Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (2 page)

His house looms in the night, beautiful and quiet. Safe. The sight of it makes me rethink everything, because if a place can somehow wrap a soft, silent comfort around my body, maybe
it
could
be the secret to said happiness
.

Tonight, Heron Creek as a whole does its best to hold me up. To make it better. My knees shake on my walk toward the house, and not only because a dead voodoo witch just asked me to put a curse on my boyfriend’s family.
 

More than a little bit of the fear, trepidation, and dread lingers from the not-quite-finished discussion Beau and I had earlier today
regarding the future of our relationship.

It’s not over between us. In my heart, maybe it won’t ever be, but tonight Mama Lottie made it clear that one or both of us is going to have to make the choice between love and family sooner rather than later. As much as I love Beau, as important as he’s been in bringing me back to life these past four months, Amelia is
everything
to me. My entire life,
she’s been the supports under my foundation, the voice of confidence in my ear when my own was misplaced, and the friend who told me every single dream I ever had was possible.

How can I not be there for her now? How can I turn my back on Mama Lottie if she can really do what she says, can rid us of the curse that is
literally
killing my cousin and her unborn son?

There’s no choice for me. Not
really.

I shake off the dread as it trickles down my spine, feeling around under a planter full of leggy petunias for Beau’s extra key. My fingers close around it, sweeping up some dirt in the process, and shove it into the lock with shaking fingers.

The entryway is dark except for the silent flash of the alarm system on the wall to my left. Despite the fact that my brain is not known for performing
under pressure, I remember the code and punch it in before the shrieking result can wake up the neighborhood, then breathe out in the blessed silence. No one stirs—not Beau, not any undead visitors who might feel like interrupting my need for soft covers and strong arms.

I take a moment and close my eyes, assess the status of the door in my mind, the blue one that helps keep the ghost world penned
behind it. It’s closed tight, and the longer I turn my thoughts inward, the more certain I feel that Mama Lottie hasn’t trailed me back to Heron Creek.

The reassurance opens my eyes, touches my lips with a smile, and urges my feet toward the soft carpet on the stairs. I feel my way up to Beau’s bedroom and strip off my shirt and shorts, leaving a tank top and underwear. He’s fast asleep on his
back, breathing deeply with one big hand resting on his broad chest. One dark swath of hair flops across his forehead and all the worry wrinkles, showing more often than not these days, are flat and smooth.

He’s so handsome, and like this, I can see the man he might be if he weren’t dating me. Carefree, happy. Obviously the sex wouldn’t be as good, but maybe that’s not the most important part
of a relationship. It sure is nice, though.

I’m slaphappy—too tired to think straight. He stirs when I peel back the covers and slip in beside him, his legs warm against my cool ones, but he doesn’t wake. Part of me wants to wake him up with my hand, or my mouth, or just by staring into his face like a creeper until my presence startles him, but before I can think too hard about it, my eyes fall
closed.

Chapter Two

The sweet whisper of lips against the side of my neck wakes me the next morning. I keep my eyes closed but a smile tugs at my mouth as Beau’s lips skim my jaw and settle on my earlobe. His whiskers tickle and a giggle slips loose, opening my eyes and falling straight into his honey gaze.

The smile on his face answers mine. He props up his head on one hand, leaning down to
press a kiss to my lips. “This is a nice surprise. Different than surprise sex in the entryway, but still good.”

Despite the lighthearted tone and the sun streaming through the windows, depositing happy yellow puddles on the warm hardwood floors, there’s a heaviness between us that’s never been so prevalent. The other day, sitting at the pockmarked table in my grandmother’s kitchen, we’d almost
called this whole thing off. Now I was waking up in his bed, snuggled in his arms, but the troubles and differences and pressures that had led us to that moment haven’t disappeared.

They’re here, and so are we, and how does that work?

He reaches out a finger and smooths the skin between my eyebrows. I try to relax my face, realizing that every worry tumbling through my mind must be showing.
 

