by Lyla Payne
It’s kind of nice, this bubble wrap around my feelings, but I can’t help wondering how bad things are going to be when the protections my mind has slapped in place fall away.
“I think that’s a safe bet,” I reply, dragging my feet with the rest of it. I don’t want to say out loud what I saw under the house. Doing so will make it real. For a moment, I let myself think I might have imagined it.
Nope.
“Frank’s under the house, too. His body, I mean,” I explain when her expression goes completely blank after my first sentence. “In fact, I think that might be what you’ve been smelling.”
Millie turns green around her mouth and under her eyes, and holds up a hand. “Grace, I haven’t barfed in like, three months, but if you continue that train of thought I will hurl all over you right here and now.”
“Sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything else and neither do I. There’s not much else to say about what I found, and if I know my cousin, she needs a few minutes to process before we’ll be able to discuss the best course of action.
“You have to call Will,” she says three minutes later.
I know it’s three minutes because I’ve spent them staring at the clock, wondering how everything in my life has gone so wrong. Just a few weeks ago everything was looking up—Beau and I were back together, it was Christmas. My first article about Henry had been accepted and we were talking about a second one. No ghosts other than him were lurking on the edges of my life.
Now, just a few short weeks later, Beau is gone, I’ve got another extremely inconvenient ghost in my life and my dead father under my house. And, if that isn’t enough, the cops have been informed that there are drugs there, too.
Travis pops into my head for the second time since I came inside. My stomach drops again at the thought of once more being the bearer of bad news, but a second thought distracts me—he could be able to help. If his abilities are strong, if they’re like our father’s…maybe he could find Frank’s ghost. Summon him or whatever, so he could tell us what happened.
“I know,” I tell her, because there really is nothing else to say and the idea about Travis is too new to put into words. “But what’s going to happen then?”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Amelia gets up and comes over to me, bending to wrap her arms around my shoulders. I lay my head on her collarbone and breathe in the familiar smell of her. Tears burn in my throat, but I swallow them back. Nothing good can come of breaking down right now.
My head reels during that thirty-second hug. I think about what happened to Frank, and whether it means we’re in danger. I think about Beau, and whether this mess is what will finally prove to him that I’m not the woman he needs for the sort of future he wants. I think about Amelia, and wonder how much better off she and Jack would be without me and all of the drama I can’t seem to shake.
Millie pulls back and yanks on the end of my ponytail the way she used to when we were kids. “We’re going to be okay, Grace. You didn’t do anything wrong. The police will figure out what happened to Frank and life will go on. But I am sorry you never got to know him better.”
“Me, too,” I force out through my tight throat. “Thanks.”
Her face contorts. “And for Travis. Poor guy. You need to call him, Grace. He deserves to hear about this from family.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. Family. Travis and I are all that’s left of the Fourniers, at least our little branch of the tree.
“Okay. Now, call Will,” she prods.
“We’re supposed to be at work in an hour.”
“I’ll go alone if you’re still busy by then. The chances of Freedman coming out of his office and noticing there’s only one of us are pretty small, but if he does, I’ll cover for you.”
“Yeah, well, with my luck he’ll appear to count heads today. For the first time since I took the job.”
“We’ll deal with that if it comes up. As far as problems go, I feel pretty confident about our ability to handle our boss.”
“Good point.” We both knew I was only stalling anyway.
I call Will and ask him to come over. Amelia and I sit with our coffee and wait, because there isn’t much else to do. Despite my worry over ruining my cousin’s life, the fact that she keeps saying we—that she’s letting me know we’re in this together—keeps me from falling apart.
“I’m going to have to call in the feds, Gracie.” Will runs a dirty hand through his hair. He’s been in the crawl space, taken some photographs. “The drugs are our jurisdiction, but your father was a wanted criminal in the federal database. His murder—if it is murder—is going to fall under their jurisdiction.”
It would be way too serendipitous if my childhood sweetheart were put in charge of this entire investigation, thereby allaying any suspicion of me. At least unofficially. But while the news doesn’t come as a huge surprise, it still sucks.
“Okay. What does that mean?”
Will raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t been doing this job very long, but I’m guessing they’re going to want to talk to you two, plus Dylan Travis. As far as they know, you’re the last person to see him alive. You’re his daughter, and his body is under your house.”
“Okay, but I’m also the person who called the police. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“I hope so.” He goes over to the sink and washes his hands, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of Millie coming down the stairs. “You told her everything?”
“I kind of didn’t have a choice after the dead body thing.”
“Right, well, listen, Gracie. I know you didn’t do this. Combined with the anonymous call, it’s not a stretch to think someone is setting you up. They wanted us to find the drugs and probably Frank’s body, too.” He levels me with his most serious look. “Any idea who it might be?”
“If I did, I would tell you.” I sigh as Amelia walks into the kitchen, her purse over her shoulder. I have a feeling I won’t be reporting for duty at the library today. “What happens next?”
“You stay here. I call the feds and they bring out their forensic team.”
