Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) (7 page)

The last people to arrive for story time are Lindsay and Marcella Boone. I haven’t seen either of them since Lindsay moved back, though Amelia gave me a full report after she ran into them
at Waterfront Park the other day. She said they looked great and it’s true. Lindsay’s midnight hair shines around her shoulders and she looks relaxed in a pair of olive green shorts, a beige tank top, and worn brown sandals. Our eyes meet and she gives me a slight nod of acknowledgment before herding Marcella into the nook where Amelia is reading aloud.

There’s no one else waiting to be helped,
and my mind needs time to process the information about Nan and decide what exactly to do with it, so I tiptoe over to the group and settle next to my old friend Mel, managing not to interrupt or cause a scene. For once.

“Hey,” she whispers, smiling. It’s not quite right, not quite Mel, but not as wrong as Millie.

Mel and Will’s son whips his little blond head around, so in tune to his mother
for a three-year-old, and grins when he sees me. Grant waves, I wave back, and then he returns his attention to Amelia. It almost makes me laugh, how much he’s turning out to be like his father in more than looks. Will never broke a single rule or put a toe out of line, and he would have died of shame if he’d gotten in trouble with any adult in the near vicinity.

“Hi,” I whisper back. “How’s
it going?”

“Okay.” She pauses, checking Grant again, but his attention doesn’t waver. Her head tips away from the group, out of the stacks.

I get the hint and nod, standing up. Her footsteps follow me back to the front desk, the spot where I spend almost all my time in the library, except when I’m digging in the local archives. The room is one of my favorites, but its contents don’t reach into
the twenty-first century. Not so helpful as far as information on my current ghostly visitor.

Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Nanette didn’t follow me from Drayton Hall. Maybe she doesn’t want anything more than someone to hang out with on the property. Maybe she just wants someone to talk to her. Someone to see her.

I sit on the edge of the desk and Melanie stops a few steps away, dropping
her purse on the floor. Her belly is about the same size as Amelia’s, even though her baby girl—Mary—is due a little later. She also looks as worn thin as my cousin, and I motion to the semi-comfortable spinny chair behind the desk. “Sit.”

“Thank you. Good Lord above, my feet are killing me.”

“Millie’s complaining about her back.”

“Oh yeah. Will’s on nightly massage duty from here on out.”
She frowns, as though mentioning her husband’s name leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

We’ve pretty much dealt with all the weirdness stemming from the fact that he and I were each other’s first loves, so that can’t be what’s bothering her now. It’s hard to say whether my asking about him, or them, or even just what’s wrong will cross some kind of invisible trip wire, but what the hell. Mel’s not
one to beat around the bush any more than I am.

“Everything else okay at home?”

To my surprise, tears gather in her chocolate eyes. She dabs at them with a tissue she pulls from her purse and refuses to meet my gaze until they’re gone, but crying is definitely not Mel’s shtick. Amelia was the crier of our group, or occasionally Will, rarely me, and
never
Mel.

“What’s wrong?” I round the desk,
sitting on the other side so we’re huddled closer together. It gives us some privacy, but in this strange, unfamiliar moment with a woman I would have said could never surprise me, it also provides the slightest bit of comfort.

“Nothing that should turn me into a big ole bawl-baby.” She sniffs, still too embarrassed to look at me. “Will got fired. For changing that stuff for Clete.”

My heart
drops into my gut. Shame floods my veins, heating me to an unbearable degree, and in that moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to turn back time. I got Will involved in the whole scheme with the moonshiners, promised them things I couldn’t deliver in exchange for information that helped me clear Beau’s name. It should be me suffering the consequences, not him.

“Shit. Shit, Mel, I am so sorry.
This is all my fault.”

“You can stop it with that nonsense right now. I don’t blame you for Will’s actions. The man does what he wants, and besides, I think he’s pretty happy to have a reason to make a change.”

That takes a moment to sink in. Melanie—and Will, for that matter—aren’t ones to hold grudges, which probably accounts for the considerable longevity of our friendship, but this seems
like too much.

“But if I hadn’t gone out there looking for Clete’s help…”

“Seriously, you’re going to make me sorry I said anything if you don’t shut your trap.”

