by Lyla Payne
But now Leo’s dead father is lurking around, presumably because of the odd and possibly nefarious circumstances surrounding his death, and an unknown entity left a weird red rock in my back door.
Those are the thoughts weighing on my mind as I drag my butt to the police station on my lunch break the next day. Mostly I’m wondering who on earth in town might be able to identify the stone for me; with any luck, knowing what it is will also help me interpret what it might mean. I showed it to Amelia this morning and reminded her to keep the alarm set all the time, even when she’s home and awake. She agreed that it was doubtful it had tumbled into the door by accident, even if we had mistakenly left it open. She wasn’t sure what kind of stone it is, either, but thought it could be a ruby or a garnet.
It does look kind of like an uncut ruby, now that she’s suggested it. But according to the Google search I did this morning, rubies aren’t common in South Carolina. To be honest, no gemstones are common in the coastal part of the state where we live.
My mind is so overwhelmed that it doesn’t hit me until I walk into the precinct that Will is, of course, at home with his newly expanded family. It’s Travis who greets me.
Yay.
If seeing Leo in the coffee shop was super awkward, this is no better. It might be worse, and judging from the pained discomfort on my half-brother’s face, he would agree. There’s no reason things should be so strained between us. If anything, what happened should have had the opposite effect. We now know who killed Frank, and Gillian Harvey can no longer hurt any more Fourniers. But the situation still feels charged.
Maybe it’s because Travis had to kill her to save himself. Maybe it’s because I never thanked him for saving my life, in a roundabout way. Or maybe it’s because we’re both well aware that there are seeds of madness in our family, or that our strange gift has a side we don’t like. I doubt either of us has forgotten that our father had a history of hospitalization for mental illness, something Gillian had clearly inherited.
I know I can’t push Clara for more translations. She’s doing it for free and it sounds like she’s under some pressure at her actual job. Getting tenured at our age would be no joke. But it would be nice to see what other secrets—or clues—are hiding in our family’s past.
“Graciela,” he says, and the smile on his face says he’s trying. That he might even be happy to see me in different circumstances. Or maybe once a few more weeks have passed.
“Hey, Travis.” I try, too. As far as blood goes, Travis is close to all I’ve got beyond Amelia and a series of other cousins on the Fournier side whom I don’t know—and based on my experiences thus far, am keen to avoid. There’s a chance that the journals will reveal more at some point, but for now, there’s no reason not to take advantage of the fact that he’s decided to stay in town.
I need to get over myself. Again.
“What’s up?” A hard candy of some sort, or maybe a cough drop, rattles against his teeth. The sound irks me.
“I guess Will’s still off work…” I hedge, for some reason unsure of whether I want to ask Travis to bend a few rules for me.
“Yeah, another week yet. Can I help you with something?” A sparkle leaps into his stormy gray eyes. He looks like he knows there’s going to be some kind of favor involved, one that I planned on asking Will for and not him.
In that moment, he looks like such a typical, pain-in-the-ass brother that a smile turns up the corners of my mouth.
“I was hoping you might look up an old case and let me know if there’s a file on it here.”
“And if there is, you’d like to take a look?”
“I mean, I don’t want you to break any laws or anything. So I can fill out a form or whatever.”
“Hmm. Let’s start with the file, and go from there.”
“It’s the death of a man named Harlan Boone. Three years ago come April.”
“Boone. Related to Leo?” The question is careful. Slow. But Travis doesn’t move for a computer, making it clear that he’s in no hurry to do my bidding until I answer.
Everyone in town has their nose in my friendship with Leo. I guess Travis has decided to fit in after all, even if he still has a lot to learn.
“Yes. His father. It was ruled accidental, but there was an investigation.” I really, really don’t want to dig any deeper. But Harlan Boone occupies a warm, gooey spot in my history and I would never turn my back on him. Even if I knew how to do such a thing. “It happened in Folly Beach, though, so I’m not sure whether we’ll have anything.”
“I love how you say ‘we’ like you’re a cop.” The teasing tone matches the light in his eyes.
“I mean, I guess I just meant ‘we’ as in Heron Creek,” I clarify, feeling a little annoyed. Travis has the ability, more than anyone else in my life, to bug me even when he’s not trying to.
Maybe it’s just his personality, or maybe it’s the natural role of a little brother. Either way, it makes me hate my bitchiness. But only a little.
“I’ll check.” Travis wanders over to the computer on his desk, flipping a switch to turn it on. The thing is probably almost as old as I am, so it’ll be a while.
The precinct is too quiet this afternoon, with neither Ryan twin around and Will at home with Melanie. Discomfort at being alone with my brother—inexplicable but there—prods me like an army of ants holding tiny spears. Small talk is the only thing that will save us.
But how to make small talk with someone when your most recent interactions have included murder, mayhem, and ghosts?
“So, how are you settling in to Heron Creek?” The question sounds forced, even to my ears, but I’m not the type to suffer awkward silence without barfing words in an attempt to thwart it.
Travis leans back in his desk chair and gives me the side-eye.
