Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (17 page)

A chill attacks me. I haven’t been cold like this, not ever, except when the ghosts touch me. This is the same—freezing, like ice running through my veins instead of blood—and I turn up the hot water until my skin turns red, but it does no good.

Finally, I give up and twist the knobs to “off,” then grab the towel I left on the sink. Henry is still nowhere to be found as I yank on a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and thick wool socks left over from the winters I spent in Iowa. My need to relay the events of the evening to Amelia has eased, so in service of the unshakable cold, I take the time to gently drag a comb through my hair and blow it dry, wincing every time even a puff of air grazes the knot on the back of my head.

It’s late, but my cousin won’t forgive me for waiting until morning. There’s not even much to report—Mama Lottie now knows about James, but it seems as though it’s only going to cause her to hate the Drayton family more, not less. I need to know what happened after Charlotta came out with the news of her pregnancy.

Without worrying about the late hour, I shoot a text to Jenna. It’s not fair to keep asking her to put her position as the restoration expert at Drayton Hall in jeopardy for me, but I have nowhere else to turn.

Hey. Wondering if the journals you brought are a complete set. They end when Charlotta found out she’s pregnant. Any idea what came after, if she didn’t write it down?

I stare at the phone for a moment, waiting for the telltale three dots that say she’s responding but get nothing. Maybe the girl actually cut back on the coffee and got to bed at a decent hour. Or maybe she met someone. A smile toys with my lips on the way down the hall. It strikes me that while Daria and Officer Dunleavy would be an odd match, Jenna and Robert would be awfully cute. I should make that happen.

Maybe you should keep him on the back burner for yourself,
a devil sneers.
Since you’re single now.

I am not. I’m just…not sure.

Thankfully, his twin decides not to materialize. He’s probably off boozing it up or roasting some sinners over an open flame, one for which I am envious.
 

I open the door to Amelia’s room after my soft knock gets no answer, too keyed up even after the hot shower to even think about sleeping.
 

“Millie, you’re not going to believe…” I trail off, noticing she’s not in her bed. The windows are shut because of the weather, but the curtains drift lazily in the corner. It freaks me out until I remember there’s a wall vent under them.

I turn toward the bathroom, figuring she’s in there, but it’s dark. I investigate anyway, worry creeping in as I flip on the light. She’s not here.

Trying not to panic, I search the rest of the house, top to bottom, my heart in my throat. The memory of Amelia nearly drowning in the river while Mrs. LaBadie was still custodian of the curse causes me to throw my coat and boots back on and run out the door.

Millie’s not in the marshy, muddy land out back. She’s not on the dock, not among the trees, not in the river.
 

Not in the house.

She’s not anywhere. She’s gone.

Chapter Ten

I
t doesn’t take long to roust my friends from their beds. Thanks to Travis’s affinity for Amelia, all four members of the Heron Creek PD show up at the house in a jiffy, too. Normally, there are some stupid rules about missing persons and how long they have to be gone before anything official can be done. Not for the first time in my life, I’m glad to be living in a town this small.

I know something has happened. Something bad. I feel it the way I feel my own heartbeat. Not only do pregnant women not disappear in the middle of the night, but Amelia would never do that to me. Not with everything that’s happened lately, and not with what Frank and I were attempting downstairs.
 

Mel’s fingers thread through mine, holding on tight. Leo’s here, too, along with the cops, and even Lindsay Boone has shown up to help. I wonder where Marcella is, but the thought disappears before it finds a way out of me.
 

“We’re going to find her,” Mel whispers.
 

I nod, not able to look at her. If I make eye contact with anyone and see their pity—or worse, their fear—I will lose my shit so violently I might not be able to find it again.

People mill around the living room, aimless among the nervous energy we’re sharing like dispelled breath. To my relief, Will and Travis finish conferring and then Will claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“We need to spread out and search. Amelia has a habit of sleepwalking, so if we fan out we should be able to cover all of the ground she could have crossed on foot, especially if she’s not fully awake. Go in pairs. It’s late, it’s dark, and at the moment, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.

I squeeze Mel’s hand tighter and try my best to believe Amelia has just wandered off again and we’ll find her lying in the grass at Mrs. Walters’s house or taking a midnight stroll along the river in town.

The thought that Mama Lottie was here before Millie disappeared roils in my stomach. No one knows that but me, and there’s not much point in making it public. My friends believe me, about the ghosts, but they haven’t met Mama Lottie. They don’t understand what she’s capable of, and more than that, they don’t need to. This is my burden—mine and Amelia’s. If we don’t find her sleepwalking, it’s not like I can form a posse to hunt down a ghost anyway.
 

“We’re going to find her, Gracie.” Will’s in front of me now, his blue eyes determined in the middle but scared around the edges, where lines have found the sensitive skin over the years.
 

His face is dear to me, his words more so, and for a second I let myself feel like he could be right. I nod, then catch sight of someone tall coming in through the foyer—Beau.
 

A strangled sound gurgles, unbidden, from my throat, and my friends follow my gaze.
 

“I wonder how he knows,” Mel murmurs.

Beau knows everything that goes on in Heron Creek. It’s like he’s got a bat phone or something, though if he does, I’m not sure who would be on the other end of it.
 

Mel lets go of my hand and gives me a shove. “Go and greet him, Gracie. It’s your house. He’s here because he cares.”

