Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) (23 page)

“Are you talking to me or the kabobs?” I joke, happy to see him.

“Hmm. Maybe both.” He winks, turning to the grill.

I smile at Will. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Really good, actually. Oh, here.” He grabs a plate of cooked kabobs, and I see that some of them are steak. “These are ready.”

“The veggies are about done, too. Are we eating out here?”

“I
don’t know,” Will replies with a smirk. “We haven’t been told.”

The bugs will be a nightmare but the heat is finally bearable, and the sunset over the river casts a glow across the yard that’s impossible to resist. “Let’s do.”

Will salutes, setting the meat down on the table. I roll my eyes, giggling at his typical husband shtick but kind of wondering if that’s really how his relationship with
Mel is at home. Maybe that’s how it is for everyone. Sometimes I think married men are just better at picking their battles so it’s
Yes, dear
until an argument comes up that they’re actually passionate about.

Mel, Amelia, and I bring out the tray of Crash Hot potatoes and the platter of asparagus, along with bottles of white wine, a pitcher of sweet tea for the pregnant gals, plates, and salt
and pepper shakers. We sit around the table, everyone smiling and relaxed for what feels like the first time in months.
 

This is what my life in Heron Creek should look like. It’s not exactly what I imagined when I was younger—I never would have guessed that Millie would be the single one, and in those fantasies, I would have been the one next to Will—but it’s working out pretty well.

I cast
a glance at Amelia but can’t tell whether she’s faking her laughter. There’s a sparkle in her eyes that’s genuine, though, and a massive wave of warmth for our friends threatens to overtake me. We need to do this more. As children, we were there for one another in a way that’s rare. There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to step into those roles as adults, and everyone at this table—even Beau, it
turns out—needs a hand here and there.

Finding out about Brick’s depression and suicide attempt, and the forced therapy, causes me to wonder what scars my boyfriend bears from his youth in the Drayton house. It’s hard to believe even one of those children escaped unscathed. I put a hand on his knee under the table and give it a soft squeeze. The look he gives me in response starts a fire in my
blood. We’re in such a good place, despite the disagreement the other morning and the fact that we’ve still got more to learn about each other. Just having him at my side makes me feel safe in my own skin.

“So, I have some news,” Will says, wiping his lips with a napkin and tucking it under his plate.

Mel smiles at him with the same kind of comfortable pride Beau just directed at me, and the
rest of us stop eating, our attention focused.

“I got the job at the police department. I start Monday after a physical and drug test results.”

“Well, I mean, if you pass,” Amelia teases. “We all know how you are.”

“Right, Little Miss Pothead.”

“Hey!” Amelia laughs, looking imploringly at Beau. “That was just one summer, I swear.”

My boyfriend holds up his hands. “I promise I’m not going
to turn you in. Glass houses and all that.”

“Mr. Mayor!” I force a shocked tone into my voice. “I refuse to believe you’ve engaged in anything illegal in your life.”

We’re all laughing, now, trading stories about summers past and all the questionable decisions we’ve made at one time or another. Beau regales us with tales of boys misbehaving abroad, and only Will lacks a good number of shenanigans
to share. He’s got the goods on Mel, Millie, and me, though, since he was always the sober one trying to reel the rest of us back in. Or get us home before we barfed in his car.

I’d like to say
Poor Will
, but every single one of those memories is a good one. For him, too, I think.

We finish up, Beau and me hopping up to clear the dishes since the other ladies are pregnant and Will’s cleaning
the grill. There’s a peace to being in the kitchen, scraping plates and putting them in the dishwasher, bumping hips and arms and butts in the smallish kitchen as we search for Tupperware and foil, plastic baggies and dish soap. It’s a feeling that I could crave the rest of my life, except there are always monsters sniffing around the comfort Beau brings to my life. My father. This whole ghost thing.
Voodoo curses. Not to mention the question of whether there can
be
a rest of my life with a mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law who really don’t seem to like me. More than that, they are the kind of people I’m not sure I’d want influencing kids of our own.

