Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) Read Free

warrant out for my arrest or something. Again. I hold my phone to my ear and listen:

    Ms. Harper, this is Dylan Travis with the Heron Creek PD.  

    I roll my eyes at the greeting. He’s been here almost three months now and he’s been over to my house for social gatherings on more than one occasion. He’s ridiculous.

    There’s been a development in the LaBadie casethat I think you’ll be interested to hear about, but I don’t want to leave it on a message. Please call me when you get a chance or come by the office. I’ll be in at eight.

    My chest constricts at the mention of Mrs. LaBadie’s name—the woman had screwed with my head, tried to kill two of my friends, my cousin, and me, all in the name of an old curse, and then she disappeared into thin air.Did they catch her? What other development could there have been?
    Hoping for answers, I dial Mel next and let my cousin sleep. Beau’s phone lights up on the end table on his side of the bed now, vibrating close to the edge. While Mel’s line rings in my ears, Beau’s stops buzzing. Even from here, it’s easy to see that he’s missed more than a few calls and messages, too. My mouth goes dry, palmsqueezing my phone so tight it starts to sweat.
    “Graciela, where have you been?” Mel rushes out without saying hello. “Have you heard?”
    “Heard what, for heaven’s sake? I just woke up! Why are so many goshdarn people up and making phone calls before the herons have breakfast anyway?”
    “Um, maybe because Mrs. LaBadie’s dead body turned up in the river behind your house.”
    It doesn’t make sense.A ringing takes up residence in my ears, like when you spend the whole day in the water and your mom has to put drops in to make it all evaporate.
    “Gracie? Did you hear me?”
    “I don’t think so. It sounded like you said Mrs. LaBadie is dead.”
    “She’s dead all right. Drowned is what they’re saying right now, but there’s going to be an autopsy and everything.”
    This would be big news in our littletown even if the person in question hadn’t tried to commit murder a few months ago.
    “Who found her?”
    “That’s the best part. Mrs. Walters was down there trying to get pictures of the Freedmans’ dog running around off leash, and she almost fell in the damn river.”
    It’s hard to make sense of what Mel is saying or to really take the appropriate amount of pleasure over Mrs. Walters’s snooping finallycoming around to bite her in the ass. “So is that why Travis left me a message?”
    “I’d say so. Millie’s down at the police station. She’s freaking out.”
    “For good reason.” So much for letting her sleep.
    Beau wanders out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his narrow waist and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. His golden eyes take me in, roll me around a little, and spit out an observation—something’swrong.
    Or right, I suppose. It should be good news that the woman who’s been stalking us, terrorizing us, maybe giving Amelia sleepwalking nightmares, and is hell-bent on killing her unborn child has bitten the dust.
    But this time it’s Daria’s voice in the back of my mind, relaying Mama Lottie’s words once she stopped letting me hear them: She’s going to give you a good-faith demonstration ofher ability to follow through on her end of the bargain.
    If this was her doing, if she murdered Mrs. LaBadie, I might throw up. On one hand, it’s certainly a demonstration of her ability to affect outcomes in a world far removed from her own. On the other, more terrifying hand, she killed someone .
    “I’m headed there now,” I mumble into the phone before disconnecting the call.  
    My stomach knotsup, jerking every direction at once. I have to lean on my knees and take deep breaths to get the black spots in front of my eyes to disappear. Beau’s hand touches my back, sweeps up to the base of my neck before trailing down my spine.  
    “Gracie. Tell me what’s wrong.”
    “Check your phone,” I