Not Quite Fixed

by Lyla Payne

  “So you’re going to sue her for visitation this time, along with whatever trouble you’re threatening Leo with over his inheritance.” It’s hard to keep the incredulity out of my voice, now. It’s all so backward.

  “I’ve tried to reach out.” Her expression turns defensive, and her shoulders round over her mug. “I’ve tried. And the Drayton firm, they handled Harlan’s estate. Mostly.”

  I let that go, because if there’s more going on legally, it really is none of my business.

  “Lindsay and Leo and Marcella are their own little family now, Darla. She’s not going to come back without him.” I worry at my sore lip, wondering whether or not there’s anything I can say to heal this long-open, festering rift. “I remember what the Boones were like when Harlan was alive. Y’all were happy, and the kids were as thick as thieves, the Boone kids against everyone. Harlan…I’ve seen him, Darla. And this isn’t what he wants for you. Any of you.”

  She goes still. Her hands freeze on the mug, and it feels as though all of the air disappears from the room. When she raises her gaze to mine this time, it’s full of fire and resentment. “What do you mean, you’ve seen him?”

  There’s no way Darla Boone is the only person in Heron Creek who hasn’t heard I can see ghosts. But she is the type of woman who’s going to make me say it. Which is fine. A month ago, even, I would have hesitated to admit to it outright, but not now.

  “I’ve seen his ghost. First at my house, then at Leo’s, and just a few minutes ago in the driveway.” That could be enough to convince her, but there’s no real reason not to go all in at this point. “Leo and Trent have seen him, too, and so has Lindsay.”

  Her expression remains stern until she hears me mention her sons, and then she crumbles. Her face squeezes up, tears fill her eyes, and her hands drop from the mug to curl into fists.

  I wait, because I’ve got the time, and because there’s nothing anyone can say to beat back waves of grief this powerful. Best to ride it out. In the meantime, I get up and bring her a box of Kleenex that’s sitting on the counter. She goes through them like a coke addict on a celebratory bender.

  I finish my coffee as her sobs slowly recede into silent tears that drip like a trickling faucet, with an occasional hiccup thrown in for good measure.

  “I thought I was the only one,” she says, her voice hoarse. She wipes her nose.

  The admission isn’t a surprise. “You’ve seen him, too.”

  She nods. “I didn’t think he was real, to be honest. I thought I just missed him that much. That I was finally losing it after all this time. Or the booze was getting to me.”

  “You’re not losing it.”

  “Why is he back? Is he…unsettled?” She hitches over the last word and the tears speed up again.

  I could sugarcoat it, but my gut says now is not the time. Also, Darla Boone has never been a bullshit kind of person. Neither are her kids.

  “Yes. Because of what’s become of his family. He wants you all to honor him by coming together, not falling apart.” I snake my hand across the table and cover hers. She doesn’t pull away. “I think you know that’s what Harlan wants, right? He loves you all so much; he hates that his passing has caused all of this pain.”

  Tears run faster down her cheeks. She bites down on her lower lip and presses a Kleenex to her mouth like she’s holding in a scream. After another four or five minutes, she nods. Nods and nods and nods like she’s never going to stop.

  Chapter Twenty

  Darla hasn’t made any life-changing phone calls by the time I leave her, but I feel an otherworldly certainty, Harlan’s maybe, that everything is going to be fine. Maybe not today, but soon. She mentioned needing a little time to work through everything, but said it was okay because “that bossy Drayton girl” was out of town visiting her brother or something.

  I file that away for later. Birdie could be in D.C. with Beau, but the Draytons do have another brother that no one ever talks about. Beau never told me what caused the estrangement.

  Come on, Graciela. You just fixed one estranged family, you needn’t go looking for another.

  Point to my brain. Problems are prone to come to me; no need to seek them out.

  I decide to round out my day o’responsibility by following up on my own enigma—whoever’s trying to off me via vehicular homicide.