I shove the concerns away, determined to leave them for another day. Beau and I have only been dating for a few months, but once
a person gets past a certain stage of life—like, high school and college—every relationship starts to have that
Could it be forever?
hovering over it, whether we like it or not. Still, maybe our imaginary kids’ well-being can wait.

Beau’s phone dings. He dries his hands on a towel and digs it out of his pocket while I struggle to dump leftover potatoes into a container without getting pieces
all over the floor without much success. Maybe we should get a dog. One that walks itself and doesn’t care if neither of us makes it home on occasion.

So, a robot dog, basically.

I finish up as he’s putting his phone away, the playful, easy tone of the past hour evaporated. Our eyes meet and my heart hitches. My first thought is,
What have I done now?

I don’t know what that says about me, or
us, but it doesn’t feel good.

“What?”

“I got an e-mail about your DNA results. I had them contact me directly so it would get done faster—I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. “Yes. Of course.”

“He’s your father…Frank Fournier.”

The confirmation doesn’t seem like news, really; I expected it. The moment he mentioned being able to see things that aren’t there, I knew it was true. My father is alive and
he found me somehow, after all these years. Now it’s up to me—to us, I suppose—to figure out what that means.

“Are you okay?” Beau’s voice is soft. He’s in front of me, hands reaching for my hips, breath moving the hair on top of my head.

I put my hands on his chest and look up into his face, wanting to memorize the gentle concern in his hazel eyes. After a moment, I nod again. “I’m okay. It’s
crazy to think that a month ago I didn’t
have
a father and now, I do. I guess I haven’t really decided how to feel about it yet.”

“That’s fair.” He wraps me up in a hug. “Take it from someone who has always had a father: sometimes they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”

The doorbell rings before his words can press another crack into the foundations underneath us. All the Draytons I’ve met
so far want little to nothing to do with me—why would Beau’s father be any different?

“I’ll get it,” I yell toward the deck, pulling away from Beau and standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Gracie Anne. I mean it.”

I know he does, and the truth of the sentiment sinks into my soul, spreading out with a surety that makes me feel taller, my back straighter,
the world a little less scary.

The front door is open, only the screen protecting us from the outdoors and any intruders. In this case, it’s separating me from Dylan Travis, a most unexpected guest.
 

Especially in his uniform.

My first thought, strangely enough, is that his feelings are going to be hurt when he sees we’ve invited people over for dinner and excluded him. I remember our chat
at the police station and feel a little more okay about it, then recall that he’s given Will a job and feel worse.

There’s nothing to be done but open the door, a fact reinforced by the irritation on his handsome face. “Can I come in?”

“Is this official police business?”

That makes him think, and my stomach somersaults. If it
is
official police business, I’m positive it’s not going to be good
news for any of us.

“Yes, but I’m not going to arrest you or anything. Today.” He gives up the hint of a smile, then shifts his weight when he finds himself still on the porch. “I have an update on the hospital case and I thought you’d be interested.”

“Oh. I would, thanks.” I hold open the screen door, and he steps onto the slick tile in the entryway, looking around.

“You cooking? Smells good
in here.”

“Yeah, we had a few people over and grilled out. Plenty of leftovers, if you’re interested.”

His face falls slightly, hurt in his stormy gray eyes for a split second before he rearranges his features into a professional grimace. Travis’s go-to expression, as a matter of fact.

“I’ve eaten. Thanks.”

“At your desk, no doubt,” Amelia interjects, sweeping in through the formal dining
room. “I knew you were working, otherwise I would have invited you.”

“Not a problem, Miss Amelia. I thank you for any worry over my health, but I assure you, I’m a grown man and can look after myself.” The statement is polite but with a slight edge, one that’s rarely present when he’s speaking to my cousin.

Maybe it’s because I’m still in the room.

Now her face droops, but she doesn’t recover
as fast as he did a moment before and Travis looks stricken. He reaches out, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t mean to be gruff. It’s been a long day at work, is all. It’ll sure be nice to have William join us next week and ease some of the workload.”

