Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (25 page)

I snuggle closer, tipping my head to look into his sad, tired eyes. “I love you. You don’t have anything to worry about from Leo or anyone else.”

“I know that, sweetheart. But love and worry just go hand in hand.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Are you
sure
these people are at that gala tonight?” Leo whispers from behind the shrub next to mine. He’s cloaked by shadows, which is why we’re hidden here in the first place, but not being able to see his face frustrates me. “Like, you’d bet your dog on it?”

Based on his voice, he’s starting to have…maybe not second thoughts, exactly, but some anxiety about breaking
into the Middletons’ house. We have a key and the alarm code, thanks to Amelia—at least, we do if they haven’t thought to change one or both since their son’s untimely but well-deserved demise—so maybe we’re not technically breaking in.

I doubt the cops will make the distinction if we get busted, though, and my hundredth twinge of guilt over calling Leo tweaks my chest. I could have come alone.
I
should
have come alone, but truth be told, I’m scared. As hard as I try to pretend that all this is fine—the ghosts, my new detective career, helping a dead witch put curses on the living, and my boyfriend’s family, at that—it’s
not
fine.
I’m
not fine, but I’ve got a hell of a lot less to lose than everyone else involved.
 

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Neither do I. Dammit.”

Leo doesn’t have much
more to lose than I do, and maybe that’s why he always says yes, no matter what crazy thing I ask him to do with me next. It was his decision to be here tonight, but it hurts a piece of me I can’t quite find to know that even with Marcella and Lindsay in his life, my old friend feels like he doesn’t have all that much to lose, either.

“I’m sure. Amelia double-checked the guest list with an old
family friend, and her parents said more than once how awkward it was going to be to see their old in-laws there.” The mention of my aunt, a woman who is likely as worried about how this whole situation will affect her social standing as how it is trying to destroy her daughter, boils anger in my gut.

It helps.

“Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

We move from the shadows after we double- and triple-check
the block to make sure we’re alone. It’s eleven p.m., not so late that people are asleep but late enough that the streets are quiet. The city is largely tucked in for the night, even if the Middletons and some of their neighbors are not, and we can’t wait any longer. These fancy-schmancy benefit galas, held periodically to raise money for the foundation that oversees preservation in Charleston, last
until the wee hours, according to both my cousin and Beau, but we can’t be sure how long Randall and Bette are going to stay.
 

The night is chilly and I’m glad for my black jacket, paired fashionably with black jeans and boots. Leo didn’t go so far in with the criminal-slash-spy look, opting for his typical dark-wash jeans and a long-sleeved maroon Gamecocks T-shirt, instead. We’re both all but
invisible against the tan house because of the extensive landscaping casting impressive shadows against the stucco.

Amelia’s key is to the back door—the old servants’ entrance, appropriately enough—and turns easily in the lock. The code she gave us to the alarm works without any trouble. In fact, getting inside the house turns out to be so easy that it’s hard to trust. It must be Leo’s good luck
because it can’t be attached to me.

The house is even nicer than I expect, and not because of its size. It’s a traditional Charleston single house, historical and much like the one where Cordelia Drayton chose to threaten me for the first time, out on her piazza. This house boasts the same double porch, but since we’re not after tea or a sea breeze, I think we can skip it.

“Should we split up?”
Leo asks softly.

“Yeah. Same as when we did Jasper’s place.” I purposefully make it sound like we’re old pros and breaking in and tossing houses, which makes Leo roll his eyes.
 

We
have
been in on our share of illicit projects, but in truth, the time we broke into the county sheriff’s house looking for proof that he was involved in Glinda’s death was the only other time we’ve done anything even
close to this big.

But we
did
do Jasper’s place, and Leo took the main floor while I explored upstairs, and he knows what I’m referring to, anyway.

“You got it, boss.”

The kitchen and entryway offer plenty of high-end appliances, expensive rugs, and rare antiques, but no file cabinets that look like they might contain financial information.

“Ten minutes, Gracie. Not one minute more.” Leo gives
me a hard look, the moonlight filtering through the windows and lighting his blue eyes.

