by Lyla Payne
“You’re not going to give up anything, Beau.” I say it even though it’s not true. Eventually, we’ll both have to decide what we’re going to give up and what we need to keep. But that day isn’t today, and the subtle changes in him, the small but potent kick this whole incident gave his confidence, make the ground underneath me feel the slightest bit slippery.
“I just wanted to say thank you. I’m not used to being … to letting people see me like that. Down. Beaten. I hate that it happened to us so early.”
I shake my head, frowning, a little upset that he still doesn’t get it. “I’m not. If we’re falling in love, truly, then I want to see those things. I want to know everything about you, even the bad stuff, and the good Lord knows you’ve seen about all of my dirty laundry. That’s life, handsome.”
He nods, and we decide after a couple of minutes of silence that we shouldn’t keep Dr. Ladd—the living or dead—waiting any longer.
The receptionist leads us into a comfortable conference room and offers us coffee, which we both accept. It’s chilly up north already, which is kind of a nice change although I am not, as long as I live, going to miss Iowa winters now that South Carolina is starting to feel like home again.
“He’s just washing up. He’ll be in momentarily.”
“That’s what they always say,” I joke, but she gives me a polite smile as though she doesn’t get it.
Beau waggles his eyebrows when she leaves. “I thought it was funny.”
Before I can respond, a man sweeps into the room. He’s tall and thin, handsome in his white lab coat, and has a presence that fills the room. The resemblance to the deceased Dr. Ladd takes my breath away and I’m prepared to be intimidated, but his bright smile puts me at ease and I find myself grinning back as we stand and introduce ourselves.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Craig Ladd.”
“I’m Graciela Harper, and this is Beauregard Drayton.”
“Please sit. Are you okay on coffee?” We nod and sit back down at the round conference table. Dr. Ladd sits a few seats away so he can see us, interest shining in his dark, patient eyes. “I must admit, you’ve got my curiosity up.”
It’s disconcerting how much he looks like my ghost. Eerie, almost.
He’s waiting for me to tell him what in the hell we want and I’m staring at him like a creeper. Brilliant.
“How familiar are you with your ancestry?” I ask him.
“Um, not terribly. It’s not something that’s ever interested me too much.”
A trickle of disappointment runs down my throat but I clear it away. History is not everyone’s thing. It doesn’t change what we came here to do.
“Okay, well, this might not be exciting for you, then, but I’m an archivist in a town called Heron Creek and I’ve recently run across a very interesting document that inspired me to trace your family’s lineage.”
I slide a folder across the table that’s full of the information I could find about the original Dr. Ladd, along with the heritage research I’ve done over the past week. He flips through it, the expression on his face a tad lost and more than a little overwhelmed.
“There was another Dr. Ladd who was born in the mid-seventeen hundreds in Rhode Island,” I explain. “His father was a tradesman and wanted his son to continue in that practical path, but he wasn’t interested. He loved learning and established himself as a physician. Everything was going great until he fell in love with a girl.”
“Isn’t that always the way,” this Dr. Ladd says softly, his eyes trained on my face.
“This particular girl stood to inherit a great fortune upon her marriage, but as long as she stayed unmarried, the money was controlled by some greedy family members. They started a smear campaign and Dr. Ladd—Joseph—was forced to move to Charleston to try to seek his fortune elsewhere. His plan was to send for his love, Amanda, once he had established himself and earned some money, but through a series of unfortunate events, he died before he accomplished that goal.” I pause, pointing to the folder. “The details are in there.”
“Thank you for bringing this all the way up here, but what does this have to do with me? Other than him being one of my ancestors, what, nine generations removed?”
“Eight,” Beau supplies.
“Weird that we’re both doctors,” he murmurs. “Makes me feel strangely connected through the decades.”
“He was, by all accounts, quite affable, and I can see that in you, too,” I supply, wanting him to latch on to the uniqueness of his past so badly.
“Well, thank you for the compliment. I’m not always, but I do try.”
I take a deep breath, hoping that all this will mean something to him the way Joseph’s ghost hopes. Hoped. “Everything I just told you has been pretty common knowledge for years. Joseph supposedly haunts a couple of locations in Charleston—the alley where he was shot and the house where he died a few weeks later—so we did know a little bit about him before I started my research. What we didn’t know until a few days ago was that he and Amanda had a baby boy.”
I reach over and flip pages until I get to the copy Joseph Somerset Ladd’s birth certificate, and the letter to Amanda. “I know it’s kind of a small thing all these years later, but Joseph knew he was going to die and he really wanted his child to know that he was loved and cared for by his father when that happened. It’s obviously a little late for that now, but I thought … I don’t know. You can read the will and decide for yourself, but I think he was very earnest in his desire and it felt wrong somehow not to follow through on it.”
The Dr. Ladd across the table from me is quiet for a long time as he reads the letter. His face changes from the polite, confused interest and softens as he connects through those eight generations. “Thank you for bringing me this. It really … Somehow it does mean something, and I know my great-grandmother is going to feel the same way. She loves things like this.”
