by Lyla Payne
Good thing I brought three orders instead of two. Even if I wasn’t holding Mary, I wouldn’t have dared to reach into the bag for fear of losing a hand.
“How is she otherwise?” Mel asked. “I know I’ve been out of the loop, but I was thinking about her the other day. Don’t know why.”
This is why Mel is the glue of our foursome of friends. Always has been. She has an uncanny knack of knowing when one of us needs an ear or a shoulder, and then badgering that person until they accept her support and affection. It’s annoying as hell when you’re moody and want to be left alone, but over twenty years of friendship, she’s given all of us a soft place to land.
“She’s having a rough time with Brick. I guess he thinks social drinking is fine? Anyway, he ordered some wine for them on her date, and she’s beating herself up for not saying anything.”
Mel stops chewing, looking thoughtful as she gets up and wanders to the fridge to pour herself a big glass of water. She sits back down, glances at Mary, and digs one of the disposable forks from The Wreck into her rice. “Because that’s what the Amelia who married Jake would have done. Kept her mouth shut.”
Even though I know Mel’s perceptions are always on point, the insight still surprises me. To be honest, it also shames me. It feels like further proof that I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems to pay attention to my cousin.
“Gracie, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been focused on other things, but to be fair, those other things were a woman trying to kill you and wipe out your family line. Oh, and almost going to trial for your father’s murder. So you get a pass this time.”
“Stop reading my mind. You know it freaks me out.”
“Sorry.” She eats some rice, then swallows and smiles at me. “I usually like to let y’all come to these conclusions on your own, but I don’t have a lot of time at the moment. Or an emotional filter.”
I want to laugh, but I’m enjoying our chat and don’t want to wake the baby.
Will walks in the kitchen a few minutes later, towing a silent Grant behind him. The kid’s eyes get huge and excited at the sight of me, and his repressed energy vibrates around him. He’s a good kid, and it’s obvious he’s been instructed to keep it down in case the baby’s sleeping.
Which she is.
Mel wipes her hands and tosses her napkin on the table, getting up to smother her son with kisses and peck Will on the lips. Then she gathers Mary from my arms and points to her boobs, which I take to mean she’s going to feed the baby.
Once they’re out of the room, Grant turns his smile on me. Unlike Leo’s niece, he doesn’t launch himself at me. I hold out my hands and give him a hug anyway—a comfortable interaction that wouldn’t have seemed possible when I first met him last summer. The fact that he looks so much like his dad put me off then, when regret for every life choice I’d made since leaving Heron Creek threatened to drown me on an hourly basis. If the wine didn’t get there first.
Now, perspective is my friend, and the fact that my first love is followed around by a mini-version of him makes my insides feel gooey.
“Hey, buddy. How’s the big brother business?”
He gives me a look that says he’s questioning my sanity—something else that reminds me of his father—and wrinkles his nose. “I’m Mary’s best big brother.”
It’ll be nice when these kids grow up enough to appreciate my sense of humor.
“You are, kiddo. I have no doubt.” I dig the coloring book and box of crayons out of my bag and hold it out. “I brought you something for being so good, too.”
“Wow!” He snatches it from me, then looks ashamed when Will clears his throat. “Thank you, Miss Gracie.”
“You’re welcome, handsome.”
“Hey, Grant, why don’t you run and use the bathroom. Make sure and wash your hands so we can dig into these yummy tacos Graciela brought us, okay?”
“Okay!”
Will gives me a grateful look as Grant skips out of the kitchen, a happy, carefree expression on his face.
“Thanks for dinner,” Will says, peering into the decimated boxes. “What’s left of it.”
“Mel was hungry.”
“She usually is.” He smiles and tugs his baseball cap off, his blond hair somehow not at all out of place underneath it. “Just came by to chat?”
“Yeah, just checking in.” I pause, wondering whether it’s bad form to bring up work when he’s on leave. Then decide what the hell. “Do you remember when Leo’s dad died?”
