Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (14 page)

Hell, I might not have become the out of sorts, hot mess of a woman who apparently commanded his attention on the sweltering summer streets of Heron Creek all those months ago. There’s no point in wondering what might have been, not ever. Dealing with my complicated feelings about Will had taught me that, but so had meeting the ghosts who had visited me. A person could only deal with the problem in front of them.

I stand on Beau’s porch, my hand raised to knock, focusing hard on that belief. And the problem in front of me is getting Leo and Mel off the hook as far as the Middletons. If we’re going to take this thing further, we need to know more about Lucy and what she might know—hell, maybe we need to talk to other people at the aid company.

We can’t do any of that without checking with Beau, or at least cluing him in. It would upset him too much, and I’ve already done enough of that to last a lifetime.
 

No more secrets,
I tell myself in a stern voice, then rap on the thick, wooden door.

Maybe he won’t be home. That would be okay. I could leave a note and put this awkward moment off for at least a couple of hours.
 

The sound of heavy footsteps, followed by the porch light flickering to life, puts an end to that brief fantasy. I squint in the sudden glare, wondering too late why I didn’t take the time to at least look in a mirror. We haven’t seen each other in three days, the longest we’ve gone since things got serious between us. It wouldn’t have killed me to at least look like a woman he’d consider letting back into his life.

The look on his face when he opens the door and sees me is part sorrow, part anger, and all regret. The same emotions pump through me, speeding up my heart and shoving it into my throat at the same time. We stare at each other for long enough that the awkwardness threatens to swallow me whole.

Finally, he stands aside, a wordless invitation into his house. In the foyer, I shrug out of my coat and his hands are there, like always, to help. He turns to hang it in the front closet, and I take advantage of the moment to torture myself with a close examination of his familiar frame—strong shoulders, narrow waist—and his handsome profile, all so dear to me now.

The scent of his aftershave and shampoo mingle, and the damp curl of his chestnut hair at the nape of his neck suggests that he’s been in the shower. I focus on the worn blue jeans and flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, to avoid thinking about Beau naked. My stomach doesn’t know whether to flip or vomit or run for the hills, which I imagine makes for an interesting expression.

I rearrange my face into a mask of apology in an attempt to get myself under control. There had been a plan in the car on the way here.
Stick to it, Gracie.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I know you said you need time and space and thinking and all of that, and I respect your wishes. I do.”

He finishes hanging up my coat and turns back toward me, crossing his arms over his chest. The look on his face isn’t angry at all now. It’s mostly wary, but his hazel eyes reveal the slightest bit of amusement. It always makes him smile when I can’t shut up.

“Yes, I can see that,” he comments, then tips his head toward the kitchen. “I was just making some tea. Let’s go into the kitchen, and then you can tell me what’s trumped my request.”

I cling to the fact that he doesn’t seem mad. Yet.
 

In the kitchen, I find myself perched on the same stool I sat on the first time I came over. Above me is a rack that holds his copper cookware, one that’s always made me concerned for my head. That particular body part might not always be on my side lately, but that doesn’t abate my fondness for keeping it un-dented.

“It’s important, why I’m here.” I swallow, trying not to stare at his butt as he removes the kettle from the stove and preps two mugs of tea. The scent of blueberries fills the kitchen. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with the two of us.”

He spins toward the island and pushes a mug my direction. I reach out and take it, daring to meet his eyes for a brief second. Any longer is impossible; it hurts too damn much.

“Oh.”
 

Is that disappointment in his face? Does he
want
this to be about us, for me to be the one who couldn’t wait, couldn’t last?

I am that person, Beau. I miss you so goddamned much.

The specter of Lucy, so much more real than she was this morning, stills my tongue. She’s the reason I’m here, and no matter how bad I want to let Beau wrap his arms around me, even that won’t make the trouble in my life take a hike. It never could, and maybe I let myself believe in fairies for far too long.

Then again, ghosts
are
real. I glance around and over my head, wondering for a second if I just killed one of Tinkerbell’s cousins by saying I don’t believe.