Everything about his expression tells me he feels like I do, and in the corner of the room, visible only to me, hovers the ghost of Dr. Ladd. He watches his progeny, however many years have intervened, with a soft smile on his face that’s pure satisfaction. It’s another first, me seeing one of my ghosts with other people in the room who remain oblivious, and like the incident in the alleyway when the scene replayed, a seed of fear drops into my stomach.
When will things stop changing?
My ghost smiles at me and gives me a nod. I return it, focusing on his moment instead of my insecurities, and just like that, he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“How are you doing? Like, in your heart area?” I ask, staring down my cousin. She’s looking much better than she was the last time I saw her, when the doctors released her under the condition that she see a therapist at least once a week for the next ninety days.
Since she’d already agreed and made appointments with Dr. Farmer, it’s an easy agreement. We’re going home in a few minutes. Her hair is clean, her eyes are bright, and something in the pinkness of her cheeks seems to encourage me to believe that she’s back, ready to play again, even though the cards are stacked against her like they were with Dr. Ladd.
Or at least that’s how it seems.
“I’m doing better, Grace. I know it seems like Dr. Ladd’s fate should have brought me down, but his whole, I don’t know … attitude, I guess? It made me feel better. People don’t get to choose their paths in life, but we can choose how we walk it.”
“I think that’s true.” I give her a hug. “You know, I kind of miss him. Dr. Ladd, I mean.”
“Me, too. After all, he saved my life. What are we going to do the next time?”
“Hopefully there won’t be a next time. Or maybe Henry Woodward will pick up the slack.”
“That seems unlikely. But I guess you can focus on him again.”
“Yeah. For all the good it does me.” I throw the last of her things into her duffel bag and zip it closed. “I asked Craig Ladd if he cared if I wrote a paper on his family, and
he gave me permission. He emailed me yesterday to tell me how the rest of his family responded to the new information and said they would all love it if I would take on the project.” I pause before saying the next thing aloud for the first time. “I’m going to do it. It’s new information about a fairly well-known local man, so a journal or two could pick it up if it doesn’t suck.”
She slings her bag over her shoulder. “It won’t suck. I think it’s awesome. You’re too smart and too motivated to not be doing more with your career. It’s your passion. And besides, there’s got to be something in this whole ghost thing for you.”
A knock on the door distracts us and I turn to see my boyfriend, so handsome in a pair of faded jeans and worn college T-shirt that the sight steals all the breath from my lungs. His arms are full of freshly cut peonies, which he piles in Amelia’s arms.
“What are these for?” she asks.
“Thought you ladies could use something to brighten up the house, what with your mother gone and all.”
Amelia and I both snort at the joke. Aunt Karen left this morning, once the doctor officially said Millie could go home. I don’t know the details yet but I suspect my cousin gave her the heave-ho. Or my aunt had her fill of living in the town where she grew up. Or some combination of the two.
“Well, thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“I don’t know what to think, you bringing her flowers but nothing for me,” I pout, tipping my chin up for a kiss.
“Fear not, because I come bearing good tidings for you, my love. A certain friend of yours, Cletus Raynard, had his application for legal moonshine distribution approved.”
I whack him on the arm. “What? What did you do? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“First off, ow. Second, I didn’t do anything.” His teasing expression tightens, almost imperceptibly. “Will?”
It gives my stomach a jerk to think that Will would have put his career and his livelihood on the line for me. For Beau. It might not have been him—it could have just happened—but good, convenient things don’t happen to one Graciela Anne Harper.
“I guess we just count our blessings for today,” I murmur, unsure how to feel.
“And worry about the curses tomorrow,” Millie finishes. “You want to come over for dinner, Beau? We could invite the Gayles, watch a little baseball. The not-pregnant people could have some beers.”
“Sure, sounds perfect. Let me carry your bag.” He slips it off her arm and ushers her out into the hallway after one last sweep of the room to make sure nothing’s forgotten.
I hang back for a moment, pulling out my phone and shooting a text to Will.
Heard about Clete’s application …
We’re in the car on the way home when he responds.
I know. Good luck all around.
I don’t know if I should say anything more. Whether I should ask him outright if he’s the one responsible. He doesn’t want to discuss it, clearly choosing to pretend neither of us has any interest in the whole thing, and maybe texting about it isn’t the best idea.
I’m going to be more than a little wary of court proceedings after everything that’s happened. Maybe we can talk tonight, without Big Brother watching over our shoulders.
Dinner tonight at our house. Celebrate Millie coming home?
I’ll talk to Mel but sounds good to me. Time?
Six?
Okay, see you.
“Thanks for driving us home, Beau,” Amelia says, bringing me back to the car. “You know, since Grace managed to destroy two cars in about as many days.”
“Hey. Mine is not destroyed. It’s just in the shop.” I broke a few things I shouldn’t have when I pulled on those fuses. Stupid Internet mechanical advice. “And you’re going to get a nice new car with the insurance check.”
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell the cops what happened. Random overheating engine? Dumb story. And I don’t want to drive some psychopaths car until insurance comes through.”