“Sure. It was all over the newspapers. Mel and I had Grant not long before, so we were kind of out of the loop, but it’s hard to miss a thing like that.”
“Did you ever talk to Leo about it?”
“Not beyond a ‘sorry about your dad’ comment when I saw him at Westies or wherever. He’s not…he didn’t really seem too interested in being friends until you got back to town. Or talking to anyone for more than a couple of casual minutes.”
The comment lights something inside of me. A flicker of an unnamable emotion that feels like a mixture between pleasure and sorrow. One that I want to protect enough that I refuse to show the reaction to even Will.
“The newspaper said Leo was investigated as a person of interest.”
“Yeah, I remember that, too. It must have been a short investigation, because there was never a big to-do about it around here. And you know there would have been if anything had come of it.” Will gets a plate from the cabinet and starts arranging food on it for Grant.
I can tell it’s for Grant because none of the items are touching and there’s an extra helping of refried beans, which Will hates.
“Why the sudden interest?”
His question pulls my mind back from its wandering.
“Oh. I don’t know.” My vague response makes me chuckle even before Will gives me his patented ‘come on Gracie, you know you want to tell me’ stare. “Harlan Boone’s ghost has been lurking around Trent’s boat, and he showed up at our house the other night. I don’t know what he wants, but I figured his death is a pretty good place to start.”
“I don’t know how you handle all of this so well. Truly. I would start sleeping in a closet or something.”
“Wouldn’t help,” I inform him, taking the second plate he offers and grabbing a taco and some rice. “They have boundary issues.”
“I guess you know what that’s all about.”
“Ha. Ha.”
We sit down to eat, and Grant wanders back in clutching a Wonder Woman action figure. He joins us at the table, and Wonder Woman gets a small pile of Grant’s rejected cabbage slaw for dinner.
With the kid here, I’m careful to continue the conversation without bringing up ghosts in so many words. “Do you think Leo’s falling-out with his family had anything to do with what happened to Harlan? Or was it about Lindsay?”
“I honestly don’t know. Like I said, we didn’t talk much. I didn’t see him around much when I came back from college, and then Mel and I were pretty busy getting married and having Grant and everything. He’s been working odd jobs for a couple of years. Singing outside the coffee shop and charming middle-aged ladies out of their last few dollars.” Will laughs. “I can’t decide if I sound jealous or impressed.”
“Both, maybe.”
“Maybe so.” He takes a bite of his own taco after getting Grant to use a spoon to eat his beans. “So what are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to talk to the reporter who wrote up the case after I leave here. I dropped by the station this morning to see whether our police department had a file on Harlan, but they don’t.”
“He died in Folly Beach, right?” I nod, and he smiles. “I can request a copy for you when I get back.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Let me test the waters next week—you know, as far as how many questions they’re going to ask—and I’ll get back to you. I doubt it will be a problem, though.”
“Okay. Check back with me first. If I get
enough info from the reporter, then we can nix it.” I pause, wondering whether to bring up the rock. Given what Travis said, there’s no way it just landed on our deck without help. But before I can figure out the best way to ease into that conversation, Will keeps going with the old one.
“Why don’t you just talk to Leo? I mean, I know Mel said the two of you are kind of on the outs or whatever, but this seems like a good excuse to fix that.”
He’s right, of course. I should be talking to Leo. All these months, I’ve been careful about asking too many questions about what happened to the Boones out of respect for my friend. It stands to reason that, now that his father’s ghost is literally a presence in my life, talking to Leo would be the first thing on my list of things to try. If nothing else, so he knows I’m poking around and why.
And yet…I haven’t.
“I don’t know. I’m going to try to speak to Trent soon.” He didn’t return the text I sent him last night, so a surprise visit is probably in order. Maybe I can get Knox to help me pop in on his friend.
The thought of seeing Knox bombards me with all sorts of emotions. Excitement. Confusion. Reluctance. More excitement.
