Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) (16 page)

“Right. It could be his cousins,” Amelia confirms, reaching out to squeeze my hands.

“Except Cordelia’s the one in charge at
Drayton and Magnolia. What are the chances that Brand isn’t a direct relation?” I shove the hope away, unwilling to look it straight in the eye. I don’t have good luck, and now is not the time to pretend that I do.

“You never know. Maybe they’re descended from the family that owned Magnolia.”

“Maybe.” I do bite my nails, not caring what my Aunt Karen would say. “I’m going to check it out. The
family trees through the early nineteenth century are on the Drayton Hall website so it shouldn’t be too hard. Just have to figure out which of them is Brand’s grandfather.”

Neither of us move. Right now, we have Schrödinger’s cat—the curse is for Beau’s family and not for Beau’s family—but once I open the laptop and log in, we’re going to know for sure one way or the other.
 

The touch of Amelia’s
hand over mine makes me jump out of my skin, but she doesn’t let go. Sorrow and guilt line her features, but determination has never left her gaze. “Thank you, Grace. I know this decision wasn’t easy for you, and I never, ever would have asked you to do it if I thought there was another way. Hell, I never would have asked you if it was only my life on the line.” Her other hand flutters over
her belly. “I have to give him a chance.”

Her solidity, her honesty, the way she’s holding on to both Jack and me like we’re the reminders of why she’s still fighting, pushes my own guilt further away. I squeeze her fingers. “I know. I wish there were another way, too, but for the record? I would have done the same thing if it was only you.”

Our eyes meet, hers wet now. My throat on fire.
 

“You’ve always been there for me, Millie. We’re family. You and Jack are all I have left.”

“I
haven’t
always been there for you, though. I don’t deserve this.” She chokes on the words, as though she’s trying to hold them back until the last second.

I sit up, my full attention on Amelia. She’s breaking down, one piece at a time. Tears gather in her eyes, trembling on her lower lashes until there
are too many to hold. The pain in her bright eyes hurts me, like a thousand punches to every inch of sensitive skin. What’s worse, she shrinks away as I scoot closer, desperate to understand.

“What are you talking about? You don’t deserve what? Your life? A baby?”

She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. “You, idiot. After what happened with Jake, I don’t deserve
you.
”

“Millie, you’re being
ridiculous. If that therapist hasn’t gotten it through your head yet that nothing that happened with Jake was your fault, maybe he
is
a quack.”

“Oh, Grace. It’s not that.” She’s sobbing now, sucking in gasps of breath, her lip quivering, words spitting out in fits and starts that get harder and harder to make out. “How could you forgive me? How could I even ask?”

I move closer again, and this
time she can’t escape. Her back presses against the far arm of the couch as my hands land on her knees, holding on tight. As hard as I try to make her, she won’t look at me, and fear lances me open. “Forgive you for what?”

She looks at me now. Shaking. Looking like she wants to die. “For not believing you,” she whispers. “That night. For choosing a guy over our lives together, for disregarding
all that trust. We grew up together, we had the best relationship, and I…I just went and threw it all away like it was nothing.”

It’s like the confession, one I had no clue had been weighing on her all these months—maybe longer—has sucked every last bit of energy from her body. She slumps forward, curling into the back of the couch as though she wishes it would eat her alive. My mouth refuses
to move, waiting for information from my stunned brain.

“Amelia Anne Cooper, are you serious right now?”

She nods, misery sloughing out of her with every breath. “I’m so sorry, Grace. I knew. I knew you were telling the truth, but I didn’t want to believe it. I thought if you went away then everything would be okay again, even though it was never okay to start with. I’m so stupid.”

“You are
not
stupid. It’s called a learning experience, and I’ve handled a few of them pretty badly myself.” I reach out and grab her shoulder, forcing her to face me. I’m desperate to fix this. I would have done it sooner had I known. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mill. I was heartbroken for
you
. Scared out of my mind for
you
, worried that no one else would be able to see and help you after you pushed me
away. But I wasn’t
mad
.”

