Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

  A quick scan of the faces in the room reveal that Beau’s not here. In fact, the only people who are here appear to be members of the press … and there are a lot of them. There are three pews—er, rows—on each side of the aisle reserved for media, and they’re already packed full more than thirty minutes before the arraignment will begin.

  There are tables in front of a little wooden fence, accessed through a gate, just like on all of the legal shows on television. Beau and his lawyer will sit at one table and the people trying to put him in prison will sit at the other. I don’t think there’s a jury for this part today. They’ll just tell Beau the charges against him and ask how he pleads.

  So why do there need to be so many people here?

  I slip into the seat nearest the door. It seems like the best place to be, both to avoid attention and be able to escape, if necessary. The more time I spend on my own in a quiet library or our quiet house, the harder it is for me to be in loud groups of people. And those reporters? They’re all shouting and laughing, like this is some kind of work party and they all smoked weed in their cars ahead of time.

  They ignore me, thank goodness. The images in my head of famous people getting arrested and their significant others being harassed outside the courtroom are silly, but they’re lodged in all the same. What if they know who I am? Will they chase me outside? Ask me personal questions about what we do in the bedroom and whether I think my boyfriend is a criminal?

  What if they dig into my life and find out about the ghosts? Or my budding friendship with outlaws who make moonshine in the woods? Or the time I almost blew up Heron Creek’s stray cats with fireworks?

  “Gracie, hey.” Melanie’s voice breaks through my madness just in time to stop me from leaping out the nearest windows as though my hair is on fire.

  I’m so relieved to see her that it takes me several seconds to wonder what she’s doing here.

  “Strange meeting you here, right?” Mel jokes, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the press.

  “Of all the courthouses in all the world,” I joke back weakly, patting the bench beside me. I can’t help sneaking another look toward the reporters, but even though a few of them seem to have noticed they’re not alone, they don’t seem particularly interested in either of us.

  “How are you holding up?” She raises her feet as though she’s thinking about resting them on the back of the bench in front of us, then puts them down.

  “I’m okay. It’s Beau I’m worried about.”

  “I know, but when the men in our lives are a mess it takes a toll on everyone.” Mel gives me a rueful smile, as though she didn’t realize until this moment that joking about guys might not be something we’re quite ready for yet. “It’s good that all this is finally getting out into the open.”

  Amelia had suggested the same thing, but I’m guessing for different reasons.

  The relaxed friendship that Mel and I have been working to recover shrivels up in front of my eyes and I cross my arms over my chest as distrust narrows my gaze. “Why’s that?”

  She goes very still, a smile fixed on her face. It’s the one clue that Mount Saint Melanie is about to erupt.

  I’ve never been one to run in the face of pint-sized lava.

  “Because Lindsay Boone has been waiting a very long time for justice, Gracie.” The pause stretches between us. I flick yet another glance at the reporters. “I like Mayor Drayton. I do. But she deserves a second chance.”

  “Beau didn’t do anything wrong. So maybe this trial is a good thing. He’ll be able to finally put all these rumors and bad feelings behind him once and for all.” I raise my chin, daring her to argue my point.

  Inside, anxiety tugs at my gut. I wonder how many people in town might have feelings similar to Mel’s. Might be loyal to Leo. The Boones haven’t always been the most upstanding or most involved family in town—there were too many kids for them to ever have enough money, and I know from experience that they mooched more meals off the church and school than most—but they’re locals. They’re from Heron Creek; they’re one of them. Townspeople.

  If I walked into the center of town, drew a line, and asked people to choose a side about this indictment, I might be one of only a handful to walk over to Beau’s. It’s strange that Heron Creek’s allegiance never occurred to me until now. The town adores their mayor, and he goes above and beyond the call of duty to ensure that he’s involved in and aware of what goes on in their day-to-day lives—every last one of them. But as John C. Calhoun found out as a Charleston ghost, being loved by a city in the South and being from there are two different things. From there is a powerful thing in these parts. It means you’re family, and that means you’ve got a whole lot of people on your side because you were born with the same ground under your feet—and so was your daddy and his daddy before him.

  Beau’s a Drayton besides, and as much as the South loves their old money, they don’t always trust the families that sit on it. His is no exception.

  For the first time, it seems obvious to me that even if Beau beats this thing, even if he’s cleared, he’ll move on from Heron Creek. Run for state office, maybe, or change districts, but why would he stay here, among the people who didn’t believe in him when he’s done nothing but believe in them?

  What will that mean for us?

  “Oh, Gracie. You’ve got that look on your face like your mind is going sixteen different directions and they’re about to pull you to pieces. Take a deep breath.”

  Just like that Mel is Mel again, the most maternal of my friends, the one who is actually a mother now and who has perfected the calming cadence of circles that she’s rubbing across my back. I nod, struggling to breathe normally, to shut off the melee in my mind that’s exploding exactly as she guessed.

  Luckily, the courtroom bursts into action a few seconds later, providing a much-needed distraction. What looks like an army of litigators spills through the doors, and Beau and his brother are with the second group. His lawyers are better dressed than the prosecutors and they kind of look like the biggest roving band of assholes in the world. Since on television that means they’re the better lawyers, I take that as a good sign.