I one-hundred-percent know I’m not ready to take on another relationship—maybe not even one that’s being offered with no strings attached—but the allure of getting away from Heron Creek, and everything it has come to mean, even for a night or two or a couple of weeks, is tugging on me with an insistence that can’t be ignored.
Or I suppose it could, but I’m starting to wonder whether I should.
“Hmmm,” is Will’s only response, because Grant is now trying to feed tacos to Wonder Woman, who refuses to open her mouth—it’s painted on, so she’s not just being difficult—and they end up all over the floor.
I can tell by the redness creeping up Grant’s neck that he’s about to lose his three-year-old mind over his grilled mahi-mahi, so I slide out of my chair, set my plate in the sink, and decide that asking Will about the rock can wait until he’s back at work.
For now, we’ve got the alarm system and Amelia and I will be extra vigilant. I’m not sure what else can be gleaned from the rough little garnet even if I manage to narrow down where it’s from. Whoever left it either thinks I’m smarter than I am or overshot my interest in reading the mind of a creepy-ass trespasser.
“I’m going,” I say, already halfway out of the kitchen. Grant has started wailing.
“I don’t blame you,” he replies over the sound of his son’s growing tantrum. “Come see me when I’m back.”
I give him a thumbs-up and escape, feeling both thankful and sad that this is his and Mel’s life—and Amelia’s—but not mine. Not yet.
When I see the small red garnet in the passenger seat of my Honda—which was locked—all I can think is that it’s a damn good thing no kid is depending on me right now. Because my life isn’t fit for even the sanest of adults.
Chapter Seven
By the time I get to Shady Acres, the emotion swirling in my gut has most definitely shifted from fear to full-blown anger. It’s the sneaky way those rocks or stones or whatever are showing up. So shifty.
I hate games. Unless it’s cards.
It’s seems clear enough that whoever is leaving them has a reason for doing so. But the message is as inscrutable as the article that informed me of my mother’s connection to Clete Raynard. Judging solely on the shifty method of delivery, I’m starting to think it might be the same person. Or ghost, because whoever left that last one got in and out of my locked car without leaving a mark.
Dead or alive, they need to come out and say what they have to say, already.
That last thought comes to me as I throw my car into park and shove the door open, so ready to take on the world that I feel like I’ve grown a damn cape and a pair of lace-up, thigh-high boots.
No such luck.
If the person leaving these…clues, for lack of a better term, doesn’t feel they can come out with their knowledge in person, there must be a reason for that, too. It’s not an answer, per se, but perhaps it can help me narrow down my search for the person behind the rocks and the article. It’s someone who needs to hide, which is a place to start.
I set that idea aside to marinate and pull on the front door of the nursing home only to find it locked. There’s a keypad for after-hours entry.
“Son of a bitch. Who would want to steal old people?” I ask aloud, stopping to wonder too late whether there are cameras on me. It takes me another moment to realize that the locks are probably to keep the old people from escaping and not the other way around.
I shove my hands in my pockets and try to figure out who to call to get a code, because my imaginary cape is still flapping in the breeze and there’s no way I’m going home without getting my questions answered.
While I’m racking my brain and knocking loose dust bunnies, a figure appears in the reflection of the glass doors. I whip around, my heart in my throat. It sinks all the way into my crotch at the sight of Leo’s most recent ex-girlfriend, Victoria.
To be fair, she doesn’t seem any more pleased to see me than I am to see her.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps. Her keys—and keycard—dangle from a Bruno Mars lanyard in her hand.
None of your business.
I barely bite back the retort, even though I have a feeling that playing nice isn’t going to convince her to let me inside. I try to smile, but my mouth won’t cooperate. For some reason, I’m not feeling terribly charitable toward anyone who has slept with Leo.
Not after he turned me down. Maybe not before, had I taken the time to really think about it.
