Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

Beau returns, rescuing me doing five to ten years for attempted murder—only attempted, because there’s no way I’d take Aunt Karen in a hand fight. Beau’s dragging the little redheaded nurse from last night, and she doesn’t appear to mind his hand on the small of her back one bit. The set of his jaw makes it clear he’s not enjoying anything at the moment.

  “Mayor Drayton says we forgot to bring you fresh ice for your ankle, Ms. Harper, and a wheelchair. I’ve left one outside. Here you go.” She holds out a bag of ice.

  I take it while she peers up at Beau, waiting for approval with all the subtlety of a puppy who just took its first dump in the backyard. She scurries out after he gives her a tight smile and a thank-you. He’s standing up for me, throwing his weight around like I asked him to do for Gramps yesterday, and that uncomfortable feeling, one unsure whether or not I like anyone taking up my cause without asking first, dances into my belly.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Beau. I could have—”

  “What, hobbled down to the cafeteria? Hitched a ride on my back?” His smile softens the words, and my resolve. “I was nice about it.”

  “It’s a good thing you’ve taken on the task of caring for our Graciela, Mayor Drayton. She’s smart enough about certain things, but sometimes I think she hasn’t got the good sense God gave a goose.”

  I flinch at the words, which are obviously true, but the silence that transforms into nervous energy makes it clear that her attempt at a joke has fallen flat.

  A glance at Beau’s face reveals a bemused expression, as though he’s being badgered by a small child selling cookies on his front porch. “I think she does a fine job, Mrs. Cooper, but of course we’re all entitled to our opinions. Gracie? Breakfast?”

  I nod, wondering when I lost the ability to give Aunt Karen what for on my own. It’s not a mystery, though. Everything changed the night of Amelia’s bridal shower. Me. Her. All of it.

  “Sure. But can we eat outside? I have a few things I’d like to talk to you about. In private.” I can’t help but throw in that last bit, along with a slight eyebrow raise and a suggestive bite of my lower lip. It’ll be quite the explanation later, but at the moment, annoying my aunt is too tempting.

  He seems to catch on, evidenced by a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “Of course. I have a few things I’d like to say to you as well, though most of them will have to wait until you’re feeling better.”

  Uncle Wally chokes on the oxygen in the room, and Aunt Karen’s eyes grow as big as grapefruits. The mayor tucks my hand under his arm and supports my weight until we’re outside the door, where he settles me in the waiting wheelchair. It’s not ideal, but he’s right about me not being able to walk without limping.

  We’re in the elevator before I break the silence, feeling more than a little ashamed of myself. “Thanks for helping me out back there. She’s impossible.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, but good Lord above, is she always like that?”

  The image makes me giggle, but the gravity of our morning sobers me quick enough. It might have given me temporary satisfaction, to stick my friendship with Beau in her craw, but the truth about Gramps and where this whole thing is headed hangs heavy on my heart.

  “It’s silly. Her sun rises and sets with her daughter, Amelia, and for some reason she’s always kind of viewed me as competition instead of family. But I shouldn’t let her chap my ass the way she does.”

  “Does Amelia feel that way, too, or just your aunt?”

  Tears start to gather again, but there has been too much of that. It’s time to be the strong one, to stop crying. I’ve been crying for weeks, it seems like. “Amelia and I were best friends. Sisters. Until we weren’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  The elevator dings, and the doors swish open, emptying us into the large cafeteria. Beau pushes me toward the buffet line, waiting on my response with the patience of a man who has nowhere to go and nothing to do. Which is silly, since he has a town to run. Presumably. I mean, people call him the mayor but I’ve never seen him do anything particularly mayorly, unless we count charming his female constituents to within an inch of their lives.

  It occurs to me that we’ve spent the majority of our time together talking about me—that my knowledge of his childhood, his professional goals, his thoughts on national healthcare and immigration, et cetera, lacks serious depth. That although I’m attracted to him, and the way he cares makes me feel warm, there’s not enough evidence to decide whether or not we might be compatible on a different level. Turning the tables deserves a little more of my focus, but sadly, that’s already spread a tad thin.

  We both fill Styrofoam boxes with hash browns and scrambled eggs, and I add a couple pieces of toast with jelly while Beau opts for an English muffin. The silence feels nice, especially after the loudness that surrounds my aunt, and the fact that, if I count Anne, quiet and solitude has been pretty elusive the past several hours.

  It’s cloudy when Beau wheels me up to a circular concrete table in a little courtyard and helps me onto the semicircle bench. He settles next to me, but not too close, and pops the top open on his container.

  “You don’t have to tell me about what happened with your cousin if you don’t want to.”

  The comment, meant to sound offhand but failing, curls my lips up the tiniest bit. “You know, you say that I don’t have to tell you things but you keep asking questions.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve got my curiosity at an all-time high, and you act like you’re putting me out by talking, so I have to ask.” He has the good manners to look sheepish, which combines with the salty breeze tousling his hair to paint a rather adorable picture.

  “It’s not you. I’ve never told anyone what happened, except Melanie. And Amelia, of course. Which went over like a lead balloon.”

  “I promise to stay friends with you.”