“How?” she whispers. “How can you not hate me?”

“We’re
family
. I love you. You love me. Even if we were separated for the next fifty years for one reason or another, I would run all night to be there if you needed me in the morning. You have to know that.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“And I don’t deserve you. No one deserves love, Millie. Some of us are lucky enough to
have it in our lives, anyway, so I choose to be thankful. Even if we dent it a little.”

“I don’t want us to be dented.” More tears, more misery, but the slightest bit of light brightens her face. “I’m going to have enough skin dimples after this baby.”

A joke. I smile through the pain in my chest. “They’re
our
dents, though. They just mean our mettle has been tested, and it’s strong. We’re going
to get through this, too.”

I watch her. She watches me. Between us, an invisible weight lifts up and away, as though it’s being carried off by a couple of my ghosts. Even though I can’t see or hear them and never have, it’s not hard to imagine my grandparents up there, more than thrilled to see this moment come and go.

“I love you, Grace. Thank you for being willing to give up a man who could
make you happy forever because of me.”

“It’s not because of you. It’s because of Anne Bonny and Calico Jack Rackham, or maybe her father or her version of Jake Middleton, but not because of you. You did nothing to end up here.” I launch myself at her and snatch her in a hug, squeezing her as tightly as possible with the baby kicking between us. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Twelve

I’m not sure whether it’s the exhaustion from the entirety of my evening, the fact that it feels wonderful to lie next to my cousin and talk—really talk—for the first time in years, or that pretending even for one more night that this whole cursing the Draytons thing might not ruin my life after all is pretty damn appealing, but I don’t get around to pulling up family
trees until the next morning.

It’s Sunday, so the library is closed. We made some omelets and grit cakes for breakfast and ate out on the deck, but now we’re both staring at my laptop as though it’s somehow betrayed us on its own.

The Drayton family trees are on the Drayton website, same with Magnolia. Dr. Charles Drayton married Sarah Martha Parker—the woman who raised Mama Lottie when she
was just Carlotta. They had two boys, one of whom inherited the property. Charles Henry Drayton married a woman named Eliza, and they had four children, three girls and one boy. Three survived into adulthood, one never married.

That left two. Charles Drayton the IV was Sarah Martha Parker’s grandson…and Beau’s great-grandfather. Seeing the verification there in black and white sinks my stomach
into my toes but really, it’s not unexpected to learn that my boyfriend is a direct descendent of the woman in question. The woman who, for reasons still murky and undefined, lies at the center of Mama Lottie’s wrath.

At least getting his DNA shouldn’t be hard, I think with a half-numb heart. There are probably Beau hairs scattered all over my pillows since I’ve been meaning to wash those sheets
for…several days, now.

I blow out a breath, and blink back the tears. Forward is the only way we can ever march, and the choice was made last night. There’s no taking it back now.

Instead of melting down further, because that’s taken up too much of my time lately, I keep digging until I’ve got a list of living Drayton descendants from that line. I’m grateful Mama Lottie doesn’t want me running
all over hell’s half acre turning up every last one of them because that would be a full-time job. She doesn’t seem as though she’d be willing to pay a fair wage or give me health benefits, either, unless breaking curses counts as compensation.

“What are you thinking about?” Amelia asks, plopping a sandwich down on the table. “You look like you can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.”

I look up,
slightly confused by where the food came from and also why the sun is so high in the sky. The sweat sticking my tank top to my stomach and my hair to my forehead suggests that more than a few hours have passed since breakfast.

I squint up at her, trying to ground myself. “Oh, the usual. Just wishing the ghosts of the world would pay better. Retirement would be nice.”

She shakes her head, settling
in one of the other patio chairs. “You know, it really is better to lie sometimes when people ask you questions.”

“It’s just you.” I shrug, peeking into the aluminum foil to find turkey and avocado. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t even notice when I left.” She frowns, picking mealy pink tomatoes off her hot ham and cheese. “I’m guessing your luck isn’t magically turning around.”

