Not Quite Dead (A Lowcountry Mystery) by Lyla Payne

Author:Lyla Payne [Payne, Lyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

I twist around, wondering how on earth I’ll ever seduce him after he’s seen me banged up, crying, and full of snot more often than he’s seen me clean. The warmth in his eyes as they seek mine suggests maybe it doesn’t matter, and somehow his presence pours energy into my limbs.

He looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ with his shower-damp curls, crisp purple tie, and pressed pinstriped suit that’s tailored to skim every hard line of his body. His slight smile shows off a hint of his dimples and squeezes me in places I can’t talk about in front of my family. He still irritates me with his insistence on coming around even when no one asked him to, but I can’t pretend it’s not nice to see a face that’s 100 percent on my side this morning.

“Mayor Drayton, this is my Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally, from Charleston. This is Beauregard Charles Drayton, the mayor of our fine little town.”

The mayor rolls his eyes toward the heavens at my overdone introduction, which is, of course, my whole purpose in doing it. Aunt Karen shoots me a sour look and reaches out a hand, and Uncle Wally does the same.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor,” my aunt gushes. “I don’t know if you remember, but your mother and I worked together in the Junior League for years.”

Now it’s my turn to cheek the ceiling for pockmarks. She’s more transparent than dead Anne.

“I’m afraid I don’t, but I know those things kept Mother busy for many years.” The way he says it, as though Junior League isn’t worth many words, tickles me pink. “Martin, you’re looking much better. You’ll be back to watching those Braves games and talking me into bringing you buffalo wings in no time.”

Gramps does the smile and head bob thing, but I think he did hear what Beau said, because he makes a face at being ratted out over the buffalo wings. Those are definitely not on his heart diet, but I’ve been known to get a mad craving myself, once in a while. Every week.

Beau pats Gramps’s hand, the one still covered by mine, and I worry the jolt of electricity is going to set off my grandfather’s pacemaker. It doesn’t.

“Graciela, since your family is here to keep Gramps company, I was rather hoping to take you to breakfast.” He glances down at my wrapped ankle and his eyes darken. “Wait here a moment, if you would.”

My emotions jerk back toward annoyed, since he doesn’t even wait for me to agree to go to breakfast. The time away from Gramps’s beloved face argues against it, while the fact that I’ve done nothing but stare at these four walls for almost twenty-four hours argues in favor, but either way, actually being asked would be nice.

“What’s going on here, Graciela Anne?”

The question snaps me out of my internal argument about whether to get out of the room for a while or stand on my principles and be hungry.

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