Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (24 page)

My heart swells. For the first time in days, calm slows my thoughts to a point where they feel as though they can be dealt with before they run off to something else. “Thanks, Leo.”

“Anytime, Bugs.”

He pays the bill the bartender left in a shot glass in front of us while I grab my coat. I can’t help but feel better. Even if I’m not sure being compared to a rascal of a cartoon rabbit is a good thing, I suppose Bugs does usually figure out how to get his way.
 

“Did you know that you get a real drawl when you’re passionate about something?” I ask.

“Huh. No.” He shoots me a thoughtful look. “I suppose it’s been awhile.”

I wonder what he means by that as we exit and follow East Bay back toward the Market, but my curiosity skitters away at the sight of the tight group of women, one of whom promised to take me to see Odette.

“You back,” the older woman observes. Her head is wrapped in a turban now but her eyes remain kind, if worried.

“We’re back.” I feel grim, maybe because some part of me expects that something bad has happened to Odette. “Do we need a car?”

She nods, then pulls a scrap of paper out of her pocket. She shoots a glance at the other women, who have fallen silent in favor of staring with open distrust at the two of us, then slips it into my hand.
 

“She’ll be ’spectin’ ya.”

I hesitate, hoping she’ll say something else, anything that makes me feel more comfortable driving…where? I peer down at the paper. An address on Edisto is scrawled across it. The women shuffle off, casting looks back our direction.
 

“Well, clearly we’re not getting any more help from them,” Leo comments, leaning over my shoulder. “What’s it say?”

“It’s an address on Edisto.”

“Hmm.” He furrows his brow. “Mostly swanky beach houses out there.”

“Mostly. There’s quite a bit of undeveloped lowland, too. I don’t know where this is, but thanks to the miracle of GPS, we can still find it.”

“What did we do before GPS and satellites?” Leo wonders as we take off for his car.
 

The night keeps getting colder, and we waste no time climbing in the truck. Leo cranks the heat, and we wait for a second for the engine to warm up, holding our hands in front of the vents.

My teeth chatter. “Does the heat even work in this thing?”

“Hey, do not malign my girl. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“It’s not a crime to buy a new car, you know.”

“Says the girl driving a Honda that’s almost older than she is.”

I don’t have a comeback for that, and he knows it. We ride quietly, listening for directions from the disembodied voice on my phone as it steers us away from the lights of Charleston and into the dark surrounding lowcountry. Aside from a comment here or there on the land, we focus on what’s coming, even though neither of us has any idea what that will be.

If Leo feels out of his element when we’re in the mountains, I can’t imagine that hanging out with Odette is going to make him more comfortable. Especially if she’s not alone.

The twists and turns take us over a bridge and then off the highway. Soon enough we trade paved roads for rutted dirt and mud, making me glad we’re in Leo’s truck instead of my car. My old Honda has been steadfast, but I’ve been asking an awful lot of it lately, and despite my brave face, it’s creepy as hell out here.

We left streetlamps and stores behind when we crossed over to the island, and we seem to be following a stream or small river through the overgrowth. Leo pulls over and puts the truck in park after we hit a particularly jarring hole in the road.

“We should walk now, I guess.”

“Walk where?” I don’t know why I’m whispering.

He points, and when I follow the direction of his finger, I see small pinpoints of lights in the distance. The color of the glow, along with the way it grows and flickers, casting shadows on the trees, tells me it’s a fire and not a house.
 

I’ve done too much research online, perhaps, and my mouth goes dry. The images in my head are of wild dances, sacrifices, and spirits come to visit the living—all belonging to the voodoo culture that is more prevalent in New Orleans and not the Gullah people far more common to this region.

We get out of the truck without discussing it further. I pull my coat tighter around me as we start forward, the mud sucking at my shoes with every step. The houses on Edisto, the ones owned by rich people that Leo mentioned, all sit near the beach so they can get the most out of their properties as summer rentals. We’re on the back side of the island, the one that’s marshy and rests low next to a salty river like the one that rumbles through Heron Creek. It’s as black as a raven’s wings.

