Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) (18 page)

I sleep so hard that I miss out on a couple of important occurrences in my safe haven of a bedroom.
One, the sunrise, which heats the space almost unbearably with the curtains flung wide the way they were last night. And two, Beau seems to have arrived at some point. I blink, then do it again, clearing the gunk from the corners of my eyes while trying to determine whether my boyfriend is
actually
sitting in Anne’s chair, staring out at the river, or if he’s a dream.

I mean, he
is
a dream, but
in this context, I think he’s physically here, too.

Panic grabs me at the sharp, stabbing thought that he could be a ghost, and I sit up, breathing hard. “Beau?”

He turns toward me. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

I’m so busy being relieved that he’s talking and not a ghost that it takes a moment to register that he’s not smiling, and his tone isn’t his typical one.
 

He sounds detached. A little
edgy.

I hug my knees to my chest. “What are you doing here?”

“You never called me back or texted last night and I got worried. I thought I’d stop by on my way into the office and check on you.” He glances down at his expensive watch. “You’re going to be late, by the way.”

“Crap on a cracker!” I shout, rolling out of bed and grabbing for my phone. It’s dead, since it didn’t make it onto the
charger last night. “What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I haven’t been here long.”

The answer falls between us like a rock, smashing any good feeling that might have tried to come out to play. He’s not even looking at me, but sort of through me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, wanting to know more than I want to pretend everything’s fine. I think I might be done with that philosophy all together.

It’s only then that my gaze falls, following his down to his hands, and I see that he’s holding Nanette’s file. The moisture leeches from my mouth, leaving behind dust bunnies and cotton balls even after two or three swallows. Our eyes meet and his are careful, too careful. As though he’s a lawyer and I’m on the stand, and he’s about to pretend he’s not angry with me until the exact right moment.

“Where did you get this?”

I would rather answer the question
Why do you have this?
since I sort of promised Officer Dunleavy to keep his help under wraps. “I requested it from the police department.”

Not a lie, but he presses his lips together as though he suspects it’s not the whole truth. I hadn’t considered this particular downside of dating a lawyer. Beau looks like he can sniff out an untruth
or half-truth easily, and experience promises he can hear what goes unsaid, as well.

“Why?”

No time like the present to come clean. It may have been a good idea to keep my investigation or whatever from Beau and his family at the beginning, but it’s too late now.

“I saw her my first day at Drayton—Nan.”

“Nanette Robbins.” He rolls her name around in his mouth as if it tastes bad, as if he
wants to spit it out. “Troubled girl.”

“You knew her?”

“No. I was away at school when she died.”

“But Brick knew her.”

“Brick went to school with her,” he corrects. “The two of them had a friendly relationship.” He levels me with a no-nonsense look. “You saw her ghost? What do you think she wants?”

I pause, feeling as though there are only certain safe spots to step and the rest of the responses
will suck me under like quicksand. The truth is, I don’t have any idea what Nan wants; I only know what she’s told me.

“I don’t know yet. When I saw her, she had a noose around her neck so she was pretty easy to find on the Internet. I asked for the file to, I don’t know, try to figure it out. It’s kind of what I do now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

That’s the issue here. The
real
question underneath
all the others, ready to erupt and cover us both in lava and ash.
 

We’re in love. This is a good thing. Why does life—and death—keep coming between us?

“The article in the Charleston paper mentioned your brother, that he might know her. I’d just started working for your mom—hell, I’ve only been out there twice. I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

“I’m not
the boat
, Gracie. I’m not Brick or my
mother. Why didn’t you tell
me
?” he demands.

“I just didn’t see the point until I knew what she wanted.”

“The point is that you’re working out there, even though you know I’d rather you didn’t. The point is that my nerves are shot, waiting for my mother’s agenda to show itself. The point is that I’m your boyfriend and you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, even when you’re worried I
might get upset.”

I push my toes into the rug underneath the bed, an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hate letting people down, and Beau’s disappointment hurts more than most. “I’m sorry. I’m not…I’m not used to any of this. Having such a fabulous boyfriend. Worrying that I’m not good enough for his glamorous family. New job. New ghost-seeing abilities. My father in town.”

