Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6)

by Lyla Payne

  Chapter Thirteen

  I decide to wait inside the glassed-in Market area to try to stay warmer, and then text Mel to let her know where I am. I get a text from Leo five minutes later that makes me frown.

  Where are you? Freezing my balls off out here.

  I’m inside. I texted Mel.

  Hold on.

  He blows in with a gust of cold wind a minute later, and he’s alone.

  I frown harder. “Where’s Mel?”

  “She couldn’t find a sitter, so I guess you’re stuck with just me.”

  “I don’t know if Odette’s gonna like you.” I give him an appraising once-over, but he looks presentable enough in his flannel shirt, non-ripped jeans, and beat-up leather jacket. “You’ll have to dust off some of that infamous Leo Boone charm.”

  “Dust it off? It’s always shiny and well-used, darlin’,” he drawls. “Don’t think it isn’t, just because I choose not to turn it on you.”

  I shake my head and lead him toward East Bay. We ignore the shopkeepers and their wares, which earns us more than one exasperated glance on our way past.

  “I think you’ve got it wrong. I’m just immune to your charms.”

  “Hmm.”

  I glance sideways and catch a wink from Leo, an action that somehow warms up my cheeks. Damn him. Maybe he has been holding back all this time. Even as far back as middle school, Leo had no trouble attracting the females. To hear him tell it, his bigger problem has always been getting rid of them.

  We exit the first set of stalls and spend a brief thirty seconds braving the elements as we dodge basket weavers and carts of sugared nuts and rock candy, then repeat the whole process two more times. Like the other day when Amelia and I searched, we come up empty. I can’t help but worry now, and clench my hands into fists as I spin in a slow circle.

  “What’s wrong? She’s not here?”

  “Nope.” I bite my lower lip. “But she’s always here when I need her…”

  “Well, maybe someone knows where she is? Anyone else look familiar?”

  I look around, feeling helpless. I’m not very observant, maybe. More likely, Odette has always found me before I had to wander around studying faces as I searched for hers.

  “I don’t know.”

  Leo takes my hand and tugs me over to a group of women chatting away, their breath white clouds in front of their dark faces as their nimble fingers turn blades of sweetgrass into local keepsakes. One of them notices us and nudges the woman next to her. That starts a chain, and it isn’t long before they’ve fallen silent. Their faces are blank with expectation, waiting for us to explain our intrusion.

  Leo squeezes my fingers, then drops my hand in favor of his pockets.

  “I, um… We’re looking for someone. Odette?” I say, my voice pleading. “I really need to speak with her.”

  “Why’s that?” One of the ladies who looks like she’s around Odette’s age—maybe sixty or a bit older—squints up at me. She’s heavyset, and blankets cover her legs. “She ain’t been ’round here lately.”

  “I know, I looked for her the other day, too. Do you know if she’s okay? I’m a little worried.”

  “That the only reason ya wanna talk to ’er?”

  “No.”

  “She must wanna chat ’bout the curse hangin’ over her head, ya think?” It’s a younger woman with a puffy scar along her cheek who comments on the curse, and several of them titter.

  The older woman puts a stop to that with a look, silencing the lot of them.

  “She’s been helping me. We’re…sort of friends?”

  If friends pay each other for information…

  The old woman peers at me, her gaze serious. “Odette can use all the friends she got. She sick.”

  “Where can I find her?” My mouth feels dry. I need her, but it’s not until this moment that I realize how much I genuinely like her. If she needs medical attention, or money, I want to help.

  “Come back ’round t’night, ’bout ten. I’ll show yah.”

  There’s nothing to do but nod and leave them be. And hope they’ll be here when I get back from Beaufort.

  We wander toward Leo’s car, which is parked over by the College of Charleston on a side street that’s so narrow I’ve been afraid to drive down it since I rammed someone’s rearview mirror the last time I tried.

  “You want to grab something to eat while we wait?” he asks.

