Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery)

by Lyla Payne

  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.”

  “Me, maybe. You’re just on a detour.” I give her a light smile. “Because one of us has to be sane, Amelia, and you and I both know that’s never been my destiny.”

  “You have Beau to keep you on the straight and narrow, now. You don’t need me.”

  My heart bangs into my ribs, fear cutting off my breath. “I’ll always need you, Millie. Always.”

  The doors open again, bringing a wave of heat and LeighAnn into the library with her four kids in tow. Millie doesn’t answer, just gives me a smile that looks like something else. “I’ll get them. You go talk to Mr. Freedman. But remember, you promised to be here on Tuesdays for story time.”

  “Of course.” I watch her walk away, my pulse refusing to return to normal. The last thing I should be doing is leaving her alone more. I know that, but I also know that this job at Drayton Hall is important for so many reasons—not the least of which is finding the woman who saved me the other night. I’m hoping that she’s going to be able to save Amelia, too.

  Mr. Freedman, unsurprisingly, has no issue with my taking some time off—without pay—to work for the Draytons. First off, Amelia was right in her assessment that both of us are not generally required to keep the library and archives functioning, and second, he mentioned that it would look good for one of the town’s staffers to be involved with such an influential local history project.

  He’s not wrong, and my steps lighten as they hit the pavement outside. I decide to walk over and grab a chicken salad sandwich for Millie before I leave for the day. And maybe one for me, too.

  Westies is packed with all the usual suspects since lunchtime is now in full swing, and I don’t make it to the doors before I hear the strains of Leo’s guitar, which slides a grin onto my face. I step around the wrought iron tables out front, crowded now that some of the heat and humidity have slunk out of Heron Creek for the season. Leo’s where he always is, in front of the windows to the left of the entrance, and he grins back when he sees me.

  He finishes the song, tipping his hat and shooting a wink at some high school girls who toss change into his guitar case, then turns to me. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Harper. Have you come to renegotiate the terms of our old alliance?”

  “Ha. No. I think now that we’re adults we can do away with official truces.”

  “I don’t know which one of us you think is an adult, but okay. If that’s what you want.”

  His statement pricks me, like a feather sticking out of your pillow at night. There’s so much more to Leo than he wants me to see—than he wants anyone to see—and there has to be an answer to why he’s so damn determined to avoid all responsibilities. Other than Marcella, that is.

  It never feels like the right time to ask him about his Peter Pan complex, because honestly, a case could be made for me having one, too. Smaller than Leo’s—I do have a passion and a career—but still. I’m too old to be drifting, at least in the minds of people who settled down before they hit their twenties.

  “What’s up?” he asks, picking up a songbook and thumbing through it. His musical tastes are pretty eclectic, ranging from pop oldies to Sinatra to more modern, boy band stuff that impressed those younger girls into tipping him.

  “Grabbing lunch before I head out to Drayton Hall for the afternoon. You?”

  “Not much. I’ve made, like, five dollars, so yay for cooler weather.” He takes off his beat-up baseball cap and uses it to wipe his forehead.

  “You hungry?” The question comes out without warning or intent, startling me. I manage not to look at the time on my phone because stopping here for more than the fifteen minutes it’ll take to get food isn’t on my schedule. Too late now.

  “Yeah, I am.” He glances over at the outside tables. “Laurel and Dorothy are leaving. You want me to snag their table? I don’t think I should take all this stink and sweat inside.”

  “Ah, yes, please share it only with me.” My smile is back, because, well, Leo. He’s just…easy.

  “It takes a special person to appreciate my aroma.” He strides away, taking the trash from the hands of the older women and depositing it in the receptacle for them, then deftly swipes the table out from under a younger married couple—Karen and Brent, I think are their names.

  “Nicely done,” I inform him, tossing my cardigan on the back of the chair. “You hold down the fort and I’ll get in line. What do you want?”

  “Reuben and chips. Plain ones, not that crunchy hipster kettle-cooked shit.”

  “Oh, the stink of sauerkraut will definitely improve my lunch experience.”

  I go inside and wait my turn without waiting for a response, making nice with the people around me. It almost feels as though things are back to normal, that people have accepted this new and sort of mostly grown-up Graciela Harper who’s inserted herself back into their ranks. Heron Creek is a friendly place, for sure, but much like neighboring Charleston, we prefer tourists to transplants. We want you to love our city and please, come visit, but when it gets right down to it, we’d rather you didn’t stay.

  It means a lot, actually, that they treat me like I’m one of them.

  I’ve got my chicken salad sandwich and chips along with Leo’s rather fragrant Reuben and chips in red baskets lined with paper, and Amelia’s chicken salad on a croissant under my arm in a to-go bag. And it only took ten minutes, which exceeded my expectation as far as wait time. Even if I spend another twenty eating with Leo, I’ll still have a good four hours out at Drayton Hall before I need to get home for dinner—and I am going to spend the evening with my cousin, especially if we’ll be seeing each other less during the day.

  “One Reuben, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sit across from him and we chew and
people watch in silence for several minutes. My stomach demands to be filled as quickly as possible, which means talking gets put on the back burner, but I do make room for a question after a mouthful of chips. “How’s Lindsay doing? Marcella seems happy.”

  “Marcella is ecstatic. Kids are resilient, people always say that, but seeing it in action is pretty insane.” He looks thoughtful for a minute. “She’s got some anxiety whenever Lindsay leaves her alone, like she thinks she’s not coming back.”

  “That will get better the more she comes back. Marcie will get more and more confident.” My soul feels happy, thinking about Marcella getting the life she deserves. “I mean, she’s a Boone, after all. Overconfidence is in her blood.”

  “Point taken.”

  “And Lindsay?”

  A slight frown flickers on his face. “She’s struggling a little bit with trusting people.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she’s working through it. She took a job in Driftwood, waitressing on the docks. Seems to like it.”

  Lindsay having a job is great news, and there’s no need to ask why she prefers to work somewhere other than Heron Creek. Driftwood is small, too, but it’ll take some time for people there to figure out her life story, at least. A small reprieve, hopefully one that lasts long enough for her to get her feet back underneath her.

  “I’m glad she’s got a job. She deserves a second chance.”

  He nods, taking a giant bite of his sandwich and staring at two little kids waiting to cross the street, their gray-haired grandmother or babysitter explaining loudly that they need to look both ways. When Leo’s bright blue gaze returns to me, it’s clear of the emotions that clog it up when he talks about his sister and his niece.

  Family is another thing I never seem to find the right time to ask Leo about. Why, with half a dozen other siblings, Leo was the one to take in Marcella… Why no one visited Lindsay or helped out…

  “What’s up with you and old purple-haired Daria? Did she tell you anything useful yet?”