I mean, she was kind of a bitch, but no one deserves that.

I shake my head, pressing my lips together in an attempt to focus on the present.
 

“Okay. This is going to be weird, so I’m going to tell you everything and then you can ask questions.”

“Same old Gracie—giving orders.” He sips his tea. “I’ll bite.”

“You know that during Amelia’s custody case, my friends and I were looking for dirt on the Middletons. Anything that would shed light on their poor character and inability to raise a child.” He nods, his eyes never leaving my face. “We talked to the nanny, and that man, Paul Adams, who worked for Mr. Middleton when he owned Allied Pharmaceuticals.”

“I remember.” He purses his lips. “He said something about illegal drug testing overseas, but it was back in the eighties and he had no way to prove it.”

I nod. A sudden chill zips through me and I wrap my hands around my mug, letting the steam bathe my face. “Well, with Leo and Mel in trouble, we’ve decided to re-examine some of those accusations.”

He peers at me, expression keen as he puts together the pieces. “You’re hoping to use the information to convince them to drop the charges?”

“That’s the idea, yes.”

“You’ll need proof. You’ve pissed them off too much for scare tactics to work this time.”

“Brick said as much.” Beau’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of his brother. “He’s helping us.”

A low chuckle winds its way out of his chest and across the island, tickling my ears and warming my blood to a simmer. God, why does he insist on being so sexy?

“What’s so funny?” I manage, attempting to get a hold of myself.
 

“Brick helping you. This whole thing with Amelia. It’s not
funny
, exactly. I mean, not in a joking way.” He shrugs, taking another sip of tea. “It’s in more of an incredulous, happy-for-my-brother way.”

I don’t comment. There’s no way Beau can be any happier about the blossoming whatever it is between Brick and Amelia than I am. It’s too awkward, the thought that we’ll be forced to stay in each other’s lives, even on the periphery, if things don’t work out with us in the long run. People should be able to split for good, if they want.

If I had to continue to see David, even on an irregular basis, it would annoy me to no end, and the wound from this thing with Beau is fresher. If he dumps me for good, spending time with him would be like a cheese grater to the skin.

You see Will,
one of my devils protests.
What does that mean?

Will is different. We were friends before we were anything else. Our bond runs deeper than romance, holds us tighter than mere lovers. I’m starting to believe that people
can
be friends with their exes. If they were friends first.

I choose not to comment on the whole situation. There’s no point in getting worked up about it when we don’t know what’s going on. It could fizzle out after the drama dies down. “Well, amusing as it may be—and that remains to be seen—he has been helpful as far as the Middletons are concerned. It turns out that they’re still majority shareholders in Allied Pharmaceuticals. Mrs. Middleton sits on the board.”

He frowns, a wrinkle on his forehead suggesting he’s assessing that. Then, he shakes his head. “No way she’s more than a puppet for her husband. She’s a well-known pill popper.”

I nod, wishing he would stop interrupting. This is hard enough as it is. I just want to get it over with. “Well, that’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed. There have been more complaints toward Allied, some as recent as the past five years, saying that the company is still recruiting people in third world countries to test their drugs—malaria, Ebola, whatever. Who knows what they’re really testing.”

Beau frowns. “That’s awful. Have you thought about how you’ll get proof?”

“There’s more… Most of the foreign aid organizations accepted money to keep their mouths shut, but there were volunteers here and there who were vocal about disagreeing.” I suck in a deep breath and meet his gaze. He goes still, obviously guessing that whatever I’m about to say isn’t going to go down easy. “One of the people who fought the hardest for the people in Iran was Lucy.”

It feels as though all of the oxygen disappears from the room. We’re suspended in time, in a cloud of confusion that clears as my words find the correct order in Beau’s ears. He slowly lowers his coffee mug to the counter. His face shutters, closing his emotions off from me. Maybe from himself.
 

No one knows better than I do that dealing with this kind of shit requires distance. Even from yourself.

“My Lucy?” he chokes out.