I nod, and we go our separate ways at the ornate, twisted staircase in the foyer. My head is a jumble of worries. The biggest one isn’t that we’re going to get caught.
 

It’s that we’re not going to find anything.
 

All this will have been for nothing, and Amelia will be right back where she started—a woman
who can be described as “troubled” and about to lose her baby.

Upstairs, I find a second parlor, five bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms and, blessedly, an office. Inside, there’s a desk and a bunch of paintings, bookcases, and a television but no cabinets. The desk only has one drawer, and based on the number of pretty pens in there and the closet full of needlepoint supplies, I gather this space
belongs to Mrs. Middleton.

I’m not one to be all sexist, but I don’t think I’m going to find what I’m looking for in here. My nerves tighten. They could have a safe—they
probably
have a safe—and if they’re involved in something illegal, wouldn’t it be awfully smart to keep the documents there?

They’re cocky, though. Not used to being questioned, able to convince people to look the other way
when they are. Leo and I talked all this through before coming here tonight, and we both think there’s a decent chance they keep all their banking information in one place. All their account numbers, checks, whatever.

Not in here, though.

Even so, I search the shelves and bookcases, checking for loose books or swipes in the thin layer of dust that some housekeeper is so going to get fired for
someday soon. If they’re not as self-assured as I think, they could be trying harder to hide things and the wife’s room would be a perfect place.

Nothing is out of order, though, and I move on, giving each bedroom a cursory glance before finding a back staircase that leads up to the attic. There’s nothing up there but junk, no matter how many boxes and tubs I scoot through the dust. If anyone
comes up here they’re going to notice that shit has been moved around, but based on the lack of attention by even a cleaning staff, that’s not going to be the thing that raises suspicion.

Disappointment throbs in my veins as I check my watch, then head for the stairs. Ten minutes have passed, plus a couple of seconds, and Leo has done his duty and then some. Maybe we both have, but it’s not good
enough unless he found something downstairs.

I step as lightly as possible on the stairs, trying my best to be sneaky and wincing at every creak and pop with a jumpiness that didn’t accompany me on the way up. My heart starts to race. Moisture leaches from my mouth, and all of a sudden I’m sure that I’m going to find my worst nightmare at the bottom of the staircase.

Maybe it’s unreasonable
panic, or maybe there’s a ghost or two in this house that haven’t shown themselves to me but are screwing with my emotions, but either way, there’s nothing downstairs but Leo skulking out of a room off the parlor.

Relief grabs the backs of my knees so hard they almost give way. The expression on my face makes Leo rush forward, like he thinks he needs to catch me.
 

“What’s wrong?” he whispers,
concern evident in his squinted eyes.

“Yes.”

“What?” Leo asks. “Yes, what?”

My heart leaps into my throat as I reach out and press my palm over his mouth, raising a finger on my opposite hand to my lips. I can’t breathe, can’t think.

Because I’m not the one who’s talking.

“Yes, Officer. A man in the house. I heard him rummaging around and talking to himself.” A pause. “Alone? I think so…”

My eyes are so wide the lids feel stretched, but Leo’s already moving. His hand wraps around mine, urging my feet into motion. The voice is coming from the back of the house, near the kitchen door where we snuck in, maybe, so we have to go out a different way. Leaving out the front after the police have been called wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’s looking like we don’t really have one.

We’re
almost there. The front door looms, one of those ornate wood and stained glass jobs that’s totally not historically accurate, when footsteps shuffle into the foyer.

“Stop! I’ll shoot.”

“Run,” Leo hisses, pulling me in front of him and turning me loose with a shove.
 

I hit the front door with my palms, then fumble for the lock. It clicks open and I yank, stumbling out onto the porch with Leo
behind me. I’ve hit the bottom step when the deafening sound of a gunshot shatters the night.

Leo grunts. I spin around, panicked, and watch him stumble down the last steps with a grimace twisting his handsome features.
 

“Oh my god!”

“Go… Run!”