  Shit. I haven’t told him about going to Beaufort. I want to invite him along, because the more heads the better, in my opinion, but I know in my gut that Beau won’t be happy about it. There’s more than bad blood between them. Leo’s been there for me the times when Beau hasn’t, oftentimes because I’ve asked him to be, and that never sat well, even when things were good.

  Now he’s got all the more reason to wonder if I’m leaving him behind for something new, even if the thought seems laughable to me. Especially with Leo.

  “Um, I’m going to Beaufort in about an hour with Brick and Beau to talk to this woman who worked for one of those aid organizations overseas. One of the ones that took money from Allied to keep quiet about the illegal drug testing.”

  He stops, leaning against the door of his beat-up truck. The expression on his face says he’s not happy, though the reason for it escapes me. “Are you sure that’s smart? If she’s complicit, she might not be so keen on talking. Or worse, she could alert some higher-ups that y’all are nosing around.”

  He’s not wrong. I’ve thought about the fact that this woman could not only know what happened to Lucy but could have had something to do with it.

  “It doesn’t matter, Leo. That could be true, or she could know something that could help us, help you and Mel. I’m not turning my back on that possibility just because it could blow up in my face.”

  He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound as though he’s amused. “You don’t turn your back on anything that could blow up in your face, and that’s the problem. Some things aren’t worth getting killed over. Just ask Paul Adams.”

  My heart squeezes. “That’s not fair.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand through his black hair, then lets loose a groan. “You are a maddening woman, Graciela Harper. Been a thorn in my side as long as I’ve known you.”

  I think about the story of the little mouse that took the thorn out of the lion’s paw and how they were best friends forever after that. If I’m the mouse, though, I wouldn’t have hobbled Leo to begin with, but I don’t think he means it that way. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be so frustrated.

  I reach out and touch his hand. “Besides, you are worth it. So is Mel. And even if I decided to be the biggest bitch ever and let y’all hang on my account, this is bigger than us. Worldwide big, and we can’t just sit by and do nothing if Allied is still busy poisoning poor kids for their own selfish gain.”

  His long fingers wrap around mine. “Can I come with you?”

  Maybe it’s the fact that he asks instead of insists, or that he’s half the reason we’re going in the first place, or that he’s helped me get this far, but I don’t think about Beau at all when I tell Leo yes.

  Leo and I spend the drive to Beaufort mostly fighting over who’s in charge of the music, and no number of accusations about his old-man taste can intimidate him into giving up control. Apparently, he doesn’t recognize the person-riding-shotgun-plays-DJ rule, either, which is just dumb.

  It means we’re stuck listening to shit from the sixties—or earlier—for the hour trip, and I’m half-asleep by the time we pull into town, which looks like it feels the same. Some people love Beaufort, but despite its lingering charm in the old part of town, the grunge of the new covers too much of it for my liking. It’s sad to see that a place that used to be so beautiful and powerful has slid into this, but Beaufort’s story is not unique. Too many people thought that new was better than old for too long. But the past won’t disappear, no matter how many generations tried to erase it with shiny and new.
We managed to save Charleston and part of Savannah. New Orleans is going strong, and Boston has done a nice job. But not Beaufort…

  “Where are we headed?” Leo asks.

  “It’s a house on the water. By the old downtown.”

  Leo nods as we slide past Dunkin’ Donuts and pool halls, Chicken Express and Waffle House, then make a left on a quiet, tree-lined road. We pass a sprawling park and the houses shift centuries, pretty two-stories with wraparound porches as opposed to flat, ranch styles. I glance down at my phone a couple of times, watching the address draw closer on the GPS.

  “There.” I point to a yellow house. “That’s it, on the right.”

  The house is charming with its white shutters and porch, though I have to wonder if it would look the same in full daylight. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow over two wooden rocking chairs, and Brick’s sedan is parked out front.

