by Lyla Payne
“It’s not like having morals is a prerequisite for getting elected these days,” I quip, realizing before I finish the sentence that he’s not in the mood. Not that I can blame him. I heave a sigh, settling a little closer. “I think you’re jumping ahead. What do you always tell me about my ghosts? Solve the problem in front of you, then move on to the next one. You’ve got to beat this case before you tear down your future.”
He doesn’t answer, so I keep talking, because that’s what I do, even when people would rather I shut up. “Is your brother going to represent you?”
That makes him snort. “Like I could stop him. My father sent him, and I’m sure a team isn’t far behind. Can’t have me soiling the family name, you know.”
The bitterness in his voice is foreign to me, as though a stranger is talking through my laid-back, witty mayor’s mouth. It startles me, and when he looks into my face, his grip on my waist tightens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … I didn’t want you to have to deal with this part of my life, Gracie. It’s not pretty.”
“Nobody’s life is pretty, Beau. Not in all of the closets and rooms that stay locked.”
He gives me a faint smile. “Maybe not. But I was hoping we’d have a bit more time to ourselves.”
We smile at each other, and in that moment, the Beauregard Drayton who charmed me right into his bed reappears. A warm sense of victory tickles my chest. It’s short-lived, as we can hear Brick heading back outside.
Beau’s lips curl down into a frown. “You should get going.”
“What? Why?” I say, the fear that he doesn’t want me here returning. “I want to help!”
“You can’t help with the case, Gracie, and I don’t … I don’t want you to hear what they’re saying about me. Brick is about as subtle as, well, his name suggests.”
“Beau, I care about you. I’m on your side, no matter what people say. And you can’t stop me from hearing the gossip. You should know better than anyone what this town is like, especially since you’re dating me.”
That earns me a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Even so. You have to work, and we have a ton to do here to get ready for my plea hearing next week. You scoot, and I’ll call you later.”
It’s clear there’s no arguing with him, both because he’s determined to hide for the time being and because he’s right about my having nothing to offer other than support, so I give him another kiss. He pulls me closer, deepening it slightly longer than appropriate and leaving me breathless as I push off his lap.
“Well, if we’re done making out, it’s time for a class on abuse of power.” Brick walks to the chair next to Beau’s and sits, passing too close to me for comfort. His gaze is no longer amused by my presence but irritated, and I can take a hint.
Can, which is not to say I always do.
Right now there’s nothing to be gained from staying, other than alienating Beau and pissing off his brother. Even though the latter would give me some satisfaction, the former doesn’t appeal to me at all.
“Okay. I do have to work—I’m closing tonight so I won’t be off until eight. Promise you’ll call me?”
“Of course.” He smiles at me, but for the first time since we met I’m not sure I believe him.
Chapter Two
Amelia would normally be sore at me over being ten minutes later to work, but given the events of the morning, she’ll forgive me. So, there’s no reason not to stop at Westies for a much-needed cup of coffee and an herbal tea for her crabby pregnant ass. There’s not a line, since it’s not peak hours, and I get through the ordering process with the bare minimum of strange looks from two older ladies huddled around the air-conditioning vent as though it’s the fountain of youth.
I’d like to think that people are getting used to me again, but they still seem cautious around me. I was one of them, once, a fixture on the muddy summer lanes or lounging on creaky docks down by the intercoastal waterway, but then I left. I returned as a girl who, if she doesn’t stir up trouble, is certainly trailed by it. The people in Heron Creek might believe in ghosts, but that doesn’t mean they want them traipsing around town with the likes of me.
“Laurel. Dorothy.” I greet the older ladies as I dump honey in Amelia’s tea and cinnamon in my coffee, determined to be friendly even if they’re not.
“Graciela. How’s things with the mayor?” Laurel, a fiery redhead, watches me as though she thinks I might crack.
I give her a thin smile, acknowledging the request for gossip, and remind myself that from here on out it’s Beau’s reputation that’s on the line, not mine. “He’s gearing up for a fight, Miss Laurel.”
Dorothy clucks, her dark brown eyes razor-sharp. “Some folks been talkin’ a long time ’bout that girl he put away and how it wasn’t right. Could be they had a point.”
“Could be.” I pick up my cups and make for the door, my Gramps’ lesson about the dangers of defending yourself or the ones you love sticking in my craw.
I want to snap that Beau’s innocent, that he is ethical and cares too much about people to do something like that, but my words alone aren’t going to change their minds if they’re dead set against him. Instead, I step back out into the sweltering morning and decide to walk the rest of the way to the library. We have tons to do today, with deadlines looming as far as ordering the new spring books we’d like to stock, but a few minutes of extra breathing is salvaging the shreds of my sanity.
The sweet sound of a guitar slow my steps, and I find my old frenemy, Leo Boone, strumming his ragged acoustic around the corner from the café. He has an actual job—like, three or four of them—but for some reason, he still sits out here sweating his balls off and playing music for a town full of people who are so geriatric they’re mostly deaf.
I slow to a stop as the sound fades away, noting the strain on his rugged face. His fingers are stiff and he’s cut his dark hair, which usually hangs lower than his collar, up to his ears. The effect on his blue eyes is startling, even to a girl who knows exactly how easily he got laid in high school.
