Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

  It’s not enough to loosen his grip.

  Panic grabs my lungs, squeezing hard. Clouds blur my vision, and tears burn my eyes, my fight on the edge of giving out because of the sheer hopelessness of the situation. Poor Jasper’s probably dead or on his way there—he hasn’t made a peep since the gun went off—and Lord above, maybe one good thing about joining him is not being on the receiving end of one of his ghostly visits.

  “I’m going to kill you, you nosy, crazy bitch. Be doing everyone a favor, too,” Randy whispers against my ear, spittle coating the side of my neck.

  It’s gross, and intimate in a way that makes me whimper in spite of all of my efforts to act tough. Him killing me is one thing, but anything else is not acceptable.

  “Well, now, I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing out here, but that’s our crazy girl. And we’ll be wanting her back.”

  It sounds like something John Wayne would have spoken in a movie set in the Old West. Randy and I both go still and take in our surroundings, which now include Clete, Big Ern, the mystery guy from earlier in the red-and-black flannel, and Cooter, along with two strangers. They’re all holding shotguns, either at their sides or propped on their hips, in a way that makes it clear that though they’re standing in a casual manner, each and every one of them knows how to use his weapon.

  “Seeing as I’ve got ahold of her right now, I don’t think you’re in a position to make threats,” Randy replies, but the tremor in his voice gives away his discomfort.

  “Well, seeing as we’ve got six guns and none of us is that attached to each and every part of the girl, I’d think again. If we nick an ear or an arm or a kneecap, no permanent harm done.”

  “Excuse me?” I can’t help gasping, aghast at being discussed like a prized pig. “I’m attached to all of my parts. Very.”

  Clete glowers, clearly telling me to shut my fool mouth. Since I’m the only one here without a gun, I oblige, but he and I are obviously not quite on the same page about what friendship means.

  A bullet whizzes past my leg, hitting skin and bone with a sickening thump and crunch. Randy Wideman howls and drops to the ground, releasing his death grip on my hair. I stumble free and down the steps, veering to the side as the two unknown guys rush forward and yank Randy into a sitting position, keeping an eye on him.

  Clete raises an eyebrow. “No harm done, see? Like I said.”

  “Thanks, but that was damn close,” I pant, a little out of breath.

  “Damn close is my specialty. I’m a good shot.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “I have never been more ready to get out of the woods in my life,” I mutter to myself, exhaustion and disgust warring for prominence.

  Jasper’s blood is matted in my hair—transferred from Randy’s hand—and more is smeared on my bare leg from where Clete’s bullet buried itself in the councilman’s thigh. I’ve answered over a hundred questions from Dylan Travis and two other detectives, including the second-in-command from the Berkeley County Sheriff’s Office, but once I remembered the voice recorder on my phone was running the entire time, the interrogation died off.

  Randy Wideman’s whole confession was there, loud and clear. It seems as though Detective Travis and the guys from the sheriff’s office are having a dispute about who gets first crack at the piece of shit as far as charges go, but I personally couldn’t care less.

  There had been a swirl of activity at first—police and then paramedics hot on their heels. They carted Randy Wideman through the woods on a stretcher but called a helicopter to pick up poor Jasper. I tried to avoid looking at his body strapped to the gurney, but caught a glimpse of a face so pale it resembled marble rather than flesh. He hadn’t looked alive, and by the amount of blood slicked over the dining room floor it might not be long before he isn’t.

  Despite the fact that he was part of the reason I got into this mess today, I don’t want him to die. He’s made some mistakes, but so have we all. He loves his sister, and I know that, given the chance, he’ll find the straight and narrow.

  The old Davis homestead has been taped off by yellow-and-black crime-scene tape and Beau, Amelia, and Will have been forced to wait at the edge of the clearing, out of hearing range.

