Not Quite Fixed

by Lyla Payne

  “Relax, Harlan Boone wouldn’t hurt a fly and he’s the only ghost hanging around these days. I just, I don’t know. Found myself wanting to go, so I did.”

  At least, he’s the only ghost that you know is hanging around.

  Right.

  “Okay. And?”

  “Leo was there. Visiting his dad’s grave.”

  My cousin breathes out, then in, then takes a drink of her tea before raising an eyebrow at me in a silent invitation to continue.

  “I told him everything.” The eyebrow goes up higher. “Well, not everything. But I did tell him that Trent and I have both seen Harlan. He surmised that I’ve learned a few things about their relationship and what happened with their family.”

  “How did he take that?”

  “Not all that well, but we didn’t have a screaming match or anything.”

  “Oh, Grace. You and Leo aren’t the type of couple to ever have a screaming match.”

  “Obviously,” I say, hating the defensiveness that rises up into my throat. “We’re not any type of couple.”

  Amelia rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. What did he say?”

  “He basically accused me of using his dad’s ghost as an excuse to go digging up the dirt I’ve been dying to get my hands on.” I keep my eyes down, surprised to feel tears prick at the corners.

  My cousin’s hand covers mine. “You know that’s not true, and so does he. This can’t be easy for him. Or you. But especially him.”

  I take a moment to let her words sink in. She’s right, of course. Leo might have hurt my feelings and I might have to deal with more guilt and shame than generally makes me feel comfortable, but the shock of seeing Harlan after all this time has to be ripping open some old wounds for him. Add in the fact that I’m poking at them by talking to the brother who turned his back, and well…Leo’s got it worse.

  The tears are gone, but my heart still feels as if it’s sitting too low in my chest. Heavy. When I meet Millie’s eyes, I feel a little stronger and give her a nod. “I know. It sucks. And I’m going to have to ask him more questions that he’s not going to like before this is over.”

  “But he’ll help you?”

  “Yes. He said he would. It’s just…I’m afraid.”

  “Of what? Losing his friendship?”

  To Millie’s credit, she doesn’t make some kind of comment about me not being worried about that when I told him to take a hike a few weeks ago. So, since we’re acting like grownups, I do my best to truly assess my feelings before answering.

  What I find, deep down, is fear. But it’s not over what I expected. And maybe it’s not something I can even explain.

  “I’m scared of losing the trust between us. The thing that makes us Gracie and Leo.” I stumble a bit over the confession, unsure of how to put it into words.

  I didn’t exactly nail it, but it’s close.

  “Oh, Grace.” Her eyes go soft and her fingers squeeze mine tighter. “If you can lose something like that, you never really had it to begin with. You know that.”

  It’s great advice, but not something I’m prepared to hear or face. And maybe the idea that I’ve been wrong about the strength of my connection with Leo is what terrifies me the most.

  The fear makes the fact that his father’s ghost is forcing us to talk about the issues we’ve let lie for months worse.

  Jack stirs on the monitor and Amelia glances over, holding her breath. He starts fussing a few seconds later and she blows it out, flopping back onto the couch cushions with a groan. “I will not be sorry when he moves past this phase of only sleeping for forty-five minutes at a time.”

  “You want me to get him?”

  She shakes her head and pushes to her feet, draining the rest of her tea in a single gulp. “No. I’m sure you’ve got some research to do on red stones or Harlan’s death or one of your regular family mysteries. I’ll take care of the baby.”

  “You want to watch a movie during his next nap?”

  “Sure. But only if we can eat some frozen pizza while we’re at it.”

  “It’s a date,” I tell her with a smile, then pull my laptop over as she heads upstairs.

  I might want to take a nap, but she’s right. It’s time to get down to the nitty gritty of what happened to Harlan, even if the truth might ruin everything.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stretch an hour or so later, deciding to preheat the oven and pick out a movie in anticipation of our much-needed girls’ afternoon. With that done, I tug on the Sketchers by the door and traipse out to grab the newspaper, which neither of us has canceled—or paid for, incidentally—since Gramps died.

