Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (24 page)

No matter the relief that came with doing what Mama Lottie asked and hopefully securing her help, it meant betraying the
people who surround us. People I’d enjoyed, who made the man I love smile and laugh and reminisce about a childhood that some of them had made better for him. People who didn’t deserve to pay for the deeds of the past any more than I did, or than Amelia or Jack.

It’s done, though, so I guess the only question left is how I’m supposed to live with myself. I wonder if Anne Bonny has any advice
about that.

Chapter Sixteen

It’s late by the time Beau and I get back to my grandparents’ old house. Funny, how I still think of it as theirs and not ours…after three months, I’m starting to think it will probably always be that way.

In spite of the hour, all the lights are on in the house. Not only that but there’s a car in the driveway. One I recognize because I was in it last month basically
accusing its owner of murder. I turn to Beau and find a surprised expression that probably mirrors my own.
 

“What’s Brick doing here?” I wonder.

“I don’t know. I heard him tell Mother he’d gotten a work call and had to leave right after dinner. But that doesn’t explain what he’s doing
here.
”

“I guess there’s no way to get the answer to that question without going inside.”

“Mmm. And here I
was rather hoping for a quiet house, some privacy, and that glimpse someone promised me a few days back.” Beau smiles, unbuckling his seat belt to lean over the console between us and cup my face in his palms.

He kisses me, a lingering moment full of softness and intensity, the sweep of his tongue, the nip of a lower lip, that leaves me hot and bothered, and honestly, not giving two shits what
Brick’s doing here at the moment.

I lean my forehead against Beau’s, catching my breath. “You are an exceptional kisser, Mr. Mayor.”

“I tend to think it’s that
we’re
exceptional in every way when we come together, but I’ll take the compliment, nonetheless. My ego requires constant feeding, as you know.”

It’s easy enough to laugh because it’s not true. Beau has the perfect amount of confidence—not
cocky, not jealous. It’s one of my favorite things about him.
 

I unbuckle, too, and follow Beau up to the front porch. It’s late enough, and dark enough, that Mrs. Walters probably won’t be able to accuse me of making out in the car like a teenager. Unless she really owns those night vision goggles. Likely.

We follow the low tenor of voices through into the living room, where we find my cousin
and Beau’s brother sitting way too close together on the couch. There are drinks on the coffee table, sweating as though they’ve sat there, untouched, for a while. They’re both relaxed—or they were, before they saw us—and barely six inches of fabric separates their thighs.

Amelia takes up more than her fair share of the couch these days, but really, it’s not much of an excuse. Or maybe it just
seems untoward because of the twin, guilty expressions hanging on their faces.

“What are you two doing? You’re supposed to be on opposite sides of a rather epic battle. Or did you forget?” I accuse, hearing the indignant whine in my voice. Shrimp and grits, I sound like a pissed-off Southern mama who just found her daughter on the couch with the town’s resident bad boy.

Sadly, the situation
isn’t that far off.

Amelia opens her mouth to explain, or maybe to tell me to mind my own business, but it’s Brick who leaps up. Takes over, as if he’s protecting her even though I’m the one trying to protect
her
from
him
.

“I’m here because of the case, actually.”

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t.” My retort only makes him dig his heels in, I can sense it.

“Brick, you’re
walking a thin line, ethically. You shouldn’t be talking to Amelia without her attorney present.” Beau shoves his hands in his pockets, right by my side.

Brick snorts. “Phoebe? I didn’t want to make her leave the party, and besides, I think Ms. Cooper is better off without an attorney who has seen the bottom of at least one wine bottle tonight.”

He’s not wrong. I don’t want to think about Phoebe
or how she was half draped over my boyfriend when I got back from leaving Mama Lottie her required body parts.

“What are you doing here, Brick? Out with it.”

Beau’s younger brother, who has inexplicably become the biggest mystery in my life, even with all the competition, looks to Amelia for…what? Permission? She shrugs and nods, and he turns back to me. “I came to give your cousin a heads-up
that the Middletons have asked the judge to order a psych evaluation. They’ll be able to pick the psychologist, so you’ll want to find one, too.”

