Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (31 page)

“Most of it, maybe,” Will chimes in. “But you maintained ownership over a majority share and Bette here sits on the board.”
 

“Though I’m not sure we can prove she stays awake through the meetings,” Leo jokes, his blue eyes hard.

The Middletons are silent.

“We may not have solid proof as to how involved you are personally in the day-to-day decisions,” I continue, “or if you were the ones who agreed to the testing. Or to the kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” The word sounds like it tastes foreign on Mrs. Middleton’s tongue. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” I don’t elaborate because it’s not important. We can use it as additional leverage if they won’t agree, but I think they will. “But I think that the Ethics Committee would be very interested in an investigation, probably the DOJ, too. Don’t you, Mr. Middleton?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. I expect him to demand to see the proof, and after a long pause, he does, holding out his hand for the file. Leo slides it across the table and we all sit quietly while he thumbs through it. Mel licks her cone. Mrs. Middleton toys with her gelato, now soupy in her cup, reminding me of a bored child.

It doesn’t take long for the senator to come to the same conclusion Brick did after perusing the file. He might be evil, but one doesn’t obtain and hold a position of power for decades by being stupid or obtuse. The anger on his face is the kind an animal shows when its prey escapes, not the kind that means he’s going to fight.

“What do you want?” he asks. “Not that I’m admitting to knowing anything, but I don’t need this coming out the year before re-election.”

“We want the charges against Mel and Leo dropped,” I tell him.

“And we want Allied to put a stop to these practices overseas,” Mel adds, her face a little green. It could be because of the double dose of gelato in a fifteen-minute span, but it’s more likely the same thing that’s bothering me.
 

If we have proof this good, if we could take the people who run the company down for real, we should do it. There are lives at stake.
 

We need this first, though. I resolve to see what Brick and Beau think about taking it further once we’ve got Mel and Leo out of trouble.

“I’ll have Bette talk to the board. And the charges won’t be a problem.” His face is bright red, and his jaw is clenched, making the words tight and hard to understand. “I want something in return.”

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to negotiate,” Will retorts, relief coloring his handsome face.
 

“Perhaps not, but if I’m to agree to what amounts to—” He glances around the shop and finds the workers in the back. They’re still listening, and we all know it “—blackmail,” he continues in a whisper. “Then I’m going to need some assurances that this will not be made public.”

“We’re not giving you the originals,” Leo says, steady and firm.

“What about signing an agreement to that effect?”

My friends and I meet gazes around the table, none of us happy. I think we have to agree, though, because we need him to cooperate. If we drag this out, if we force things through legal channels, Mel and Leo will both be serving jail time before it even gets to court. Hell, with Congress shutting down the damn government every time we turn around, it could take years for them to prosecute.

“Fine,” I agree for all of us. My stomach twists, regardless of the necessity.

“I’ll have my attorney draw it up, and I’ll take these.” He grabs the file like a desperate, greedy child. It doesn’t matter. Brick made three copies. One is here, one is in the law firm’s safe, and one is back in Marcia’s safe deposit box. We figure if no one thought to look at her all these years, no one will now, either.

“Can I ask where these documents came from? I’m more than a little curious, as—to my very limited knowledge, you understand—a company with the funds and reach of Allied would certainly take all precautions to cover their tracks.”

My hands curl into fists, and my friends’ expressions flash with indignant anger. If Beau or Brick, or even Birdie, were here, I doubt they could have kept their cools in the face of this man basically admitting that Allied would have had Lucy—or anyone else who refused to take their blood money and shut up—taken care of by whatever means necessary.

“I don’t know,” I lie, trying my best not to show him how bad I want to punch him in his smug nose. “I guess someone got tired of taking it lying down and hired a PI.”

I stand up so fast I knock over my chair, but we have to get out of here before my fury ruins everything. Will helps Mel to her feet, and Leo slides to my side, one hand on my elbow as a warning to cool down.

“When can we expect the papers?” Will asks. At least he’s thinking clearly because that’s important.

“As soon as tomorrow morning. I’ll call my attorneys as soon as we leave.”

“We’ll have them notarized, but won’t hand them over until the charges have been officially dropped.”

“Understood.” Now that he’s beaten, it’s clear the senator wants this over and done with, probably because he knows after looking at that file that he’s gotten off easy.
 

There’s a trail that would be simple enough for even a halfway competent investigator to follow, one that would end in significant jail time. If they could prove that anyone was killed as a direct result of the trials, the death penalty could be on the table.

I don’t think men like Randall Middleton get the death penalty, but I don’t think they fare well in prison, either. It’s not enough to imagine him there, or any of the jackasses who think people who have no money or education or status are no better than mice in cages, bred and waiting to be used however the powers that be deem necessary.

My vision is red by the time Leo drags me into the street. None of us say a word as we walk back to the SUV and pile in for the short drive back to Heron Creek. We might have won this battle, but as good as it is to not have to worry about Leo’s and Mel’s arrests anymore, the sour tinge to the air in the car suggests none of us is happy. This was a battle, sure, but it was a small one.

We didn’t beat them. We didn’t win.
 

Maybe people like the Middletons and the ones who run Allied Pharmaceuticals never really lose. Not to people like us.

M
el’s at the house the next morning, helping me skim through Charlotta’s journals. It’s nice to have her here. It stops the place from feeling so cavernous and empty without Amelia. I can’t go to Daria for help until I’m ready to face Mama Lottie, and I can’t confront Mama Lottie again without having all of the possible information about her son. There are too many mundane entries in the journal to go through between the ones that mention him, and every hour that passes twists my nerves tighter.