  No doubt some ten-year-old collection agent on a bike will be around to collect his ten bucks eventually.

  If I would have known that Cade Walters was wandering down the street toward our house, I might have put some actual clothes on, or brushed my teeth. Or hell, even just a bra. But I didn’t, and there’s always the small hope that my off-putting appearance might, well, put him off. I wouldn’t be sad.

  “Graciela. Nice day.”

  I squint up at the gray sky, then back at Cade. “Is it?”

  He shrugs. “It’s February and forty-five degrees, and it’s not raining. Not too shabby.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Everything okay around here? I saw that your car was gone for a night and thought I’d offer my services. I’m a decent mechanic. That was my after-school job as a teenager.”

  The realization that he’s watching so closely sends a tingling sensation down my spine. After having one scary event happen with my car, I sure as shootin’ don’t want his hands in her guts.

  I clutch the newspaper tight to my chest, even though droplets of water cling to the transparent plastic. “Thanks for the offer but it was just a flat tire. Glory Jean got her fixed up and as good as new.”

  He laughs, looking totally relaxed. He either doesn’t sense my nerves or they don’t bother him. “Just a flat, huh? Bad luck. Then again, that seems to be about the only kind of luck you have.”

  “Seems to be. Well, I’m going to run back inside. Forty-five’s a little chilly for me.” The excuse is as good as any, and does its best to cover up the fact that I was already walking backward.

  I don’t know what it is that bugs me about Cade Walters—he’s nosy, sure, but so is everyone else in town. Maybe it’s that he seems to want me to know he’s watching?

  “Okay. Well, nice to see you.” He grins. “Oh, and you’re totally inspiring a character in my new book. I might even have to dedicate it to you.”

  A thank you struggles loose from my lips before I stumble up the driveway and into the house, latching every single one of our locks before heading back to the couch.

  Amelia and I make good on our promise to gorge on pizza and do our best vegetable impressions on the couch for the rest of the day, and the time lets the weird interaction with Cade settle into the background. We kick around thoughts about the garnets, and about whether or not they’re meant to lead me into the Nantahala forest. My cousin thinks Clete is somehow leaving the stones so that I’ll trek out there to find him, but I can’t see him trusting anyone but Big Ern to do his bidding, and Big Ern definitely doesn’t know where his boss, or friend, or whatever, has vanished to. He’s really worried. Besides, he wouldn’t have the stealth to manage it. Certainly not enough so to make it look like a ghost’s responsible.

  For some reason that’s hard to explain, I really hope Clete’s alive out there somewhere. And that’s not just because I don’t want to be the one to find a dead body in the woods.

  Regardless of whether Clete, or Felicia’s ghost, or some other player wants me to retrace my mother’s footsteps, the Nantahala National Forest covers about half a million acres—and that’s not even counting the other national forests that connect to it and span three states. Which means I’m not going to find anyone, or anything, without more guidance than a few stones.

  It’s back to work
the next morning, but I avoid Westies like it’s full of Zika mosquitoes and opt for library crud instead. The morning is quiet, without even a visit from LeighAnn and her brood, which leaves me with far too much time on my hands. That’s when thoughts begin to creep in, and not the kind that I’d like to dwell on.

  I open my laptop instead, logging into the county registrar’s site with the intention of finding out who bought the property Leo and his father were flipping when he died. It takes me about two seconds to realize I don’t have the address. It wasn’t in the papers, for obvious reasons, which means for all of my practiced avoidance, I’m going to have to talk to Leo sooner than later.

  He told me to treat him “like any other family member” I would talk to after a ghost showed up. Well, that may not be totally possible, since Leo’s never going to be “any other” anything to me, but I’ll have to do my best.

  I could talk to Trent, instead, and I even consider it for several moments, but there’s no point. My gut says he’s told me everything he knows, and the thought of listening to any more of his biased, disloyal bullshit turns my stomach more than the idea of sitting across from Leo and pretending everything is fine and normal.