  “I think we’re about done here,” Detective Travis comments, walking toward me on the deck, his hands in his pockets. It’s hard to believe the rotten planks have held up with all the stomping around, but maybe the construction is stronger than it seems. “You sure you don’t want to give me the names of anyone on your recording so that we can corroborate everything?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Because you and I both know you don’t want to corroborate anything, you want to go poking around for trouble. I’ve had enough of that, thank you very much.”

  Clete and the others disappeared a good five minutes before the cops showed up. Randy slumped over, passed out from pain or blood loss, and clearly none of them cared what happened to Jasper. They figured I could take care of myself, as far as getting back to the car and explaining the holy mess, and as irritated as I was watching their overall-clad butts disappearing, they were right.

  So no hard feelings, I suppose.

  “Fine.” He purses his lips as though he understands but doesn’t like it. It’s not his jurisdiction, anyway. “I’m sorry for not taking you more seriously earlier today.”

  “What?” It’s not that I didn’t hear him, it’s that I can’t believe it.

  “You shouldn’t have felt as though you had to come out here poking around on your own,” he adds, the tips of his ears red. “Not that you did. Have to, I mean. It wouldn’t kill you to have a little more trust in the system.”

  I snort. “Right. Because that works out so well for people.”

  He shrugs, then sticks out a hand. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other. Thank you for finding Glinda’s last will and her deeds. I’ll make sure they get filed and her last wishes are carried out. I didn’t know her, but no one can ask for more than that.”

  My heart swells just a tad, pride and satisfaction dampened by sadness. I did right by Glinda and her spirit, but all this coming to a close feels like really saying good-bye.

  Detective Travis nods toward me, then toward one of the Ryan twins who is holding my friends at bay, and they all rush forward at once. I step down off the porch and into the dead, crunchy grass, meeting them halfway.

  Beau sweeps me up into a hug, the sweat on his chest and the back of his neck sticking to me in an instant, but he doesn’t let go. His hands tremble against my back, and his breath shakes as it breezes across my neck. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that, Gracie Anne.”

  Before I can come up with a response, or force anything past the throbbing lump in my throat, Amelia and Will throw their arms around both of us. It’s hot and smelly and sweaty inside the circle of people who care enough about me to traipse out into the hills, but I’ve never been anywhere more lovely.

  “Grace, you scared me to death.” Millie’s voice shakes along with the rest of her, and it’s such a relief to know that worrying about me all day hasn’t had any negative effects on her health. Yet.

  Then again, doctors say you can do the things you’ve always done when you’re pregnant, and she’s been fretting over my antics for a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you guys.”

  Will says nothing, and when they let me go, his expression is a writhing mass of emotion—relief, concern, anger, and something more vague that’s impossible to pin down. He gives me a small smile when our eyes meet. His gaze wanders to Beau, then Amelia.

  It’s then that what he’s thinking reveals itself—that there’s no reason for him to be here. No place for him in my life, and even though I don’t want it to be true, things are too complicated right now for me to reassure him. I wouldn’t have a clue where to start.

  And maybe the truth is that I don’t need Will. Not like I used to, and not as much as Mel n
eeds him. He should be home or trying to get that job in town so they can spend more time together. But if I know his wife, she’s the one who insisted he come out here and check on me in the first place.

  “Are you free to go?” Beau asks, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist. “I can’t believe Randy would do all of this for a stupid plot of land. Ten to one there’s not a spot of valuable dirt under the whole thing.”

  Detective Travis or someone must have filled them all in on the details while I answered a million and one questions. I’m glad, because the last thing I want to do is relive it. Again.

  “Poor Glinda,” Millie says, biting her lower lip. “She didn’t even know why anyone wanted that deed and Randy killed her for it anyway.”

  “I know. Greedy fuck.” There’s been too much going on for me to really address my feelings on the situation, but my cousin’s comment makes my blood boil. “I hope they put his ass away for a long time.”