The gloom trying to wrap big hands around my cousin eases back at his explanation but I’m not totally buying it. I think his feelings are
hurt at not being included today, despite Amelia’s quick explanation as to why. This is Heron Creek. Travis could be on duty and still have dinner with us, just skip the wine. We all know it. But they’re determined to make nice at the moment, and I fully support avoiding confrontation at all costs.

“What’s going on with the hospital case?” It seems best to prod this discussion back on track before
someone starts crying. Or telling the truth.

Beau wanders in from the kitchen, a towel in his hands, and nods at Travis. “Detective.”

“Mayor.” Travis looks back at me. “We’ve been able to catch a break with security cameras on the bank and another outside Pete’s. He thought one of his employees was stealing from him a month or so ago and had them installed.”

“And?” It’s not that I don’t appreciate
a good story, but come on. This dragging it out is for the birds.

“We think it’s one of Clete’s guys—Cooter.”

The accusation is a lot to process all at once. First, for some reason, I’m worried about Cooter. The guy wasn’t involved in all of Clete’s bullshit when he inherited Glinda’s property a few months ago, not really. It was probably pretty damned naive on my part to think he had a prayer
of staying that way out there.

“Are you going to arrest him?” Beau asks the question.

My mind continues clicking along, sliding down muddy paths that lead to waterfalls over giant boulders. Not to be overly dramatic or anything.
 

This feels off in the same way as the fake tape at the hospital with the fake ghost felt off. As though it has something to do with me, and now that Clete and his
crew are involved, I feel more sure than ever that it does.

“Grace.” Amelia’s tone suggests this isn’t the first time she’s said my name and the concern in her emerald gaze when I look up confirms it. “Dylan asked you a question.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said I wanted to come to you first, since you’ve had the most dealings with these men. See if you had any ideas as far as what their motive would
be coming into town. They haven’t before, as far as I know.”

I shake my head slowly. “I haven’t talked to Clete in weeks, and the last time it was about his own business dealings. Nothing about town.”

In the back of my mind, there’s a faded memory, or something I noticed but never pulled out and examined. I think it has something to do with Clete and Detective Travis, but it will take some time
to extract it. “Will might have a better idea than I do.”

The pointed look Travis gives me says he’s not so sure. As irritating as he can be, as hard as he can make my blood boil just by being himself, the guy’s sharp. There’s no way he’s not thinking the same thing I am—that if they chose to include a fake ghost, they were really trying to include
me
.

As he follows Amelia into the kitchen to
talk to Will, I sink down onto the stairs. Beau sits beside me, one strong arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“What are you thinking?”

 
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. I just have this bad feeling that we haven’t seen the last of Clete. He’s just waitin’ for the right time to show up.”

Chapter Sixteen

The next time Dylan Travis shows up unexpectedly and unwelcome, it’s at the library just after story time the next day. Marcella was conspicuously absent, but Leo texted me saying she’s feeling under the weather. Grant and Mel pass Travis on his way in, and she looks as though she’s dying to turn back around but doesn’t.

“Miss Harper.”

Oh, crap on a cracker, it’s
Miss Harper
today. That can’t be good.

“Detective Travis.”

He glances around the room, which is mostly empty. Amelia is still back in the kids’ area, cleaning up the books that got scattered off the shelves and probably handfuls of Cheerios and heaven knows what else out of the carpet.

“Is this a good time to talk?”

“It depends what you want to talk about.” As hard as I try, my voice jitters.

“It’s about your father.”

“My what?”

“Your father.” His cheeks color slightly. “Your cousin mentioned his appearance to me, and as a favor to her, I ran a background check. The results came in this morning.”

He holds out the manila folder in his hands. I reach out and take it, those roots of dread in my middle curling deeper, winding tight. There’s nothing to do but open it and read, whether
or not every instinct is screaming at me to do the opposite.