Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) (31 page)

“Doesn’t your boyfriend have a law degree?”

“Are you going to answer me or not?”

“Sure. I’ve got a slow morning.” He reaches over and grabs a donut out of a box, then offers it to me. “Donut?”

I take one and choose not to comment on the cliché. It pains me, though.

“No comment? You must have something serious on your mind. Spill.”

“Okay. It’s more
than a decade ago. Two kids have a suicide pact and meet up to execute it. One of them gets cold feet and the other helps the first go through with it before attempting to kill himself or herself, too.”

He steeples his fingers under his chin, gray eyes steady on my face. “Attempting?”

“Yes. Second kid survives. Only the two of them know what happened, and the second kid’s not talking. First
death is ruled a suicide.” I take a deep breath. “Is that second kid legally responsible for the death of the first, and is there anything that can be done years after the fact?”

He thinks for a long time, finishing his donut and washing it down with half a cup of coffee that looks like tar. I wrinkle my nose like the coffee snob I’ve become, waiting as patiently as possible for him to process
all the information.

“Yes to the first question and doubtful to the second, unless some kind of independent proof came to light.”

I already know Brick is
morally
responsible for Nan’s death, no matter what emotions and pacts and regrets cloud the situation. I suspected after my chat with Leo last night, the answer to the second—that with only two witnesses to the event, one of them dead and
the other not talking—the cops would need more than the word of a girl who saw a ghostly re-enactment to move forward with a case.

I swallow back tears. I’ll have to hope that Reynolds knowing the whole truth about what happened will be enough to appease Nan.
 

“Hey.” Travis’s arrogance evaporates as concern tightens his features. “Are you okay?”

“No. That much should be clear by now.” I sniffle,
taking the tissue he offers, and heave a wet laugh. “I’m a mess.”

“We’re all a mess, Graciela. It takes a particularly brave person to show it.”

I spend most of the drive out to Drayton Hall wondering why he looked so sad when he said that, and the sharp little slivers of pain around his edges make me feel the tiniest bit bad about not giving him that heads-up about Clete after all.

The pinched, anxious expression on Jenna Lee’s face when I get out of my car at Drayton Hall warns me that the hits are going to just keep on coming.

“Mrs. Drayton’s waiting in your office. She made me show her where you’ve been working and go through some of your files. I’m really sorry, sugar pie.”

“It’s okay.” The earnestness on her sweet face make me rethink my assumption that she could
have been the one ratting me out to my boyfriend’s mother this whole time.

“I told her I haven’t been working with you so I didn’t know exactly what you’d done or what you were planning but she didn’t care.” She squints up her face. “Are you gonna get fired?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Getting fired is the least of my worries, but no. I don’t think so. I’m almost finished, anyway.”

“Well, I guess
you’d better go face the music or whatever.” She cuts a glance toward the office, then back at me. “You and I really need to get that drink now. I have a feeling you have a whole treasure chest of good stories.”

Jenna bounces away, striding off to check on whatever Jenna checks on all day or simply to be generally fabulous. Being friends with someone like her will be a challenge for my self-confidence,
for sure, but something tells me it might be worth it.

“Well, Gracie, are you ready?” I say aloud. Talking to myself is starting to be the thing that makes me feel normal. That’s probably bad.

The cold air in my office blasts me in the face, and I have to blink a few times to clear my vision before Cordelia comes into focus. She’s sitting in the chair no one ever uses, since there are few visitors
to my little space and my butt is practically molded to the floor. The look on her face can only be described as cold, murderous, and controlled.

“Miss Harper.”

Oh dear. Second time this morning I’ve been addressed as
Miss Harper
and all of a sudden Dylan Travis seems as sweet as one of those poor church mice in Disney’s version of
Robin Hood
. The one with the sexy fox.

Because Cordelia Drayton
is
definitely
Prince John.

Focus, weirdo.

“Mrs. Drayton. I wasn’t aware you were coming out this morning. Would you like me to show you what I’ve been working on?”

She presses her lips together and stands up. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would.”

We go through the files I’ve made, separated into things that need to be refiled in the family archives, documents to contact the state or federal
archives about, and what I believe will be the biggest draw if and when they decide to set up an exhibition here at the house.

“You’ve done a credible job in a short period of time, Graciela. Really. All the references and recommendations I received on your behalf were well-founded.” Her monotone delivery, combined with the hard glint in her brown eyes, don’t match the positive reinforcement.
Then again, Cordelia Drayton knows how to pick her battles, and my work—and reputation, at least as of now—is immaculate.

“Thank you. I’ve really enjoyed it.” I make sure the honest truth of that statement comes through my trepidation. Truth for truth. “You have an amazing family.”

“Which brings me to my next point. Our security team informed me that you were here again in the middle of the
night and that you spent quite a bit of time underneath our tree. You know which one.”

I nod, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “I do.”

My gut says there’s no point in explaining that my coming here the other night had nothing to do with Nan. The fact that it had to do with Mama Lottie isn’t much better, anyway, and Mrs. Drayton is going to say what she’s going to say, regardless.

“I
spoke with Beauregard, and he told me that you are somehow under the impression that you know what happened out here the night that Nanette Robbins tragically took her life.” She waits, as though expecting me to argue.

There’s invisible steam coming out my ears, but I bite my tongue. I wonder if she really believes Nan killed herself after telling the lie out loud so many times.

“My son may
indulge your fantasies as far as these ghosts, but I certainly do not. I warned you to stay away from this case, to leave my family’s business to my family, and yet, you seem to be confused. Are you confused, Miss Harper?”

