to do with the property. Probably sell it. Elise wouldn’t mind visiting one last time. And she could do with some healing.
“I’ll look into it.”
Elise’s looking into it had something to do with the fact that she and her mother hadn’t spoken in so long. It wasn’t that she wanted to spend time with Grace. She knew better than that. Even an occasional conversation over coffee came with the promise of fresh emotional trauma, but Elise wanted to reestablish a distant contact. Like this. A phone call once or twice a year. And if a Band-Aid on the relationship meant poking her nose into Aunt Anastasia’s affairs, she’d do it, plus it would give her a place to recover while her house was in shambles.
CHAPTER 2
C risis belief. It was a powerful thing, Elise thought, as she lay in the reclined passenger seat of Detective David Gould’s car, her broken body supported by the pillows he’d stuffed around her earlier, her crutches wedged between them.
“This is insane,” David said, revisiting his earlier attempt to talk her out of recovering from her injuries in a house she hadn’t seen since she was a kid. “You’re on some heavy-duty drugs and shouldn’t be by yourself.”
Funny that David of all people would make an issue of drugs, but he was the expert when it came to pharmaceuticals.
“Come stay at my place,” he told her. “I’ll take care of you.” Then his shoulders stiffened as he most likely realized his poor choice of words. Nobody took care of Elise. Elise took care of Elise. And really, his gloomy apartment with vines that blocked the sun and a Siamese cat that peed whenever it got upset? How could that possibly be any better than the plantation house where she was going? How could it possibly be any better than . . . than . . . well, than almost anything.
They hit a bump, and the dashboard hula girl did a shimmy. Elise groaned, and David let out a muffled sound that was part apology, part annoyance at being put in a situation where he was causing her more pain.
“You brought your gun, right?” David asked. They were both thinking about the remoteness of the plantation. It was near Savannah, but hidden the way so many things in the area were hidden. Isolated, secret, on a twisted, tangled dirt road.
“Yes.” She would have said more, but pain was making a harsh revisit, and she didn’t want David to know. She dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from making more noise.
“Why the hell go to your aunt’s?” David had argued back at Elise’s Victorian home in the Garden District of Savannah where they’d stopped to pick up some things after her four-day hospital stint.
“My house is full of men with power tools and hammers, not to mention an asbestos abatement team.” She’d had to shout over the sound of those very power tools and hammers. Elise was just happy the construction crew had finally shown up even though they were three months late. Did anything ever happen at a convenient time? But recovering in her own bed would have been nice. “I’d say it’s serendipitously fortunate,” Elise had told him. “Not that my aunt’s dead, but that her house is empty.”
She hadn’t told him about her aunt’s supposed return. She’d considered at least sharing her mother’s request that she check out the plantation, but it had been hard enough to talk David into driving her here today. Let him think she was coming to the plantation in order to put the past week behind her, and because her home was a hard-hat and toxic-waste zone. That’s all he needed to know right now.
From her low perspective, Elise could see blue sky and rapidly moving clouds. Live oaks and Spanish moss created a strobe of light and shadow that was hypnotic. She wanted to roll down a window and smell the world beyond the car, but the afternoon was unusually cool for early November in the South. And even though she knew it was the medication, she suddenly felt close to tears. The kind of
“I’ll look into it.”
Elise’s looking into it had something to do with the fact that she and her mother hadn’t spoken in so long. It wasn’t that she wanted to spend time with Grace. She knew better than that. Even an occasional conversation over coffee came with the promise of fresh emotional trauma, but Elise wanted to reestablish a distant contact. Like this. A phone call once or twice a year. And if a Band-Aid on the relationship meant poking her nose into Aunt Anastasia’s affairs, she’d do it, plus it would give her a place to recover while her house was in shambles.
CHAPTER 2
C risis belief. It was a powerful thing, Elise thought, as she lay in the reclined passenger seat of Detective David Gould’s car, her broken body supported by the pillows he’d stuffed around her earlier, her crutches wedged between them.
“This is insane,” David said, revisiting his earlier attempt to talk her out of recovering from her injuries in a house she hadn’t seen since she was a kid. “You’re on some heavy-duty drugs and shouldn’t be by yourself.”
Funny that David of all people would make an issue of drugs, but he was the expert when it came to pharmaceuticals.
“Come stay at my place,” he told her. “I’ll take care of you.” Then his shoulders stiffened as he most likely realized his poor choice of words. Nobody took care of Elise. Elise took care of Elise. And really, his gloomy apartment with vines that blocked the sun and a Siamese cat that peed whenever it got upset? How could that possibly be any better than the plantation house where she was going? How could it possibly be any better than . . . than . . . well, than almost anything.
They hit a bump, and the dashboard hula girl did a shimmy. Elise groaned, and David let out a muffled sound that was part apology, part annoyance at being put in a situation where he was causing her more pain.
“You brought your gun, right?” David asked. They were both thinking about the remoteness of the plantation. It was near Savannah, but hidden the way so many things in the area were hidden. Isolated, secret, on a twisted, tangled dirt road.
“Yes.” She would have said more, but pain was making a harsh revisit, and she didn’t want David to know. She dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from making more noise.
“Why the hell go to your aunt’s?” David had argued back at Elise’s Victorian home in the Garden District of Savannah where they’d stopped to pick up some things after her four-day hospital stint.
“My house is full of men with power tools and hammers, not to mention an asbestos abatement team.” She’d had to shout over the sound of those very power tools and hammers. Elise was just happy the construction crew had finally shown up even though they were three months late. Did anything ever happen at a convenient time? But recovering in her own bed would have been nice. “I’d say it’s serendipitously fortunate,” Elise had told him. “Not that my aunt’s dead, but that her house is empty.”
She hadn’t told him about her aunt’s supposed return. She’d considered at least sharing her mother’s request that she check out the plantation, but it had been hard enough to talk David into driving her here today. Let him think she was coming to the plantation in order to put the past week behind her, and because her home was a hard-hat and toxic-waste zone. That’s all he needed to know right now.
From her low perspective, Elise could see blue sky and rapidly moving clouds. Live oaks and Spanish moss created a strobe of light and shadow that was hypnotic. She wanted to roll down a window and smell the world beyond the car, but the afternoon was unusually cool for early November in the South. And even though she knew it was the medication, she suddenly felt close to tears. The kind of
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