Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (30 page)

A memory nags, makes me put down my fork. “I thought you said you didn’t want to have any more to do with this whole Mama Lottie thing,
though?”

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal that she’s changed her mind. “I feel bad for you. You’re like a homeless puppy wandering around on the street, and what kind of asshole am I if I don’t at least feed you dinner?”

“That’s sweet,” I say, dryly.

“Well, I’m not adopting you. No way I’m going out to Drayton Hall ever again, not unless you want to get rid of that crazy woman.”

“Noted.”
 

“When do you want to go talk to your friend?”

“I doubt she’ll be out at this time, but she’ll probably be around once the market opens.” I frown. “But I have to work.”

“Don’t you think your five-day deadline from a vengeful spirit might take precedence over checking out romance novels to small town moms?”

“Maybe you’re right, but not about the romance novels. They mostly go in for stuff like
Gillian Flynn and Elizabeth Gilbert. I’ll call in sick, but I still want to go home first and change clothes.” I also need to talk to Beau. He doesn’t even know the good news about Amelia, and I’m feeling guilty about not keeping him in the loop about the things I can.

Then again, he’s the one who never texted after his meeting last night. Weird. Fear trickles in at the thought that the little
ghost might have gotten to him, too.

“Okay. We’ll meet back at my place at ten or so? I could use a nap.”

“Sounds good.”
 

I could use a nap, too, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time.

Chapter Twenty

I’m feeling more than a little ragged by the time Amelia leaves for work. She’s fine, as though last night never happened, but I guess for her it really didn’t. My cousin knows me well enough to know I’m not sick, so I fess up about needing to go see Odette but keep the why of it to myself. Amelia’s started sleeping better, started feeling better. There’s a bounce in her
step, and even though part of that might be attributed to Brick’s strange but constant presence in her life, I have to believe it’s also that we’ve found a way to break the curse.

Winning the custody case is great, but without Mama Lottie’s help, it’s not going to mean that much in the long run.
 

She’s not gone ten minutes before my phone dings with a text. I’ve just gotten out of the shower
and dry off my hands before picking it up, thick ropes of wet hair dripping onto my shoulders.

Hey. Forgot I have my psych appointments this afternoon. First theirs, then mine. Can you be back to cover by 1?

Sure.

It will tighten the time I have with Daria and Odette but that’s okay.
 

See you then.

Try not to have too much fun without me.

Amelia replies with a sarcastic
emoticon that makes me smile. I get dressed and blow-dry my hair, then slip into jeans and a loose blouse before heading out the front door. It’s late enough that Beau’s probably at work, not at home, and by the time I get to the unassuming building in town that houses the municipal offices, my stomach is in knots.

Why didn’t he text me? Did he find out about the curse? Did Mama Lottie hurt him?

Neither, I assume, when he greets me with a smile at his office door five minutes later.
 

“Gracie Anne! What a nice surprise.” He pulls me in with one arm, planting a kiss on the top of my head. He looks so handsome it makes me ache, in a navy pinstriped suit and a deep orchid shirt, light purple tie. It all brings out the green in his hazel eyes.
 

The smell of him—cologne, aftershave, man—makes
me dizzy, and I hold on to him for a second longer than is probably appropriate in an office setting.

“I was about to call you.” He motions me inside his posh office and closes the door behind us, then grabs me for a real greeting.

Beau’s lips linger over mine, taking their time tasting me. We don’t let go for a long time, either one of us. Not until my heart beats fast and my lips feel deliciously
bruised.

“We really need to work on that alone time,” he murmurs against my mouth before turning me loose to my shaking legs. “But I’m guessing that’s not the reason for your visit.”

He gestures to the couch, then sits down next to me, one hand on my knee. It’s distracting in the best possible way. I take a moment to strap down my raging hormones, then realize,
Why on earth would I want to do
that?
and straddle him, instead.

The quick movement takes him by surprise but he doesn’t argue, hands going to my hips and tongue responding to mine. I kiss him like it’s the last time because the truth is, there’s no way to know when that’s going to be.