  The Heron Creek Police Department smells a bit funky, and the reason becomes obvious when Ted Ryan puts me in a headlock, my nose stuck in his sweaty armpit. The dampness and odor, combined with his lack of a uniform, seem to add up to a recent workout.

  Lucky me.

  “Let go of me, you smelly oaf. Sheesh.” I give him a dirty look as soon as I manage to shove myself loose. “You smell like a middle school locker room after field day.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looks like he’s sincere. Boys are so weird.

  “Is Travis here?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the back doing some filing or something.” Ted rolls his eyes. “We’ve decided he’s allergic to computers.”

  Travis being hidden away explains why they felt free to accost me. It’s a strange thought, but I’m not sure which way I prefer being greeted in here—composed and fearful or assaulty and nostalgic.

  “Where’s Tom?”

  “Day off. He’s got a little girlfriend up in Greenville.”

  “That’s pretty far away. How’d they meet?”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “Tinder, Gracie. Most people don’t manage to stumble into eligible men as if they were posts on the road.”

  “I do not run into posts on the road.”

  “Maybe not anymore, but remember that one time on your new bike, you totally bit it…” He trails off, the teasing light fading as his gaze focuses on something over the top of my head. Ted clears his throat. “Um, Detective Travis, Gracie’s here to see you.”

  I spin just in time to see Travis give Ted Ryan a tight-lipped smile.

  “I see that, thank you.” There’s a clear dismissal in his tone and Ted scurries off without so much as an elbow to my ribcage.

  Hard to say whether Travis has had a brotherly talk with the Ryans, encouraging them not to treat me like a Labrador puppy treats its new owner, or if they simply don’t get along with him. On one hand, it’s hard to imagine anyone not liking the Ryans, but on the other, it’s not that hard to picture them not caring for Travis. He’s not open enough for them and they don’t really understand people who don’t take to them immediately.

  Regardless of why, Travis and I are alone. He smiles again, barely more welcoming than the one he managed for Ted, and I resist the urge to take a step backward toward the door. Silly. I’m letting the idea that someone is after me get under my skin. I’m in a police station with someone who’s personally invested in protecting me. It’s arguably one of the safest places for me in Heron Creek.

  “Hey. What’s up?” Travis asks, dropping a manila folder on the desk he’s been using.

  His desk now, I guess. Time to stop thinking of it as somewhere he’s squatting.

  “I was coming in to sign that report for you so we can make the whole someone’s-trying-to-kill-me thing official.” My tone is light, but I can’t find the will to smile.

  Travis doesn’t try again, either. “Oh, right. I’ve got it here…”

  He digs into a small pile of identical folders on his desk before coming up with the one he wants. The report inside is frank and to the point, penned in Travis’s neat, cramped hand. The tire and then the “nest” in my engine, along with statements, pictures, and corroborating evidence gathered at Glory Jean’s.

  “Right here.” He points to a line at the bottom of the page.

  I sign the thing, biting my lower lip and wincing. I forgot it was already mauled. Again.

  “You know, I was thinking…what if someone isn’t trying to kill you? What if they’re just trying to send you a message?”

  The question pulls me out of my own thoughts, which had slid dow
n a pretty dark spiral. One lined with images of how the mystery man—or woman—was going to find me and finish the job.

  “What message?”

  He shrugs, not meeting my gaze. “I don’t know. But you get into all kinds of trouble, Gracie. It could be one of your ghosts, no? Or something to do with our family?”

  “Maybe. I’ve thought about it, though, and with Gillian gone and no other murderous Fourniers showing up to take her place, I don’t know who would be trying to kill me.” I pause, considering what he just said. “Or trying to get my attention.”

  “No ghosts?”

  I shrug. “No one violent. Or even shifty.”