Something about the way he says that sends a harpoon straight into my heart.
His Lucy
. Am I his Gracie? Was I ever? Or did losing her leave too big of a hole in his middle to ever be filled?

Thanks to my own insistence on hiding various truths from him, I may never have the chance to try.
 

I swallow, then nod. “Yes. She was working for a school in Iran, and some of the girls went for drug testing. They got sick, and she kept trying to find out where they’d been. She wanted to report Allied to the World Health Organization and probably a dozen other places. Before…”

“Before she was kidnapped.” He runs a hand through his thick hair and starts to pace. “So maybe it wasn’t the Taliban or ISIS or terrorists that grabbed her at all.”

“Or maybe it was.” I want to believe that, as bad as it sounds. I don’t want to think that a Fortune 500 company would have someone kidnapped.
 

“You don’t believe that.”
 

I pause, still stung from his words, pained by the twisted, tortured expression on his face and my inability to say or do anything to make it better.

Be honest.

“No, I don’t. Paul Adams is dead, too. Hit by a car outside his house a few days after he talked to Will and me.”

“Jesus Christ.” Beau rounds the island and sinks onto the stool on the end. “Jesus. Gracie, do you know what you’re saying?”

“That Allied Pharmaceuticals is prepared to kill to keep their secret? Or to keep doing business as usual? Yeah, I know what I’m saying.” I shove my shaking hands between my knees and pinch them there. “If we could find a way to prove it, we could do more than help Mel and Leo.”

He raises his blank gaze. “Do you think we could find her? Lucy?”

It honestly hasn’t crossed my mind. Not because I don’t care, but because even I know the statistics on finding people who have been missing as long as she has aren’t good.

“All I know is that we need to pursue this, and we thought maybe you could remember something about Lucy—where she was, the name of the school. It would be a place to start.”

After a moment, he nods. “I have a file. I hired investigators when it first happened, but they all hit dead ends. Come with me.”

I slide off the stool, in a slight daze, and follow Beau into the den. There’s something comforting about being back in this house, with him. It wraps around me, calming me when it’s hard to breathe.

Beau unlocks a file cabinet behind his desk and rifles through the folders for a moment before pulling one out. It’s about an inch thick, and he opens it on the desk and thumbs through it.
 

“That’s it?” I ask, hearing the dismay in my voice.
 

He looks up, as though surprised to still find me there. His expression softens. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. I actually… I’m glad to see you. When I thought you were here because you missed me, I was looking forward to talking about us, Gracie Anne. I want to do that. I’m… I miss you.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I miss you, too.”

He breathes out. I breathe in. For those short moments, everything is possible again.

“But I can’t read through this with you standing over me.” His fingers curl around the edge of the folder, as though he’s holding onto them in a tangible manifestation of his hope that Lucy could be alive. “I’ll make a list and get it to Brick. Anything I think could lead back to Allied.”

“Okay,” I whisper.
 

He stares at me for another second before looking down at the papers piled inside the folder. It’s a clear dismissal, and I can’t blame him—no one works best with someone staring at them, even when that someone isn’t an ex-girlfriend. Or on-a-break girlfriend. Whatever.

I turn to go, my heart heavier than it was when I walked up the steps an hour earlier, then pause in the doorway. As horrible and interesting as all of this Allied Pharmaceuticals stuff is, there are other things on my plate. Family things. Things I can’t undo.

“Hey, Beau?”

“Hey, Gracie?”

“Your mom sort of banished me from Drayton Hall.”

“Didn’t she do that a while ago?”

“Technically, yeah. I still had ways of getting in, though, but not anymore. I need…” I swallow. “I can’t stop going. Not yet. Is there any way you could, I don’t know, convince her to go easy on me?”

He snorts. “My mother? Gracie Anne, you’ve met the woman. I doubt it, but I can try. For you.”

I lick my lips, finding the courage to look him in the eye. “Thank you, Beau.”

The next pause is the kind that means something will follow it, the one when you know the other person is wondering whether or not to say something but you know he will. I wait for it, trying to steel myself for whatever’s coming.