Beau doesn’t think twice about taking off my shirt in his office. Or his, or our pants and underwear. There’s something sexy about the way
he takes control, in his quick, determined movements that strip each of us naked and holds me firm on his lap while we both savor the moment—the one where we come together in a way that feels way too perfect.

It’s hot, knowing his secretary is right outside the door. That his constituents, our fellow Heron Creek citizens, wander up and down the street just on the other side of that window. The
sex gets hurried, frantic, and we both lose ourselves quickly as I move on top of him. His hands feel like they’re everywhere at once—in my hair, on my breasts, grabbing my hips to let him grind harder against me—and leave trails of fire across my skin.

We find our way into the light, then back again, together. We’re both grinning and sweating, foreheads touching as we catch our breath, but there’s
a tinge of sorrow to the shared breath between us.

Or maybe it’s all coming from me.

“Is that what you had in mind?” I ask.

“Not exactly, but I’m not going to complain about it.” His grin is sexy, and a thrill zips down my spine as he hugs me tight.

I let him hold me for as long as he wants, wishing we could never lose this feeling. Then I climb off him, run to his, thankfully, private bathroom,
and clean up. I return with a towel so he can do the same, then we quietly climb back into our clothes.

“Why didn’t you text me last night?” I ask, doing my best not to sound jealous or upset. “I was worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was late when we got out of here, and I didn’t want to take the chance of waking you with a call. You haven’t been sleeping well.” He reaches out, touching the dark,
pudgy smudges under my eyes. “I had planned to text, but was asleep before my head hit the pillow.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re allowed to text me first, you know. Or even call.”

“I do.” I smile. “I didn’t want to bother you if you were still working, and Millie and I crashed early, too. After I went to see Leo.”

That makes him frown, but not for typical boyfriend reasons. “Yes, Leo. He found a good
lawyer, I hope?”

I swallow. “How did you hear about that?”

“Someone from Heron Creek gets arrested so close to home, I hear about it.”

My blood runs cold. The sound in the room dampens, as though suddenly the real world is far away. “Wait, Leo was arrested?”

“Yes. You didn’t know?” Beau frowns deeper when I shake my head. “It happened last night. He’s still in the hospital, but there’s a guard
outside his room. They got him for breaking and entering at the Middletons’ house.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re lucky he’s not the type to name names.”
 

I nod, feeling bloodless. Lifeless. Leo got arrested. For me. “How good is their evidence?”

“I don’t know. If they have security cameras or the maid can identify him, it will be bad.” He levels me with a concerned gaze. “For both of you.”

“Amelia
said they don’t. Just the alarm system.”

“We’ll have to see how it plays out, I suppose. They’re likely pissed about what Phoebe told them regarding the custody case, so I don’t see them backing down on this. They know y’all got that information somehow.”

“But Leo’s not involved. They have no beef with him.” I know the argument is useless before it gets all the way out of my mouth.

“Until he
broke into their house,” he points out, then frowns. “It doesn’t matter. They want blood, and if they can’t have Amelia’s, this will have to do.”

I lean forward, needing another hug. A million more, really, to form a barrier between me and the awful fallout of Anne Bonny and her curse. And the family curse is definitely still working, which means figuring out what Mama Lottie wants and getting
to it has become all the more important.

“Will you come over tonight?” I whisper against his chest.

His lips find the top of my head, lingering as he squeezes me tight. “Of course. I’m wherever you need me to be. You should know that by now.”

I do. But hearing him say it pulverizes a little more of my heart.

The news about Leo morphs from sadness into determination by the time Daria and
I meet up a little later. Even so, it seems silly not to accept and drain the delicious, spicy Bloody Mary she offers before we head to Charleston to track down Odette.

Leo can’t get arrested for nothing. Beau and I can’t be destroyed for nothing. It’s time to put this shit to bed. Then there will be time to wallow in the scattered pieces of my life.
 

At least I have practice.

Daria doesn’t
talk much on our way downtown. She stares at her phone, texting or Facebooking or Twittering with at least as much intensity as Amelia has developed over the past week or so. I’m relieved, content to stay in my own head.