“If anything, I’m starting
to think my luck might be magically bad.” I sigh, picking up half my lunch, which I
hadn’t
heard her leave to pick up. “Sarah is Beau’s great-great-great-great-great grandmother. So that takes care of that direct line.”

“I’m sorry, Grace.” Sadness wriggles into the lines around her eyes, cutting deep. “How many others do you have to track down?”

I check my notes, glad to have this to focus on
instead. “Not as many as there could be, that’s for sure. She has four other very-great grandchildren and at least a few of them live nearby. The one, I might have to drive up to Wilmington to meet.”

“Virginia?”

“North Carolina.”

“Oh.”

We chew in silence, on our food and the problem at hand. Finding addresses for at least one descendant per line isn’t hard, as I’ve proven this morning. Figuring
out how to wiggle into their houses and collect DNA might be a little tougher.
 

“You know, we might need to enlist the ol’ Scooby gang,” my cousin comments around a mouthful of cheese.
 

“What do you mean? I don’t want to involve everyone.” I want to bury my head in the sand and mope like a depressed ostrich, but I suppose that’s not an option.
 

“I’m not suggesting we get them wrapped up in
this curse or with anything that’s going to hurt them. I’m saying we’re going to need several different excuses for getting into people’s homes, and these Draytons are family, however distant. They could talk, and if they realize halfway through that the same weird chick is showing up with the same half-baked story, you could run into trouble.” She shrugs. “We’ve got enough of that.”

“Amen.”
The idea sounds better the longer it sits in my head, and Mel, Will, Amelia, and I have had plenty of experience getting into trouble together. And out of it. “Maybe we should. It would be fun to run a scheme all together again, and it’s pretty harmless.”

“I’m not sure collecting DNA for a voodoo curse without permission is exactly harmless.”

“Hey! You’re the one who just said this wasn’t going
to hurt anyone.”

“It’s complicated.” My phone buzzes with a text message, distracting me. “Hold on. It’s from Jenna.”

“I want to meet her.”

“You’ll like her,” I say, opening the message.

Hey. Got what you wanted but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away this week. I have the practice defense of my dissertation and the Drayton reunion is next weekend. They’re keeping me hopping with prep,
and guess what? You’re not invited.

Haha.
I frown.
Is there really a reunion? Who’s coming?

I don’t know, Draytons? Why?

Just curious.
I bite my lip, wondering how far to involve her.

Can I sneak out and get the diary? Or I could meet you when you leave for lunch?

Sure. You can come out tomorrow. Cordelia’s having a planning meeting at her house, so it will just be me and the
tour guides on site.

See you then.

“What was that all about?” Amelia cleans up the trash, mine and hers, and steps across the threshold into the house.
 

I follow, because it may be October, but it’s too hot to stay outside. Plus, I can hear Aunt Karen in my ear, whispering about all the little lines I’m getting around my eyes squinting at the computer like that in the sun.
 

I already bought
eye cream. What more does that woman want from me?

“Well, it was about our luck changing. Maybe. Slightly.” Her eyebrows go up, a familiar curiosity and need for action back in her face. “It seems the Draytons are having a reunion at the house next weekend.”

“Beau hasn’t said anything?”

I frown, because I didn’t even think of that until she just said it. Not even when Jenna was joking about
me not being invited. “No. I’ll have to ask him about it, though. I need to be there. I could possibly kill a few birds with one stone.”

Amelia winces at my choice of words, but my heart hardens. There’s no time for feelings, not now. Not when our feet are on the path.

“She also has Sarah’s diary, the one that talks about Mama Lottie. I’m hoping it’ll give me a little leverage, or at least,
remove these blinders. There has to be more to her story.”

Maybe it’s not going to matter in the grand scheme of things but it can’t hurt. There’s still part of me hoping against hope that there is another choice and I just haven’t run across it yet.

“There’s always more to the story.”

“True.” Speaking of more to the story, I might as well continue the research theme of my day and get started
with Travis. No way Clete is going to be as willing to pony up first as Mama Lottie was with her show of “good faith.”