Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (6 page)

“I’m saying we
need
dirt on the Middletons.”

Chapter Five

There’s no time to contemplate
how
I’m supposed to get dirt on one of the most prominent families in the state, because Travis has decided it’s time for us to have our little tête-à-tête regarding the recent break-ins in Heron Creek. I knew the confrontation couldn’t be avoided forever, not even with Beau throwing a bit of weight around, but my limbs feel like lead and my
mind races, then stumbles after our meeting with Phoebe this morning.

So much for a relaxing day off, even if Beau and I are supposed to have a chill night in at his place later. I’m thinking about changing venues. Amelia shouldn’t be alone, and we have so much to think about and try to plan that taking an evening off is a luxury we can’t afford. It sucks that Beau and I still struggle to find
time just for the two of us, but there’s nothing that can be done about it.

Tendrils of smoke waft through my head, curl around my overworked brain. It smells of incense and earth, and refuses to let me forget about Mama Lottie and the decision that needs to be made about the curse.
 

It may not matter soon whether Beau and I have time for each other. If I help a powerful madwoman put a curse
on his family, there probably won’t be a Beau and me at all.

I shake off the dread, face the police station, and do my best to clear my mind. I’m not nervous about talking to Travis, mostly because I didn’t do a damn thing but also because the other balls in the air require all my focus. The break-ins around town—at the hospital and then at the bank—can’t compete with Beau and Amelia.

Travis
is at his regular desk out front and one of the twins—Tom, I think—blinks up at me. He shoots a wary glance at his boss and, finding himself watched, doesn’t move. Apparently they had a talk about not manhandling me every time our paths cross and maybe especially not when they’re on the job and I’m a suspect in one thing or another.

Which is the majority of the time.

“Miss Harper,” Tom says
in a serious voice that’s at least two octaves too deep.

I roll my eyes, unable to stop a giggle, and perform the world’s most awkward curtsy. “Mr. Ryan.”

He snorts, we crack up, and then he trips me on my way past. It only makes us laugh harder, and by the time I plop into the seat on the side of Travis’s desk he’s exuding a massive amount of exasperation.

“You know, you’re not helping.”

“Not helping with what?” I ask, my eyes too wide and my tone too clueless.

Travis shakes his head, Tom covers a louder snort than the first one, and I’m pretty pleased with how this so-called interview is going.
 

“I have a few questions for you about the bank robbery last week.” Travis puts on his business face, which isn’t all that different from the co-conspirator face or the concerned-about-Amelia
face or the eating pie at the diner face. “Starting with where you were on that night between eight p.m. and midnight.”

“At Drayton Hall.”

“Working?”

“No.”

“Can anyone vouch?”

“Daria.”

His eyes widen slightly. “The medium?”

“Yes. Is there some reason she’s not a reliable witness?”

He coughs, then shakes his head. “No, I’ll check with her. I’m just…I don’t know. Surprised that you’re hanging
out with her.”

Irritation heats my cheeks. “Is this an interrogation or a role-playing game where you’re my big brother? You asked where I was when the bank was robbed. I was at Drayton Hall with Daria, and one of their employees can verify, as well, though I’d like to involve her only as a last result.”

Having him interview Jenna Lee would force her to admit that she rearranged the cameras
so Daria and I could avoid getting arrested again for being on private property off-hour, and that could lead to trouble. The last thing I want to give the restoration expert for her help.

“No, the medium should be fine.”

Travis is quiet for a moment, doodling in a notebook but not making any notes.
 

Impatience curls my fingernails into my palms. “Was there anything else?”

“For the record,
I don’t think you had anything to do with the robbery, Graciela, but if there’s anything you do know, now’s the time to tell me.”

“Like what?”

“Like where your father ran off to and if he broke into the bank safe before he left?”

My cheeks grow hotter. “I don’t know the answer to either. I didn’t even know I
had
a father until about a month ago, so you’ll understand if he doesn’t share each
and every illegal act with me.”

“Don’t get your dander up. I have to ask these questions, given the circumstances.”

