you deranged?” I can’t help but ask, an answering smile twitching my mouth.
“You know, you won’t believeit but this is not the first time someone has asked me that question.”
We laugh, but underneath it runs a current of understanding. This is a woman who has been through what I’m going through now, who has felt crazy, been given the side-eye on the street, but she came out the other side confident and happy with who she is. Maybe Daria has more to teach me than how to better communicate withthe spirits who show up at my door.
“So when do you want to go face your doom, Graciela Harper?”
“A few days, maybe. I need to call Jenna out at the property and find out if she’s willing to help us do this without getting arrested. Again.”
“You know, I wouldn’t mind if we could request that good-looking black cop from Charleston. He and I could maybe figure out a better use for those handcuffs.”
“If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d totally fight you for him.”
Daria kicks me out a minute later, and we agree that I’ll text her when I’m ready to go. She does warn me that after what happened in the library, waiting too long isn’t going to be in anyone’s best interest.
Her parting words ring in my ears all the way back to Heron Creek, refusing to be drowned out by the awful top-forty radiostation blasting from the speakers.
You don’t keep women like that waiting, Graciela. Not dead, not alive, not anywhere in between. Which is where you are, in case you were wondering.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, sugar pie! I’m so glad you called me!”
It’s impossible to be in Jenna Lee’s presence and not feel my spirits lift. She looks different in jeans instead of shorts, and without a tool belt hanging off her slender hips, but other than that, she’s the same Jenna. Her sleek black hair is tied up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a T-shirt with a bust of Andrew Jacksonon it—very anti-Charleston of her, since Jackson and the city’s “savior,” John C. Calhoun, weren’t the best of friends. Despite sharing the White House.
“Hi, Jenna. Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course! Not only is it great timing—I just turned in a huge project and need to celebrate—but things have been sort of boring at the Hall since you took off.”
“I didn’t take off. I completed my assignment.”
“Right. Nice try, sweet cheeks, but everyone knows by now how you told off Mrs. Drayton on your way out the door. Pretty fucking boss, if you ask me.”
“Thanks.” A waiter drops by our patio table—we’re back at Pearlz—and asks for our order. I go for an Oktoberfest local brew.
“Martini, straight-up, extra dirty,” Jenna orders, making eye contact with the young waitress as though trying to impressupon her the importance of getting the order correct.
Once she’s gone, we study each other for a few seconds, clearly deciding who will show her hand first at the end of a poker game. Which doesn’t make a ton of sense since I’m the one who called her . Jenna has no idea what she’s doing here. She’s just a good sport.
It crosses my mind to make small talk, to ask how grad school is going or whethershe’s come up with any ingenious restoration techniques lately, but Jenna won’t be satisfied with that. She’ll want to know why we’re here, and has surely guessed that I need a favor. Maybe we can catch up after that.
“I want to know if you can work it out so I can come out to the property undetected again,” I say bluntly.
Her facial expression doesn’t change, though she does tip her head toone side. This is not unexpected. “I figured as much. Same spot by the river?”
I nod, sitting on my hands to stop myself from gnawing on my fingernails. It’s a habit I broke a long time ago, but it’s resurfaced in this new, extra stressful version of my life.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. In fact, we’ve got a wedding out there Saturday night, so we wouldn’t even have to
“You know, you won’t believeit but this is not the first time someone has asked me that question.”
We laugh, but underneath it runs a current of understanding. This is a woman who has been through what I’m going through now, who has felt crazy, been given the side-eye on the street, but she came out the other side confident and happy with who she is. Maybe Daria has more to teach me than how to better communicate withthe spirits who show up at my door.
“So when do you want to go face your doom, Graciela Harper?”
“A few days, maybe. I need to call Jenna out at the property and find out if she’s willing to help us do this without getting arrested. Again.”
“You know, I wouldn’t mind if we could request that good-looking black cop from Charleston. He and I could maybe figure out a better use for those handcuffs.”
“If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d totally fight you for him.”
Daria kicks me out a minute later, and we agree that I’ll text her when I’m ready to go. She does warn me that after what happened in the library, waiting too long isn’t going to be in anyone’s best interest.
Her parting words ring in my ears all the way back to Heron Creek, refusing to be drowned out by the awful top-forty radiostation blasting from the speakers.
You don’t keep women like that waiting, Graciela. Not dead, not alive, not anywhere in between. Which is where you are, in case you were wondering.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, sugar pie! I’m so glad you called me!”
It’s impossible to be in Jenna Lee’s presence and not feel my spirits lift. She looks different in jeans instead of shorts, and without a tool belt hanging off her slender hips, but other than that, she’s the same Jenna. Her sleek black hair is tied up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a T-shirt with a bust of Andrew Jacksonon it—very anti-Charleston of her, since Jackson and the city’s “savior,” John C. Calhoun, weren’t the best of friends. Despite sharing the White House.
“Hi, Jenna. Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course! Not only is it great timing—I just turned in a huge project and need to celebrate—but things have been sort of boring at the Hall since you took off.”
“I didn’t take off. I completed my assignment.”
“Right. Nice try, sweet cheeks, but everyone knows by now how you told off Mrs. Drayton on your way out the door. Pretty fucking boss, if you ask me.”
“Thanks.” A waiter drops by our patio table—we’re back at Pearlz—and asks for our order. I go for an Oktoberfest local brew.
“Martini, straight-up, extra dirty,” Jenna orders, making eye contact with the young waitress as though trying to impressupon her the importance of getting the order correct.
Once she’s gone, we study each other for a few seconds, clearly deciding who will show her hand first at the end of a poker game. Which doesn’t make a ton of sense since I’m the one who called her . Jenna has no idea what she’s doing here. She’s just a good sport.
It crosses my mind to make small talk, to ask how grad school is going or whethershe’s come up with any ingenious restoration techniques lately, but Jenna won’t be satisfied with that. She’ll want to know why we’re here, and has surely guessed that I need a favor. Maybe we can catch up after that.
“I want to know if you can work it out so I can come out to the property undetected again,” I say bluntly.
Her facial expression doesn’t change, though she does tip her head toone side. This is not unexpected. “I figured as much. Same spot by the river?”
I nod, sitting on my hands to stop myself from gnawing on my fingernails. It’s a habit I broke a long time ago, but it’s resurfaced in this new, extra stressful version of my life.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. In fact, we’ve got a wedding out there Saturday night, so we wouldn’t even have to
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