  Leo stops the car behind Brick’s, flicking off the lights and opening the door. I step out into the cold twilight, glancing overhead to take a moment to appreciate the full moon as it rises over the water behind the house. It’s a nice piece of property, a stone’s throw from the inlet, which fills with wildlife during high tide. It’s the kind of property that gets passed down and not purchased.

  I don’t know why this woman came back home, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess that she’d run away before that. Takes one to know one, and all of that.

  “Hey,” Beau says as we approach the porch. He glances at Leo, his lips pulling into a frown.

  “Hi. Leo and I were in Charleston trying to find Odette, and he wanted to come. I hope that’s okay.”

  “The more the merrier,” Beau replies, giving me a smile that does its best to warm me up. He might not like that Leo is here, or that he and I spend so much time together, but like I told Leo, Beau’s a good guy.

  He’s not the kind of asshole my ex David is, the kind who would pitch a huge fit or accuse me of cheating because of his own insecurities. My stomach twists painfully. How could I have been so stupid to not give Beau the same respect in return? If I’d only been honest and trusted him…

  I shake my head, realizing the guys have already started up the porch. There’s no point in going down that path—not now, not ever. Regrets are about as useful as wishes.

  By the time I join the guys in the yellow glow of the porch light, Brick has already knocked. Amelia’s disappearance has clearly affected him, and in the few moments before we hear footsteps on other side of the door, I study him. He’s pale and unshaven. The pain in his eyes, lighter than Beau’s, tells the same story of grief in my heart.

  It stops me, and then the truth slams into me. He loves her. Loves her.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe.

  They all turn to look at me, but there’s nothing to do but shake my head. The revelation isn’t for everyone. Hell, it’s not even for me. I have to wonder if Brick has even admitted it himself yet.

  What are we gonna do, Millie?

  I smile for a second, because that’s exactly what I would ask her if she were here. But she’s not.

  The woman who pulls the door open quickly swings it back, leaving about six inches to peep through at the gang of strangers on the porch. She’s younger than I expected—maybe in her forties—with ash blond hair and dark eyes that study us with a heavy dose of suspicion. She can’t possibly guess why we’re here, but in today’s world, stranger danger doesn’t only apply to children. Still, I don’t think we look particularly scary. But neither did Ted Bundy.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice wary.

  “Hi, are you Marcia Strickland?” Beau asks, his polite, professional voice firmly in place.

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “We’re…” Beau looks at us, then clears his throat. “My brother and I were friends with Lucy Winters.”

  The look on Marcia’s face goes from surprise, to horror, to sadness in the blink of an eye. “Oh my god.”

  “Could we please come in?” Brick entreats. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

  The woman looks undecided, confusion and worry flitting across her expression.

  In the glow from the light bulb, tears shine in Beau’s eyes as he steps forward, holding her gaze. “Please. We’ve been so long without answers. Just a few minutes.”

  Her features relax, the sorrow taking over, as she stares. “You’re Beau.”

  That startles all of us, I think, though it probably shouldn’t. Lucy might have been angry as hell at Beau for lying to her—I sure would have been—but there’s no way she could have been in love with the same man I am and just forgotten about him. Never. Mad or not, sure she’d done the right thing or not, I’d bet a case of my favorite vodka that she loved him up until the day she disappeared.

  “Come in.” Marcia holds the door open wide now, and my fingers are grateful for the way she has the heat cranked. Even another hour south, winter has come early to the East Coast.

  We shrug out of our jackets and coats as we follow her past a formal dining room and an office. The bright, comfortable sun porch is decorated with rattan furniture in a floral pattern that would horrify Aunt Karen, or anyone else with good taste. I figure it’s best not to comment and take a seat on one of the chairs. It surprises me by rocking back and forth, kicking my feet off the floor.

  Marcia chuckles at my soft squeal. “Yeah, that’s a tricky one. Sorry.”

