Not Quite Dead (A Lowcountry Mystery)

Epilogue

It's a couple of days before Beau's released from the hospital, because he picks up an infection, and another three weeks before Will has completed enough physical therapy that they let him go, too. He's alive, though, so there isn't much more we could ask for.

Amelia has moved in with me, and she's confined to her bed for at least another week. The doctor says he might be able to remove the stitches in her cervix by then, because the baby seems to have stabilized after the trauma of his mother's near-death experience. Jake is buried, and no charges are filed. Beau and I backed up Amelia's claim of self-defense, and the state of her face and the kitchen left little room for argument.

Anne's gone, which kind of surprises me since Mrs. LaBadie hasn't resurfaced. Millie and I don't know what we think as far as the curse is concerned, but until the little peanut she's cooking turns thirteen, we'll both be hypervigilant about his safety. I guess Anne thinks it's enough that we know to look out for him, and doesn't feel the need to stick around to supervise.

It's hard to blame her. Two hundred years is a long-ass time to hang around people who mostly stare right through you.

I lock the front door of my grandparents' old house, which Amelia has convinced her parents to let us occupy for the time being. As though there was any doubt, once his daughter asked him for something, that Uncle Wally would deny her.

I'm happy to have a home. To have Amelia. Still, this whole thing left me feeling unmoored. Different. I'm not sure who I'm going to be now, or how it might affect me in the future, but there's nothing wrong with waiting and seeing. In theory.

Will's scheduled to leave the hospital in less than an hour, and Mel's invited a few people to his room and ordered a cake to celebrate before he goes home. I'm approaching the coffee shop, where Beau promised to meet me, when the sound of Leo's guitar catches my ear. I stop and toss him a dollar, give him a smile.

The song ends, and he puts down the guitar. "Hey, Gracie. Marcella wants to know when you're coming back to the library."

"I don't know. Mr. Freedman keeps asking. Soon, I think." It's weird to think about going back after what happened with Mrs. LaBadie, but I need a job, and there isn't anywhere else in town that would give me any semblance of satisfaction.

Unless I want to hang out my shingle as GRACIE HARPER, GHOST WHISPERER.

Definitely not.

As much as I admit to—on the rare occasion—missing Anne, not having to deal with her insistent presence is a relief. It had been a lot of pressure, not letting her down.

"Where are you headed?"

"I'm meeting Beau, then we're popping over to the hospital to celebrate Will's release."

"Oh." His eyes narrow, and he sucks in a breath, as though there's something he wants to say. In the end, the air blows out with no words.

My head tells me to ignore it, but letting go has never been my specialty. "I know you don't like Mayor Drayton, Leo, because of what happened with your sister."

He rubs his hand through his long hair and does the inhale-exhale thing again without talking. Then his eyes meet mine, hesitant but also determined. "There's more than just that, you know, that makes me wish you'd stay away from him."

"Hey, Gracie!" Beau strides up behind Leo, his eyes glued to the back of my old nemesis's head. He kisses me on the cheek and nods to Leo, then asks if I'm ready to go.

"Yeah." I smile up at him, glimpsing nothing hidden in his expression, nothing unsure about his interest in me. Because of his injuries, mine, and the fact that a ton of my time has been spent taking care of Amelia, the two of us haven't had much time to explore what's happening between us.

But we will. And, I'm consistently surprised to find out, I want to.

The bad blood between him and Leo has nothing to do with me, and there's no reason to ignore my instincts, which promise he's a good man. He's not Jake, he's not David. I don't know if he's as good as Gramps, or even Will, but I'm willing to find out. If he has secrets, they're his to tell, when and if he's ready to trust me with them.

No matter how truly I believe that, I can't help but glance over my shoulder as we bid Leo farewell and head toward the hospital. He watches us, fists clenched, but gives me a small smile when he catches my look.

"Good day?" Beau asks.

"Good day. Amelia might be able to get out of bed next week, the baby is doing great. Will's going home. What more can a girl ask for?"

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs my direction, sending all kinds of tingles down my spine.

"I'm sure you can. And I'm dying to hear about them tomorrow night when you take me to dinner."

He squeezes me tight with one arm as we stride into the hospital, then take the elevator to Will's room. Grant runs up to give me a sweet little hug before announcing—loudly—that his daddy gets to go home. My eyes meet Mel's, and we share a moment of happiness between two women who have loved the same man and who, in the end, love each other at least as much. The room grows chaotic as more people show up. Mel cuts the cake, handing over the first piece to Grant, which he promptly drops on the floor, icing first.

"I'll go grab some towels," I tell Mel, urging her to stay in the room. "I could use a minute of quiet, anyway."

Beau doesn't notice me slip into the hallway, and as much as I love my friends and makeshift family, after weeks of near solitude that room is a lot to handle. I wander down the hall to the nurses' station and ask where I can find the janitor, then walk a few more doors to his storage closet.

Inside, there's a yellow bucket holding a gray-tinged mop, shelves full of cleaners and stacks of towels. I grab a couple towels, snag a spray bottle of floor cleaner, then turn to go, and drop all of the gathered supplies onto the floor. They clatter and roll, but the noise hardly registers.

There's a figure between the exit and me. He's wearing men's clothing, some kind of period dress, though the fact that he's mostly see-through makes the era hard to pin down. His face is drawn, angry, and when he sees that I've noticed him, he extends one long finger straight toward my chest.

Oh. Hell. No.