Lowcountry Mysteries (Boxed Set #1)

by Lyla Payne

  The smoke covers everything, though, thick and dense. My eyes burn, aching for fresh air as they do when I don’t take out my contacts for days in a row only much, much worse. Lights—red, yellow, blue—spin out on the street. Cops. Paramedics. People who aren’t hell-bent on barbequing me.

  I would take a deep breath if I could, but there’s no air. Instead, I screw up my courage and start across the linoleum floor. It’s slow going with no elbows to pull myself along. It feels like an eternity passes before my forehead presses against the glass at the front of the store. It’s hot enough that I jerk back. Too hot to pound on, too glazed over with smoke and condensation for anyone to see me. They’re never going to know I’m in here.

  Fists pound on it from the outside, startling me back. Those hands cup so a familiar face can peer inside, framed by newly short dark hair and frightened blue eyes topped by long lashes.

  “Gracie! Gracie, are you in there?’ Leo shouts, pounding on the glass again.

  I try to yell back but discover my tongue is made of ashes. No matter how many times I swallow there isn’t enough spit so I stand up, braving the smoke, so that we’re face-to-face. Our eyes lock for a few seconds, and then he turns and runs, arms flailing as he screams unintelligible words at the people standing on the street.

  A fit of coughing wracks me, dropping me back to my knees and then my belly. I keep my face covered and ignore the streams of tears from my eyes, focusing on oxygen and holding on to Leo’s appearance.

  The sound of breaking glass is like music, even as it rains down on my head and back, slicing me up as surely as those grasses by the river. I want to sleep. I want to gulp the fresh air that pours into the building, but the heat is worse all of the sudden, the fire racing closer. Strong hands clasp my bare shoulders and pull, ignoring my scream at the renewed pain in my arm. The pavement scratches my back, but I’m free. The heat is gone, the smoke is gone. There’s a mask over my face and Leo’s there, smoothing my sooty hair off my forehead.

  “Oh my God, Gracie. Are you okay? What happened?”

  “The police. Is Travis here?”

  “I’m here, Miss Harper. Just relax.”

  “I can’t. Hadley Renee … she’s dating Bobby Caruso. She planted that evidence at Beau’s, and they—” I cough. “They were going to kill me.” My eyes dart up and down the street, desperate to see them lurking like cartoon villains. “You’ve got to find them.”

  He races off, cell phone to his ear before he’s two steps away, and I can finally slump back and just breathe. Beau’s face shimmers at the edge of the crowd, which parts like the Red Sea for Moses as he shoves through and gathers me up in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The mood in Millie’s and my shared hospital room is almost celebratory. It’s been twenty-four hours since I almost died and a lot has happened. They brought Chandler Wellington in and he sang like a bird in exchange for entrance into the Witness Protection Program—apparently he’s always dreamed of escaping to a small town in the Midwest and taking up glassblowing—and arrest warrants have been issued for Bobby and Hadley. They got away, along with their remaining goon, before Travis could catch up with them, but the dead one in the store has verified ties to the family, a fact that backed up my story.

  Wellington’s confession means Beau’s been exonerated.

  It turns out Leo is the one who rang the alarm as far as my being in danger. He was checking in on Amelia when she and Travis started to get worried about me not coming back with dinner, and started to wonder if all the so-called nonsense I’d been spouting about the case and the Carusos might have been true. He’s the one who told the police he last saw me talking to Hadley Renee, and was the first one to get to Sonny and Shears.

  Good old Leo.

  He hasn’t come to visit, but now that Lindsay has been granted a retrial and everyone seems to think she’ll be out of jail soon—time served and all that—I hope he and I will be back to normal.

  I say it’s almost celebratory because Beau’s been too worried about my various bumps and bruises to give me a proper talking-to about getting into all this without letting him know what’s going on and because Amelia’s not much better. But they’re ready now.