“Well, I think I may have to move, but other than that, it’s as good a place as any other.” His reply is dry bordering on droll. Travis is, among many other things, hard to figure out.
“You think you’ll stay?”
He shrugs, his gaze flicking to the computer screen, which is still blank. The light on the CPU says it’s struggling to boot up. Still. “Don’t suppose I have anywhere else to go.”
This is where I should tell him that family is a reason for him to be here. That Amelia and I want the chance to get to know him better. But even though that is true, to some extent, mostly it’s not. I don’t know whether it’s because I have so much on my emotional plate right now, but the prospect of sorting out my feelings about him overwhelms me.
Maybe I’m just tired. He’s staying, anyway, so we’ve got time to get to know each other the old-fashioned way—running into each other around every corner for the next fifty or so years of our lives.
Give or take.
“I don’t see anything here,” Travis murmurs, his attention on the screen now that the computer is finally turning over some of its innards. “Couple of noise complaints from a long time ago and a theft case that turned out to be bogus. Both twenty years old. Nothing about his death.”
It’s not a surprise, given that Harlan died in Folly Beach, but it is disappointing.
“Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate you checking.”
“Wait. Looks like there was a custody case two years ago, for Lindsay’s daughter.”
That piques my interest. “Marcella?”
He nods. “Darla Boone sued for custody, but the court upheld the mother’s wishes to leave the child with one Harlan Leo Boone.” Travis raises his eyebrows at me. “You didn’t know?”
“I knew Leo took care of her while Lindsay was in prison, but not that their mother wanted custody.” I bite my lower lip, wondering what it could mean. If anything. “Darla doesn’t even talk to them, now.”
“Well, maybe that’s why.”
“Maybe.”
“You should know by now that every family has secrets,” my brother comments, picking up a paper cup of sludge that passes for coffee. Barely. “Even if
I weren’t a Fournier, years on the force taught me that. You never know what you’re going to find behind closed doors, and a good portion of the time, you wish you’d been able to leave them shut.”
I think about that. About how it’s true, but that Harlan Boone must want me to peek behind his family’s door anyway.
And that Leo isn’t going to be happy about it when he finds out.
“What’s that in your hand?” Travis squints, getting up from his chair. He moves quick enough that it spins in his wake.
I glance down, only then realizing that I’m toying with the rock from our door that was stowed in my pocket. Its rough edges are a comfort in my hands, and my fingers appreciate having a mindless task.
“Oh, just a rock I found.”
He squints harder, and now that he’s closer, reaches out for it. I resist the urge to yank it away like a four-year-old protecting her favorite toy at daycare and hold it out, letting him gather the stone into his own palm.
“Found where?” he asks, studying it closer.
“I don’t know. The creek?” It’s obviously a lie, and there’s no way a seasoned cop like my half-brother doesn’t hear it.
To his credit, he gives me a cocked eyebrow and nothing else. “Around here?”
I nod, biting my lip. I sense now that there’s something telling about the red rock. Something I’ve missed that makes my lie about where I’ve found it even more incredulous. Too late to change it now.
“Wow. There’s no way a garnet like this grew around here.”
“It’s a garnet?”
“Yeah. Pretty nice one, too, I’d bet. Once it’s all cleaned up.” He hands it back to me, looking a little reluctant to part with it.
“How do you know so much about rocks?” Putting the stone back in my pocket makes me feel better. And the slightest bit like Gollum.
“Gems are a hobby of mine. I like them. The history they tell, I guess.”
The comment resonates with me. The common ground we share, and the thought that we could have both inherited it from our DNA, chips away at some of the resistance I’ve felt toward Travis.
“I’ve never thought about rocks or gems that way, but I can see it.” I smile, my heart a bit lighter and my brain working ahead, as usual. “Can you find these in South Carolina?”
“Sure, up in the mountains. They’re more common in North Carolina and Tennessee, maybe even Georgia, but you’re definitely not going to find them naturally here on the coast. Someone must have dropped it, I guess.”
He looks as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate, or tell him honestly how I came across the stone, but I do neither. Instead, I shoulder my bag and check my watch. Ten minutes left of my lunch break; just enough time to grab a sandwich.
“Well, thanks again. I’d better get back to work.” I pause, weary of the awkwardness between us. “Do you want to come over for dinner this weekend? I know Amelia would like the company, and the three of us are way overdue for a catch-up.”
His face lights with a smile, but his gray eyes remain watchful. Wary. Hard to blame him, considering his experiences with most of his relations. “I’d like that. I’m off on Saturday, if you could make that work.”
“Let’s plan on it. Early is best for Jack, so maybe around five? I’ll text you if that doesn’t work for some reason, but I think it should.”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
“Graciela!” Ted Ryan’s voice booms through the precinct, racing around like a berserk rabbit banging into chairs, desks, cabinets, and anything else in its path.
My arms instantly straighten at my sides as I prepare for one of them to manhandle me into a spin-hug that they should have patented by now. When no one touches me, I peek out from under one squinched-shut eye to find them both setting their lunches on their desks like grown adults. They eye me, then their boss, and no one moves.