“Hey,” I say as he clears the change out of his case so he can put his guitar away.
“Hey, yourself.”
There’s a wariness about the way Leo’s treating me, which is definitely not a normal thing for the two of us. We grew up the unofficial leaders of warring factions of Heron Creek kids, mortal enemies, but our negotiations grew into traded barbs and a grudging respect long before high school. Even so, our interactions have always consisted of sarcasm and trouble.
This morning, he’s too still. Too hesitant to meet my eyes. Too distant. And for the first time since I heard about Beau’s indictment, I stop to think about everything it could mean. How many things will change?
Not just for him, but maybe for me, too. For the town.
“How long have you been out here assaulting people’s eardrums?” I ask, refusing to play opposite his odd, stilted character. “And what did you do to your hair?”
“Oh, a couple of hours this morning.” He ignores my question about his new look, snapping the case closed and standing up, stretching. “I’ve got to head down to Charleston today to see Lindsay.”
Those bright blue eyes finally meet mine, probing. I shrug, feeling exposed in a way that makes me want to fold my arms over my chest. I manage to stay still. “I heard she might get a retrial. That’s great.”
He peers at me. “Even if it means Beau the Great and Wonderful goes to jail?”
My anger spikes out of nowhere, hot and sharp in my chest. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Say how I feel?”
“No, just … does this whole thing have to come between us? Can’t we still be Gracie and Leo, old enemies turned partners-in-crime turned friends or something like it? This isn’t our fight.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Gracie. I like you, and we’ve had good times, but we’re talking about my sister. We’re talking about Marcella’s mother, and the fact that the mayor of this town is responsible for taki
ng her away. Maybe you can pretend it’s not your fight, but it is mine.”
“Your sister’s responsible for getting herself thrown in prison, Leo. That’s what happens when you deal drugs.”
The accusation lands on Leo like a physical blow.
He goes still again, the agitation and passion of the past moment melting away. There’s a frankness about him that promises he’s not angry, but he’s not backing down, either. He’s resolute, so sure he’s right, and it bothers me that I don’t feel the same way.
“I would never excuse my sister’s behavior or place the blame for her circumstances on anyone else. You know me, Gracie. That’s not me. But if she’d served the kind of sentence that has been standard in cases like hers, she wouldn’t have missed more than six months of her daughter’s life. It’s been three years, with no end in sight, and I’m standing here telling you it’s not right.”
My heart aches at the break in his voice, and I fight the urge to comfort him. “I’m not saying it is, Leo. But why does it have to be Beau’s doing? He’s a good man. He wouldn’t do this. Not knowingly.”
“He let it happen. It happened on his watch, whether or not he greased palms and pushed for it the way the indictment says. I’ll never forgive him, Gracie. He should pay for what he stole from Lindsay, from Marcella.” Fire burns in his gaze. “You’re defending him, but you don’t know the whole story.”
“I know Beau. That’s enough.” I flick away the little whisper in the back of my mind, the one reminding me it’s only been a little over three months. Do you really know him, Gracie?
Leo shakes his head, shouldering his backpack. “I’ve got to go to work.”
He walks off without saying good-bye, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of my gaze causes him physical distress, and disappears around the corner. I head toward work, my heart heavy and my stomach in knots. Leo Boone is one of the few real friends I have in this town, one of the only people who knows about my ghosts and doesn’t seem to care, and the idea that I’m going to have to choose between him and Beau stabs like a knife.
A really, really sharp knife.
As I’d predicted, Amelia doesn’t lecture me about being late, just accepts the tea and mops at the sheen of sweat on her forehead with one of our grandma’s embroidered handkerchiefs. “Thanks. I think something’s wrong with the air conditioner.”
“Yeah, I know. The windows and insulation in this place are two hundred years old and it’s hotter than blue blazes outside.” I shrug. “I’ll ask Mr. Freedman if there’s any money to have someone come check it out.”
“From the number of days he’s working from home, I assume that he’s aware of the issue.”
That makes me snort. “I think that’s a fair assumption.”
“These are, like, unfit working conditions.” She waves her hand in front of her face with a dramatic flair that’s reminiscent of the girl she had been before Jake and their horrific abusive marriage. Before his beatings caused her to lose multiple babies, before she was forced to shoot him to save herself and the child she’s carrying now.
My cousin, whose life until the age of nineteen had been a charmed thing despite my aunt Karen’s influence, is struggling to shake the residual darkness of the past several years, and until this morning her health was the biggest concern in my life.
I nudge her shoulder. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a constant trickle of sweat between my boobs and I leave a puddle on every chair I sit on, but you’re pregnant. It’s messing with your body temperature.”
“What isn’t this little guy messing with?” she mutters, then straightens up. Her tiny hand reaches out to clutch my forearm, her green eyes—the one physical feature we share—popped open wide. “Oh my stars, how is Beau?”
“A mess, I think, but trying to hide it.” A frown finds my mouth, and it makes me wonder if I’ve truly smiled all day. “He’s already thinking about the blow to his political ambitions.”