  She takes the other chair, leaving the guys to squeeze onto the uncomfortably small couch. If the situation were different, the three of them squished shoulder to shoulder would have made me giggle.

  “Well, I know you’re Beau Drayton,” she comments, nodding toward Beau and tucking hair behind her ear with a shy smile. “But who are the rest of you?”

  I immediately warm to the woman. There’s no reason for my feelings; it’s a gut reaction to the way she rolls with the punches. “I’m Graciela Harper. A, um, friend of Beau’s.”

  “I’m his brother, Brick Drayton.” His face is tight as he jerks a thumb toward Leo. “This is Leo Boone.”

  “Well, I think I’ll hold off on saying it’s nice to meet you all until you tell me why you’re here.” She smiles at Beau. “Except you. It’s nice to finally meet you in person. Lucy talked of you often.”

  “Cursed me is more like it, I’m sure.” The pain shining in Beau’s eyes can’t be mistaken for anything else. If there were a way to make this easier on him, I would do it in a heartbeat.

  Marcia laughs, nodding a little. “She did her fair share of that, too. You know Lucy had the vocabulary of a sailor with scurvy. But she cared about you.”

  It’s clear the woman doesn’t want to say anything more, whether because it’s personal or she feels bound to keep Lucy’s confidence after all this time, it’s impossible to say. Either answer only makes me like her more.

  Beau looks too dumbfounded by coming face to face with Lucy’s past to forge ahead, and even though Brick is here, his mind is on other things. So is mine, but Leo sitting across from me reminds me that he and Mel are important, too, and that Amelia would want me to take care of them.

  I blow out a breath and take over. “We’re here because we know what Allied Pharmaceuticals has been doing abroad, testing drugs on human subjects without authorization, and we want to stop them.”

  Her eyes go wide. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times while I hold my breath, waiting to find out if she’s going to help us or deny any knowledge of the whole debacle.

  “We know that your agency filed a complaint against them with the WHO, but that you withdrew it several months later.” Brick pushes, because that’s his way. “Right after you received a hefty, anonymous donation that gave you the ability to fund twenty new schools in Iran and Afghanistan.”

  Marcia manages to close her mouth. Her head bobs up and down in what could be a nod, but it’s not until she speaks that we know for sure. “Yes. I never agreed with taking the payoff, and I’m sure you know that Lu
cy didn’t, either.”

  “Who made the decision? Weren’t you in charge?” Beau asks. He’s coming around now, and I know he’s dying to hear every single detail of the events that preceded Lucy’s disappearance in Iran.

  “The board. They got to them, or at least some of them. Enough of them, I guess.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, looking tired all the way to her bones. “The reasoning was that only a handful of girls had been hurt by Allied’s testing—which they swore they would stop, by the way—while we could change the lives of hundreds with the donation they promised us.”

  “Jeremy Bentham. Utilitarianism,” Leo murmurs, surprising all of us. He makes a face. “What, a guy can’t be hip to the old-school philosophers?”

  “Jeremy Bentham, and later John Stuart Mill, had a theory on ethics that the right thing to do is whatever provides the most good for the most people,” Marcia chimes in, her eyes far away. “That whether we know them, or they’re terrible people, or whatever the specifics, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you think?” I ask her.

  “I think that taking that money made us as dirty as Allied. I think we knew they wouldn’t stop, not when it’s so easy to buy their way out of trouble. I think now there’s nothing to stop those poor girls we educated from being harmed by another corporation who thinks they don’t matter. That’s what I think.”

  My heart hurts at her hard words. She’s so right, and even though I’ve thought about the people Allied is harming overseas, they haven’t seemed real to me until now. I still don’t buy Bentham’s theory—I care about finding Amelia, about keeping Mel and Leo out of prison, so much more than helping nameless women overseas—but now I realize that it doesn’t mean we can’t care about them, too.

  If we can find the proof we need to get the Middletons to back off their cases against my friends, that doesn’t have to be the end of it. We could help those kids, too.