We find a parking spot a little too close to where one of the tour companies stables their horses, but let’s face it, it’s not as though my car could smell much worse.
 

The
day is pretty, as though mocking my sour mood. Sunshine worms its way into the city’s nooks and crannies, lighting up its cobblestones and quaint storefronts. People squint this way and that, study maps or their phones, and we dodge them on our way to the front of the market, along Meeting Street.
 

It’s best to start at the beginning, I suppose. Or maybe I’m putting off the inevitable.

The withered,
hunched-over black women at the mouth of the market have piles of sweetgrass on their laps and a few baskets at their feet, their work for the day just begun. One of them gives me a second look, then holds out a rose made of thick, greenish grass my direction.

“Oh. No, thank you.”

“Take it, child. It’s a gift. A reminder that love can’t be erased.”

“Th-thank you,” I stammer.

Daria raises her
eyes as we pass through the first group of covered stalls but doesn’t comment. The Gullah women certainly have a way of knocking me off-kilter, even on days when I’m so far from steady that the world looks crooked.

We wander more slowly than we need to. Daria keeps getting distracted, stopping here and there. “Graciela, check these out! We need to buy some, huh?”

I turn around from where I’d
strolled several stalls in front of her, Amelia’s appointments and my need to get back to Heron Creek on my mind, and make a face. “Come on, Daria. We’re not here to shop.”

“I know, but
look
.
”

What’s delighted her so are little, misshapen ceramic figurines. They’re grotesques, with twisted bodies and misshapen faces, all of them some degree of haint blue.
 

“Oogles,” I read off the card, then
scan the rest of the description, which makes me smile. They’re supposed to ward off evil lowcountry spirits if carried in a pocket or purse. “You’re right. We do need them.”

We each buy a dozen and then continue on our way, finding Odette between the third and fourth tents. She’s wearing a sweetgrass hat and is hard at work, with four large baskets ready to be sold and another, oblong shaped,
started in her generous lap. She sits on the curb, bare feet crossed in front of her, and when she squints up into the sunlight to make out our faces, I think that this is the first time she acts as though she’s not expecting me.

Maybe the oogles work. Not that I think Odette is evil. Maybe it’s Daria’s energy that blocked her ability to sense me and the curse I lug around like an ugly purse.

“Ya keep bringin’ ol’ Odette new friends. What makes ya think I wan’ ’em?” she asks, rolling a stray piece of grass around in her mouth.

“She’s not your friend, she’s my friend.”

Odette studies Daria closer, pinching her lips together while her hands continue their practiced movements. “I don’ like her ’smuch as tha last one.”

“Noted. Melanie is an exceptional person.”

The look Odette gives
me, full of sorrow and something more—pity?—sticks my tongue to the roof of my mouth. It takes me a few moments to shake off the dread, and Daria jumps into the silence.
 

“Lots of people think they don’t like me at first but they usually come around,” she offers. “I could buy you lunch, if that would help.”

I’ve said nothing to Daria about my monetary-based relationship with Odette. It’s more
than a little strange how she picks up on the nuance, but it does change Odette’s frown into a smile.

“I was jus’ thinkin’ how good sum lemonade would be. Wouldn’t it be good?”

“Sure.” Daria hides a smile.
 

We help her up and walk toward a little shop that offers lemonade and tea, among other treats, then sit with Odette at one of the wrought iron bistro tables on the patio. She slurps lemonade,
studying some of her fellow basket weavers still hard at work.

“Odette, let me be frank. You know how much I enjoy this little dance that you and I do, with the information and the treats and the twenty-dollar bills, but things in my life are going to hell in a handbasket. I need your help.”

She nods, her big eyes serious. “Got that woman mad at ya, din ya.”

My throat clogs, but I swallow hard.
I’m done crying. “Yes, but I don’t know how. I did what she asked, what she said she needed to cast her curse, but it’s not working. She thinks I’m trying to pull one over on her, but I’m not.”