  I would give up a million years of kisses from men even handsomer than Beau to have my cousin back in my life. But he’s here, she isn’t, and maybe Aunt Karen’s right about one thing—it’s time to lay the past to rest, so it can stop wrinkling under my toes and sending me crashing down.

  “Amelia and I were pretty typical girls, growing up. We thought we’d do everything together—go to college, join the same sorority, marry brothers, and be each other’s maids of honor.” The memory of our silly conversations hurts my heart. “Our plans started to fall apart right away, when my mother got sick and I decided to go home to Iowa for school, and Amelia stayed in Charleston. Will and I had broken up anyway, my consideration of an early marriage and house full of babies postponed. It didn’t matter. Amelia and I visited every chance we got and talked on the phone or Skype or text message about every day.”

  I take a deep breath, then chew a mouthful of cold hash browns, somehow finding the strength to swallow them as though they don’t taste like wet cement. Once the eggs are down the hatch, it’s time to continue. I’m feeling lighter, in a strange way, letting go of my secret. Like with Mel.

  “Anyway, she met Jake, her husband, not long after we started school. I met him over New Year’s our sophomore year, in Charleston. We’d all gone to a party, and he drove us home; Amelia was passed out in the backseat, and he hit on me the whole drive.”

  “You didn’t say anything to her?”

  “No. Not then. I mean, they were just dating, no big deal. Amelia’s smart, and I figured she’d see him for what he was eventually. But then she called and said they were engaged, and asked me to be the maid of honor. I agreed, with a fair amount of reluctance, but she’s my cousin and I love her. What could I do?”

  The rest of my hash browns disappear, and a triangle of toast slathered in blackberry jam. Beau says nothing, just eats his own breakfast as though it’s as fake delicious as mine, and alternates between watching the birds yapping and fluttering in the bushes and checking on
me.

  “It was after her bridal shower when Jake came into my room and tried to…he tried…” I swallow, trying to find the word for the second time. Failing. “He tried to force himself on me. Despite what my Aunt Karen thinks, I can take care of myself; I left him squirming and holding his crotch.”

  “Oh my God, Graciela.” His face goes white, and it looks as though his cement breakfast might make a reappearance. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  I avoid his gaze, staring down at the remnants of my food instead, and nod. “Thanks. That’s not even the worst part of the story. I went to Amelia right then, with blood under my fingernails, my nightgown ripped, but Jake had gotten there first. She didn’t believe me. Told me I was jealous because she was getting married first. Said she hated me for ruining everything, threw me out of her house and her wedding, and we haven’t spoken since. She didn’t even come to my mother’s funeral.”

  His hand covers mine, warm and reassuring even though nothing can fix this. Not as long as she’s married to Jake. “You know she believes you, Gracie. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “Melanie said the same thing.” I shrug. “I would believe her. I want to think I would trust twenty-plus years of friendship over a brand-new relationship with a guy who’s more than a little sleazy, but…”

  “You would, Gracie. You’re not the type of woman who lies to herself. Or anyone.”

  That makes me stop and think. Perhaps that had been true of me five years ago, before I turned the reigns of my life and brain and everything else over to David. Perhaps it could be true of me again.

  If I’m not lying to myself, then it’s time to admit I’m worried about Millie, whether she hates me or not. Everyone’s acting a little weird when they mention her, and it can’t only be her pregnancy that’s making them skittish. The memory of Jake’s dark gaze, of the way he gave me the creeps even before the first time he hit on me, zips shivers down my spine, turns my breakfast sour in my stomach. His wrongness is more than being an arrogant cheater, or even the kind of guy who would press an advantage, and it seems impossible to believe he’s never shown that side to my cousin during the five years they’ve been married.

  The sound of Beau’s Styrofoam container popping closed brings me back to the present, and to the man in front of me—who must have secrets, but it would surprise me to find out they are sinister.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s in that box you made me fetch? Or am I going to have to pry it out of you with my considerable tactics?”

  The way he waggles his eyebrows encourages me to consider what kinds of tactics a man like him might employ in order to get his information. There is heat in places that have gone cold, including my heart, and it makes me want to hate him and jump him at the same time. It’s safer the way I am, playing dead behind poorly constructed but determined walls, but he’s determined to poke until he finds a weak spot.

  Which is apparently in my pants.

  Now that the moment of truth has arrived, at least as far as where I was the morning Gramps got sick—including how I got there and what I found—hesitation stills my tongue. For the millionth time since Anne’s ghost appeared to me, I consider the fact that I’m crazy. That all of this is in my head.

  Except if that’s true, what are the chances I stumbled on that journal by happenstance?

  No. And I have to tell someone. I don’t have the energy to handle losing Gramps, worry about Amelia, be haunted by a ghost, terrorized by Mrs. LaBadie, and figure out what the heck to do with the diary all by myself.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to suspend disbelief for a few minutes.”

  “I think I’ve proven myself capable in that arena.”

  I have a feeling he’d prove himself capable in most arenas. I don’t even realize the thought has put a wicked smile on my face until Beau cocks his head to one side in a silent question.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Graciela, I’ve said this a few times already, but if it helps, I’ll say it again. I don’t think you’re crazy. Impulsive, perhaps, and bullheaded. Interesting. Speak.”