The stars overhead twinkle, doing their best to compensate for the sliver of a moon, but my hand slips into Leo’s all the same. He squeezes, and between our palms, the slightest bit of heat provides some comfort.

I take care to shuffle my feet as we draw nearer to the firelight, stepping on branches hard enough to crack them. I’m not sure anyone can hear over the hoots and rustlings in the trees but surprising them isn’t part of the plan. There are tents up ahead, as well as some makeshift shanties or lean-tos. They’ve set up a little town in a clearing next to the water, fires burning bright in the center to thwart the November chill. The people milling around see us a few moments after we see them.

In this world where people draw guns for little to no reason and think that every stranger might be someone who needs to be shot, there are more than a few reasons to worry—even if neither Leo nor I seem particularly threatening.
 

The people we’re approaching don’t seem worried. Curious, perhaps, as the glow from the fires illuminate the whites of their eyes. Their bodies are as dark as the night, almost without exception, and despite the fact that they live outside in tents, they’re all round in the middle.

My eyes scan the group for Odette, but I don’t see her lined, wise face.
 

A woman steps forward, her head wrapped in a colorful turban like the woman weaving sweetgrass on the street. Her eyes are kind but wary. “Can we help yah?”

The others have stopped what they’re doing to watch, to listen. To assess. Nerves ping in my stomach at being outnumbered, but no one’s body language suggests we should hightail it out of here. Leo jabs my ribs with his elbow, which hurts more than it would have before my run-in with Mama Lottie.

It does make me realize I’ve been silent too long. Like a creeper.

“Um, I’m… We’re looking for Odette? Someone told us she might be here.”

The woman studies me for another moment, her eyes flitting above my head and into the darkness, as though she’s chasing something down without moving. A shiver zips down my spine. Can she see the curse, too?

“Normally I wouldn’t let yah bring that there curse into the camp.”
 

Well, that answers that question.

She folds her arms over her chest. The group behind her gathers closer, all staring at me with more intensity now. “But Odette can’ be comin’ out thar, no’ in her state. C’mon.”

She gestures for us to follow her. Leo flicks a glance at the air around me, as though trying to see my curse like the woman just did. I elbow him back, at least as hard as he did me. His wince gives me some satisfaction.

“Ow. What’d you do that for? I just wanted to see it for myself.”

“Shut up. And maybe before you jab me again, remember I got the shit kicked out of me by a ghost a few days ago.”

Leo flinches, apologies written all over his face. “Oops, sorry. I forgot. It won’t happen again.”

The way he says it, with all kinds of conviction, makes me sure it won’t.

The night is warmer inside the circle of makeshift houses and firelight. The group disperses, perhaps having lost interest in us, or at least pretending they have, and the first woman crooks a long finger in our direction. We follow her to one of the small, wooden sheds and through the opening at the front.
 

It’s a simple, one-room space with a pit on one side for a fire and a pallet on the other side. That’s where we find Odette. She’s soaked in sweat, her forehead gleaming, but shivers underneath a threadbare blanket that looks scratchy.

Her eyes are as sharp as ever, despite the fever, and don’t show the slightest bit of surprise at seeing me hovering over her out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Yah brung that thar curse all tha way ta me, huh, girlie?” She shakes her head weakly. “Shoulda known yah coun’t handle it on yah own.”

The woman, who never introduced herself, slips out of the hut. I plop down on the dusty floor next to Odette’s pallet, happy for the warmth from the fire and ready to rest, while she eyes Leo.

“How ya doin’ t’nigt, hansom?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. The last thing Leo needs is an ego boost.

“I’m doin’ just fine, Miss Odette.”

“Miss.” She chuckles. It’s raspy. “You young devil.”

“This is Leo Boone,” I tell her, anxious to move on. “We’re here because I gave Mama Lottie what she wanted, but I don’t know if she took away the curse.”

“She ain’t done it.”

“I suspected as much.” I pause. “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?”

“I’s an old woman, and a virus got me. I be fine in a few days. Root doctor comin’ tah see me t’night.”

I can’t help but survey the small hut. I’m not sure a man who calls himself a “root doctor” is someone I want to meet.

Or maybe I do…

“What’s a root doctor?” I ask.