“Don’t worry so much, Gracie Anne. We deserve a few days of peace, at least.”

We do. More than anything, we do, but there’s so much he doesn’t know. Mama Lottie’s voice reverberates in my ears, so loud and clear I wonder for a second whether she’s found a way inside my head.

A curse for a curse.
 

My gaze finds Beau’s again, and I force a smile. “You’re right. And do you know what would give
me a lot of peace right now?”

One of his eyebrows goes up in an adorable quirk. “I have several ideas based on past experience.”

“Hmm. I was thinking pancakes at Debbie’s, but I’m willing to entertain your suggestions.”

“Are you now?”

His arms go around me, bare and warm from sleep. Then our mouths connect, his tongue finding mine, and all thoughts of curses and ghosts and even the trouble
between our families recedes to the dusty, unused corners of my mind.
 

We discard the sparse pieces of clothing between us, and the sensation of skin against skin, of our body parts so tangled together it’s hard to tell who is who, floods me with pleasure so perfect tears gather in my eyes. This man in my arms is so much more than I deserve, and in return, he gets a whole lot of weirdness and
grief.

I hold on to him for a long time after it’s over, while our heartbeats thud against each other and our breathing slows to a normal pace. Our skin is hot where we’re still touching and his stubble scrapes my cheek, but I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let Mama Lottie and her curses out of the recesses of my mind and into the daylight. After all, I don’t even know what she’s going
to ask me to do. I mean, taking down the Draytons could mean any number of things.

Wow, you’re really getting good at lying to yourself,
the devil on my left shoulder, who I’m starting to think is eating a few more donuts than the other, snorts.

It’s probably because you have so much practice lying to your boyfriend
,
his thinner twin adds.

“I love you, Gracie,” Beau says, thankfully interrupting
my demons. “Let’s go see a lady about some pancakes.” He eases back, rubbing his hands through his too-long, chestnut hair. “I’m going to hit the shower.”

He gets out of bed and I take a swipe at his ass, earning the sexiest naked-man look over his shoulder. “I think I’ll join you.”

“You’re a water hog, but okay.”

Beau wanders into the bathroom and I sit up, shaking my hair out of a messy bun
and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. My breath tastes so awful the fact that neither of us seemed to notice a moment before must be some kind of testament to where we are in our relationship.

The pattering of water comes from the bathroom, inviting me to things like soap and toothbrushing and my naked boyfriend. My phone lights up on the bedside table the same moment my feet hit the floor, distracting
me, and my fingers press in the access code without a second thought.

My heart sinks at the sight of more than a dozen missed calls—some from Melanie and Will’s home number, others from Amelia, and worst of all, two from the police station. I have half a dozen messages but I choose the one from the cops, worrying that I’d forgotten to come in for that follow-up interview about the second robbery
in town and now there’s a warrant out for my arrest or something. Again. I hold my phone to my ear and listen:

Ms. Harper, this is Dylan Travis with the Heron Creek PD.
 

I roll my eyes at the greeting. He’s been here almost three months now and he’s been over to my house for social gatherings on more than one occasion. He’s ridiculous.

There’s been a development in the LaBadie case
that I think you’ll be interested to hear about, but I don’t want to leave it on a message. Please call me when you get a chance or come by the office. I’ll be in at eight.

My chest constricts at the mention of Mrs. LaBadie’s name—the woman had screwed with my head, tried to kill two of my friends, my cousin, and me, all in the name of an old curse, and then she disappeared into thin air.
Did they catch her? What other development could there have been?

Hoping for answers, I dial Mel next and let my cousin sleep. Beau’s phone lights up on the end table on his side of the bed now, vibrating close to the edge. While Mel’s line rings in my ears, Beau’s stops buzzing. Even from here, it’s easy to see that he’s missed more than a few calls and messages, too. My mouth goes dry, palm
squeezing my phone so tight it starts to sweat.

“Graciela, where have you been?” Mel rushes out without saying hello. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what, for heaven’s sake? I just woke up! Why are so many goshdarn people up and making phone calls before the herons have breakfast anyway?”