I twist, trying to get a good look at him, make sure he’s okay, as we hightail it out through the garden. My car, all fixed up from the incident the
night we went out to Clete’s, waits less than a block away, but when I get there, Leo’s not with me.

He lags a couple hundred feet behind, dropped onto his knees on the sidewalk. I run back, on some kind of weird autopilot that doesn’t allow me to totally panic and lose my shit in the face of not only the sound of police sirens but the sight of blood soaking through Leo’s shirt.

“Oh holy shit
you’re shot,” I pant out, scanning the street. Lights are starting to flick on up and down the block. One person has opened the front door. “We have to get out of here, Leo.”

I bend down and sling his arm over my shoulders, using what little strength I have in my noodle thighs and old-lady back to lift him up. He’s helping, but it’s costing him. By the time we get to the car he has to bend over
and throw up.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“Leo, shut up. Stop apologizing for getting shot.” Tears clog my throat, coat my words as I stuff him into the passenger seat and run around to the driver’s side.

Slow down. Don’t raise suspicion.

I drive off with as much decorum as humanely possible, hoping everyone is too focused on the sound of gunfire and the approaching police cars to pay any attention to
the old Honda turning the corner. Once we’re a minute away, I give in to the panic.

“Leo. Oh my god, she shot you. Who was that?”

“I didn’t introduce myself,” he pants, his eyes closed as he pushes back into the seat. “It’s going to be okay. I think it just hit my shoulder blade.”

“Because you know so much about bullet wounds and human anatomy? We have to get you to a hospital.”

“I would like
that very much.”

“Siri, where’s the closet hospital!” I shout into my iPhone after pressing the button. My voice is shaking and it takes two more tries for her to understand me, then another minute for the search results to pop up. “Roper Hospital. Less than five minutes, Leo.”

Every fiber of my being wants to drive like a bat out of hell but we can’t get pulled over. It’s not until we’re sitting
in front of the emergency room, one hand on my seat belt, that I realize coming here is going to get us caught.

“I’m going in there alone,” Leo says before I can work out a plan. “You can’t get busted, too. It will look too bad for Amelia.”

“What?” The words won’t get into the right order in my brain. “You can’t walk in there alone, Leo. You can barely move, and besides, you’re not taking the
blame for this.”

“I need a doctor, Graciela. That bullet didn’t come out, which means someone needs to
take
it out.” Speaking gets harder. He starts to wheeze, and I start to panic all over again. What if it hit his lungs? “The cops are going to be looking for gunshot wounds.”

“Give me your wallet.” My voice shakes, sounding as though it belongs to someone else.

“What? Why?”

“You can sign
in with a fake name, tell them you got mugged and that they stole your wallet. It will buy you some time. Maybe enough to get discharged.”

He hands it over. His fingers are shuddering hard and sweat pours off his face. With what looks to be the last tiny bit of effort, he pulls a manila folder out from under his shirt and holds it out to me. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Look at the label,” he grunts,
putting a bloody hand on the car door handle.

It’s the name of the bank, the one where the Middletons aren’t supposed to have any accounts. My mouth drops open. “You found it.”

“I hope it helps.” He struggles to get out of the car.

I unbuckle and run around, helping him to his feet. All his weight presses on me. Despite his protests, I half drag him over to the emergency room doors. It’s hard
to see him through my tears because what kind of person leaves him like this? “Can you make it inside from here?”

He nods, straightening up as best as he can, then taking a couple of steps to prove it. “Call Lindsay, please.”

“I will.”

“Go, Gracie.”

My heart breaks into too many pieces to count. I force myself to walk away, to get in the car, but I don’t drive away until I see through the
doors that someone has grabbed him. It’s so much less than he deserves, but he’s right. We did all of this for Amelia. He got the folder. We can’t turn back now, no matter what that means.

I pull over a couple of blocks away and press numbers on my phone, gagging as they leave streaks of blood on the screen.
 

“Do you have any idea what time it is? I have a sleeping child, and Leo’s not home.”
Lindsay knows it’s me calling, obviously, but I don’t have time to wonder again why she hates me so much. After tonight, she’s going to have a damn good reason, anyway.