  “So, you made a deal with Clete, again. You promised to get his state application approved even though you have no way to get such a thing done. And while it’s possible I might be able to pull a few strings, it’s not exactly the best time for me to be asking for favors.” Beau’s hands hold one of mine, his warmth seeping through my blood. He hasn’t let go of me since the doctor popped my shoulder back into place and the nurses helped clean me up, not even when I slept for a good ten hours, I’m told.

  “That’s about the sum of it. Except you forgot the part where he’ll probably pull my teeth out with pliers if he doesn’t get his way.”

  “I’d like to see him try,” Beau growls, his features darkening.

  “Whoa, there. Keep the macho to a minimum. I think Millie’s actually sleeping.”

  Beau leans over and captures my lips for a lingering kiss, one gentle hand brushing down to cup my jaw. My body hurts all over but when he kisses me like that it’s as if I don’t even have a body, just a bundle of hormones and nerve endings.

  “We’ll figure something out.” He kisses me again, softer and briefer this time. “I should be thanking you for getting me out of trouble. I mean, I knew I hadn’t done what they said but had no idea how to prove it. I never would have guessed that Hadley was playing me those couple of times we went out.”

  “Oh, trust me, I didn’t figure that one out as much as stumble into it. She jumped the gun, and if she hadn’t, we might never have put two and two together.”

  “You’re becoming quite the professional snoop.”

  “Not on purpose, I swear. These things just keep finding me.”

  “Even so. I’m wondering if archivist is your true calling or if perhaps you should go for your PI license.”

  That makes me snort, which makes me wince. Hadley didn’t crack or break any ribs with her angry kick, but they are good and bruised. “I don’t think so.”

  We talk for the next hour. I tell him about Dr. Ladd and my last trip to Charleston. It’s not until then that I realize I never read that damn piece of paper.

  Or told Amelia—or the police—what happened to her car.

  “Um, there’s more. About that night at the Thomas Rose House.”

  “Oh, heaven help me. What?” His eyes crinkle around the edges, prepared to be amused. But as I get to the part of the story about being run off the road and almost lit on fire—the theme of these past few days—thunderclouds darken his sharp features. His brownish green eyes flare, anger inspiring them to almost glow. “Gracie Anne, why have you not called the police? I’m going to get Travis down here to take a statement right now.” He gets up and walks across the hospital room.

  “You don’t have to bother him if he’s off duty. One of the Ryans can do it. Oh, and Beau?” He pauses in the doorway, his phone already to his ear. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Run by the library archives and grab me a pair of gloves and some tweezers, plus a few page protectors, will you?”

  “We’re going to read the paper?”

  “We’re going to read the paper.”

  Beau gets to the library and back in record time, bringing all the things I requested. Mr. Freedman didn’t think twice about letting his illustrious mayor borrow whatever he wants.

  Ted Ryan is on duty today but has to check on a few things at the bank before he can come to take my statement, which I say is fine since it happened, like, four days ago. My boyfriend seems generally irritated about having to wait but perks up after I get the scroll out of my purse, where it’s been for days. It’s vellum, I think, and now it’s protected enough that we can read it. Amelia wakes just in time, more perked up than she has been in days, and that fact alone is enough to strengthen my resolve to help D
r. Ladd accomplish whatever is on this page.

  “It’s a letter,” I say, then realize there’s a second document. “And a birth certificate.”

  “What’s it say?” Amelia asks, a little breathless.

  So, for her benefit and Beau’s, I start to read aloud.

  “October 31st, 1786.

  My dearest Amanda,

  My time on this earth is growing short, I’m afraid, but were it not for the unexpected joy that is the birth of our son, I would have nothing—not one single thought or action, to regret.”

  “He wrote it after the gangrene set in,” Beau guesses, and I nod, continuing.

  “You should know that I have had my will adjusted and, after settling any debts with my landladies and the guarantor of my business—all remaining monies will be held in a trust for our child.”