“He says theirs will certainly find me to be incompetent, so ours will have to be willing to rebut that.” Millie doesn’t sound as defeated as she should, or as she has been these past several weeks. Her fingers are curled into fists and there’s a glint
in her green eyes that says she’s ready to fight.

My heart leaps. I want to cry, shout, hug her, and dance around the room. This is
my
Amelia, but where did she come from? What brought her back?

I slide a glance toward Brick. Think of how he slipped her that card the other day, how he went out of his way to utter encouragement, one person who has struggled with depression to another in the thick
of it. How obsessed she’s been with her phone since that meeting.

Maybe it’s not
what
brought her back, but
who
.

There’s zero chance of me untangling my feelings on the subject of Brick and Amelia’s…friendship? Instead, I focus on the problem at hand.
 

“Of course our psychologist is going to find that you’re perfectly fit to be Jack’s mother, Millie. Because you
are
, not because we have to
pay him off like the Middletons are going to do.” I glare at Brick. “And stop saying ‘they’re going to’ and ‘the Middletons are planning’ because you’re on their side. You can’t separate yourself from what’s happening to our family right now, no matter how nice you try to play it.”

He looks properly chastised, embarrassed even, for the first time since this conversation began. Beau’s been quiet
but strong in his show of silent support.

The sound of the front door banging open, then closed, interrupts my probably fruitless attempt to stare down Brick Drayton.

“Hello? Are you guys awake? I really need to…” Mel slows to a stop, her wide eyes, taking in the number and identity of the people in the living room. Probably wondering if she can get in here, too, with all the tension clogging
the space. “…talk to you,” she finishes. Her eyebrows go up, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Brick answers, grabbing his phone and wallet off the coffee table. He gives my cousin a small smile that’s a little too much like a private conversation before tipping his head to the rest of the group. “I was just leaving. Y’all have a good night.”

Then he’s gone,
Beau’s in the kitchen making the nonpregnant people a nightcap, and Mel seems to have been startled so badly by Brick being here at midnight that she’s forgotten what
she’s
doing here at midnight. She doesn’t even know what question to start with, I don’t think, so I just start spewing answers.

“I just got home from the reunion. Everything went well.” I raise my eyebrows in a pointed look that
tells her what she needs to know about curse-related things. I’ll fill them both in on the appearance of the pirates and their help once Beau isn’t in the other room. “Then we got home to find Brick here, supposedly doing Amelia a favor by telling her that the Middletons filed for a psych evaluation and doesn’t see any reason the judge would deny it.”

“More bad news,” Mel murmurs, sitting down
in Gramps’s old chair and propping up her feet. “Amelia called earlier and told me Phoebe wasn’t impressed with our sleuthing.”

“Not so much.” I accept a glass of bourbon and warm honey from my boyfriend.

He sits in the spare chair, letting me have the spot next to my cousin. “Did I miss what brings our friend Melanie Gayle out in the middle of the night? It must be something good.”

“No, we
were waiting for you.” I cast a questioning look at Mel. “Why
are
you here?”

She pauses, and I wonder whether she’s going to be able to tell us with Beau in the room. He knows everything about Millie’s court case, though, and I don’t see what Mel could know about the curse that I don’t. I give her an encouraging nod.

“After Amelia called me earlier today, I started thinking.”

“Always dangerous,”
I tease.

“Right, well, then I started snooping down at the office.”

“Mel.” My stomach drops into my butt. This is not what we discussed. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Beau asks, looking confused.

“The Middletons are clients at the accounting firm where Melanie works,” Amelia supplies, not appearing surprised by the development.
 

I wonder if they discussed it, then think again how this is the
old Amelia. Beau doesn’t comment on the information, but the look on his face isn’t hard to interpret. He thinks this is a bad idea, that it’s going to lead to trouble, and I tend to agree with him. It’s why I asked Melanie not to get involved, not this way, but it’s done now.

Besides that, it looks like we aren’t going to get anywhere our way. Clete was a bust, Anne Bonny’s “witnesses” didn’t
pan out, and we don’t have any idea what to do next.