  My mind skips back to the ghost who haunted me before Harlan—Lavinia Fisher, the purported serial killer—but dismisses her as a candidate for a couple of reasons. First, subtle wasn’t her style; second, she wouldn’t have any idea how to sabotage a modern car; and third, I tried to give her what she wanted, but she only seemed interested in messing with me.

  “What about the garnets?” he prompts. “Could the two things be related?”

  Something about the way he asks makes me think he’s been waiting to shoehorn the topic into the conversation. Those damn stones. Why is he so intrigued by them?

  Granted, maybe it’s not that weird. I’ve never really understood people’s fascination with rocks, even ones that are pretty or valuable. There has to be an easier way to earn money. One that doesn’t require digging or hiking or potentially wasting entire days searching for something that might not be there. Or that might be ten feet to the left of where you’re looking.

  Or perhaps the topic annoys me because he could be right. On the off chance that Clete is the one leaving those garnets, either himself or through a proxy, he’s not exactly the type to wait patiently. Trying to scare me into paying attention wouldn’t be far from his wheelhouse.

  I frown.

  On the other hand, if I’m right about my mother being the garnet-leaver, maybe she sabotaged my car, or convinced Daria to do it, to keep me from making the trip into the mountains? Ill-advised and dangerous, sure, but if we’re talking about wheelhouses, those two traits fall squarely in Felicia Harper’s.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It could be,” I answer Travis, just wanting to be done with this chat.

  “You think you know who’s leaving them for you to find?”

  “I don’t know. No.” I’m lying to a career detective again, without even really understanding why. “But you’re right—whoever is doing it obviously wants something from me. Maybe messing with my car is a way to force my hand.”

  “You should work on figuring it out, Gracie. Because even if these little stunts are meant to be messages and nothing more, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. Having serious car trouble at top speeds can be deadly, especially when you’re driving back and forth to Seabrook.”

  My cheeks color. I remember Ted’s comment about me running into available men like they were posts in the street. Can anything stay a secret in this little town for more than a week?

  “It’s none of my business, and I told Ryan the same. I’m just saying. We’re not talking about little jaunts around town, and maybe the person behind your sabotage doesn’t realize what you’re up to.”

  His words follow me out onto the street and behind the wheel of Amelia’s car. It’s three in the afternoon, which means I’ve got time to leave her car at the library and get dinner home before she gets back from her day out of the house.

  On the walk, I make a decision. Whoever left the garnets, I’m going to have to go out to the woods to figure out why.

  Eventually.

  Amelia appreciated my effort with soup and sandwiches. So did Brick, who has been out of town. They seem happy. More connected than ever, like maybe the act of stumbling together and using each other to get back up has made them stronger.

  I’m not good company. I’m too distracted over my visit with Darla, and no matter what she decides, I can’t wait for her to talk to Leo and Lindsay and Trent. Harlan came to me, too, so I’m going to do my part and share what I’ve learned.

  They need the facts. Leo, especially, deserves to know, in no uncertain terms and with no qualifications, that there was nothing he could have done to save his father that night. Trent needs to hear it too, though what he’ll do with the information is anyone’s guess. They can sort that part out without my help. My role in this mystery, in their family feud, needs to end.

  Which is how I find myself arranging the first sibling meeting the Boones have had in years, even if only three of the six will be in attendance. I’ve invited all of them, but the only ones who have promised to be there are the three that know me personally. We’re waiting until nine so that Marcella will be asleep, and even though I hemmed and hawed over also inviting Darla, the fact is that she hasn’t cleared this up on her own. I don’t need the extra drama.

  Leo’s house is dark except for the porch light, which burns bright against the shadows. Harlan makes himself scarce. No one answers when I knock softly, and I don’t want to ring the doorbell or pound harder for fear of waking Marcie. Feeling like a trespasser of the worst type, I push the door open and step into the foyer. The living room is dark and so is the kitchen, except for a soft glow coming from underneath the microwave, but the sound of low voices pulls me toward the back porch.

  Which is when I become a super creeper, because the sound of my name stops my feet in their tracks. And even though I should clear my throat and announce my presence, I don’t.