  My library duties and answering emails about why on earth I haven’t turned in my article revisions suck up the remainder of the day quite nicely. So far, they seem to be buying my “family emergency” claims, and since someone in my family tried to kill me recently, it’s not even a lie. There’s no time to text Leo and tell him I’m coming by later—at least, that’s what I tell myself. My actual reason is that he can’t turn me down if he doesn’t know I’m coming. My heart can only take so much, and this house of cards is already swaying and unsteady.

  With his unpredictable and ever-changing schedule, there’s no way to know when he’ll be home, but later is a better bet, so I slog home with everyone else knocking off their day jobs and walk into the quiet living room to find Brick and Amelia making out on the couch.

  “Oh Lordy,” I almost shout, even though I swear I meant to say it in my head.

  They spring apart, both blushing like teenagers busted by someone’s mother. If I wasn’t busy being mortified myself, it would be hilarious.

  “Um, sorry? Brick’s car wasn’t in the driveway or anything and you didn’t tell me….” I stop talking, because words are sliding out and on top of each other before I can sort through them. “Why don’t you get a room!”

  That does make them laugh—Amelia first and then Brick joins in with a more hesitant chuckle. The humor in the situation isn’t lost on me, and before long, we’re all snort-laughing. Quietly, because I assume Jack is sleeping.

  “The baby is in my room, obviously.”

  “Well, do we have any bleach? I need it for my eyes.”

  “Don’t be such a prude, Grace.” My cousin gets up and straightens her clothes, which are hanging on her almost the way they did before she got pregnant with Jack. “I’m getting some tea. Do you want some?”

  “Sure.” I pull off my gloves and shove them in my coat pockets, then sit in the chair opposite the couch and fix Brick with a glare. He raises his eyebrows, and once Amelia is out of the room, I point at him. “You’d better get your shit together and keep it there, because my cousin is a good person and she’s going to take it personally if you fail.”

  “I’ve never failed at anything in my life, Graciela. Trust me, I’m not going to start now.” His smile is tight, and his stormy eyes are hard and serious. “It was a glitch. I’m the last person who would hurt Amy. If push came to shove, I’d walk away before putting her or Jack through any more shit.”

  Every word he says spills over with reserved passion. There’s no need to ask myself whether or not I believe him—I do, without a doubt. And I knew, deep down, we could trust him with Millie’s heart, but after everything that’s happened, it’s nice to hear him say it.

  I couldn’t interrogate him further even if I wanted to, because Amelia comes back into the room with two steaming mugs of tea and sets them down on the table.

  “So, Grace, how was your day?”

  I fill them in on the basically nothing I did at the library, adding that I intended to look up the real estate records related to Harlan Boone’s death but didn’t have the address.

  Brick perks up. “We’ve represented the family since Harlan’s death—handled his estate. Maybe I could get it for you.”

  “Wait, what?” It takes several seconds for the words to sink in, and they still kind of confuse me. There are more than a few questions fighting to be the first out of my mouth, but the one in the forefront of my mind is why on earth the Boones would need a lawyer in the first place. Followed quickly by how they could afford the Draytons’ firm. “Represent them why?”

  “Well, my sister is the primary attorney on their account, but I believe it’s some kind of family court issue.”

  “Which means what?”

  He shrugs. “Custody, estate, divorce, adoption, that sort of thing.”

  It crosses my mind that there’s probably some kind of attorney-client privilege being violated here, but I’m not going to be the one to stop him.

  “But you don’t know what for, exactly? Trent said that Darla had originally wanted custody of Marcella, but she wouldn’t be going after her now, would she?”

  “Okay, so I can’t actually go into details. But the address of the house where he died would be easy enough for you to find on your own, so I don’t have a problem sharing that.”