Melanie takes a deep breath. “I think I might have found something. There’s a list of clients inside a file that’s just labeled with a number, and they’re all high-powered.”

“Okay.” I chew on my lower lip, not noticing at first when it starts to bleed. “How do you know it’s something nefarious, though?”

“Why wouldn’t the information be with
their regular files? Why isn’t it labeled? Why isn’t there a digital version?” She sits forward in the chair, dropping her feet to the floor. “It’s worth a look. It’s suspicious.”

“How? I mean…if there’s no other information in the file, how do we find out what it’s all about?” Amelia wonders out loud.

I peek at Beau and find the same look of mild dismay. He’s not interrupting or telling us
to stop, but he wants to. Maybe he knows it won’t do any good. Or maybe he wants to help Amelia, too, and can’t tell us to back off if he doesn’t have any better ideas.

“That’s where it gets tricky.” Mel sighs. “In the file with the names is the name of an offshore bank. That’s it. And the Middletons’ regular file doesn’t have anything on that bank—no accounts, no investments, nothing.”

“So
they’re not connected to it, as far as Harrington wants you or anyone else who goes snooping to know.”

“Right. Especially because that
one file
isn’t digitized. It would be pretty damn easy to get rid of.” She shakes her head. “I’d say I can’t believe he’s got it written down like that instead of just keeping it in his head, but the guy’s getting older. He forgets things all the damn time, and
I’m guessing those type of clients aren’t big on having to remind the guy who handles their money where exactly he’s keeping it.”

“Honestly, it’s suspicious enough that they use him instead of a big firm. People with money like that…they don’t invest it with one-horse operations in nowhere towns.” Beau’s the one leaning forward now, his interest apparently outweighing his trepidation. “My family
wouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Mel nods, her jaw set and determined. “I could use Harrington’s e-mail and login information to find out more, but not without account numbers for that bank.”

The statement hangs in the air, attached to Mel’s lips like in a comic book dialogue bubble. We stare at it, examine it fifteen different ways. I don’t know what’s going through everyone else’s mind right now, but
I know what’s going through mine… We have to get those numbers. We have to prove the Middletons are up to no good, and with the judge ordering the psych evaluations and the hearing coming up fast, it’s the best lead we’ve got.

“I’ll take care of it,” I whisper, not looking at my boyfriend. They all start to protest at once, Beau loudest of all. Amelia offers to help, Mel promises we can figure
it out together, but they fall silent when I hold up a hand, pinning Beau down with a resigned gaze, first. “You’re the mayor of Heron Creek. You were discussing bigger things with your father a few hours ago. You cannot get into trouble and you know it.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth as though he’s going to argue, then decides against it. If I know Beau, the discussion is only on hold.

I turn to Amelia. “You’re about to have a hearing that will determine the custody of your child. A recent arrest isn’t going to help your case, not to mention that if you’re involved in obtaining or touching this evidence at all, it’ll probably be inadmissible in court.” I check with Beau, who makes a wavering motion with his hand like it could go either way, then snorts at my glare. “And Mel,
you’re assuming enough risk the way it is. I can’t let you go any further. I’m doing it.”

None of them say anything or ask me how I’ll manage it, and when Beau and I go up to my room a little bit later, I prepare myself for a fight that never comes. Once we’re in bed, snuggled under the covers in shorts and T-shirts, too exhausted to think about doing anything other than taking comfort and falling
asleep, he speaks his mind.

“I’m not going to try to talk you out of trying to help Amelia, Gracie Anne. I don’t want to know what you’re planning or when or why, because you’re right about keeping the details in as small a circle as possible.” He rests his chin on top of my head. “I just wish that you would worry as much about your own future as you do everyone else’s.”

“I already have a record,”
I joke, trying to lighten the mood. The attempt tumbles on its face as Beau doesn’t laugh. His arm tightens around me, transmitting concern. I frown. “I’ll call Leo and see if he’s up for it.”

Beau’s quiet for so long that I think maybe he’s fallen asleep, and I almost have when he startles me with a reply. “I appreciate the things that Leo Boone is willing to do for you, you know. But it’s not
easy to stand by and let him be the one by your side when I want to be there myself.”