  “Leo, Gracie’s dating someone new. Don’t you think it’s time to move on? For real this time?”

  It’s Lindsay’s voice. There’s no animosity in her tone—only kindness—but even so, my face burns. My heart aches. My head…it’s wrestling with the implications of her words.

  Move on? This time? What does she mean?

  Leo chuckles, low and warm and with the slightest tinge of acceptance. “That’s not gonna happen, Linds. Here’s the thing. I’m not looking to be the guy she hooks up with to get over Drayton, or the guy she uses to escape when she needs to pretend nothing’s wrong with her life.”

  “You had your chance to be those guys, I guess.”

  “Exactly. Saying no was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I don’t regret it. If Gracie needs to sleep with Knox MacArthur, or take some time for herself, or spend another five years figuring out that she wants to be with me, that’s just fine. I’ve loved that girl for half my life. I can wait as long as it takes for her to find her way home.”

  There’s no air in here. I can’t breathe. My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid they’re going to hear it, and Leo’s sweet words dance through me in a whirl.

  Leo loves me. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t mean as a friend.

  I can’t think. Can’t process. Too many emotions are assaulting me at once, and I find myself backing up through the kitchen, the living room, and right back out the front door.

  A scream rips through me when I run smack into Trent Boone on the porch, nearly knocking us both into the cold grass.

  “Sheesh, watch where you’re going,” he grumbles, his strong hands steadying on my biceps.

  “Sorry.” I’m shaking from head to toe. I’ve loved that girl for half my life.

  How? How did I not know? Why has he never said anything?

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod, though I’m guessing the state of my face isn’t convincing. We need to go inside. I need to do what I came here to do, but I have no idea how I’m going to manage being in the same room with Leo without giving everything away.

  He knows me too well. I thought I knew him. How could I have been so wrong about something so important?

  “Well, are we going inside or what? Aren’t you going the wrong direction?”

  My brain stumbles in an attempt to come up with an answer, finally grasping on to something. “No one answered when I knocked. I went in, but
then I felt like an intruder, so I came back out. I guess it’s okay now that you’re here. You’re family.”

  I’m blabbering. Trent’s expression is equal parts annoyed and skeptical, but that’s the way he’s looked at me for the majority of our interactions, so maybe he doesn’t think this is strange.

  “You know, for someone who sees dead people, you’re awfully jumpy.”

  The observation makes me laugh, a welcome relief after the last three minutes of intense anxiety. I take a deep breath and shove Leo’s words, along with my reaction to them, to the back of my mind. The Boones deserve my focus on the issue of their father, Leo most of all. I may not be able to do anything else for him tonight, but I can be his friend. Like I always have been.

  Have you really? Has it always been more than that for you, too?

  I frown as I follow Trent back through the house. If I’m thinking critically, I would say that Leo and I have always had chemistry, that push and pull between good-natured antagonism and the willingness to go to the mat for each other.

  As a teenager, though, I only had eyes for Will when it came to romance. From the day I started having feelings about boys until the day I left Heron Creek.

  What about since you came back?

  My stomach drops and my heart clenches, the truth staring me in the face. I shove the dawning self-realization down deep, promising to come back later. Probably obsessively.

  Leo’s eyes meet mine when we step onto the porch. All of my insides come loose, do a few loops, and settle back into not quite the right place. He quirks an eyebrow in a silent question and I shake my head, willing him to leave it alone. If he asks me what’s up right now, I have no idea what will come out of my mouth. Or whether or not I’ll be able to stop myself from running away.

  Trent takes a seat in the second chair, and since Lindsay has already claimed the other one, the only spot left is next to Leo on the love seat.

  I stand.

  “You’ve got us here, Graciela. Spill.” True to form, it’s Lindsay who prods me.

  Right. I need to get back on track. Harlan. Autopsy. Clearing of airs and guilt.