“Just out for a stroll and got a hankering for really smooth mashed potatoes,” I quip.
She rolls her eyes. “Slept with my boyfriend yet?”
“Assuming you mean Leo, who isn’t your boyfriend, by the way, that’s none of your damn business.”
Oops. Slipped out that time.
Victoria stares at me. There’s nothing hidden in her gaze—it’s full of pure contempt, with maybe the slightest flavoring of jealousy. She wouldn’t be the latter if she knew Leo wasn’t even talking to me, never mind taking me to bed.
“You know, I can see why no one likes you,” she comments. “And it’s not because you claim to see ghosts or whatever. It’s because you think you’re better than everyone else.”
An odd sense of calm washes over me. A smile surfaces on my face after all, though based on the taken-aback expression on Victoria’s face, it may be more of a sneer.
The thing is, I don’t think I’m better than everyone. But I damn well know I’m better than her.
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you believe in ghosts, too. You hired Daria to exorcise your house after you moved into town.” I smile wider at her obvious discomfort. “Leo’s too good for you. Deep down, you know that. There’s no reason to be bitter about the inevitable.”
“You’re a real bitch,” she manages after a second, shouldering past me and unlocking the door.
She slams it shut behind her before I can try to grab on, leaving me out in the cold evening.
“Dammit.” I blow in my hands, thinking that I should have at least tried being nice. Still, getting the better of her felt pretty good. So even though I’m freezing and probably not going to finish my task for the night, it’s hard to regret anything.
I’ve gotten halfway across the parking lot when another car sweeps into the space next to mine. The headlights go out and the door opens in one fluid movement. I have to squint to make out the figure, but it doesn’t take long to recognize her.
Helena Reed. She works at the courthouse, so we crossed paths more than a few times when Beau and I were dating. She’s a few years older than me, I think, but not many.
“Hi, Graciela, what are you doing out here?”
“Hi. I was coming to visit Mr. McElroy, but I didn’t realize there wouldn’t be a r
eceptionist after six.” Best not to mention I’d pissed off a nurse. Maybe the only one working tonight.
“Oh, yeah. It’s like the staff have lives or something.” She smiles, making it impossible to tell whether her sarcasm is a barb tossed at me or just for fun. “I can let you in.”
“Thanks.” I squeeze my hands into fists, willing my fingers to unfreeze before I have to shake a poor old man’s hand. “Who are you here to visit?”
“My mom. Early onset Alzheimer’s.” Helena punches four numbers and the door lets loose with a tiny click. She pulls it open.
“I’m sorry.” Her frank answer saves me from more questions; I know she’s too young to have a parent in this place under normal circumstances. “That’s really hard.”
“It is.” Her smile turns rueful. “Do you know where you’re headed?”
I shake my head, feeling a little dumb now for not calling ahead. Maybe Orrie McElroy doesn’t want visitors. Maybe, despite the slightly rambling editorial he just published in the paper, he’s not all with it and this is a waste of time. Maybe he takes a dump after dinner and I’m going to be in the way.
“No.” I feel heat creep up my neck. “I thought there would be someone to call and let him know I wanted to visit.”
“It’ll be fine. He’s a feisty old guy, always inviting himself into the ladies’ rooms and bridge games and quilting circles. I think he’s mostly lonely, though, so I doubt he’ll mind you showing up unannounced.”
The glance she casts my direction says she has questions of her own. Understandable, since unrelated people probably don’t hang around at Shady Acres too often.
To her credit, she doesn’t ask me why I’m here. She also doesn’t ask me anything about Beau Drayton, which officially makes her one of my favorite non-family citizens of Heron Creek.
“He’s in 422, I think. Straight down this hall.”
She leads me through a common area where a few residents in wheelchairs sit in small groups staring at the television or a birdcage full of finches. The staff is cleaning up the remnants of dinner. The scent in the place is a mixture of whatever mystery meat they served for the meal, ammonia, and old person.
