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

I let him give his speech, which he’s obviously been working on for a while now. It isn’t clear how he discovered that I knew, but it’s easy to guess that his mother told him about my email. People just can’t keep proper secrets anymore.

“Travis, it’s okay. I mean, yeah, it would have been nice if you’d been honest from the start so I didn’t feel like you’re some kind of creepy stalker now, but that’s over and done. We need to talk.” I motion to the porch swing but see that it’s damp from the storm, and sigh. “You’re not Felicia’s son.”

“Yes, I am. She’s the one on the adoption papers. My parents insisted that it be an open adoption. They didn’t want any secrets, and they wanted me to be able to contact my mother if I so chose.”

“So you’ve seen your birth certificate.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“No?” I bite my lower lip, puzzling it out for a minute. “Did she want to protect your father?”

I haven’t the slightest idea who Travis’s father could be if it’s not Frank. It could be anyone, but I don’t remember my mother being with any one man long enough to do his dirty work, but I was young. I don’t recall her having any girlfriends, either, so the main mystery in my mind is where on god’s green earth she got a baby that needed to be given away? How did she find the Travises?

“I don’t think so. She told my parents she didn’t know who my father was.”

I flinch at the slight accusation in his words. My mother was drawn to the possibilities of love but struggled to enjoy the day-to-day slog of making things work, that’s for sure. My own birth wasn’t exactly legitimate, so it’s not
impossible
that my mother had another child on accident.
 

It couldn’t have been a boy, though. That’s not possible.

Looking at the determined set of Travis’s jaw, a deep sense of dread settles in my gut. He’s not going to let this go. He probably thinks I’m being stubborn because I don’t want to believe that Fe could have had another baby after me, that she wouldn’t have kept him. Maybe that would mean I’m special or, more likely, that she hadn’t wanted children at all and was already saddled with me.

I’m going to have to tell him the real reason I know he’s not Felicia’s son. And it’s going to suck.

“Look, Travis…”

His features harden the way they had the first night we’d met, when he thought I’d killed Glinda. He’s handsome, with his dark hair and stormy eyes; he looks nothing like Frank or Fe, not at all. “I’m sorry that you find my existence so distasteful that you’re willing to dismiss it out of hand, despite the facts. I just thought…I thought it would be nice to know my real family.”

“Your real family?” I raise my eyebrows. “How about the people who raised you, Travis? Sheesh. I promise you that however shitty they are as parents, growing up with Fe would have been worse.”

“They’re not shitty parents. They’re just… We’re clearly not related, that’s all.”

We’re
clearly not related,
I think in response. The guy is straight-laced, by the book, and as rigid as they come. My mother had been the opposite, and now that I’ve met my father, it’s obvious my tendency to flout the rules when it suits me is genetic no matter which direction it comes from.

“It’s not that I find being related to you
distasteful
, Travis.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m serious. I feel sorry for the guy, I do. It must be terrible to grow up feeling as though you don’t fit in, being aware of why, and knowing the people who should have embraced you chose to send you away instead. “It’s that you can’t be Fe’s son. We have… There are no males in our family who have survived to adulthood.”

That catches him off guard. He peers at me from under his unruly, black brows. “And you think that’s some kind of proof? Some families just have a large number of males or females, you know.”

I shake my head, licking my lips to try to get some moisture back into my mouth. The dread in my stomach grows. I wish I hadn’t had that second cup of coffee while getting ready because acid is sloshing up my esophagus. “Look, this isn’t easy for me, but I can see that you’re very upset so I’m going to say it anyway. I need you to know that so you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

“As you see it.” A small smile plays on his generous lips. Genuine. Almost affectionate.

A surge of warmth tickles my belly. I think for the first time how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a brother to give me a hard time now and then. Too bad it’s not true.

“Yeah,
as I see it
,
if that makes you feel better.” I really wish I could sit down. In my desperation, I strip off my jacket and lay it on the bench, then plop down onto it. It’s too cold to be out without a coat, but this is a conversation best had while seated.

Travis settles next to me, heedless of the water beaded on his end of the wooden swing. He waits in silence, his reddened, chapped hands stuck deep into his coat’s pockets as the air around us grows thick with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

In my mind, I see my grams standing on the dock down by the river, one hand shading her eyes.

Dirt from the garden cakes her nails and the set of her lips suggests she’s fed up with us hanging around. Amelia and I perch on the edge, our bare toes dangling toward the water and goose bumps decorating the skin exposed by our frilly bathing suits—courtesy of her mother. Every time our feet touch the cold river, we squeal.

“Would you two just get it over with?” Grams rolls her eyes at our antics, never one for indulging the silliness of children.

“It’s better if you get used to it, real slow like,”
Millie explains. I nod in agreement, testing the chilly wetness up to my ankle this time before yanking it free.

“Nothing you’re dreading is best done real slow like,”
our grams advises, mimicking Millie with the last three words. “Best to go all the way under and let it shock you all at once instead of a bit at a time.”

Like most children, we didn’t take her advice back then. Now I know it applies—and not only when it comes to leaping into cold water in one fell swoop.

Nothing you’re dreading is best done real slow like.

Thanks, Grams.

I close my eyes, count to three, then open them and leap. “You know that I see ghosts. Maybe you don’t believe it, but it’s true. When I first came back to Heron Creek I met the ghost of Anne Bonny.”

“The pirate?” he interrupts.

