Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) Read Free Page A

manage, figuring that, since he’s the mayor, at least one of those missed calls is about the dead body.  

    He grabs for it without questioning and then he’s beside me, his hand resuming its soothing, circular motion. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. This is good news, sweetheart. No more looking over your shoulder. Maybe Amelia can really start to heal, now, too. We can all move on.”
    My throat clogs with tears. If only he knew. We weren’t moving on. The only thing we were doing was moving forward into adeeper, more dangerous swamp than the one that has sucked at our heels since the day we met.
    I can’t tell him any of that. Instead, I get my shit together and straighten up, doing my best to swallow the messy, throbbing lump choking off my windpipe and squeeze his hand. “You’re right. This is good. It just…took me by surprise. And they found her on our property.”
    Beau frowns, getting to hisfeet and pulling me up beside him. It’s a nice feeling, as though we’re facing this together. Maybe we are. At least as far as he knows.
    “I know. I’m just glad it wasn’t Amelia who found her. And Travis better not get a bee in his bonnet about saying you were involved. I’ve about had it with him hassling you over things you had no part in.”
    I wave a hand, distracted. “He’s just doing his job.”

    “Yeah, well, I gave him his job and he’s going to have to answer a few questions of his own if he doesn’t back the hell off my girlfriend.”
    He’s only half joking, and his protectiveness toward me both warms me and sets me on edge. After everything I’ve been through these past couple of weeks, being connected to people who can call in favors because of who they are feels like a tightrope strungover a pit of snarling, hungry gators.  
    Then again, I am dating the mayor. Maybe taking advantage of that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It would be nice to go at least a week without Travis banging on my door about one thing or another.
    “So I guess those pancakes are going to have to wait,” I pout in an attempt to distract him.
    “It probably wouldn’t look too good for us to show up to talk aboutdead bodies and attempted murder with sticky blueberry-syrup fingers.”
    “Maybe afterward. To celebrate. Amelia and I will open the library a little late and Mr. Freedman will have to look the other way since his dog started this whole thing.”
    “What’s that, now?”
    We get dressed while I relay the rest of what Mel told me, which is, as she claimed, the best part of the story—at least as far ashumor is concerned. Then I follow him downstairs and decide to ride with him into town. I can walk back here later, or make Amelia drive me, or maybe we’ll both decide to stay over here since at least this place doesn’t have dead bodies floating in the river a few hundred yards away.
    A shudder works down my spine as we traverse the few blocks into town, trying to focus on the sunshine, on thesilver lining. I have a sinking feeling that making that deal with Mama Lottie will mean inviting more darkness into Heron Creek. And that maybe I should be worrying about everyone, not only my family.

    The police station is bustling with activity. Which is hard to achieve, considering the department only has three employees—well, four now, with Will—but the presence of Beau, Amelia, and myselfhelp. For once, neither of the Ryan twins pick me up like baboons. It could be because of the seriousness of the morning, but more likely it’s because Beau’s here. It’s not that he doesn’t have a sense of humor, but the twins have always been the doff-the-cap-and-avert-the-eyes types when authority figures step into the room.
    It seems to have escaped them that they’re authority figures now. Wecan only hope, for the sake of people everywhere who love decorum and good sense, they don’t realize that for a good long while.
    “Good morning, Miss Harper. Mayor Drayton.”
    “Oh, for the love of Pete, Travis.