“Your what?
Is that why you ignored my call last night?”

Shit. I suck so, so bad. “He was here when I got home from Drayton Hall yesterday. We talked for maybe ten minutes.”

“What did he say?” Beau’s looking more like he might be willing to forgive my previous oversight in the interest of full disclosure, but he’s not moving from the chair to the bed. I miss the reassurance of his warmth at my side.

“Some
mysterious shit about how he found me but wouldn’t be able to stay for long. And he left me some hair to get tested, so we’ll start there.”

“I can take it for you. The firm has forensic-testing facilities on retainer.”

Letting the Drayton family law firm handle my paternity testing isn’t my first choice, but I nod anyway. It’s easier than figuring out how to get it done myself, and the confirmation
feels important. As does letting Beau help, be a part of it all. “He also said something that makes me think this paranormal stuff might be normal for his side of the family. But him bringing it up surprised me so much I just…I didn’t tell him anything. Not yet.”

I don’t say anything about how it crossed my mind that someone back in Iowa, like David, might have been playing a joke on me. It’s
humiliating enough to have Amelia aware of my insecurities.

“I don’t blame you. We’ll find out if he’s who he says he is, then go from there.”

“After he left I tagged along on one of Daria’s jobs. That’s why I didn’t call you back—we were out later than I expected.”

“Oh?”

I talk, letting the horrors of last night spill out of my mouth and into his lap, and a knot of apprehension loosens in
my center. Beau makes his way over to the bed and rests one hand on the small of my back, tracing small circles. He watches me, listening quietly with a wrinkle between his eyebrows until I’m finished. Then he gives me a hug that would definitely turn into something more if I weren’t already late for work. I can’t believe Amelia hasn’t come banging on the door, but maybe she figured she’d let me
sleep in after last night. Or, more likely, had seen my boyfriend come in.

Beau pulls me to my feet, brushing a kiss across the bridge of my nose. “I’m happy that you’re learning more about your abilities, Gracie Anne. They make you unique, and the work you’re doing…maybe it’s strange to think this way, but you’re doing a good thing. You’re helping people, even if they’re dead.”

I wrap my arms
around his waist, my words muffled by his lilac dress shirt. “Thank you.”

He pushes me away, hazel eyes latching on to mine. “I know we’re still figuring this whole you and me thing out, but please don’t keep me in the dark. Especially when it has to do with my family. I have a lot more experience dealing with them than you do, okay?”

Birdie’s voice in the hospital the other day, aghast that
her brother hadn’t clued me in about an apparently significant event centered around a girl named Lucy, pushes a frown onto my face. It’s tempting to want to throw that in his face now, when he’s chastising me for keeping him in the dark, but it’s not fair. I swallow the indignant remark tap dancing toward the tip of my tongue. Me not telling him something that could have a direct impact on our relationship
or the one that I’m still forming with his family is one thing. I have to trust that whoever this Lucy is, whatever happened, he’ll tell me when he’s ready. When I need to know, if I really do.

So, I only nod in response, biting my lip. It’s hard to let him completely off the hook, but with Birdie’s accusation fading, there’s room for Officer Dunleavy’s warning about families like Beau’s to surface.
 

Maybe, just maybe, my boyfriend will be my ally, but in my heart it’s hard to believe. Family is family. Girlfriends of four months are something…less.

Chapter Twelve

Amelia did, in fact, decide to let me sleep in. She had no way of knowing how stressful last night’s excursion with Daria had been, but being family for our whole lives counts for something. She gives me a smile when I wander into the library almost an hour late, then nods when I set an herbal tea down on the desk. I’ll have to buy her something else later since she’s
not only dealing with just any patron but showing Mrs. Walters the newest Nicholas Sparks novel. And discussing her favorite ones.

I listen for a minute while I set down my purse and tap the computer to wake it up, hiding a smile when Amelia makes a slip-up that gives away the fact that while she’s seen all the movies adapted from Sparks’s books, she’s a little behind on her reading.