I nod, unable to tell from the shuttered expression on his face whether he’s humoring me or really listening. “Yes, the pirate. Turns out the reason she came to me is because she’s my ancestor on my mother’s side, and she wanted me and Amelia to know about a curse placed on our bloodline back in her day.” I take a deep breath. “No male would live past the age of thirteen.”

Skepticism emerges now, dark on his angular features. “Why?”

“Her husband—well, her third husband—hated her and the son she had with Calico Jack. He was jealous that she loved Jack more, and Anne never gave him a son of his own. He was determined that Calico Jack’s son would never inherit his fortune and would never be more prosperous than the husband’s own family line. Thus, the curse.”

“Her husband knew how to curse people?”

I grind my teeth, impatient now. I don’t have time to explain shit that happened a hundred years ago.

More than that, I need him to realize we’re not on the same team. I’ve got Clete on the periphery of my world, breathing down my neck about finding some dirt on the good detective. It’s not that I’d
rather
be on the moonshiner’s side exactly, but the guy takes his favors seriously. Even though he didn’t come through for me on the whole dirt on the Middletons thing, that didn’t mean he’d forget the promise I made in return.

My head spins with the thought. The last thing I need is Clete skulking around town, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’d be too sad to see Travis move along myself.

Really? You don’t have any desire to learn more about your mother?
one of my devils scoffs as he lounges near my ear, breath stinking of childhood insecurity.

I want to flick him away, but Travis already thinks I’m crazy enough.

“No. There was a woman, a slave. She knew voodoo, or maybe Gullah religion, but either way, the curse was born. And in all of those years, the line spawned from Anne Bonny and Calico Jack’s child has never seen a male live past puberty.” I spread my hands, willing him to accept all of this, then tip my head. “I realize I have no firsthand knowledge, but you look as though you passed that milestone some time back.”

His cheeks go red at the observation. I meant it to be slightly lewd, to remind him that we’re not brother and sister, but end up feeling more than a bit icky and ashamed about it.

“Curses aren’t real, Graciela.”

“So you think it’s merely a coincidence? All of the stillbirths and accidents and other circumstances that took the boys? All before they were thirteen?” He says nothing, and I smell victory. “Of course you don’t. You’re a cop—you know coincidences like that don’t exist.”

“I don’t know. Maybe not, but then why did your mother put me up for adoption when I was only a few days old? Why did she say I was hers?”

He needs to believe that he knows where he comes from, and my chest hurts that I have to be the one to tell him he doesn’t.

“I don’t know. That’s the honest truth, Travis, and I don’t know how we would find out now, either.”

“What about your dad? Would he know anything?” He’s swallowing over and over again, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Despite the fact that I’ve never trusted Travis, never been overly fond of him, something about his distress worms its way into my heart. The odd reaction causes me to blurt words without considering them first. “I tried asking him about it. I don’t know how long he was around or how close he and my mom were, not really. I’m just getting to know him myself, but if he tells me anything about you, I promise I’ll pass it along.”

We stare at each other for a few minutes, each lost in thought—in what we’ve always been told, in what we’ve been promised, and maybe what we always hoped would be true about the places we came from.

“I have to go to work,” I murmur when Amelia steps out onto the porch, her gait awkward and hesitant when she sees us sitting in silence. I can’t stop myself from putting out a hand and covering his, giving it a squeeze that we both could imagine feels sisterly. “Please don’t let this get to you. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

He nods, his gaze faraway. I wonder what Mrs. Walters makes of the fact that he’s been on our porch on and off for the past twelve hours, but find it hard to care. She can think what she wants about me, or Amelia, or our grandparents. The gossip chain is a part of small-town life that’s not going away. Might as well get used to it.

I glance back at Travis one last time as I step off the porch and onto the uneven path that leads to the driveway. I can’t help but think that we’re both treading dangerous waters. If my ghosts have taught me anything, it’s that the past can haunt a person, whether they want to disentangle and move on or not.

A sad, creeping feeling comes over me. It makes me sure that whatever we learn, neither Travis nor I are going to be any happier for it.

Chapter Four

“Y
ou know, your dad might be able to help you with the whole Mama Lottie situation.” Amelia bites into her chicken Caesar wrap from the diner, eyeing me from the opposite side of my desk at the library.

We haven’t talked much since arriving this morning. Like I guessed, patrons had been few and far between and I’m still holding my breath expecting Mrs. Walters to show up and harass us. I might not give two shits in a basket what she thinks, but the less trouble with our boss, Mr. Freedman, the better. Being the head librarian in Heron Creek isn’t exactly the be-all and end-all of my career goals, but getting fired would be a huge pain in the ass. There’s definitely no time in my curse-breaking, ghost-advising schedule to sharpen my résumé
.

“How so?” I manage, even though I know what she’s going to say. I’m just not sure that Frank’s going to be keen on helping me with anything, especially now that he knows I have more questions than ever about my mother. Questions he might be the only person in the world who can answer. I take a slurp of tomato basil soup and swallow, reveling in the warmth as it slinks all the way down to my belly.

“You know…he can summon spirits. Maybe he can make her talk.” She pauses, thinking about that. “Or at least he can make her show up and listen. We’ve got to at least try to tell her about her own kin being part of the curse.”

I wonder at how the word
curse
has become such a normal part of our everyday vocabulary. Neither Millie nor I would have described ourselves as believers in that sort of thing before Anne Bonny started coming around, but the things that have happened… Like I told Travis, there’s no way to accept coincidences that big. It feels surreal on some days, like someone else’s life. I have to remember that it’s mine now. No use trying to pretend ghosts and their residual wants and angers and feelings don’t exist.