  “Amanda was pregnant?” Amelia’s green eyes are wide, interested in something other than her own troubles for the first time in days.

  My throat burns. “They must have found out before, or soon after, he left for Charleston. That’s one reason he must have been in such a hurry to make his fortune and so impatient to waste any time.”

  “Keep going, Gracie,” Beau urges.

  “You and I have said everything two hearts, two matching souls, could ever need to during our time together, no matter how brief, but if you will indulge me I will spare a few words for the child I will never get to know, never smell, never hold, never watch grow, though I will treasure him for all of the handful of moments that are left to me.

  So, to my dear son, I regret most ardently the fact that I will miss the whole of your life, from your first breath in this world. But know this, child: You are dear to me, as is your mother, and I have done everything in my power to live the kind of life that proves that to you and to all I have met. When I meet my creator, as I am soon to do, it will be with a heavy but confident heart.”

  I look over at Beau, then Amelia, and continue. “I hope that I am able to assist financially in your upbringing in some small way, though I have no doubt that your fiercely loyal mother will provide for your well-being, both physically and emotionally, as well as anyone in this world could. More than that, I am leaving you something else: the knowledge that even though you will never meet him, your father has loved you, will always love you, and will, if it is possible in heaven or earth, watch over you. Always.

  That is all, my love. The pain is bad and my hand trembles, but your face and the knowledge that we have created something beautiful together, you and I, keeps me smiling. Will you do one thing for me, Amanda, dearest? Just one.

  Teach him to whistle.

  All my love to my family, Joseph.”

  I clear my throat. “That’s it.”

  “Wow. That poor man.” Millie’s eyes fill with tears, and my own throat closes, thick with sadness for my ghost, whose life should have been at its beginning when it neared its close.

  It wasn’t fair, but that’s what they say about life. No matter how one rails at the universe, our screams of injustice to her are no more than the slight buzzing of a gnat in her ear.

  I pull out the birth certificate with a pair of tweezers, squinting at the faded words. “His name is listed as the father, and the mother is Amanda Somerset. Wow. We’re the first people to know the last name of the famous Amanda after all these years.”

  “What did they name the baby?” Millie asks, craning her neck as though she can see the name all the way from her bed.

  My throat clogs so tight that it takes a while for me to answer. “Joseph Somerset Ladd.”

  We’re all silent for a moment, then Beau squeezes my hand. “It’s pretty special that Amanda had the courage to stand up to her family, to claim her inheritance even unmarried as she was, and to give her baby—a boy—his father’s name.”

  I nod, still struggling to find the right words.

  “What do you think he wants?” Amelia asks. “I mean, it can’t be the money. He took care of that, even if this letter never reached her.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he wants. I think he just wants his child—or great-great-great-whatever-grandchildren—to know how he felt. That he loved Amanda and that baby and was sorry to miss out on everything.” The tears sparked by the document well up and spill over, but I wipe them away, determined not to drip on the page. “I mean, Amanda never got the letter. What if she sent the birth certificate and then never heard from him again? She might have died thinking he was ashamed of them.”

  “That poor man. He must have felt cursed,” Amelia’s voice whispers out, barely audible, and cracks fissures in my heart.

  Like me, I hear her say, even though she doesn’t.

  Dr. Ladd isn’t the best inspiration for someone wanting to overcome a curse, so I shake my head. “He doesn’t sound angry to me, Millie. He sounds … regretful, maybe. Sorry. But not as though he thought the world had been unfair.”

  “I agree.” Beau gives me a sideways smile and squeezes my hand. “He got a bum deal more than once but he never stopped trying. Fighting. Sounds to me like he was a man of faith.”

  That observation seems to startle my cousin, but she doesn’t comment. I don’t have a chance to ask what she’s thinking because my nurse comes in with discharge papers—my lungs are clear, my shoulder is back in place, and everything else just needs a few days of rest to heal up. The doctor did put stitches in my palm. I feel pretty sheepish about letting that go for so long that I’ll probably have a scar, especially since it was infected after all my jumping in rivers and scooting across sooty salon floors.