  “They called and sent the Ryans to Wideman’s house in town, and they found three other hunting knives, same make and model as the one from your car, and a receipt for four of them,” Will supplies, his eyes hard. “They’ll find his prints at Glinda’s, too, I’m sure. Along with his confession, that’ll be more than enough.”

  All of the sudden I don’t want to stand around talking any longer. In fact, if we do I might fall down.

  Beau takes one look at my face and frowns. “Let’s get you home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beau’s been a little too quiet since we got back to his place. I took a shower, which was heavenly, and my limbs feel like they’re full of lead instead of blood. A couple of Advil help with my headache and assorted aches and pains.

  He’s in the den by the time I get dressed in clothes borrowed from his dresser, but even though I’m wearing a T-shirt that doesn’t come close to skimming my knees and no bra, the mayor doesn’t seem to have sex on his mind.

  Which is fine as far as how I feel, but worries me all the same.

  He looks up from the desk when he hears me pad into the room. The smile he gives me still has the ability to make my heart flutter, but there’s something wary about it, too. “Feel better?”

  “Much.” I sit on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me and telling myself that if something was wrong, if he was going to break up with me, he wouldn’t have asked me to come back here instead of going home. Even so, the breath I suck in is shaky and a bit wet. “I’m sorry, Beau. I shouldn’t have gone out there, but I just wanted things to be over, and I thought if I could get into that room without anyone watching then it would be.”

  He closes his eyes for a second, then puts his palms flat on the desk and pushes to his feet. The steps to the couch sound like doom in my ears, but his body is warm as he settles close to me and rests a hand on my knee. “I’m upset that the decision you made nearly got you killed, Graciela. I’m upset that you made it without giving any thought to your well-being and without taking into consideration the feelings of the people who care about you. Amelia was beside herself when she called, and Melanie was no better.”

  I want to say something, but there aren’t any excuses. I’m not the kind of girl who believes in them, anyway.

  “Most of all, I’m upset that you broke into my friend’s house after I told you to leave him out of it because I trust him. You didn’t listen. You wouldn’t trust me. And now Jasper might not make it.” A muscle jerks in his jaw as he clamps his teeth together. Maybe he was going to say more, maybe he meant to say less, but his displeasure is clear.

  I’ve been waiting for Travis to say something about Jasper taking bribes from Clete, since it’s on the recording, but he hasn’t. I didn’t bring it up during my debrief, and I didn’t tell Beau. I couldn’t. The line between right and wrong mingled like dirt and chalk on a day-old baseball diamond, too muddled to tell the difference. In the end, the fact that he’s trying to take care of an ailing sibling won out over my hurt feelings. He might die, and not only is there no reason to ruin his reputation, I’d made up my mind to keep my mouth shut about all things moonshining from now until forever.

  Which means Beau will never know he’s wrong about his friend. He’ll never know that while I was wrong about his involvement with Glinda’s death, I was right about him taking part in illegal activities. That it was Jasper’s doing that brought him into the woods, into the line of fire, not mine.

  I just can’t tell him. It’s not fair to poor Jasper, probably bleeding to death on a surgeon’s table.

  I give Beau a tight-lipped smile. “It’s not my fault Jasper was in that cabin today. I didn’t call him. I don’t know why he happened out there, and I didn’t ask him to rush Randy with no regard for his own personal safety, either.” I hold up a hand when he opens his mouth. “However, I recognize that if I hadn’t been out there neither of them would have been, either, at least not with cocked weapons. I can only say I’m sorry so many times. It’s over. We have to hope for the best.”

  I’m not just talking about Jasper. I’m talking about us—about hoping that we can find our way back to something normal after all of this, that trust isn’t off either side of the table. That he still feels as good in my company as I do in his, even with uncomfortable tension crackling between us.

  His response is longer in coming than expected, but it does come. Those gorgeous brown-gold-green eyes latch onto my face, hungry and hopeful and relieved all at once, and as his fingers tighten on the bare skin of my knee, he says, “I can do that.”