It’s Travis. They’re either afraid of him or he’s found some other way to keep the two of them in line—no small feat.
Weird, but I find myself a little disappointed. It’s not that I love being grabbed and spun, but seeing the two of them like this is like watching a couple of monkeys crammed in suits and ties.
“Hey, guys,” I greet them, sidling toward the door. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, I mean, you haven’t gotten arrested in like, almost a month,” Tom jokes, cracking open his to-go container and shoving a fry in his mouth.
“We’re expecting you soon. Keeping your cell warm,” Ted adds, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Thanks,” I say, a hand on my hip. At least they’re still teasing me. That’s better than nothing. “I like bologna on my sandwiches and bubbles in my water.”
I leave, walking out onto the sidewalk to the sound of their laughter. My day is made the slightest bit better by their playfulness, and I’m able to see the things around me in a rosier light on my way back to the library.
That lasts until the strains of guitar find their way around the corner by Westies, seizing my heart and shoving it into my throat. Leo. I search my soul and find my emotional bravery tank on empty, then turn around and head back to work with no lunch. My stomach grumbles, but my heart tells it to shut up.
For once, I’m glad my heart wins.
I decide to stop by Will and Mel’s after work to check in on her and love on the baby for a few minutes. A present for Grant has been sitting in my car for three days now, and I’ve got an hour to kill before visiting Shady Acres in the hopes of getting some information out of a man who probably won’t remember what he had for dinner.
Dinner is the reason I’m waiting until six-thirty to visit the retirement home and not going straight there. I’m not proud of this fact, but watching elderly people eat is one of those weird things I just cannot do. It’s like a glimpse into my toothless future or something.
Other than the food, I’m mostly looking forward to being old. The idea of being able to say whatever I want and wear whatever I want and generally put all of my less attractive qualities out there for everyone to enjoy holds immense appeal. But the soft food? The wearing of bibs?
Shudder.
Instead of dining with Orrie McElroy, the sisters, and all of the other lovely people who reside at Shady Acres, I pick up takeout from The Wreck for the Gayles. I call Amelia to let her know I’ll be late, and I manage to pull into Will and Mel’s driveway before the food gets all the way cold.
I hear wailing as soon as I push open my car door, balancing my bag and the food and my cell phone with more grace than I usually manage. The sound of a baby screaming brings me back to Jack’s first weeks at home—though he still cries like that on occasion—and I hurry up the front steps and knock, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the ruckus.
Mel answers the door. Mary rests in the crook of her arm, squalling like it’s her job. My friend looks a mess, wearing a nursing nightgown even though it’s dinnertime and sporting flecks of something red in her hair. Tomato? Maybe?
“Trade you,” I say, holding out the bags of food.
The look of gratitude on her face tells me that underneath all that new-baby stress is a woman who is starving for some fish tacos. “You are an actual angel.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that in my entire life.” I eye her. “Are you even supposed to be moving around and hauling a baby?”
She snorts and hands me the baby, whose eyes get big as she takes in the new face suddenly in her weak field of vision. My novelty puts a temporary halt to her protests, which—although nice—surely won’t last. If I learned anything the first weeks Jack was home, it was to enjoy silence while you have it.
“Probably not, but I don’t have much of a choice at the moment. Will is picking up Grant.” She closes the door behind me. “They should be home anytime, though.”
“I got enough for everyone.” I follow her into the kitchen, bouncing Mary a little, and Mel and I sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table.
“S
eriously. I’m glad you didn’t call because I would have been so embarrassed about the state of my body and my house that I would have told you to stay away.”
“Please. Like I haven’t seen you look worse. Remember that weekend we all spent on Edisto after graduation? I think you barfed up enough spaghetti to feed an army.”
“Oh, yeah. That was good times.”
The rest of the weekend had been a good time. We’d drunk too much, gotten too much sun, and laughed until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore. We were eighteen years old. Will and I were in love, Amelia and I hadn’t yet had our falling-out, and the entire world lay right at our feet.
At least, that’s how I remember it now. If there were any other low points, aside from the spaghetti barf, they’re gone now, lost to nostalgia.
Mel unpacks her food and plows into it like a high school football player after two-a-day practices in the summer. I rock Mary, whose eyes have slipped closed. Miracles exist.
“How are you?” I ask her in a soft voice, checking to make sure a conversation isn’t going to wake the baby. She doesn’t even crack an eye.
“Figuring it out. This whole going from one kid to two is no joke. Mary’s been a bit of a challenge, too. She doesn’t seem to like it when I eat…pretty much anything delicious, so I imagine these tacos are going to keep her up all night.” Mel gives me a rueful smile. “But I mean, it’s just an adjustment, but we’re good.”
“If she’s going to live in Heron Creek, she’ll have to get used to The Wreck’s tacos at some point.”
“True enough. How are you and Millie?”
“Amelia said to tell you that she’s coming by tomorrow to do laundry, and you shouldn’t waste any time arguing with her about it.” Mel rolls her eyes but holds her tongue. Possibly because she’s using it to inhale her second taco.