  Dammit. I should have known he’d remember his duty sooner than later. Brick has never been much of a rule breaker. Still, if I have the address, maybe I can put off seeing Leo for at least another day. Depending on what I learn.

  “Thanks.”

  I’m still more than a little curious why the Boones have the Draytons on retainer, but I guess that’s a question I’ll have to ask Trent or Mrs. Boone. I doubt Leo would know what’s going on with the estranged side of his family.

  Brick grabs his phone, fingers poking at the keyboard like an old man for a few seconds before he sets it back on the table. “I asked Birdie. She’ll get back to me soon.”

  “What are you doing here so early, anyway? And where is your car?”

  “I knocked off early because I needed to drop my car off at the shop. I’m getting a Breathalyzer installed that registers the smallest trace of alcohol. Just for my own accountability.”

  “And you took it to Glory Jean?”

  “My brother says she’s the best.”

  To my surprise, the mention of Beau hits me with only a brief stab of nostalgia. An acknowledgment that he used to be a part of our little group and now he isn’t.

  “She is the best, that’s true.” A frown tugs at my lips. With everything else on my mind, I’ve successfully ignored the possible sabotage of my car, but Brick just gave me the perfect segue to bring it up. “She told me something interesting the other day when I dropped off my car to get the tire fixed.”

  Amelia’s eyebrows wing up as she snuggles back against Brick’s side, her tea in one hand and Jack’s baby monitor in her lap, the quiet whirr of his white noise machine providing the only noise in the now-silence. I’ve got an audience, which is something I usually avoid at all costs.

  Lately, I kind of suck at it.

  “She thinks that my flat tire could have been caused on purpose.”

  “What? How? By who?” Amelia asks, setting down her tea with a slight slop.

  It takes me a few minutes to relay the entire story. We all agree that it’s perfectly believable that someone would sabotage my car—that’s just the way my life has been going lately—but like me, neither of them can come up with any potential suspects. Things were supposed to get calmer with my father’s murderer out of the way.

  There’s always the possibility that the Fourniers aren’t done with me, or with Travis, but this roundabout attempt at sabotage doesn’t seem like their style. They’re more a kill you and get out of town before a
nyone finds the body sort, my father’s family.

  “Except someone is leaving you those stones,” Brick muses. “And Clete Raynard is still missing.”

  We retread the whole deal with the garnets, and Brick seems to agree there’s a connection to Clete.

  “What if a ghost’s responsible?” I asked, finally voicing my suspicion. “When I asked Harlan whether he left the other ones—in the door and in my car—he said no. Also, the door to my car was locked, same as our back door, and I was thinking if one ghost had a garnet, maybe the others came from one, too?”

  I don’t bring up my thoughts about my mother. I’m not ready, and I don’t know anything for sure, anyway.

  Amelia and Brick’s eyebrows shoot up in unison. Jack stirs, giving a brief little cry followed by some soft babbles that float into the living room.

  Amelia gets up, her lips pressed together. “This is a shit pile, Grace. You’re knee deep in it and you don’t know who keeps filling it up.”

  “I know.”

  Apparently all of our idea tanks are running low, because Amelia leaves the room without a suggestion, trudging up the stairs to get the baby. Brick’s staring at his phone, tapping away. A minute later, I get a text of my own.

  “It’s from me. I sent you the address.”

  I grab my laptop, thankful to have something tangible to focus on for a few minutes, and log in to the library’s public records account. I plug the address into a real estate search, then ask for a list of all owners, past and present.

  The results pop up. My heart leaps into my throat, where it stays.

  Current owner: Harlan Leonardo Boone.

  It looks like we’re going to need to have that chat, after all.

  I’m still reeling from the knowledge that Leo didn’t sell the house after his father’s untimely demise when Amelia trundles back into the room with a smiling Jack in her arms. She plops him on my lap.

  “I had an idea.”

  “Oh?” I manage.

  “Well, it was kind of your idea but maybe you forgot.” She shrugs. “You suggested asking my mother about the time your mom went missing.”