  Beau catches my eye and I hold my breath, hoping against hope that everything’s going to be okay like I promised him last night. More than that, I pray that my expression promises him that very same thing and forces him to believe it.

  The tight smile he gives me unhooks the tension between my shoulders the slightest bit. It says that he’s glad I’m here and that seeing me right away made this whole thing a little less hard. And I don’t know how I know that, how a man I’ve barely started to understand can speak to me so clearly without words, but I do.

  I blow out my breath as more people file in behind the legal teams. I see Louisa, the bartender from the Wreck, and other people such as Mel, who are probably here to show their support for Lindsay and her family. Leo walks in next, Marcella in tow. Her raven black hair is tied into messy pigtails and she’s wearing a sundress and drooping tights, her little legs carrying her right over when she spots me.

  “Miss Graciela!” Her spindly arms go around my neck. She’s gotten so friendly and talkative that it’s hard to fathom that this is the same little girl I met three months ago. Living with Leo, having that stability, is really bringing her out of her shell.

  “Hey, little lady. Don’t you look smart this morning?” I reach out and smooth some of the hairs that have escaped the off-kilter rubber bands, thinking that for all the good things Leo does for her, he hasn’t learned how to do hair.

  She frowns, her dark eyes sharp. “Why aren’t you at the library? Who’s going to read us the stories?”

  I’m too aware of the fact that Leo doesn’t want to be standing here, cavorting with the enemy. The fact that he hasn’t said a word, not even good morning, hurts, but the last thing I’m going to do is make a scene.

  “Sweetie, I’m going to be there later. Miss Millie, too.” I cross my eyes, ear
ning the sweetest little-girl laugh. “Do you think I live at the library?”

  “No. That’s silly.”

  “Let’s go sit down, Smarty-pants.” Leo puts a hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from me.

  “I want to sit with Miss Graciela!” she protests, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

  Leo’s face hardens, his patience wearing thin. “Miss Graciela’s sitting on the wrong side of the aisle.”

  Ouch.

  He’s never rough with her but he’s stern, and she flinches at his expression, one that clearly says she’s not going to get her way. Marcella’s only four, which means we could be looking at a tantrum, and that’s the last thing any of us needs this morning.

  I nudge her with the toe of my flat. “You mind your uncle, Ella Bella. I’ll see you at the library, and if you get there early, I’ll let you pick out the book.”

  She heaves a huge sigh, but the sparkle in her eye says that my bribe will do the trick. I look to Leo, the way I would on a normal day, for a conspiratorial wink or roll of the eye but find nothing. His face is a blank slate, his eyes focused on the row of windows behind my head. He says nothing, and anything that comes to my mind dries up on my tongue.

  Mel clears her throat, climbing to her feet with more effort than she expended a few weeks ago. “I think I’ll come sit with you, Leo, if you don’t mind.”

  He doesn’t answer, choosing a noncommittal grunt, and that, more than anything else, proves how worried he is over this whole thing. Today isn’t even a big deal for Lindsay. Beau’s going to plead not guilty and they must realize that. If he were going to plead guilty or no contest it would be a bigger deal because he would be sentenced and then her own retrial would probably be fast-tracked, but the way it is, it’s hard to see why there’s so much hoopla this morning.

  My bench is empty now that Mel took off for greener pastures. It’s hard for me to admit that it’s more than a little lonely, and if this were a wedding, no one but some reporters would be sitting on the groom’s side with me. I crane my neck, checking for unfamiliar faces and people, thinking perhaps more members of Beau’s family might have shown up, but I don’t see anyone who fits the bill. Mel and Louisa are far from the only townspeople who have arrived in a show of solidarity for Lindsay Boone, though. Even Hadley Renee is sitting on the side of the prosecution, her handsome but slightly greasy-looking boyfriend slouched next to her. Hadley surveys the room and catches me staring. I give her a halfhearted wave that she returns, a nervous expression tightening the skin around her eyes before she swivels back around to face the front.

  It’s all very odd, these people standing up for a drug dealer, even one of their own.

  The court clerk steps in front of the bench, quieting the chatter in the room without a word. Beau told me that he’s being taken first so that the press will clear out, but the judge will have a full docket of arraignments today.

  I remind myself to breathe and that this isn’t a big deal more than once while he’s advising everyone to rise for Judge Williams. My body follows the motions along with everyone else, pushing to my feet as the judge blows in, black robes rustling in the sudden quiet, and sitting back down on the creaky wooden pew as he settles in, pounding his gavel.

  “This court is now in session,” the clerk says, taking a seat.

  The judge, a youngish black man with a face that looks like it wants to smile, grabs a single, thin file off the top of a larger stack. “Calling criminal case number 2015837623, the State of South Carline vs. Beauregard Drayton. This case is set for arraignment.”

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” one of the district attorney’s blurts, bumping his table so hard the water glasses slosh. “May it please the court, Assistant State’s Attorney Brush on behalf of the people. Thank you for calling our case first today.”