It takes a moment to get my legs and feet to respond, but they eventually bring me to Beau. His eyes search the room until they find my face, and relief crumples his features. He’s always had a way of making me feel like, if not the
only
girl in the room, the most
important
girl in the room.

We meet by Gramps’s old chair while everyone pairs up and pulls on their coats and gloves. I walk into his arms as if nothing bad ever happened between us, and he folds me up tight against his chest.
 

“I just heard. Do you have any news?”

I shake my head, my cheek rubbing against the soft material of his down coat, and hold back tears. They won’t help. “We’re going out to look. In case she’s sleepwalking again.”

He rubs my back for another couple of seconds before pulling away to look me in the eye. Beau’s maple syrup gaze is steady. I cling to it, desperate to find a way to right the rolling sea beneath my feet.
 

“You don’t think she’s sleepwalking,” he says softly.

I bite my lip, thinking silly things like what if I jinx the search. I don’t want to lie to Beau, though. The need to have someone to discuss the ramifications of what happened when Frank was here is overwhelming. “I don’t know. We… My father was here. We talked to Mama Lottie, and she got pretty mad.”

My fingers unconsciously go to the bump on the back of my head, and I wince. Beau’s features darken, his eyes hardening into amber jewels.
 

“She hurt you.”
 

He reaches for me, but I back up, shaking my head. “It’s no big deal. Frank got rid of her, but after that…that’s when Amelia was gone.”

“Did you try calling him? I assume you have a way to get in touch.”

I nod, blinking away more tears. Apparently the well is not yet tapped out. “Three times. He’s not answering, but I left messages.”

After what happened, it’s hard to say whether or not Frank will call me back again if I want any help related to Mama Lottie. He put on a brave face, but he is scared of her, too. And he
 
should be.
 

She should scare us all.

“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? Amelia has struggled with sleepwalking, and she was alone for a while without anyone checking on her. Chances are we’ll find her.” He glances down at his watch. “Go get your coat. We should hurry since the temperature is still dropping out there.”

He’s right. We shouldn’t waste any more time, and it looks as though the others are ready to go. Beau and I join them in the foyer. Will assigns people areas to cover as they leave, until finally it’s just him, one of the Ryan twins, Beau, and me left in the house.

“Gracie, you and Beau walk along the river, okay? We should cover as much of the undeveloped ground as possible.”

“We can trace it all the way from the Harpers’ dock to the land behind my place,” Beau suggests in a quiet voice.
 

Some of his calm hops over to me, soothing the acid building up in my stomach. It can’t settle the bouncing desire to get out there, to be doing something, and I tug him by the hand.

“We’re checking back in two hours!” Will yells after us as we step off the porch.

“Lock up behind you,” I shout back, not bothering to turn around. Will knows where the spare keys are hidden so there’s no need to go back.

Beau follows me around the back of the house. We’re retracing the steps I took earlier when I went looking for Millie myself, and impatience chokes me. It’s not a bad idea to look again, I know. I could have missed something in my panic.

After searching for a while, it turns out I didn’t miss anything. There’s no sign of my cousin on our grandparents’ property. We do as Beau suggested, walking along the bank of the Charles River from our house to his. The current rushes toward us, unconcerned by the anxious humans at the river’s edge. We don’t speak, but unlike the burning awkwardness at his house earlier today, this silence is companionable. I almost forget that things aren’t the way they were.

“I found some interesting things in the investigator’s file on Lucy. I’ll follow up on the leads and let you and Brick know if I find anything.”

“Sounds good.” I don’t press for more information. I couldn’t process it right now anyway.

“Thank you for telling me what Brick found,” he adds, taking my hand to help me through a patch of brambles that snag the hem of my jeans. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I don’t know if he thinks that because of our recent decision to take time off from each other or because of Lucy’s involvement, but either way, he’s wrong. My heart hangs heavy at the thought of him thinking that just because we’re not sleeping together, I don’t owe him simple courtesy. It’s a reminder of the kind of family, the kind of environment, that nurtured him into a man. I squeeze his hand tightly for several seconds before turning it loose.

“Yes, I did.” I lick my lips, wishing I’d shoved ChapStick in my back pocket. “Just because things are off between us as far as couple stuff doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I like you, and not only because of the butterflies and kisses and other fun things. Do you really think I can turn it off like a switch just because we had a fight? What kind of person could do that?”

He pulls me to a stop so abruptly that I stumble. He catches me, his arms holding me up while I regain my balance, and I look into his face with exasperation. The tortured confusion twisting his expression stops me cold as his hands cup my cheeks, then bring our lips together in a rough, needy kiss that’s anything but romantic or soft. It’s the kiss of a man torn in half by his desires.

Beau’s teeth drag across my lower lip, parting me for him so our tongues can explore. The animal need rips open a well of lust in my center, and a growl emits from my throat. I kiss him back, just as hard, my hands fisting in his hair in an attempt to hold it in place forever.

But we don’t have forever.

It’s as though we share that thought at the same second, and the moment pops like a balloon. Or maybe I’m the balloon, because my body feels more deflated than ever.

He leans his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I know this isn’t the right time or place but I…I want this to work so bad. I just don’t know how to make it happen.”

Now it’s my turn to reach up, to touch his cheek. It’s red and cold, chapped from the wind and flushed with emotion. I wait until he looks at me, wishing more than anything for a way to soothe the anguish in his eyes.
 

“We can’t
make
it happen. It’s going to happen or it isn’t, but I have faith. I do.” I rub my thumb over his sharp cheekbone. “Give it time. Give
us
time.”