Not Quite Dead (A Lowcountry Mystery)

Chapter Twelve

They're soft, as gentle as his fingers had been a moment before, and taste like sleep and a faint trace of maple syrup. The heat between our mouths makes me sigh into him, and warmth spills down my throat and into my belly, where it starts to simmer. It sizzles as he scoots closer, moving his mouth against mine and testing half a dozen ways we fit together before sliding his tongue along the seam of my lips, begging access I'm too willing to give.

It's brief, as kisses go, and our tongues meet for a brief caress before he eases back just in time for a nurse to breeze through the door. It's possible he heard her coming, but I didn't hear a damn thing but the sound of water roaring between my ears and the world.

My lungs struggle to get us a good amount of oxygen, and the world's a little black around the edges, and from the way Beau's molten gaze clings to mine, the effect of our chemistry isn't all in my head.

The nurse, a perky, short girl with red curls that remind me of little orphan Annie, notices that she's interrupted something but, other than a curious glance or two, acts as though nothing's amiss. "Martin, dear, it's time to wake up and have your dinner!"

I like the way she talks loud enough for him to hear but doesn't resort to the kind of cadence some people take up, as though they're speaking to an infant or someone mentally deficient. He might be old and half deaf, but Gramps is sharper than a lot of people twenty years younger. That she understands that makes me take to the girl despite her over-perky attitude.

Beau helps me off the bed and to Gramps's side, and when he wakes up and sees me, the way he lights up stabs me with so many holes my soul could strain pasta. I'm not trying hard enough, not doing enough, not being a good enough granddaughter. There might only be weeks or months left with Gramps, so why has it been so important to me to minister to the silent, bossy requests of a woman who is already dead? Anne Bonny has waited two hundred and fifty years for whatever closure she seeks; it's not going to kill her again to wait longer.

But the notes surround the archives, and Anne wanted me in that room. They could be connected, which is all the more reason to let it lie for now.

I shake off the thoughts of my ghostly bestie and take the tray from the nurse while Beau gets Gramps's bed into a good position for eating. The food doesn't look as bad as it could, and my stomach growls at the scent—I haven't eaten since the meatloaf last night, and Gramps probably hasn't, either. He only picks at his food, though, and the worry twisting my heart reflects in Beau's concerned gaze.

"What's wrong, Martin? Not a fan of cubed steak?" He grabs the remote and flicks on the television, turning to the Braves game that's just started as though his question is nothing more than general conversation.

I look toward him and lower my voice. Not that Gramps can hear either of us without his hearing aids. "You can go, Beau. It's been a long day, and you don't need to stay. I'll be fine, and Will and Mel are going to stop by later."

"First of all, I'm not leaving until we hear from the doctor and then get you down for X-rays on that ankle. And second, even though the events that began the day were unexpected and unhappy, I've enjoyed spending time with you. Even asleep."

The compliment, frank and unexpected, makes my whole body hot. A glance toward Gramps reveals him watching the two of us with far too much interest, and Mel and Will's arrival flushes me with relief.

My ex-boyfriend steps around the bed and grins at Gramps, ignoring the tension in the room. "Cripes, Gramps, you gave us a little scare. It's good to see you awake!"

When Gramps bobs his head up and down with a wide grin, we all know he didn't hear a darn thing. Melanie picks up Grant and rounds the bed to stand next to her husband, she and the boy wearing matching expressions of concern, though Grant's is tinged with a tad more curiosity.