Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) by Lyla Payne Read Free Book Online

distasteful that you’re willing to dismiss it out of hand, despite the facts. I just thought…I thought it would be nice to know my real family.”
    “Your real family?” I raise my eyebrows. “How about the people who raised you, Travis? Sheesh. I promise you that however shitty they are as parents, growing up with Fe would have been worse.”
    “They’re not shitty parents. They’re just… We’re clearly not related, that’s all.”
    We’re clearly not related, I think in response. The guy is straight-laced, by the book, and as rigid as they come. My mother had been the opposite, and now that I’ve met my father, it’s obvious my tendency to flout the rules when it suits me is genetic no matter which direction it comes from.
    “It’s not that I find being related to you distasteful , Travis.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m serious. I feel sorry for the guy, I do. It must be terrible to grow up feeling as though you don’t fit in, being aware of why, and knowing the people who should have embraced you chose to send you away instead. “It’s that you can’t be Fe’s son. We have… There are no males in our family who have survived to adulthood.”
    That catches him off guard. He peers at me from under his unruly, black brows. “And you think that’s some kind of proof? Some families just have a large number of males or females, you know.”
    I shake my head, licking my lips to try to get some moisture back into my mouth. The dread in my stomach grows. I wish I hadn’t had that second cup of coffee while getting ready because acid is sloshing up my esophagus. “Look, this isn’t easy for me, but I can see that you’re very upset so I’m going to say it anyway. I need you to know that so you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”
    “As you see it.” A small smile plays on his generous lips. Genuine. Almost affectionate.
    A surge of warmth tickles my belly. I think for the first time how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a brother to give me a hard time now and then. Too bad it’s not true.
    “Yeah, as I see it , if that makes you feel better.” I really wish I could sit down. In my desperation, I strip off my jacket and lay it on the bench, then plop down onto it. It’s too cold to be out without a coat, but this is a conversation best had while seated.
    Travis settles next to me, heedless of the water beaded on his end of the wooden swing. He waits in silence, his reddened, chapped hands stuck deep into his coat’s pockets as the air around us grows thick with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
    In my mind, I see my grams standing on the dock down by the river, one hand shading her eyes.
    Dirt from the garden cakes her nails and the set of her lips suggests she’s fed up with us hanging around. Amelia and I perch on the edge, our bare toes dangling toward the water and goose bumps decorating the skin exposed by our frilly bathing suits—courtesy of her mother. Every time our feet touch the cold river, we squeal.
    “Would you two just get it over with?” Grams rolls her eyes at our antics, never one for indulging the silliness of children.
    “It’s better if you get used to it, real slow like,” Millie explains. I nod in agreement, testing the chilly wetness up to my ankle this time before yanking it free.
    “Nothing you’re dreading is best done real slow like,” our grams advises, mimicking Millie with the last three words. “Best to go all the way under and let it shock you all at once instead of a bit at a time.”
    Like most children, we didn’t take her advice back then. Now I know it applies—and not only when it comes to leaping into cold water in one fell swoop.
    Nothing you’re dreading is best done real slow like.
    Thanks, Grams.
    I close my eyes, count to three, then open them and leap. “You know that I see ghosts. Maybe you don’t believe it, but it’s true. When I first came back to Heron Creek I met the ghost of Anne Bonny.”
    “The