“By circumstances, do you mean my father’s record or the fact that whoever is robbing these places is making it look like a ghost is doing it? Or maybe the
circumstance
is the fact that you can’t seem to solve a damn crime without my help…”

A guffaw from the direction of Tom Ryan
has Travis swiveling in his chair, ears crimson. “Get out. Go get a coffee, and find your damn brother.”

Tom’s out of his chair and gone so fast I swear there’s a cartoon swirl of dust in his wake. Travis spins back to face me, his expression blank now. He can’t fool me, though. I pissed him off, but it’s hard to care. Especially when I did it on purpose.

“I don’t give much credence to this
ghost nonsense. That said, the rest of this damned town seems to think you’re normal as the day is long, so if you say you’re seeing ghosts, then you must be seeing ghosts. And if you didn’t rob that bank, or have something to do with robbing that bank, then someone’s setting you up.”

“So you’re saying you need my help.”

“I’m saying you should be a little more concerned. Because that timeframe
I gave you? Bullshit. The cameras were doctored, and the robbery could have taken place at any time.” He levels me with a gaze that sinks my stomach. “Get serious, Miss Harper. If this were a different town, if your boyfriend were a different man, if I were a different detective, you’d be in danger of going down for this. I suggest we work together to find out why.”

I nod, trying to swallow.
My tongue and throat feel as though they’re coated in sawdust because this is one more ball that Travis is forcing to stay in the air. And I don’t even know how to juggle.
 

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

He takes a deep breath, sweat shining on his forehead as though he just climbed Everest. “The truth this time…was your father involved?”

I consider my answer before letting it fly. My father,
with his somewhat enviable talent for getting spirits to cow to his whims instead of the other way around, is certainly capable. He’s got the rap sheet to prove it.

Still, I shake my head. “No. He would know that the evidence would lead back to me, and I don’t believe he would want that to happen.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m not. I just met him so I’m going on instinct.” I pause, biting my
lip. “I think…you should take a look into Clete Raynard.”

His eyebrows go up. “The moonshiner?”

“That’s him.” My eyes roll heavenward, asking for divine protection. This part is going to go over like a lead balloon. “He may have insinuated that he has a beef with you, or is hell-bent on either getting you to back off their activities. Or replacing you. He wasn’t specific.”

Travis’s big, storm-gray
eyes bug out. His palms press into the desk, as though maybe the contact is all that’s stopping him from throttling me. “When were you going to tell me this?”

“Obviously never.”

“Graciela…”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get involved. But I think he’s stealing the drugs from the hospital, along with whatever was taken from the bank safe, and is using the whole ghost angle because he thinks
it gives him something to hold over my head.” I shrug. “He wants to be able to pull the strings of everyone in town, as if we’re all a bunch of puppets.”

“And he doesn’t have a way to control me so he’s resorting to threats,” Travis muses.

“Something like that. I don’t know. But it’s a place to start.” I pause, considering. “Unless you want to learn how to dance.”

“I don’t think so.” He chews
on the serious part of my suggestion with as much thought as Clete has ever given gnawing on a lip full of tobacco. Then he nods, a gleam in his eye that means he’s on the case. I hope.

“Thank you, Graciela. We’ve been running up against brick walls with this one, and with the body showing up at your place yesterday, things have gotten a little busy.”

“Where’s Will?” I ask because it sounds
as though the Heron Creek PD needs more hands—a sad state of affairs, indeed.

“He’s out on the autopsy.”

“Yuck.”

“Why do you think I sent him?” Travis smiles, a real one this time.
 

“So are you going to tell me what you know about Mrs. LaBadie’s death?”

“You and Amelia will be briefed, along with William and Melanie, since you were involved in the previous case against the woman. We honestly
don’t know any more at this point. Have the state police contacted you?”

I shake my head. “Not yet, but we’ve been out of the house all day.”

“Yes, Amelia told me she had a meeting with her attorney. How did that go?”

“She’s a ballbuster, so that’s good. It’ll be nice to watch someone tear Brick a new one for a change.”