Beau glances in the rearview mirror, catching my eye. “You know I agree with her.”
“I know. I just think maybe someone like Brian could come in handy with my new ghost-investigation business. And he owes me.”
“Or he might try to kill you again,” Beau interjects.
“He’s a wuss.”
“He melted my car,” Millie points out. “And tried to kill you.”
They’re probably right, but when I think about Brian all I can see are his pee-stained khakis.
I haven’t told them about what happened in Philadelphia Alley when I saw the scene of Dr. Ladd’s death play out. It hasn’t happened again, so maybe it was a one-time thing. I don’t know what it means or what’s happening to me, if anything, and despite all the changes Beau and this town are nudging about in my life, I prefer to keep some things to myself until I can wrap my head around them.
Graciela depends on Graciela for the hard stuff, and right now, I still kind of like it that way.
Neither Millie nor I feel like cooking, so Beau agrees to drive to Conchitas, the town’s Mexican place, for takeout. We leave our house early and park a few blocks away, taking a stroll down the waterfront boardwalk as the sinking sun glints off the river, pinks and blues surfing the lapping salt water. My hand nestles in his and a deep contentment rustles in my chest. This place, this man, are stealing my heart.
A figure on one of the waterfront benches puts a stutter in my step, but he sees us the same time we see him and there’s no going back. I haven’t seen Leo in a while, not since he saved my life.
I’m not sure how things are between us now but I don’t want them to be different, so I act like they’re not. I let go of Beau and throw my arms around Leo’s neck, squeezing until he starts to act like he’s choking to death. The soft smile on his face tells me everything I need to know.
Things are going to be okay.
“Thank you for being there for me, Leo. And for believing in me even when you didn’t want to.”
“Graciela Harper, I swear. Something about you just doesn’t give people in this town a choice on that matter.”
Beau clears his throat and steps forward, his hand out. All the insecurities he’s been dealing with over the past month are clear in the hesitance in his hunched shoulders. “Let me add my thanks, Leo, for Gracie’s life. More than that, I know the court said I’m not responsible for what happened to your sister, but the bottom line is that I ran that prosecutor’s office. Chandler Wellington was my employee and I handed him Lindsay’s case. He was my responsibility, and the outcome of that case was my ultimate responsibility. I signed off on that sentencing and believed it was right. But when I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong, and regardless of jail time or indictments, this is something I have to live with. It’s not easy.”
Leo studies him for a long moment, years of animosity and dislike stubborn in the set of his jaw. He’s a good man, though, a big man, and he knows what it takes to put up an apology. “We all make mistakes, Mayor. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you would have done this out of malice.”
Relief straightens Beau’s spine, and my heart swells. I doubt the two of them are going to be chums anytime soon, but this is good. This is right.
Beau’s words wriggle inside me and settle, making me aware that he’s dealing with more fallout from this case than he’s admitting to me, and maybe even to himself. It makes sense that he would feel responsible for the actions of his employees, but he has to be able to let that go and move on. I hope he listens to Leo. We all make mistakes.
We invite Leo to join us for dinner but he declines, saying he needs to get home to Marcella’s babysitter, so we say good night. Beau and I keep walking, our joined hands swinging between us. When we reach the turn off for Conchitas, we veer away from the water and into town. The people of Heron Creek seem happy to have their mayor back, and they don’t seem all that wary of me tonight, either. While Beau runs in to grab the food, I loiter on the sidewalk answering questions about wh
at happened at Sonny and Shears, assuring people I’m fine, but am glad to excuse myself when my phone dings with a text.
I glance down, recognize the number, and swallow my tongue. My heart drops into my stomach.
It’s from David, ex-fiancé extraordinaire. But that’s not the worst part.
Your father showed up at our house. I thought you said he was dead.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is my fifteenth published work, which means I’ve done a lot of these pages. The strange thing is, I never get less grateful to the people who help these books not only become a reality, but the best possible version of themselves. My editor, Danielle Poiesz, has become a friend as well as a trusted advisor and I hate to think about publishing a book without her wisdom supporting me. Eisley Jacobs and her beautiful daughter, Iona, make the covers for the Lowcountry Mysteries pop and snag your interest, and for that I can’t thank them enough. Lauren Hougen and her copy edits, the thorough proofreads from Mary Ziegenhorn and Gaylene Halsey - thank you for your time and attention.
My agent, Kathleen Rushall, deserves thanks for putting up with me, for responding to manic emails, and for being a great support in all aspects of my career, not only the projects she’s directly involved in. In the same way, my critique partners - Leigh Ann Kopans, Amalia Dillin, and Denise Grover Swank keep me sane on a regular basis and for that, we should all be grateful.
I’m blessed with a supportive, involved family that always wants to know what’s going on with my books and in my life, and even on the days that annoys the crap out of me, I’m forever grateful. Last but not least, to Paul - it means the world that you put up with me and all of the quirks and late nights that come along for the ride.
Copyright 2015 by Lyla Payne
Cover Photography by Iona Nicole Photography
Cover by Eisley Jacobs at Complete Pixels