“So I’m going to work alone?” Amelia asks, smiling at Will when he nods. “No problem. Grace, call if you need me, okay?”
I nod, then settle back on the living room couch to wait for the rest of the police and the million questions that are sure to follow. After I check my email for responses from Clara or the Journal editor and find nothing, there’s no excuse left to put off calling Travis. I pick up my phone, my heart heavy in my chest, and hit his name in my address book.
“Graciela?” he answers, sounding groggy.
Odd, since it’s nearly nine.
“Yeah.”
“What’s up?” He sounds alert already, as though the simple act of hearing from me has shot him full of adrenaline. It’s probably not hard for him to guess that something’s wrong.
I’m more of a texter.
“I have some…some bad news,” I choke out, surprised by the surge of emotion. I barely knew Frank, after all.
But maybe that’s why I’m sad.
“Okay.”
“Frank is dead. Under my house. I don’t know how or why, but the feds are coming and I…” I trail off and suck in a deep breath, cutting off my own rambling for once.
“Oh,” he says softly a moment later. “I…thank you for calling, Graciela.”
It’s oddly formal, his response, but then again, what would be normal in a situation like this? There’s no right way to respond to hearing that your father has died under your sister’s house, probably. And Travis isn’t the most emotive guy on a regular day.
“If you’d keep me updated on the case, that would be nice.” Travis pauses. “I guess the feds will probably want to talk to me, too.”
“Will thought so. Since we’re his only family that we know of.”
“Of course.” His voice sounds stronger again. No
w that the conversation has shifted to the law, he’s more sure of himself—this is Travis in his element. “Be careful, okay? I know you didn’t have anything to do with this, but you know it doesn’t look good. Call a lawyer, if you think it’s best.”
His concern touches my insides, somewhere near my heart—closer than I figured Travis could have gotten so soon, and my throat throbs. “Thanks. I will. You, too.”
When we hang up a moment later, I’m left alone with the reality that someone is trying to frame me for murder and theft.
Well, I could always muse about how long it’s been since I’ve heard from Beau, or how he’s going to take this latest news out of Heron Creek.
That is, if I ever hear from him again.
Chapter Nine
By the time the FBI clear out eight hours later—with Frank’s body in tow, thank goodness—I’m honestly shocked that I haven’t been arrested. They questioned me for hours about how well I knew Frank, what he was doing in Heron Creek, and whether he’d told me anything about past or current theft operations. Then, of course, there were a few skillfully worded and timed questions about whether or not I might have killed him and left him for dead in the crawl space.
I told them everything I know and everything he’d ever said, with the exception of all of the crap about ghosts and the bag of family documents he handed over the last time he was here. In my mind, Amelia’s voice tells me it’s a mistake—if they find out later, if those papers are somehow relevant to what happened to him, the feds are not going to be happy. But I can’t bring myself to share the mystery with them, at least not until I have a better handle on it.
The agents head over to Travis’s house to interview him, leaving me alone with Will and Ted Ryan. A couple more agents left an hour ago to interview Amelia at the library, presumably so we wouldn’t have time to coordinate our answers. My cousin should be home any minute; she texted to say that she’s bringing soup and grilled cheese from the diner. I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat even though I haven’t had anything all day.
I just want everyone out of the house, including Will.
“You okay, Gracie? I hate to leave you alone, but Mel’s stuck at work and I’ve got to grab Grant from my mother’s before she’s late for bridge club.”
“I’m fine,” I tell Will for the twentieth time, even though I don’t mean it any more now than I did the first time. “Go get your kid.”
“I could wait…” he hedges.
“Amelia is going to be home any minute and we’re going to eat dinner, and then honestly, I’m probably going to crash. It’s been a really long day.” I smile, trying to convince him that I’m truly okay.
“No one at the Heron Creek PD thinks you had anything to do with this,” Ted says, too forcefully. The Ryan twins don’t have much practice at displaying emotion, so his attempt to make me feel better squeezes my heart.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
The truth is there’s still an open investigation on the drug theft, and now that the contraband has been found in my possession, I’m going to be a suspect. The murder—if it does turn out to be murder—is a different story. No matter how much Will, Travis, and even the Ryan twins want to protect me, it’s not up to them.
“Okay, Gracie. I’ll have Mel call you in the morning.”
The guys leave and I wander outside to grab the mail, not thinking until it’s too late that the entire neighborhood has gotten a front row seat to the horror show at our house this afternoon. Just a month ago, the coroner’s office was here to clean up Mrs. Walters and now they’re at our place.
Meredith Freedman is down the street, standing by her mailbox and staring. A couple on our side of the block is watching their kids play in the brown grass—or pretending to, while they sneak glances my direction.
Cade Walters, Mrs. Walters’s good-looking grandson, grins at me from his front porch, where he’s got a glass of golden liquid and his laptop. He may or may not be spying, because I’ve noticed that he seems to prefer working on his books out in the fresh air more afternoons than not. He waves me over when he realizes I’ve seen him. For some reason, I find myself accepting the silent invitation. It’s better than standing in the driveway while everyone on the street wonders loud enough to hear what Crazy Graciela Harper has gone and done now.