  The judge nods, seeming resigned to the process, and casts a glance toward the defense. Beau’s brother nods, as cool as a cucumber. “Good morning, Your Honor. Attorney Brick Drayton on behalf of the defendant, Beauregard Drayton, to my left.”

  “I see I have no need to advise you of your right to counsel, Mr. Drayton.” The judge looks down at his file, raising his eyebrows. “Seems you’re in good standing with the state bar association yourself.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Have you received a copy of the indictment?”

  Brick nods in response. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Good. I’ll now read aloud the charges against you, including the allegations.” The judge peers over his glasses. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Brick replies.

  The judge nods, then clears his throat. The sheet of paper in his hand crinkles, joining the sound of pens scratching as the only noise in the room. “Charge No. 1 – Bribery. The jurors for the State of South Carolina upon their oath present that in the County of Charleston, there exists sufficient probable cause to find that Beauregard Drayton (1) was a public official; (2) did corruptly accept a gift, or gratuity, or promise; (3) that the gift or promise was to influence his decision or judgment in a given matter; (4) the matter was an official proceeding in which he was acting in his official capacity; and (5) the defendant’s act was for the benefit of the donor; which is described as follows:

  •Mr. Drayton accepted gifts and/or money via mail, or other electronic means, from high ranking members of a well-known crime syndicate;

  •The purpose of the gifts and/or money was to influence the Mr. Drayton and to divert prosecution and/or focus away from these high ranking members of the crime syndicate;

  •In exchange of the gifts and/or money, Defendant Drayton instructed the assistant district attorneys under his supervision to not pursue these high ranking members of the crime syndicate and instead focus exclusively on the prosecution of one Lindsay Boone, a low ranking drug runner, dealer, and informant;

  •Defendant Drayton directed the assistant district attorneys to pursue the harshest judgment possible to one Lindsay Boone in order to—quote—‘set an example’—end quote. Mr. Drayton’s intent was to deter similar actions from other low ranking members of the crime syndicate on behalf of the high ranking members.

  This evidence warrants a charge of abuse of power and taking bribes as a public official,” Judge Williams finishes, folds the pages, and tugs his glasses down, hard gaze on Beau as he waits several deliberate moments.

  He keeps going, talking about sentencing and jail time and additional charges but my mind is turning over the contents of that indictment. The news of the bribery charges smashes my mind into Jell-O. It’s not exactly a surprise, not knowing the contents of that letter, but I wonder why he didn’t tell me?

  My brain goes numb, as if it were dropped into a vat of Clete’s moonshine.

  The idea that he could have asked for the harshest penalty possible for Lindsay Boone has been hard enough to attach to the man I’ve grown to care about, but honestly, he’s so rigid that I could see him doing it—if he thought he was right. But the bribe thing?

  I just can’t imagine it.

  You couldn’t imagine David cheating on you, either, a little devil hisses in my left ear.

  Or that you’d be single and working in a small town library instead of at a university, mutters a second devil, settled on my right shoulder.

  I swear, if that slacker angel doesn’t show up soon I’m going to have to start talking to God again just to demand some answers. Not that He’s awful big on doling those out by request.

  Maybe it’s because there are two devils whispering in my ear, or maybe it’s because they’re not wrong, but the tiniest droplets of discomfort trickle into the back of my mind.

  I don’t know Beau all that well. Who’s to say what he would or wouldn’t do under pressure from criminals or to perform in an important job?

  I realize Judge Williams is talking again and give my head a little shake, trying to focus.

  “Mr. Drayton, how do you wish to plead in response
to these charges?”

  Beau stands, straightening his tie. Even in this circumstance it’s hard not to take a moment to admire the way his ass looks in those tailored suits he’s so fond of, and my mind has wandered to some of last night’s sexytimes when a figure steps in front of me, blocking my view.

  I turn to my left as he sidles past my knees and settles on the bench, annoyance pressing my lips into a thin line. Detective Travis tips his hat in the curtest manner possible, his eyes raking the people in the courtroom. I wonder what or who he’s looking for, and what he’s doing here at all, given that he’s new to town and can’t possibly have a dog in this fight.

  There’s nothing to gain from giving him the satisfaction of asking, so instead I turn back to the front of the courtroom as Beau clears his throat. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  His voice is gravelly, his twang more apparent underneath his nerves, and my chest tightens. I hate that he’s hurting, hate that the words that came out of some stranger’s mouth, even if he is a judge, made me doubt Beau, even for a second. Hate that, even now, the whispering trickle in the back of my mind refuses to dry up.

  Judge Williams sets a date for the trial—only two weeks from today, which seems fast—and bangs his gavel again. He’s out from behind the bench and has disappeared before Beau’s lawyers manage to whisk him from the room. The reporters follow fast on his heels, and I know they’ll be waiting out front like giant turkey buzzards hunting a carcass on the side of the road.

  My eyes stay on my boyfriend as he files out of the courtroom, but he doesn’t look up to meet my gaze. The trickle turns to a steady stream that murmurs that he left out the bit about bribery on purpose. But why? He knew I would be here today and that I have ears that work.