Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (32 page)

They aren’t showing their hands as far as feelings go, which is par for the course. I expect Birdie to shoot me some kind of evil eye, or at least acknowledge me in some way, but she doesn’t, simply setting her briefcase on a chair and clicking it open.

“You’re all here, good. We’re here on behalf of our clients to discuss the charges they’ve brought against you, Leonardo Boone, and you, Melanie Massie Gayle. They’ve asked that we draw up two sets of paperwork for the two of you to sign.” She extracts the binder-clipped bundles from her case and lays them on the table. One goes in front of Mel, the other an empty chair that Leo takes a moment later.

I want to make fun of him for being named Leonardo, because that’s what I do, but it doesn’t seem like the time or place. Maybe I am maturing, because that never would have stopped me before.

“The first is a nondisclosure agreement, which is completely binding. It means that the documents and investigator’s notes that were disclosed to the senator and his wife last night will not be handed over to or discussed with any member of the press, law enforcement, attorneys, etc. No one.” She stares them down. “You got it?”

They nod. Her gaze shifts to me, and then I see the burning contempt in her eyes. She looks toward Will next and presses her lips together before grabbing two additional sets of documents.
 

“Since the two of you were also present for the handover of these sensitive documents, the Middletons also request that you sign identical agreements.”

She pauses as if she thinks we’re going to protest, but Birdie should know better, because she’s aware of what comes next. When none of us objects, she pulls two more bundles out of her briefcase. She’s like the Mary Poppins of lawyers with that thing.

“Once those are signed and notarized, I’m authorized to give you these copies of their official request to drop all charges pending against the two of you, on behalf of my clients, of course. We’ll drop them at the police station on our way back to the office.”

“Who’s going to notarize them?” I ask.

“I’m a notary,” Leo volunteers. “But I can’t do my own.”

I just shake my head at his revelation of yet another job.
 

Birdie purses her lips and rolls her eyes toward the heavens, as though asking for the patience to deal with schmucks like us for another five minutes. “Brick is a notary. He’ll suffice.”

For his part, Brick hasn’t said a word this entire time. He’s letting his sister do the talking and he looks almost like a disciplined puppy. I wonder how much she’s guessed about his involvement. I suspect whatever she knows, it will cost him in the long run.
 

Without any fanfare, the four of us sign the first set of documents promising to leave the Middletons alone and never tell a soul they’re majority owners of a company that runs illegal human drug testing. It leaves a slick, sour taste on my tongue.
 

Once Brick notarizes them all and Birdie tucks them away, she hands over the copies of the paperwork that says Leo and Mel will soon be able to go back to their lives with nothing hanging over their heads. It’s hard to believe it happened, that we were able to find what we needed. In some ways, I wonder if Lucy is gone but watching over us and if she led our little joint investigation in the right direction.

I don’t want to think that’s true. I want her to be okay, because if she’s not, the responsibility for avenging what happened to her will fall solely on our little group. And no matter what piece of paper I just signed, I know I’m not going to be able to turn my back on her. None of us will.

Chapter Nineteen

I
t’s not long after everyone leaves that Travis shows up. After what Will said to Mel, I don’t know why I didn’t expect him. Maybe my spidey-senses are off, without any ghosts to talk to for days now.
 

“Oh, hi,” I say when I see that it’s him standing on the front porch. “Come on in.”

I stand aside and let him pass, noting that his hair could use a wash and his eyes and cheeks appear oddly sunken. He pulls his hat off and twists the brim in his hands as we settle in the living room—me on the couch and Travis perched on the edge of Gramps’s old chair. He looks as though he’d prefer to be pacing but probably figures I’ll kill him if he does, which is true.

“What’s up?” I nudge, though I’m not sure what the hurry is. I think about taking a nap but doubt it would work with the way my mind is refusing to shut down.

“I came to give you an update on the case.”

Relief unwinds a knot at the base of my neck. There’s no space in my head for dealing with Travis or all of the questions surrounding my mother. Not now.
 

“The state and federal police completed all of their paperwork to get Amelia listed among official missing persons. They’ve got a photo of her and they poked around, did an investigation and talked to people. The ladies at the coffee shop were quite forthcoming, though not so much with helpful information.” A tired smile tugs at the edges of his lips.

“I can imagine,” I tell him, trying my best not to be resentful of that old bat. “No one saw anything? Not even Mrs. Walters?”

Our nosy neighbor would probably be the best bet for someone having actually gotten a glimpse of Amelia leaving the house that night, since she’s always spying on us. The thought sits me up straighter.

“No, unfortunately not. From what you said about the timing, it was late. She was likely in bed.”

“Likely?”

“She’s been ill. I’ve only been able to trade voice messages with her.”

I slump back against the couch cushions. “That sucks.”
 

“They didn’t find anything of note. No leads.” Travis shakes his head, a pained expression darkening his eyes. “It’s like she vanished into thin air, Gracie.”

It’s not so hard to believe if you’ve been told a ghost took her, but even if one of the Mama Lotties stole Millie, it’s not as though she could make her disappear…right? Amelia would have had to walk out of here on her own two feet, if not of her own volition, in order to get wherever the ghost is holding her prisoner.

I think.
 

I make a mental note to ask Daria about that the next time we talk. I’m starting to think I should pay her tuition and go ahead and sign up for an official course on ghost hunting.

“So we’re back where we started.”

“Yeah. Unless you’ve come up with anything?” He looks too hopeful for a detective. He’s the one who’s supposed to be making me feel better, not the other way around.