“Um, maybe because Mrs. LaBadie’s dead body turned up in the river behind your house.”

It doesn’t make sense.
A ringing takes up residence in my ears, like when you spend the whole day in the water and your mom has to put drops in to make it all evaporate.

“Gracie? Did you hear me?”

“I don’t think so. It sounded like you said Mrs. LaBadie is dead.”

“She’s dead all right. Drowned is what they’re saying right now, but there’s going to be an autopsy and everything.”

This would be big news in our little
town even if the person in question hadn’t tried to commit murder a few months ago.

“Who found her?”

“That’s the best part. Mrs. Walters was down there trying to get pictures of the Freedmans’ dog running around off leash, and she almost fell in the damn river.”

It’s hard to make sense of what Mel is saying or to really take the appropriate amount of pleasure over Mrs. Walters’s snooping finally
coming around to bite her in the ass. “So is that why Travis left me a message?”

“I’d say so. Millie’s down at the police station. She’s freaking out.”

“For good reason.” So much for letting her sleep.

Beau wanders out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his narrow waist and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. His golden eyes take me in, roll me around a little, and spit out an observation—something’s
wrong.

Or right, I suppose. It should be good news that the woman who’s been stalking us, terrorizing us, maybe giving Amelia sleepwalking nightmares, and is hell-bent on killing her unborn child has bitten the dust.

But this time it’s Daria’s voice in the back of my mind, relaying Mama Lottie’s words once she stopped letting me hear them:
She’s going to give you a good-faith demonstration of
her ability to follow through on her end of the bargain.

If this was her doing, if she murdered Mrs. LaBadie, I might throw up. On one hand, it’s certainly a demonstration of her ability to affect outcomes in a world far removed from her own. On the other, more terrifying hand, she
killed someone
.

“I’m headed there now,” I mumble into the phone before disconnecting the call.
 

My stomach knots
up, jerking every direction at once. I have to lean on my knees and take deep breaths to get the black spots in front of my eyes to disappear. Beau’s hand touches my back, sweeps up to the base of my neck before trailing down my spine.
 

“Gracie. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Check your phone,” I manage, figuring that, since he’s the mayor, at least one of those missed calls is about the dead body.
 

He grabs for it without questioning and then he’s beside me, his hand resuming its soothing, circular motion. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. This is good news, sweetheart. No more looking over your shoulder. Maybe Amelia can really start to heal, now, too. We can all move on.”

My throat clogs with tears. If only he knew. We weren’t moving on. The only thing we were doing was moving forward into a
deeper, more dangerous swamp than the one that has sucked at our heels since the day we met.

I can’t tell him any of that. Instead, I get my shit together and straighten up, doing my best to swallow the messy, throbbing lump choking off my windpipe and squeeze his hand. “You’re right. This is good. It just…took me by surprise. And they found her on our property.”

Beau frowns, getting to his
feet and pulling me up beside him. It’s a nice feeling, as though we’re facing this together. Maybe we are. At least as far as he knows.

“I know. I’m just glad it wasn’t Amelia who found her. And Travis better not get a bee in his bonnet about saying you were involved. I’ve about had it with him hassling you over things you had no part in.”

I wave a hand, distracted. “He’s just doing his job.”

“Yeah, well, I
gave
him his job and he’s going to have to answer a few questions of his own if he doesn’t back the hell off my girlfriend.”

He’s only half joking, and his protectiveness toward me both warms me and sets me on edge. After everything I’ve been through these past couple of weeks, being connected to people who can call in favors because of who they are feels like a tightrope strung
over a pit of snarling, hungry gators.
 

Then again, I am dating the mayor. Maybe taking advantage of that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It would be nice to go at least a week without Travis banging on my door about one thing or another.

“So I guess those pancakes are going to have to wait,” I pout in an attempt to distract him.

“It probably wouldn’t look too good for us to show up to talk about
dead bodies and attempted murder with sticky blueberry-syrup fingers.”