Mrs. Walters’s
eyes narrow. “That doesn’t happen. She stays married to the cancer man.”

As easy as it would be to leave my cousin to her evisceration—which would still be nicer than mine since Millie is still the golden girl in our neighbor’s eyes—I head over to help.
 

Mrs. Walters’s fed-up expression, though, stops me in my tracks. This whole time I’ve been ashamed of how the people of Heron Creek will see
me now that the majority of them know the truth about my ghosts, but what about how they see Millie? I’ve been the subject of their exasperation for most of my life, just because of my penchant for trouble, but my cousin? She’s been their darling.

Until she murdered her rich husband and is maybe possibly going mad.

The thought of them chattering about her, giving her sidelong looks, puts me
in Mama Bear mode in the blink of an eye.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask Mrs. Walters. My voice sounds strangled. Choked by the realization that living in Heron Creek could end up being worse for my cousin than better. Charleston would be big enough to get lost in. Heron Creek is good for hiding from the rest of the world, but inside our town limits, there aren’t any secrets.

Mrs. Walters
sniffs, looking me up and down. “You? I doubt it.”

Amelia’s smile is tight, but at least she still has one on her face. I’ve given up on even the pretense of making our neighbor happy.

“She wants to know if the new Nicholas Sparks book is sad or happy. I said sad.”

“Well, if you were playing the odds, you’d be right,” I say, “but in this case, at least the young couple get a happily-ever-after.”
I glance down, noting that Mrs. Walters is holding the movie-inspired cover featuring Clint Eastwood’s son done up in cowboy garb. “And that cover will get you going.”

A sharp intake of breath relays Millie’s shock—or laughter—and Mrs. Walters purses her lips. “You’re a filthy girl, Graciela Harper. Always were. Can’t be happy enough for young William that he managed to get free of your claws.”

“Hey now,” Amelia growls, ready to come to my defense. She presses her lips together at the slight shake of my head. The last thing we need are complaints from the community, and whether or not everyone knows Mrs. Walters is a hateful old biddy, we’re still here to cater to her literary needs.

“Yes, well, you might want to ask Melanie’s opinion of your novel choice, then, if you’re looking for
a more appropriate assessment. Mine is that if you have enjoyed Mr. Sparks’s fine stories in the past, there’s no reason to think this one will disappoint.”

There’s not much she can say to that, but I hold my breath anyway until she’s checked out the book and thump-shuffled out to the street. Common sense never stopped that woman from talking before.
 

Amelia shakes her head, picking up her tea
off the desk. “That woman is a menace. I can’t believe she thinks she’s goin’ to heaven.”

“If she’s going to be in heaven, then hell’s looking better all the time.”

“I bet we can drink in hell.”

“And smoke.” Amelia smiles a little wistfully at my addition. We were never serious smokers but we both went through a social-smoking phase in late high school. There are still nights, always when I’ve
had too much to drink, when a couple of drags sound mighty good.

My cousin barks a laugh that sounds as though it’s trying not to be a cry. “Yeah. We can light them off our burning flesh.”

We do laugh, then, but only as long as we realistically can about a joke regarding our eternal damnation. “Oh! I talked to Dylan this morning on my way in and he said they’re definitely going to be hiring
a replacement. They thought the advertisement went in the paper last week and couldn’t figure out why no one responded, but it didn’t get in. He thinks Will should definitely apply.”

“That’s a relief.” I’ll feel marginally better once he and Mel are both gainfully employed and on the road back to stability—financial and otherwise.

She picks up her tea and tips her head toward the back of the
library, where the offices are. “Mr. Freedman’s in this morning. If you want to go ahead and drop the news…”

“Are you sure you’re okay with me focusing on the archiving at the Draytons’ until it’s done?”

“Yes. Honestly, Grace, I can’t believe the city council even pays for two of us to be here given how many people come in and out every day.”

“I know. I think it’s so they don’t have to worry
about a single person going stark raving mad.”

“Well, they don’t have to worry about that with either of us. We’re already there.”