“Thanks for the mental image.”

I shrug. “It’s true. I don’t know, though.
She says we need more than Amelia’s sweet face and terrible story—we need something to cast doubt on the Middletons’ fitness as guardians.”

“Hmm.” This time, the gleam in his eyes seems to say that he’s guessed where this is going. “Please don’t make me arrest you again, Graciela. I’m starting to like this job.”

That earns him a snort, and I pat his arm. “Beau’s more bark than bite. Don’t worry.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You have more tools at your disposal than I do.”

“Why, Detective Travis! Was that an inappropriate reference?”

“You’ll never know.” His smile fades. “Take care of yourself. And your family. This has a rotten stink to it…all of it. I don’t know what’s going on in this town, but I’m worried.”

“You’re not alone. And I’m doing my best.”

“As am I. Let’s just hope it’s
good enough.”

I meet Mel at Debbie’s for a late lunch, feeling a wash of relief at seeing her face on the other side of the booth. She’s pregnant, red-cheeked, and looks too serious with her hair pulled back in a knot to match her pencil skirt and white blouse, but there’s so much comfort in her presence that I want to pull it over me and use it like a shield.

“Hey,” she says, looking up
from a menu that hasn’t changed since we were ten. Or been wiped down. “Are you going to get the club sandwich or the club sandwich?”

“Ha. I’m thinking about the club sandwich. But maybe on a croissant instead of white toast.”

“You’ve always been such a wild woman, Gracie.” Her smile wavers as she takes in my face. “How did it go with Travis?”

“Okay. He’s on my side, I think.” I reconsider.
“Or Amelia’s side, anyway.”

“He’s not going to make your life harder?”

I shake my head. “No. He wants to know if I thought Frank was involved, and I told him I didn’t think so. I did mention that maybe he should look into Clete, though.”

Her sharp intake of breath matches my own feelings on pointing Travis in that direction. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s going to know it was you.”

“I know. It’s probably a terrible idea, but what the hell? We all need a way to turn the power tables on Clete, especially now that Will’s on the force. How long will it be before that old coot decides that Will’s going to keep doing him favors?”

“We
do
need to do something about him,” she agrees. It’s so matter of fact, like the two of us totally have a shot taking down a guy who’s been skirting
the law since before he could drive a car.

The waitress comes over and takes our orders—a club sandwich on a croissant for me, a Reuben for Mel—and retreats. The Reubens here are supposed to be wonderful, but the smell of sauerkraut makes my stomach try to run for the hills.
 

Once she’s gone, we shy away from the Travis conversation since there’s really nothing new to report in either investigation
at this point, and I fill her in on the visit to the lawyer’s office today.
 

Her slender eyebrows go up at my description of Phoebe Rice, and she sips from a giant sweet tea. “And she made a point to mention how close she and Beau were or are or whatever? Girl, you’re a better woman than me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s clearly after him.”

“She did call me ‘interesting.’”

“Yeah. And no matter
what your seventh grade teachers tried to tell you, that’s not a compliment when it’s coming from a woman you don’t know.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, alienate her? She’s a really good lawyer and, more importantly, the only one willing to take the case.”

“Let’s just hope her bill doesn’t request unlimited access to your boyfriend.”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t even really
like
Beau. All
of a sudden you’re rooting for him to stay in my life?”

Mel considers, toying with her straw. “It’s not that I didn’t like him. It was that whole Lindsay Boone business. The way he’s handled all that has been impressive, and he’s so sweet with you, Gracie, and I don’t know… I guess this whole curse thing has me feeling down. You deserve a good guy, and Beau
doesn’t
deserve a voodoo hex any more
than you and Amelia do.”

My chest hurts. The pain is all over, glowing across my skin, but there’s no good answer. We don’t all get to be happy, not unless there’s another way to break the curse that none of us have figured out over the past six months. Even Odette doesn’t seem confident in our ability to beat it on our own. Though it is possible she just wants more free oysters.

“Amelia seems
better since LaBadie showed up dead,” Mel continues, watching me with perceptive brown eyes.