Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (33 page)

I need to get through the rest of the journals, but that can wait. I get the feeling that this root doctor has a tight schedule and that I’m supposed to be happy to be on it at all, so I grab my coat, purse, and keys and hightail it out the front door.

“Hey thar, Crazy Gracie. Where ya headin’?”

I slam back against the door, my feet slipping in fright, but it’s not long before Clete’s obvious presence makes me realize I don’t need to run for my life. Today.

“Clete, you little cotton picker. You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, darlin’, was gonna ring tha bell but ya came truckin’ out like ya were on fire.” He shrugs, rolling tobacco from one side of his lip to the other. “Came ta update ya.”

Seems like people should take numbers and form a line at the damn door.

My heart hasn’t stopped pounding from the surprise, and I have to lick my lips several times to get moisture back in my mouth. The porch swing is close so I sink onto it and hope Clete will keep his stinky distance. I also hope the hedges at the front of the porch will hide us both from Mrs. Walters. We need to plant something bigger, maybe, if all kinds of folks are going to insist on doing business out here.

“Well, out with it,” I say. “I need to be somewhere.”

In truth, I probably have close to two hours before the root doctor wants to meet, but I’ve got an idea of who should go with me, and I want to pick up dinner for Odette. Whatever Clete has to say, it can’t be that earth-shattering, especially since I’m pretty sure the Middletons aren’t guilty. Of kidnapping Amelia, at any rate.

“Nuthin to find ’bout yer purty cousin. Nobody saw nuthin’, neither. The people I know down in Charleston say they done work for the Middletons a’fore, that they ain’t scared ta get their hands dirty, but they been quiet for a bit. No talk ’bout no kidnappin’.” He spits into the bushes, then squints at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Good luck, because I hardly know at this point. “Like she up ’n disappeared in ta thin air, ain’t it? How’s that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Clete.”

“Hmm. And how’s ’bout ya give me some dirt on that d’tective? I saw him come out a’fore you did.”

“I don’t know anything. I’ve been a little busy with other things, but I’m not going to forget I promised you I’d look into it.” I could tell him about the kidnapping case in Arkansas—at least, I assume that’s where it took place—but what if sending him on a wild goose chase makes him angrier than telling him nothing?

Clete squints harder, clearly not buying it. “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’, Crazy Gracie. I know ya can’t have spent all this time with tha man and not charmed sumthin’ outta him.”

“I’m working on it, I swear.” I can’t help but check my watch, my legs itching to move. I don’t want to keep the root doctor waiting, and the look on Clete’s face says I’m not going anywhere until I tell him what he thinks I know. What I do know.

Impatience loosens my tongue. “Travis was involved in a kidnapping case back in Arkansas that went bad. I think that’s why he left a high-paying position with serious promotion potential to come here. I don’t know anything specific yet, though. I was going to snoop out some details before I told you, but since you’re being so pushy, you can find out the rest yourself.” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the slick, oily feeling of guilt washing over me.
 

I tell myself he was going to find out sooner or later, whether I helped him or not. It doesn’t make me feel better, though when Travis’s life and secrets became my responsibility, I’ll never know.
 

What’s done is done. The chips will fall where they may, and in the meantime, I’ve got to get the hell out of here. “I really have to go.”

“Fine, fine. Ya know, I don’ appreciate ya makin’ me drag my own info outta ya. Don’ sit right.”

“I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “Ya ain’t been sorry a day in yer life.’

For what it’s worth, Clete’s wrong about that. I’m already sorry for opening my big stupid mouth about Travis’s past without checking it out first.
 

Clete shuffles off and I sprint for my car, yanking open the door and starting it up, trying not to think about the consequences of what I just did. I dig my phone out of my purse with shaking hands and find Beau’s number, trying not to think about what Clete’s capable of pulling if he decides he’s not getting enough of my attention.

Surely even he can see that I’ve only got bits and pieces to spare.

B
eau agrees to go with me to see Odette and the root doctor without much effort on my part. I want to think it’s because he misses being with me as much as I miss his reassuring presence at my side, and maybe that is it. I don’t tell him the real reason I want him to come along, not yet, but I figure if the Gullah people in the camp can see the curse hanging over my head without any trouble, then they should just as easily be able to tell me if Mama Lottie has tacked one over the Draytons.

I stop at Westies and grab four orders of soup, a variety of sandwiches, a box of pastries, and a giant bottle of sweet tea before picking up Beau at his house. He smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek after he folds himself into the passenger seat, then buckles up. His eyes follow his nose to the pile of takeout bags in the backseat.

“Are we putting on a banquet in this camp?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I forgot to bring Odette something the last time I went.” I also made sure I had cash on me. I have no idea what the root doctor is going to want in return for his services, but I’m thinking it’s going to be more than the tomato basil soup, no matter how delicious it is. “She and I have an arrangement of sorts.”

“Ah.”
 

Beau turns back around and settles in for the drive, choosing silence until we’re on the highway. “Have you heard anything from Travis?”

“He came by a little while ago. They don’t have anything, and neither do the feds.” I pause, then remember my promise to be honest with Beau. “I asked Clete to look into the Middletons, too, since he could put feelers out in the criminal community. Try to figure out if they might have paid someone to kidnap her.”

“And?”

“Nothing. They both said the same thing, as a matter of fact: it’s like Amelia disappeared into thin air.” It’s easier to not cry if my eyes stay on the road. “I find it hard to believe no one saw anything, even if Mama Lottie did somehow take her.”

“Right, because Amelia still probably sleepwalked, or trance-walked out of the house.” Frustration tightens Beau’s voice. “I would think it means she’s somewhere nearby, but where?”