“Fine.” I bite my lip, rearranging my thoughts into something more helpful than what I want to do right now—fall apart. After a big swallow, the right questions show up. “What’s he thinking about doing now?”

“I don’t think he knows
for sure yet, but I got a job working for Harrington. Just an assistant, for now, but once I pass the CPA exam it will be more money.”

“That’s good.” It is, because they need the money, but in my heart I know being an accountant isn’t Mel’s dream. Not that working for the state was Will’s.

We’re too old for dreams, maybe, or at least for getting bent out of shape when we’re forced to let them
go. They’re what get us through high school, push us through college, but now, standing on the precipice of all the rest of it, dreams seem like silly things. No more substantial than dandelion seeds we blew into the wind as children, never to see them again. Never to know if any landed or took root, and not caring one way or another, really. The beauty had been in the scattering. Reaping took dedication,
attention, work, timing. Luck.

Dreams were like those seeds. Without keeping hold of them, making sure they get what they need to grow, they just… I don’t know. Not die. Just disappear, I guess.

“He’s thinking about applying at the police department since Mr. Wilkinson retired.”

“What?” My eyes go wide at the idea.

“I know.”

My first thought is that he’d be in danger if he did that. It’s
the thought of a girlfriend, maybe, not a friend. Another remnant from a disappeared world.
 

My second thought is that it kind of makes sense. Who better to enforce rules than the man who loves them more than anything?
 

“He’d be good at it,” I offer honestly. “He believes in rules and order and all that. Plus, you and Will are both the kind of people who can tell a person to go to hell and they’ll
end up looking forward to the trip.”

That makes her laugh, and I can almost feel the weight lift off my shoulders. Off hers. We’re Mel and Gracie again, gossiping about Will behind his back—kind of different but kind of the same.

“That’s true. I never thought of it that way.” She chuckles again, then sobers, a thoughtful expression taking hold. “You’re right, of course. And it will be nice to
have him in Heron Creek instead of gallivanting all over kingdom come with those criminals.”

Those criminals
. Clete and the other moonshiners aren’t going to like losing their “in” as far as the state of South Carolina is concerned. Will got fired, though; he didn’t quit. Not that people like Clete are too big on technicalities.

As much as he helped me during the whole situation with Beau, it
gives me a strong case of nerves to think about the moonshiners staying in our lives. It would be best to walk away, and now that Beau has been cleared of all charges, and Lindsay is home, there’s no reason to think we can’t.

No reason that comes to mind, anyway.

Mel’s watching me too closely so I shake off the worry and smile. “I certainly can’t argue with that.”

“Maybe you could talk to Detective
Travis?”

“Since it’s my fault Will’s looking for a job—it is, Mel, I don’t care how nice you’re being about it—I’d be happy to.” The memory of this afternoon’s conversation makes me cringe. “Though, uh, maybe we should ask Amelia to do it.”

“Oh dear sweet Jesus, what have you done this time?” Mel sits up, interested despite her chastisement.

I can’t help but laugh. “Nothing. Travis just hasn’t
learned that bossing me around doesn’t work.”

“Accomplishes the opposite, mostly.”

“Is this a secret meeting? Is there wine? God, I could use some wine.” The woman’s voice whooshes out in a tired rush. I look and see LeighAnn Kopans, the harried mother of four and the matriarch of the only Jewish family in Heron Creek.

Mel laughs. “I wish. At least
you
can drink your way through the day.”

“Trust me, once you add another couple to your brood, you’ll be counting down to happy hour, too.”

“I count down to happy hour every day,” I chime in, “and I don’t even have kids.”

We all laugh, and LeighAnn’s appearance rounds out our little group in an unexpected way. It makes me think about what Millie said earlier, about me finding my place in this town again. For the first time it feels
as though maybe, possibly, when I look at it through squinted eyes, she might be right.

“The only time I take for myself is yoga or kickboxing in the mornings. And that’s mostly before the kids get up.” Her eyes light up. “You guys should come to yoga!”

“Heron Creek has a yoga studio?”

“Of course not, Graciela, don’t be silly. But we do have a yoga
instructor
—Taylor Nash, the cute gal who took
over the reporter job at the
Sun
?”