  “What do you suppose Glinda thinks about Hadley Renee takin’ over the Sonny and Shears?” Amelia asks, absently brushing strings of Spanish moss off the old hairdresser’s grave.

  “I don’t know. She probably hates it but is also glad someone’s taking over. And that she’s not changing the name.” A faint smile finds my lips. “You know Glinda. She wouldn’t say she was happy about it even if she was secretly doing horizontal pirouettes in her coffin.”

  “That’s morbid, Gracie.”

  “I suppose.”

  She sinks down onto the bench next to me. It’s a cool day; the lurking storm finally broke late last night, leaving the fresh scent of rainwater and moist earth on the breeze this morning. We sit in the quiet for a long moment, and while my mind wanders to what ghost I’m going to find in my bedroom next—or whether I mind anymore—it’s hard to say what Millie’s thinking.

  I keep my mouth shut about finding another patch of sticks and smelly dirt smeared on our porch this morning, but my plan is to go talk to Detective Travis about it first thing in the morning. When things have evened out a little more—but soon—I’m going to talk my cousin into taking gun safety and self-defense classes with me so that at least we can feel better prepared, even if we’re not.

  That crazy witch is out there. She’s still watching, and even though Randy Wideman confessed to everything regarding Glinda’s murder, he adamantly claims to have nothing to do with the tip called in to the cops or that knife showing up in my car. I believe him, too, because he was following me the whole time, hoping I would lead him deeper into the life of Heron Creek’s hairdresser. Why would he want me behind bars?

  I think Mrs. LaBadie did it. Maybe just to meddle, maybe to get me away from my cousin, leaving her exposed and alone and unsure of pretty much everything in the entire world right now. It scares me all the way to the marrow in my bones to think that things aren’t over. That, if we don’t catch her, this could go on for the next twelve years.

  That’s no way to live. It’s no way for Millie to heal, and it’s no way for me to figure out where I go from here, ghosts in tow or not. We have to put what happened this summer—all of it—behind us somehow, and we can’t do that with that woman lurking in the shadows.

  Amelia gets up and wanders toward our grandparents’ plot. I follow her, thinking not for the first time how much I love the simple peace of a cemetery. Perhaps I’ve always had an affinity for the dead and never knew it, but th
ey were always waiting for me to come back here, for Amelia to get pregnant with a baby boy, for Anne Bonny to open the door between me and the place they’re all waiting for help.

  “Oh, Gracie, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you what I found!”

  “I can. We’ve been a little busy.”

  “Shut up and listen!” Her bright green eyes sparkle, filled with pure excitement for the first time in weeks. The smile that stretches her face is genuine and big, and the hand that reaches out to squeeze mine is warm. “You’re not going to believe this, but I think I found your ghost.”

  The revelation speeds up my heart with excitement, but my phone rings right then and distracts me from asking the requisite follow up question. My caller ID says it’s Mel on the other line, and I smile as I answer, glad she’s calling.

  “Hey! How’s it going?”

  “Gracie, are you at home?”

  The tone of her voice, serious and on the edge of either panic or excitement, makes me grip the phone tighter. “No, why?”

  “You need to get there and turn on the news. Mayor Beau’s just been indicted.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Novels may be written by a single person, but everything else—from the idea, to the cover, to the finishing touches—can’t be done alone. First, my critique partner Denise Grover Swank read the (seriously lacking) old draft and encouraged me to revise, somehow seeing the potential for something greater inside the mess of early writing mistakes. She’s not just my critique partner but one of my closet friends, my confidante, a pioneer, the person who tugs me back from the brink of madness, an inspiration, and a woman who always, always has a bottle of pink champagne in her cabinets. May we all strive to be more like her.

  I’d be remiss without thanking the other early readers of this book—Cait Greer, Leigh Ann Kopans (another person without whom I might not be sane), and Diana Paz. They all have amazingly brilliant books for sale that I recommend without hesitation, so please look them up.