“I don’t know. We checked everywhere within walking distance.” My fingers tighten on the wheel. “For the first time in my life, I was even hoping that Mrs. Walters was spying, but Travis says she doesn’t remember anything and she must have been in bed.”

“She is an old woman, Gracie.”

“I know.”

“I heard the good news about Mel and Leo,” he tells me, his voice more upbeat now. “Brick called.”

“It’s a relief, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t sit right, letting all of those accusations slide.” Now, I dare a glance toward Beau. I can’t help but wonder how he feels about letting them off the hook, especially since it’s pretty clear that Allied likely had something to do with Lucy’s disappearance. “I still think they authorized the murder of Paul Adams. They made Lucy disappear, and I’m guessing she’s not the only one. There had to be other people who stood up to Allied overseas.”

“I agree. Those people are humanitarians. They’re spending their lives helping others, so it’s hard to imagine they
all
would have taken the payoff, regardless of Marcia’s whole ‘greater good’ theory.”

“It’s Bentham’s theory, but yeah.” The conversation plants a seed of an idea in the back of my mind. “I wonder if we could track down any other stories. I mean, I’d need you or Brick to review the agreements we just signed, but as far as I know, the promise to keep everything confidential only pertained to the case file we got from Marcia.”

He’s silent for a moment, making me wonder if my idea is a bad one, but then a tickle of excitement works its way from him to me. “We might be able to get justice for Lucy another way. Gracie Anne, you are brilliant! I’ll contact my old investigator and see if he can find the one Lucy used. They could work together.”

“Birdie would probably know how to get in touch with him…since she paid for it the first time.” I wince, not having meant to bring up a sore subject when things are going well between us. “Sorry. I’m sorry I asked her that right in front of everyone, I was just desperate to divert attention from what you and I had been doing in the house.”

Another look toward my passenger seat reveals a face in turmoil. Beau’s cheeks are red and his lips are pulled down, but he doesn’t look angry. At least not at me.
 

“Don’t apologize. My sister should have been honest with me a long time ago, but we’ve sorted it out. I don’t blame her for trying to help, and even if she had told me where Lucy was and how to get hold of her, Lucy was finished with me, anyway. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Wouldn’t it have? It’s clear enough that Beau feels sure of the fact, but it’s less obvious to me. Lucy obviously cared for him, she cared for his family, and she was a good person. Given enough time and distance—and a firsthand look at the real evil in the world—she might have run back into his arms.

We’re getting close to Edisto, and the two of us fall silent. I’m focused on navigating us to the correct spot and I don’t know, but I’d guess Beau’s working out ways to find other potential victims of Allied Pharmaceuticals. It salves my guilty heart that he wants to help and that we’ve possibly found a way to fight the gag orders imposed by the Middletons. Even if Brick and Birdie are bound by attorney-client privilege, Beau didn’t sign anything. The Middletons don’t even know he’s involved.

Fear clutches at my heart, sharp nails causing me to flinch. What if they do find out that he knows things, and that he’s intent on finding a way to bring them and their company to justice? Would they come after him?

There isn’t time to travel too far down that thorny path, because I have managed to find the correct road to the Gullah camp. We pull up in the same spot that Leo parked in the other night, unable to get any farther on the pitted, bumpy road. Beau’s eyes are wide as he takes in the tents and makeshift cabins, the whirl of shadows cast into the trees from the campfires.

“Crazy, huh?” I say. “That they can live like this so close to town.”
 

He nods and unbuckles, following my lead as I climb out of the car and step onto the squishy ground.
 

“It’s how they’ve lived for years, since they were transported here as slaves,” I continue, unable to stop the history lover in me from coming out to play. And lecture. Maybe I should consider a professorship after all. “The early Gullah people had a slightly different experience than later slaves, and from slaves in other parts of the country. The lowcountry was trouble for white people, with the swamps and mosquitoes and the diseases common to both. They could hardly live here, never mind figure out what to grow, but once they landed on rice they started to import people who knew how to grow it.”

“Africans,” Beau fills in, still watching the camp with a set to his shoulders that says he’s wary.
 

I nod. “Not only that but the white people used to leave trusted slaves in charge during the height of malaria season, so they had more opportunity and freedom to continue to practice their religion unhindered. It’s one reason the Gullah tradition remains so untainted in the area.”

“This is all fascinating, Gracie, but they’re not going to be upset about us invading their private space now, are they?”

“I don’t think so. I was here the other night with Leo and they didn’t seem overly bothered. Plus, we were invited.”

His jaw tightens, and I regret saying anything about Leo. Then I kick myself for feeling that way because those reactions belong to my relationship with David. Beau’s not a jealous person. He doesn’t think I’d run into the arms of another man, not while I’m telling him I want things to work between us.

Anyway, I don’t think Beau is jealous of
Leo
. I think he’s regretful that he wasn’t the one here with me, and those are different things.

“You ready?” I ask, mostly because my nerves are jangling and ready to move.

He nods, then jerks his chin back toward the car. “Are you going to bring all of this food, or were you trying to make your car smell even worse?”

“Ha-ha. You should think about stand-up comedy as a career instead of politics, really.”

Beau follows me to the rear doors, his body brushing mine as I lean in to grab the bag. Electricity and warmth spread through me, a not-too-subtle reminder that some innate feelings can never be switched off. I clear my throat, avoiding the sizzle of his gaze, because we need to focus. I can only hope that we’ll be free of distractions in a few days.

We walk toward the camp, my boots sticking to the gravel and mud even though it’s been days since it rained. We’re in true lowcountry here, where the ground sits below sea level. The people around the fire aren’t dancing or laughing tonight. There are fewer of them, too, and they’re talking quietly. It’s later, I suppose, and I chide myself for stereotyping them in my mind. Like Odette, they have to make a living and probably go to bed at a decent hour like most people who have to get up early the next morning.