Her name rings a bell. It takes a second for me to remember that Leo asked her out on a date. And that she agreed, according to him. Yoga had better at least triple a person’s ability to zen if she’s going to date him.

“Huh.”

“She teaches us down by the river when it’s nice outside, but otherwise we snag the hall at the Moose Lodge.”

“Eagle Lodge,” Mel corrects.
Because, of course, Will joined, just like his father and his grandfather.

Like my grandfather.

“Whatever. Anyway, it’s at five thirty on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Ha! Good luck getting Gracie out of bed before ten.” Mel snorts. “But if Taylor has some sort of giant belly work-arounds, I might be interested. I could use a little zen in my life.”

“Hey, maybe I’ll come, too,” I say.

Mel raises
an eyebrow at me. “Right. And monkeys might fly out of my butt.”

“Cripenanny, Melanie, you need to bring your comebacks out of the early nineties.”

The sound of singing and squeals from the stacks distracts all three of us. Both Mel and LeighAnn hurry off to collect their kids, who together make up over half Amelia’s group. Lindsay walks out into the lobby a few moments later, Marcella in tow.
The little girl’s other hand clutches three hardback picture books, two of which we’ve read together on several occasions, and a smile creeps over my face.

“Marcie! How are you?”

“Miss Gracie!” She tugs her hand free from her mother’s and flies the dozen steps into my arms, clinging to me so hard she could win the part of a spider monkey in the preschool play, no problem. “I found another turtle
book,” she says, wriggling loose and holding the third title up for my inspection.

“So you did, Monkey. It’s new—I ordered it and thought about you, but I haven’t seen you lately.”

“I know. You weren’t here at the last story time.” The accusing look she gives me, along with the hand on her cocked hip, make her look sixteen instead of four.

“I’m very sorry about that, but I know you’ve had some
pretty awesome things happening at home…” I trail off, chancing a look at Lindsay. She doesn’t look like she wants to buy best-friend necklaces anytime soon but she’s relaxed. Smiling, at least at her daughter.

“Oh! Miss Gracie, my mommy came home!” She spins, grabbing Lindsay’s hand and dragging her forward. “This is my mommy.”

“I know your mommy, just like I know your Uncle Leo, that silly
old man.” I look up, keeping my smile. Determined to make things between Lindsay Boone and me as not-weird as possible, given her past, my present, and the fact that the last time we spoke it was in the visiting room of a state penitentiary. “Hi, Lindsay. It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you for being so kind to my daughter.” Her smile turns wry. “And my brother.”

That makes me laugh. “Well, Marcella
at least makes it easy. She’s a great kid.”

“Thank you.” There’s a pause that seems as though it needs to be filled, but I’m at a loss as to what to say. After a strange moment, I grab the books from Marcella and check them out, presenting them with a flourish. “There you go, ma’am. Make sure to take good care of them. No using them for spaghetti plates.”

“That’s silly. We have regular plates.”

“Of course you do. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.” She comes around the desk and gives me another hug, then goes back to her mother.

“Bye, Lindsay.”

She gives me another glance, one pregnant with some unspent thought or statement or question. Her smile is tighter, then, but not mean. Sad, maybe. Worried. “See you around, Graciela.”

I have the feeling I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon
wondering what she really wanted to say.

Chapter Five

The odd, almost silent exchange with Lindsay is still bugging me by the time Leo gets done kicking my ass at tennis. It’s been too long since we played and the timing on my forehand is horribly off. We spent more time chasing down balls than we did rallying, so despite the sweat dripping out of every pore, I’m unconvinced that much worthwhile cardio took place.

“When
did you start sucking so hard at this sport, Gracie? I recall, at some time in the not so distant past, even losing to you on occasion.” Leo pulls a towel across his forehead and down his neck, swiping it dry. Or drier, anyway. “I mean, when I was having an off day or something.”

“You’re always having an off day,” I grumble, digging in my bag for my cell phone. It’s after six, which means I’ve
only got an hour before Beau’s picking me up for our big mystery date.

“You’re pretty testy for a girl who just landed the job of her dreams. I’m surprised you’re not singing ballads and calling small forest animals to you, frankly.”