It seems to me that it’s only a matter of time before Clete’s nickname for me starts to stick among the people in Heron Creek.
“Is the real reason you decided to stay longer in Heron Creek that living down the street from me gives you inspiration for your stories?” I ask Cade as I step onto the porch.
“No, but I’ve got to say, it’s turning out to be quite the perk. I lurked a bit and asked a ton of questions about FBI procedure today. You never know when that sort of research will come in handy.” He gives me a small smile, then tips his head toward the empty chair at his bistro table. “You want a drink?”
“Sure.”
He’s gone for a few minutes and returns with a second glass of what turns out to be bourbon, which he sets on the table between us. The liquid has the perfect sweetness and warms my insides all the way down to my belly. I think it’s the first time I’ve actually felt anything since I saw Frank’s body this morning.
“So, rough day?”
“That’s an understatement.” I sigh, wondering what I’m doing here. I was just thinking that I couldn’t wait to be alone, and now… “How’s the book coming?”
“Not too bad, actually. Lots of words today. It’s about a girl who finds a body and a bunch of drugs under her house.”
“Sounds like a winner.” I’m so tired all of a sudden. I could curl up on his front porch and fall asleep in five seconds flat. “So does everyone know what’s going on, or just you?”
“Just me. I mean, they know the police and the FBI were at your house all day, and honestly, they probably saw them take out a body.” He sips his bourbon. “But I was the only person with the audacity to ask questions. Which is why I thought you could probably use a drink.”
“You thought right. Although you might have to carry me home.”
“Now, what would your boyfriend think when those rumors made their way up to Washington, D.C.?”
It’s sort of weird that even Cade, who’s essentially visiting, knows about Beau’s recent job change.
“I don’t know. He’s pretty used to rumors about me at this point. It would take a lot to surprise him.”
We sit and drink in silence for a little bit, until a car pulls onto our street. I stand up, thinking that it’s Amelia, but it’s not her car—it’s Leo’s. I slam the rest of my bourbon as I watch him get out of the car, and then stand up, feeling a little wobbly.
“Thanks for the drink. And the update on the neighborhood gossip.”
“Anytime.” He pauses, his lips pursed, then adds, “Tell your cousin hello for me.”
“Will do.”
On a normal day, I’d give him a hard time about the way he’s blushing, or inform him that there’s a long line of men hoping to get with my cousin, but not today.
Instead, I step off the porch and shuffle my way down the street to my own driveway, arriving at the exact moment Amelia nudges her car in next to Leo’s. I go over to help pull her loose from behind the steering wheel because she’s been known to get stuck these days, and then grab the sack of to-go food off the passenger seat. Leo watches our progress from the front porch, a look of consternation on his face. Or anger. Or maybe he’s just constipated—with Leo, sometimes it’s hard to tell.
“What’s going on?” he demands once we’re close enough that he doesn’t have to shout. “Are you okay?”
“I thought you had another date with Victoria tonight?” He’d texted me yesterday to push off our run yet again.
“I do, but all I’ve been hearing about all day is how the cops are at your house and you aren’t at work and maybe there’s a dead body…” He trails off, his cheeks
red, his chest heaving.
“Holy shit, Leo. Were you like, worried about Grace?” Amelia’s fake surprise makes Leo give her the finger.
I laugh, despite the day I’ve had and despite the fact that Leo’s genuine freakout is doing a better job of warming my insides than the bourbon did a few minutes ago. “Come on. Let’s go inside, and I’ll fill you in on the drama of the day. I’ll even get you home in time for your date.”
“Grace.” Amelia stops me after Leo goes into the house, her green eyes wet. “After the way the FBI was grilling me about you and your relationship with Frank and Travis, I thought I was going to have to bail you out of jail or something.”
I blow out a long breath. “Don’t stop saving your pennies. You still might have to.”
When my phone rings the next morning, it wakes me out of a dead sleep. I’m so groggy that I have one of those weird dreams where my brain tries to incorporate the annoying noise in the form of a dog that rings instead of barking.
That dragging feeling stays with me long enough that I miss the call, but I come fully awake when I realize that it came from Beau. Finally.
The thought of Leo’s reaction to the rumors around town sits me straight up, fingers fumbling for my phone. What if the news about the feds and Frank’s body made it all the way to Washington? What if whoever called him got it wrong, and he thinks I’m dead?
It’s early, so he must have been trying to get ahold of me before going to work. He probably wasn’t surprised that I slept through his call, but the fact that he answers my return on the first ring says he was at least hoping he’d get to speak to me.
“Hi, Gracie Anne.”
His use of my nickname speeds my heart into a gallop. Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all.
“Hi,” I reply, my voice too breathy. There are a hundred things I want to say to him, but he’s the one who hung up the last time. The one who isn’t sure anymore whether he trusts or believes me. He’s the one who needs to speak first.