“Med’cine man. Healer.” She startles, as though she’s realized the same thing that hit me, then eyes me with renewed interest. “’Haps he can help yah, girlie. Won’ hurt tah ask.”

“You think he could help with the curse? Really?”

“Sure as shootin’. Man know his curses.” She peers at me, then her gaze slides to Leo and back. “Where’s yer kin? The one got it tha worst?”

My throat clogs at the mention of Amelia, at facing the fact that I’m going to have to stay it aloud.

“She’s missing,” Leo says, coming to my rescue.
 

“S’that so.”

Odette goes silent for a few moments. I’m acutely aware and sorry that I didn’t bring her anything, not even tea or a drink or some of the pralines from the Market that she likes so much. I hate that I’ve become so single-minded and focused, but there are so many things pulling me fifteen different ways.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything,” I say, my heart hurting. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yah got enough on yah mind. I s’pect yah’ll make it up tah me somehow.” She grins, her half-toothless one, and I feel better. “Root doctor gonna be here any time. Yah wanna wait, yah can.”

Leo puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just out to the car to grab something.”

“Yah better be careful of that ass out thar, hansom!” Odette squeals with laughter, sounding more like a teenage girl than a sick old woman, as Leo steps outside shaking his head. Once he’s gone, she turns her grin on me. “I likes ’im.”

“Well, I’m afraid you might have to take a number.”

“He gonna settle down someday. Yah can count on it.”

“Odette,” I say, wanting to get away from the topic of Leo and women. “Do you think it’s possible that Mama Lottie could have taken Amelia? She was at our house the night she disappeared and I…I made her angry.”

Her expression turns serious, the grooves that line her eyes and mouth deepening with concern. “What did yah do tah her? Shouln’t be messin’ with no evil. Yah knows better. Or yah should.”

“I wasn’t messing with her. I had information that I thought she would want. About her new curse.”

“Like what?”

I can’t tell if she’s curious because it sounds juicy or because she thinks more information will make it easier to help me, but in reality, I don’t care. Who’s she going to tell, the people outside? The customers who buy her sweetgrass baskets at the Market?

“Mama Lottie’s son fathered the illegitimate line of Draytons. I thought she might reconsider cursing them if she knew she’d be cursing her own blood, but I don’t know. It only seemed to make her hate them more.”

Odette licks her lips, which look parched. I spot a pitcher of water and a cup in the corner and go fetch it, pouring some for her and handing it over.
 

“Mercy. I’s tired all the way tah mah bones.” She drains the cup, then wipes her lip and settles back on the straw that lines the pallet. “Yah don’ know tha whole tale. ’Bout yah ghost.”

“Obviously,” I mutter. “But I’m working on it.”

“She gots her own secrets, child. Yah gotta know ’em, too, if yah wanna crack her.”

“I’d like to crack her neck. She did her best to crack
me
in half the other night.”

Odette shakes her head, dark eyes boring into mine. “No. All people’s got their own troubles. Hers might be worse’n yah think. Worse’n yah can imagine. Find out why she’s hurtin’, then figure out how tah help her. That’s what yah do, innit?”

I think about it for a moment. It’s what I
hope
I do for the spirits who come to seek my help. Maybe that’s my problem: I’ve been think of Mama Lottie as an adversary when, in truth, she’s another ghost who needs my help.

My fingers explore the still-tender bump on the back of my head. Thinking about helping her goes against the genes my mother handed down, the ones making my blood thick with the desire for revenge, but if turning all of this around to help Mama Lottie means putting an end to this whole thing, then I have to find a way to get my heart behind it.

“Look what I found!” Leo crows, stepping back into the hut clutching a small, brown leather case in one hand. He holds it above his head like a triumphant athlete at an award ceremony. He raises his eyebrows at our blank looks. “It’s dominoes.”

“Holy crickets, Leo. Are you a ninety-year-old man trapped in the wrong body?”

“Shut up.” He settles on the floor next to me, dumping the rectangular pieces out onto the floor. They clatter against the wooden floorboards, and he starts to sort them out. “Odette, if don’t feel like sitting up, you just tell us your move and we’ll take care of it, deal?”