  My cheeks heat up even more at the compliment, which is better than telling me I’m pretty. Interesting is far more useful, and it lasts longer, too.

  “Anne showed up the night before last, waiting for me when I got into my room.”

  “I’d think you’d be used to her by now.” The twinkle in Beau’s eyes makes me wonder whether or not he really believes I’m seeing a ghost or is humoring me.

  Until now, I’ve pretty much humored anyone who claimed to see spirits, but I’ll have to reconsider my reactions in the future. “Oh, I am. She and I are besties now, usually sit around painting each other’s toenails and gossiping about the cleanest way to slit a throat.” I roll my eyes. “She was different the other night. Insistent.”

  “How so?”

  “She ran off with my car keys.”

  His lips had pulled down, the lines around his mouth signaling concern, but now they tip up, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest across the space between us. It makes me roll my eyes again.

  “It’s not funny, okay? I followed her out to the car, and she insisted I chauffeur her around until she pointed me toward the land that used to belong to her father. She’s a big fan of pointing.”

  No point in mentioning that the borrowed archive documents had helped us figure out where to go. It wouldn’t look good for the mayor to have knowledge of a breaking and entering when Mrs. LaBadie finds out and calls the cops. Or kills me and drinks my blood, then makes a stick doll out of my dry bones.

  “Where was it? What did she show you?”

  “It’s a plantation museum house, now. We parked, Anne prodded me out of the car and off the path, and we traipsed through trees and clearings until she found the one she was looking for, then she disappeared.”

  “Then what?”

  “I tripped, which accounts for most of the scrapes and the tweaked ankle, and while I was on the ground found a bunch of white rocks in the shape of an X.”

  His expression turns skeptical now, eyebrows raised and chin tipped to one side. “Seriously? Come on.”

  “It’s cheesy, I know, but when I dug in the middle I found that box.” I mentally dare him to argue with that, or say I’m making it all up, with physical evidence on the table between us.

  “Okay, but why did you stay out there all night and half the next day?”

  “I told you the truth about that already. It was pouring, and I followed Anne out there like a blind lady. Once she disappeared, there was no way I could find the damn car without sunlight, and even then it took me until lunch.”

  “Not much of an outdoorsy girl, eh?”

  “No, not exactly, Mr. Mayor,” I snap, unwilling to check my sarcasm. It does nothing but make his eyes dance. “Anyway, I’ve been here ever since.”

  “I meant to ask how your discussion with Martin went this morning, but your face when I first arrived said it all.” He’s not smiling now, genuine sorrow chasing away the amusement in his gaze.

  The lump is back in my throat, but it’s been such a constant companion that talking around it is getting to be a special skill. Maybe I can put it on my résumé. “I’m going to lose him, Beau. The doctor says he should think about it, but I doubt Gramps will change his mind. And I can’t be the selfish one to ask him to do that.”

  “You think he’s ready.”

  I nod. “How can I love him and ask him to keep suffering, and probably lose his dignity along the way? He’s old, but his identity is rooted in his independence and the relationships he’s formed. All that would go away if he spent his last months in and out of the hospital. It would be for me, not him.”

  The tears break loose again, plopping from my chin onto the lid of my container. Beau’s fingers curl around mine in an attempt to hold me up while imaginary, muddy earth slips between my toes, disappears as I scrabble for purchase and for the strength to stand up. I
fail miserably, the slop smearing my face and clogging my lungs.

  A million wishes tear loose from my insides and float away like balloons on the wind—that Gramps had more time, that I was a better person. That Amelia could be here and our relationship could be the way it was. I’m spiraling downward so fast it makes me nauseous, until a thought pops into my mind and surprises a wet giggle from my pinched windpipe.

  “What?” The question comes in tandem with a light touch on my forehead, the gentle sweep of loose hairs back over my shoulder.

  “I just remembered something Gramps always said when we were young and wishing for something. He’d tell us that we should take a crap in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up faster.” My smile wobbles. “His way of telling us to work hard for the things we wanted, not wish for them.”

  “He’s a smart man, your Gramps. I’m quite fond of him.”

  “Everyone is.”

  A sigh bubbles past my lips. I sit up straighter, stretching the kinks out of my back while the rest of my tears dry up. This isn’t the time to feel sorry for myself. There will be time for grief once Gramps is gone. For now, he’s still here, and so am I.

  “So, don’t you want to know what’s in the box?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “So, there’s another diary out there somewhere with the rest of the story and what Anne believes is the answer to the curse this Caribbean woman put on her son?”

  “I suppose. If she ever got the chance to write it, if Jack Jr. delivered it, and if the relative hung on to it and passed it down, if, if, if. It’s just as likely the cousin tossed it away, thinking to protect her niece and even Jack from the world of his mother.”

  He clears the table, tossing our trash into the nearest army green receptacle. “Well, I definitely can’t think you’re crazy now. It’d be harder to believe that you came across that diary on accident. Something out there—something we don’t understand—led you there because it believes you can do what needs to be done.”

  “That would involve actually knowing what that is, I assume.”