In truth, now that I’ve had time to think about it, my gut reaction is that that would be good for us as a couple. He wouldn’t be so perfect, and I could stop worrying that associating with me makes him crazy by proximity. Right on the heels of that thought is a deluge of self-loathing. How can I care about him and harbor a secret wish that all his dreams might not come true at the same time?
It reminds me of the scene I hate most in It’s a Wonderful Life, the one where they throw rocks at the old Granville house. George reveals, in a passionate speech, his dreams of leaving Bedford Falls, of traveling the world, going to college, building skyscrapers and bridges, and leaving his mark on the world. In the next moment, Mary—who claims she’ll love George until the day she dies—wishes exactly the opposite: that he’ll stay in Bedford Falls and settle down, marry her and have children, make a life. The movie is one of my favorites, but that scene makes me doubt the purity of her love, because if she really, truly loved him, wouldn’t she have wanted him to realize his dreams?
Beau and I haven’t used that word just yet, but I care about him. It would kill me if anything happened to him, and the way my heart seemed to beat along with his earlier today, when it was just the two of us on the deck, makes me sure we’re headed that direction.
At least, I would have said so before I realized my evil, hidden happiness over the potential death of his higher political career.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” Amelia says, bringing me out of my downward spiral of shame. “Men always go to the worst possible scenario.”
“Hmm.” I stand up from where I perched on the corner of her desk, my mind still lingering on the idea that I’m a terrible person who doesn’t even care about her own boyfriend.
It’s possible that finding my fiancé banging one of his students those months ago ruined me forever. That, I’ve considered.
“Wait, come back for a minute.” Amelia motions to me, more animated than I’ve seen her in weeks. “Do you remember what I was telling you at the cemetery before the shit hit the fan?”
I think, and a little flutter of excitement finds my belly at the memory. “Yes! You said you think you might know who my ever-silent, mopey ghost is.”
He’s been attached to me for weeks now, since July, but unlike the ghosts of Anne Bonny and the town’s recently deceased hairdresser, Glinda, he doesn’t seem inclined to drag me on a journey of discovery. He doesn’t seem to really want anything at all, at least nothing I can figure out, which means he’s just getting his jollies by freaking me out a couple of times a day.
“Okay, so I don’t remember his name or—”
“Helpful,” I interrupt.
She ignores me. “Or really anything about him other than he was one of the original settlers that came over to the Carolinas in the fifteen hundreds. And he was, like, a doctor? Or a cook?”
“Who are you describing right now? Half of the people who crossed the ocean five hundred years ago?” Impatience, not necessarily with her, clips my words. It would be nice to go to bed without being watched once in a while.
She glares at me, nodding toward her computer screen. “I’m trying to find him.”
I look at her computer monitor, but there’s nothing but crap search results. “Where did you hear about this interesting gentleman? And what makes you think he’s the sad, decaying man in the blue bedroom?”
“I showed up early to a ghost tour several years ago and it was just me and the guide. He started telling me about the ‘most interesting American settler you’ve never heard of.’ And then something clicked the other day when you were talking about how he changes clothes and how he sometimes looks English and sometimes Native American and sometimes Spanish. Remember?”
“Sure.”
It’s one of the stranger things about him. Getting to know three ghosts doesn’t make me an expert, but both Glinda and Anne never executed wardrobe changes. They also had very clear purposes, ones they were intent on accomplishing without any regard for my personal safety.
&nb
sp; “Well, this guy—whoever he was—apparently landed with the English and then stayed behind when they went back for more settlers. I don’t remember the exact order of what happened to him, but I do remember the guide saying he’d been taken in by an Indian tribe for a while and lived with the Spanish in Florida at some point, too. And maybe he turned pirate?” She shakes her head. “Ugh. This baby is eating my mind, too.”
“It’s called pregnancy brain,” I inform her, moving away to dodge a swat. “What? It’s a real thing. And anyway, you’re about to become a mother. He’s not going to stop driving you crazy for at least twenty years, so you might as well get used to it.”
She sighs, turning back to the computer. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Thanks for getting on that. I’ve got to order new titles before the end of the week so I’ll be pretty swamped.” An idea strikes me before I make it all the way to my desk, and I turn back. “Do you remember what tour company it was?”
“No. But I might be able to go through some old bank statements and find out.” She makes a face. “But I’ve been on a lot of ghost tours in the past twenty-five years.”
“You and me both,” I say. “You and me both.”
At least I can save some money now that the ghosts are coming to me.
Chapter Three
I give Beau a couple of days to himself, making a point to say good night and responding when he texts or calls first. It’s easier than it would be if I weren’t buried in order forms at work, but learning how to be a librarian keeps my hands busy and mind on my work. We’re supposed to have dinner tonight, so my stomach has been shimmying with excitement on and off all day long.
“Would you just get out of here?” Amelia frowns, not looking up from her computer. “You’re driving me nuts pacing around like that.”
“Sorry.” I glance at my watch, remember the battery’s dead, then look at the wall. “I’m not supposed to meet him for another hour.”
As though on cue, my cell phone rings, the display flashing Beau’s number as I snatch it up and hit accept.