The root doctor hasn’t contacted me. I don’t know what
soon
means in his world, but it’s been almost three days. If I haven’t heard from him by the weekend, I’m heading back to at least talk to Odette. I can use the excuse of bringing her some soup, maybe. The last time Amelia was sick, LeighAnn brought a massive vat of matzo ball soup, and at least half of it is still in the freezer. Apparently Jewish women have some root magic of their own.

“Anything?” I ask.

Mel shakes her head, her eyes drooping. Grant’s asleep on the couch in the living room, within eyesight, and his little body, all cozy beneath one of Grams’s afghans, is making me tired, too.

“There’s a passing mention here, but just that the weather has been bad for days and Charles Jr. has been sick. She’s going crazy.” Mel smiles. “And she’s talking a lot about the baby moving.”

“I imagine it’s pretty freaky,” I murmur, skimming my own pages and finding similar stuff.

Her phone rings, and she almost knocks it off the table in her haste to silence the ringer before it wakes up her peaceful toddler. “Hello?”

I watch her, popping my neck and stretching my arms to loosen the kinks. Her expression goes from wary to worried as she checks on Grant, and then relief floods her eyes with such force I grip the edge of the table.

“I’m at Gracie’s. Yeah, we’ll call Leo. See you soon.” She hangs up, a huge grin stretching from ear to ear. “That was Brick. He’s coming by with the documents for us to sign.”

“So soon?”

She nods, already dialing her phone. “I’m calling Will. Can you text Leo? They’re going to be here in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“They?”

“Yeah, his sister’s coming. I’m sure she doesn’t know about all of his double-dealing.”

“She doesn’t,” I confirm, my fingers typing out a request for Leo to stop by as soon as he can.

“Will? Hey. I’m at Gracie’s, and the Draytons are coming by soon with the papers to sign. Can you get away?” She bites her lower lip, sliding a glance my direction. “Okay. Yeah. See you soon.”

“What was that all about?”
 

“He said he can get away, but he was worried about Travis hearing he was coming here since the detective is going about as mad as a hatter wanting to talk to you.”

“I just saw him the other night when he brought the state police by for a statement.”

“You know what I mean. About his being your brother, or thinking he is or whatever.” She sets her elbows on the table, chin in her palms as her light hair falls over one shoulder. “What are you going to do about that, anyway?”

“Not a damn thing right now. My plate is full with two curses and Amelia missing.” I shrug. “If I can ever get Frank to call me back or give me answers that aren’t as crooked as a snake, I’ll talk to him. Until then, he can take a number.”

Talking about Travis makes me think of Clete and the fact that I still haven’t told him that I’m thinking the Middletons are clean as far as Amelia’s kidnapping. She’s not close enough to the Allied case for them to have gone after her. If anyone, it would have been me or Will, since we were the ones who talked to Paul Adams. It doesn’t make sense that Marcia would have been so close all these years with no trouble of her own, but she’d never talked to anyone since returning to the States. Never told a soul she’d gathered that file until we came knocking.

It’s odd, especially since she seemed to have reservations about everything that was done—and not done—to combat their influence in the Middle East, but she
had
signed the nondisclosure. And people get scared. If even a small part of her worried that Lucy’s disappearance had been connected to her investigation into Allied, it could have been a powerful motivator to stay silent.
 

We put the journals away, and then I make a pot of coffee while Mel carries Grant upstairs to Amelia’s empty bedroom and tucks him in. I’m jumpy. It feels as though there are eyes on me that even I can’t see, and I can’t help but wonder if the young Mama Lottie is keeping tabs. She chased little Charles away, and Henry is still absent, too.
 

It feels like too many things are missing from my life.

My phone buzzes, and it’s Leo letting me know he can swing by but can’t stay, since he needs to pick up Marcella later. I have no idea what he’s up to today because his many jobs are too much to keep track of. Mel returns, and I wonder who will give her a job now, even if the Middletons do drop the charges. No one that handles any kind of private account information, that’s for sure.

“What are you going to do now, Mel? I mean…have you been looking for another job?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve been preoccupied with all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff, but the truth is…I kind of like it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You were always the first one to follow me into any kind of scheme, and usually with a half a dozen ideas on how to do it better.”

“Yeah, well, you never worried about getting caught. The flouting of the law is a Gracie flaw.”

“Maybe you should go into poetry,” I tease.

“Nah. If I want to be poor for the rest of my life I’ll go back to school and get a doctorate in history.”

It feels nice, teasing each other with a lightness in the room that comes from knowing she’ll get to do whatever she wants with the rest of her life, with no state record hanging over her head. At the same time, the easy friendship between us makes me hyper-aware of missing Amelia, because in Heron Creek, our group was never a twosome. It was always at least three, and most often four.

The front door opens and shuts, and a moment later, Will appears to add at least one more. There’s an Amelia-sized hole, as though we’ve set an empty place at our imaginary round table.

With her husband there, Mel stops talking about jobs and the future, leaving me to wonder if there was more to the conversation that went unsaid. I make a mental note to ask her about it later, with the full knowledge that I’ll most likely forget. Things are falling out of my overfull brain these days, and until I find out what happened to James and hear from the mysterious root doctor so we can move forward with helping Amelia, I’ve got no time for anything else.

Leo comes in right after Will, and the men are pouring cups of coffee still when Brick and Birdie show up. They’re dressed impeccably, him in a gray suit and purple flecked tie, her in a skirt and jacket, a soft pink blouse billowing underneath it and three-inch heels that are probably leaving dents in my grandparents’ old hardwood floors.