“No, ma’am.” Stubborn, sure. Not all that bright on occasion, maybe. But not confused.

“I’m going to clarify for you, just in case. Because I want you to be completely aware
of the consequences should you choose to bring up your ridiculous version of events with one single person in Heron Creek or anywhere else.” She takes a step forward. It takes all my conscious energy not to take a step back. I hold up my chin, ready to take whatever blow she’s about to deal. “I will make sure your friend Will goes under investigation for what got him fired from the state. I’ll
make sure his wife loses her job and has one hell of a time finding another one. I think once Mr. Freedman learns of your proclivity for breaking the law and my dissatisfaction with your work, you’ll be finished at the library.”

All I can do is stare at her in disbelief, Leo’s words about the lengths a person will go to in order to protect their children ringing in my ears. That she would ruin
my friends’ lives in ways that would be irrevocable in order to protect her own is despicable, though, no matter her reasons or motivations.

The almost-funny part of this whole thing is that I’ve already decided to leave it alone. She’s doing all this, showing her true colors and tainting any possibility of us having a decent relationship in the future, for nothing.

“And your cousin, Amelia?
Well, I’m sorry to say that not only will she lose custody of that precious little boy, but she’ll never see him again. Courts tend to be very wary about letting unstable parents near their children.”

My anger boils, sloshing deep in my veins. Growing as it speeds into my heart and pumps out again, curling my fingers into fists and my toes into the soles of my shoes. It makes me partially deaf,
clouds the edges of my vision with red. A voice in the back of my mind tells me to play her card for card.
Stay calm. Say what you think.

“Ma’am, I do believe that I’ve completed my task here to the best of my ability and I’ll be leaving your employ. As far as the rest of it, you have insulted me and every single one of my friends. You’ve disrespected your son, who loves me. You’ve covered up
the murder of a girl who had almost no one in this world while she was alive and robbed her in death.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. They’re scattered, tossed on winds of absolute rage. “Perhaps worse than all that, you think you’ve protected Brick, but in truth, you’ve failed him. You failed him then, and you’re still failing him now. The truth is, I don’t have a single shred of proof because,
as you said, not everyone is going to believe the things I see are real. But
I
know the truth. And your family knows the truth. Saddest of all,
Brick
knows the truth, and the fact that he’ll never be able to say it out loud is probably the worst punishment you could have ever inflicted on him. So congratulations. We’re all going to keep doing exactly what you say and living exactly as you see
fit. I hope you’re happy, Mrs. Drayton, because no one around you ever will be.”

With that, I storm out of the office on trembling knees. Both Sean and Jenna stand close to the door, their eyes wide and wearing matching expressions of shocked masks. I ignore them, too flushed with adrenaline to do anything but get the hell out of here before it fades and leaves me a giant puddle of goop incapable
of defending anything. Including how on earth I can still be Beau’s girlfriend after this.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It takes me three days to get myself back to some semblance of normal. Beau calls and texts, but doesn’t push when I tell him I still need some time and space to myself. Amelia’s good, actually. Taking care of other people has always been her thing, and even though she doesn’t know the whole story—I kept the hateful threats to myself—she understands what I gave
up on Nan’s behalf and my doubt over the future of my relationship with Beau.

What’s sad is that everyone, including me, saw this coming from our very first date. A crazy, messed-up girl from a mediocre family does not get to live happily ever after with the eldest son of one of the most prominent families in the South. Particularly not when he—and they—have grand dreams of politics that probably
include the White House.

Now isn’t the time to think about my problems, though. Today is about Nan.

It only crosses my mind after I’m on Reynolds’s porch that she might not want to let me in after what happened the last time. The fear turns out to be short-lived as she opens the door and registers my presence without much fanfare or surprise, then leads me back into the same parlor we used the
other day.

I’m too nervous to sit and my eyes keep sweeping the room, looking for my ghost.

“Is she here?” Reynolds’s voice conveys exhaustion, and her gaze is resigned.

“No.” I check again to be sure. “Listen, I don’t want to make things harder for you. I know that you didn’t believe Nan killed herself, but we both know that after you got pregnant, the Draytons paid you off to just go away,
to stop asking for the truth.”

Tears pool in her eyes. She looks younger, now. Not even close to thirty. “I had a choice. I know that. I could have kept saying what I thought to anyone who would listen, but with the baby and trying to finish school… I lost my apartment. How could I raise my daughter without anywhere to live?”

My throat hurts, looking at her. At least this, I can help. “No one
blames you, Reynolds. Nan was gone and you had your daughter to think about.”

“I shouldn’t have taken the money.”

I cross the room, sit at her side to put my hand over hers until she finds the courage to look me in the eye. Her misery fills the room, makes my lungs feel as though they’re full of water. “Nan doesn’t blame you, Reynolds. She only wanted you to know the truth, so you wouldn’t believe
that having you wasn’t enough for her.”

“She told you that?” she whispers.

“I saw the whole thing. What happened that night…” It had certainly crossed my mind to gloss over this part, given Mrs. Drayton’s warning about telling anyone the truth about what happened, but Reynolds deserves to know. Especially since we’re the only people who will ever know the truth.

“Brick Drayton and your sister
had a suicide pact. I don’t know when they formed it, but they were both pretty desperate kids. They met out at that tree to go through with it that night. He helped her tie the noose and had a gun for himself. Nan promised to go first but she changed her mind.”

Reynolds gives me a doubtful look.