’t have the time to devote to sorting out my personal life.”

  Leo holds up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Fine, fine. He was here tonight. That’s something.”

  “We’re… He’s a good guy, Leo. I know you haven’t always thought so, but he has been to me.”

  He touches my shoulder, then sweeps my hair back past my neck. A tingle zips down my spine, and I tug the blanket tighter. “I know he has, Graciela. He wouldn’t be walking straight if he hadn’t.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you had such a penchant for violence,” I tease, not really feeling it but trying desperately to recapture some semblance of normalcy. If I think too hard about the fact that Amelia isn’t upstairs, that no one knows where she is or how to find her, it will be the end of my precarious sanity. It’s also sweet for Leo to state so bluntly that he has my back. “But thank you.”

  He grunts, his cheeks slightly red. “So why am I still here after you gave everyone else the boot?”

  “I was thinking that we need to exhaust all of our options as far as finding Millie.”

  A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “Obviously, I agree with you. But what do you want help with that the cops can’t take care— Oh, sweet puppy farts. You want to go see Clete.”

  It should surprise me that Leo’s guessed where this is going, but it doesn’t. Just like it doesn’t surprise me that he agrees to go along with little prodding. The cops can only do so much. If Mama Lottie has Amelia, I’m not sure what we’ll do, but if it’s something more sinister than that—if the Middletons have decided to make my cousin disappear the way they did Lucy and Paul Adams—then an outlaw moonshiner might be just what we need.

  Chapter Eleven

  Leo talks me into waiting until daylight to venture into the woods. I let him because I’m the kind of tired that probably impairs my judgment and I know he’s nervous about confronting Clete again. I know I should be feeling the same way, but the moonshiner and I have an understanding that—wrong or not—seems to protect me. The chances of him being able to help us out might be small, but it’s something to hold on to. That simple fact lets me snag at least a few hours of sleep.

  This morning, my thoughts linger on the missing ghost of Henry Woodward. He hasn’t visited me since before Amelia disappeared, but it’s hard not to wonder if events could be linked —either my cousin going missing or my father perhaps setting him free. I can’t help but think about how Henry helped me when Amelia was in trouble once before, and wish more than ever that he hadn’t decided to make himself scarce. If Frank is no longer compelling him to drift about, then perhaps the ghost simply decided to move on. Maybe my father is wrong, and Henry never needed anything from me at all.

  He’s certainly never told me he needed anything. I assumed his mopey attitude had to do with his inability to communicate, or maybe was the result of a need for empathy. Maybe it had been nothing more than a reaction to being summoned from a nice, cushy spot to my bedroom, and not of his own volition.

  Leo is knocking on the door before I’ve found my second boot, which has somehow disappeared from my room. I blame Henry, figuring—or maybe hoping—that he snuck in during the night to play one of his tricks.

  I let Leo in and send him into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee while I hunt it down, finding it, for some reason, tossed in the laundry room. A pang of grief slams into my chest, heavy and jagged. Amelia does the laundry—mine and hers—because she firmly believes I would only make the effort once a month. The boot must have been buried under a pile of clothes on my floor and gotten transported in here with the mess.

  The sight of that stupid boot is what breaks the dam, and I sit down, my butt slamming into the tile floor as sobs tear loose from my chest. My eyes burn, my throat throbs, and my body hurts all over from the ache of missing her. Also from the toss Mama Lottie gave me the night before. My head pounds from the combination, too.

  Leo finds me there, my head on my knees and my body shaking like a leaf, who knows how many minutes later. He crouches at my side, his hands sweeping the waterfall of hair away from my face. “Gracie. Gracie, stop, come here.”

  He pulls me against him and cradles me while I cling, still sobbing, to his warmth and support. The tears don’t stop, springing from a seemingly endless well that won’t run out as long as Amelia is gone. Nothing feels right.

  “Hey, hey. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find Amelia,” Leo murmurs against my hair, his hot breath sticky on my neck. He doesn’t rub my back or rock me, just holds me so tight it hurts my sore spots from cracking that door last night.

  “It’s…my…fault,” I gasp with the shreds of breath I can manage.

  “What? Gracie, how is any of this your fault?”

  I pull away, putting my hands on his solid chest to keep myself grounded, and swallow back hiccups and snot. “I should have figured out the curse thing sooner. I should…I shouldn’t have made Mama Lottie angry.”

  The pads of his thumbs work to dry my soaked cheeks, but they’re fighting a losing battle. “You can’t believe that, sweetheart. You’ve been killing yourself to make this right, and it’s not as though there’s a manual for the things you’re talking about. And as far as this Mama Lottie, she sounds like a royal bitch.”

  Fear jolts me out of my grief and pulls another gasp from my chest. I can’t stop my eyes from darting around, as though she’ll show up at the disparaging remark, even though my ghosts don’t seem to work like that. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? Is she like Bloody Mary or something.”

  “Worse.” Misery coats my tongue, falling out of me like sweat. “She… I found something out, something I thought might change her mind about cursing the Draytons. It just pissed her off, though. She hurt me, and now Amelia’s gone, and I…I should have left well enough alone.”

  Leo’s lips purse at my explanation and go white when I relayed that she hurt me. I remember his threat of violence against Beau last night and can’t help but wonder how he would go about exacting revenge on a woman who’s been dead for over a hundred years.

  “You couldn’t have known what would happen, and I’m not buying that some ghost pitchin’ a fit is what happened to your cousin, anyway. More likely it’s something far more common. And more evil.”

  “You think it’s connected to the questions we’ve been asking about the Middletons,” I guess, sharing the though
t I had myself not long ago. Having solid conversation to latch onto stems my tears, and before long, my sobs have dried into hiccups.

  “Yes, I think it’s more plausible than your theory. Here.” He gets to his feet and then reaches back for me, pulling me upright with little effort. “Let’s go get some food and coffee in you.”

  In the kitchen, the world seems a little brighter. I realize I left my boot in the laundry room and decide to wear tennis shoes instead, lest the forgotten item sets off another crying fit later.

  The cup of coffee is warm between my hands and the smell of bacon wafts from the stove, where Leo’s turning strips with a pair of tongs. Scrambled eggs wait their turn in a bowl in front of me.

  It hasn’t escaped my attention that even if the Middletons are behind my missing cousin, the fault still rests cleanly on my shoulders. I’m the one who coerced Leo and Mel into helping us clear Millie’s name last month, and I’m the one who started digging into the Middletons’ past, trying to find dirt on them.

  You did it to help Amelia. You had no choice.

  The voice in my head doesn’t belong to a devil, for once, but to my beloved Grams. I don’t know whether or not to buy her explanation, but it gets me through another five minutes.

  Crap on a cracker. I need ibuprofen like Justin Bieber needs a haircut.

  Leo takes the bowl from in front of me, replacing it with a bottle of Advil like he’s somehow figured out how to read minds. I don’t question it, just down three and steal a slice of bacon from the plate.

  He dumps the eggs in the skillet. “I saw that.”

  “Yeah, well, put it on my tab.”

  Despite everything, my stomach growls. I wonder when I ate last, only to come face-to-face with the memory of Amelia in this very kitchen, eating spaghetti with my father not twelve hours ago. I force back more tears. They aren’t doing anyone any good. They rarely do.

  I check my phone and see that I missed a text from Jenna this morning, but nothing from Frank. Daria hasn’t responded, either, but it’s not even nine in the morning. She won’t be up and around for hours yet.