  “Well, I guess I can take you home, Graciela. If you’re ready.”

  “Actually, I think I need to go to work.” I give Beau a look when he starts to argue. “Doctor. Ladd has waited long enough, and I need the network to track down the descendants of this Joseph Somerset Ladd.”

  “Have I told you how sexy tenacity is in a woman?”

  I shake my head, unable to stop my smile. “Just for that, I’ll spoil the surprise. I think you and I should make the trip together once we find out where they are. It’s high time we got away, just you and me.”

  He gathers me in his arms, holding me in a circle that’s safe and warm and turns me on all at once. “I’ll be hoping for Bali,” he whispers into my neck.

  “I’ll be hoping for the mountains, and maybe snow for good measure. Because I really don’t want to be tempted to leave the house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Neither one of us is right, and in the end Beau and I take our first weekend trip together to Boston. It’s fitting, since all my research indicated the Somersets were a well-to-do family and Amanda’s parents passed down all the family money to their only daughter after their untimely deaths. Most of the legend turned out to be fact—Amanda had been a minor, only seventeen when she was orphaned, and she was taken in by guardians who had their own interests at heart and not their charge’s. The thought of being raised by Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally, no matter how distant my mother and absent my father, makes me shudder.

  I’m elated to find a line of Ladds that appears to begin in the late 1700s, and it doesn’t take me long to trace them back to Amanda.

  Right now, we’re sitting in the car outside my ghost’s great-great-great-great-great-grandson’s medical practice right now. Eight generations.

  Medical practice. Life is funny.

  “Well, are you ready?” Beau’s hand is on my thigh, distracting me even though we spent the entire morning in bed, letting the hotel staff bring us sustenance.

  I wonder briefly how Henry Woodward is getting on back in Heron Creek without me. It’s strange, but he’s become sort of a comforting fixture and I know in my heart he’s not going anywhere.

  Not that I’m all that ready to get home.

  “Yes. I’m excited. This is … I don’t know. Rewarding? Like, when I first saw Anne I thought I was crazy, and let’s face it, even though knowing about the curse is good, actually
being cursed is not so much.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And then Glinda was just Glinda, and she almost got me killed sticking my nose into business that didn’t concern me.”

  “Agreed again. Glinda Davis and I are going to have words on the other side.”

  My heart seizes at the thought of Beau dying. Beau being a ghost. I shake it off, realizing there’s no point to being scared of losing people all the time and forgetting to cherish them.

  “I don’t know. I think they’re kind of starting to grow on me,” I admit. “I like helping them. I would want someone to help me.”

  He leans over, kissing me until I forget what I just said and why we’re sitting in this random parking lot in Boston. My arms go around his neck and I hang on to the man who is slowly but surely opening me back up to all sorts of new and different possibilities. Resurrecting those dreams I had as a girl that I wrote off a few months ago that lingered in my heart and soul. We’re not there yet. I’m not there yet, and for the first time in my life, I’m content to enjoy the ride without thinking too hard about the destination.

  “I’m falling in love with you, Graciela Anne Harper.” Beau breathes the words, peering into my face with an endearing, anxious expression that begs me to reach out and smooth it way.

  I do, sweeping long pieces of hair off his forehead, thinking that it needs a cut. “That’s good to know, because I’m right there with you, Beauregard Drayton. I don’t know why you picked me or what you saw in me when we met on the street, but I’m grateful for every minute we’ve had. Even the weird ones.”

  He chuckles, relief and emotion deepening his voice. “I find your eccentricities endearing.”

  “And you think I’m weird.”

  We stare at each other a little longer, grinning like idiots, before he grows serious again and pulls away. “Thank you for standing by me through all this. I know it wasn’t easy. I know this might change my whole future, if the political world decides to dredge it up at every turn and … I don’t know who I am without those dreams.”