I shake my head, annoyed by his being here with nothing to really update. “No. I don’t think the Middletons are behind it, but they’re still worth looking into.”

“We are doing that, but as you know, they’ve got some fantastic lawyers and hate publicity.” He presses his lips together, looking as annoyed as I feel when I have to deal with those people. “And you and I both know they would have hired someone, and that’s going to take more time to track down.”

Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t had time to tell Clete to back off. He doesn’t have nearly as many yards of red tape to wrestle through as far as talking to people, and he’s more in touch with the element that would be on the hiring end of a kidnapping request. Still, I believe Charles. Mama Lottie has Amelia, but where? How? Can a ghost take care of my cousin, a real, still-breathing person, and keep her alive?

My mouth feels dry at the thought, kept so effectively at bay before now by all of the running around and other things that have soaked up my focus. Maybe I don’t want Travis to leave. Being here alone isn’t going to work, not unless I want to have a full-blown heart attack at the age of twenty-six.

“You can’t think of anyone else who would take her?” Travis asks, watching me like he knows things are going on in my head that I’m not saying. He’s a good cop, that’s for sure.

At least, he’s good at
being
a cop. His record and reasons for leaving his previous jobs are still a mystery to me, so maybe he’s not a good cop, in the literal sense.

“No. I really can’t.” There’s no way I’m telling him my main suspect died a hundred years ago, and there’s nothing he could do about it even if I did and he believed me. “Aside from the Middletons, no one has a reason to hate Millie. No one hates Millie.”

“So it was either them or it was random,” he concludes, not looking happy about either option.

For what it’s worth, neither am I.

“Have you ever worked a kidnapping like this before?” I don’t know what makes me ask, but maybe it’s the feeling that Clete is going to ask for dirt on Travis again sooner or later.
 

And maybe a small part of me thinks his leaving Heron Creek wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It would make my life less complicated, and I could go back to pretending that my family and history are what I always believed they were.

I frown, aware that isn’t true. Amelia being missing and Mama Lottie, the curse, Leo and Mel—it’s all making it possible for me to act as though Travis’s mere existence won’t change everything I know about me, but it won’t last forever. I’m not the kind of girl who can pretend very well, at least not with myself.

“Yeah. A couple. They never…” He blanches, shaking his head. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and when his stormy gray eyes meet mine, they’re sad. “They never turn out well, Graciela. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about one. Maybe it would help me think of something. Like, maybe I saw someone or thought something was off, I don’t know. How did you solve the others?”

He pauses for so long that I think he’s going to refuse and leave, but my patience pays off.

Travis runs a hand through his hair, then stares down at his fingers as he rubs them together, as though suddenly realizing that it’s been a few days since it had a wash. “We didn’t… They were both found dead, and in the first case, we also found the kidnapper’s body. The second one was a kid, and it was horrible in all of the ways you’d expect a child abduction to be.”

“How did you find them, though? Did someone see him take the kid? Track a license plate? An APB worked and a cashier spotted them and called the feds?”

Travis eyes me. “You watch too much television.”

“Don’t we all?” I joke, even though I don’t feel like it, and I don’t even watch a lot of television, besides. I much prefer books, but if he’s referring to my knowledge of the options for finding a missing person, history has all of the juicy goods a person could ever need.
 

“I found him. I…I didn’t handle it well.”
 

It’s not only what he says but how he says it that pricks my ears with interest. I wait, but this time it does me no good. Travis gets up, jamming his hat back on his head and shrugging into his jacket.

What he told me isn’t much, but it’s more than enough for someone like me, who has plenty of experience and training digging up dirt on the Internet. It could be enough to placate Clete, at least for now. If Travis’s “not handling it well” would appall the powers that be in Heron Creek, it’s possible that letting the cat out of the bag would be what the moonshiner needs to either blackmail the detective into submission or run him out of town on a rail.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Travis says, “or if we turn up anything after our interviews with the Middletons.”

I nod, pushing off the couch with the intention of walking him out. Travis is way ahead of me, his face even paler than when I let him in twenty minutes ago. The budding investigator in me suspects it’s because he told me more than he meant to about his life before coming here, even if it wasn’t much.

He’s scared, and I don’t think it’s just because of Amelia.

“Thanks, Travis,” I call from the back of the foyer as the front door closes behind him. He doesn’t acknowledge my farewell, leaving me shaking my head.

“Well I never,” I huff to myself, more sure than ever that what people say about Texas not being part of the South is true. Travis certainly never learned the manners associated with a Southern gentleman.

Or maybe he did and he just doesn’t care.

My phone rings, an unfamiliar tone that means it’s from a unknown number, and I scramble back into the living room and snatch it up before the call can go to voicemail.

“This is Graciela.” I sound breathless and decide that when life goes back to normal, I’ve
got
to take better care of myself. A few tennis games a week and the occasional run isn’t cutting it.

“I’m ready to assist you with what we discussed.”

It takes a moment to place the mysterious voice, but it doesn’t take long. My heart races. “Okay.”

The root doctor still has no name, but all that matters is that he’s willing to talk to me about how to break the curse Anne Bonny’s husband had put on our family.
 

“Come to the camp tonight. After dark. You may bring someone if you wish.”

He hangs up without another word. The whole interaction took place so fast and with so few words it’s hard to believe it happened at all. My stomach is a jumble of fear and anticipation and worry, but it’s something I can do instead of sitting around here and crying or banging my head against the wall.