Read Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) for Free Online

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    Amelia wipes the crumbs from her toast off the counter with a pink sponge, anxiety radiating from her skin and tightening my own chest. By the time I’ve managed to fill a to-go mug and snatch a peanut butter granola bar out of the cabinet, even I’m close to hurling.
    It would be nice to tell her to knock it off, that she’s worrying for nothing, that this lawyer friend of Beau’s is going to makeeverything magically okay. Amelia and I don’t lie to each other, though.
    We leave the house, climb into the silver sedan her sweet father delivered a couple of days ago, and I sneak a glance her direction. It’s hard not to wonder if I’m the only one keeping to that code, loyal to the promises we made each other years ago. Because there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by lately where I haven’t askmyself at least once what my cousin is hiding.
    The lawyer’s office is in Charleston, and we make small talk about the changing season and when we think the pink camellias will bloom over the hum of the radio. We find the address easily enough with GPS, pay to park the car, and walk the three or four blocks to a historic building with an engraved wooden sign out front: Rice, Rice, and Britton,Attorneys - at - Law.
    “She’s one of the partners?” Amelia sounds like she’s not fading away for the first time today.
    “Her name is Phoebe Rice, so I guess?”
    “Beau is a miracle worker.”
    “And you haven’t even been to bed with him.”
    The comment makes Amelia shake her head, but the hesitant smile is what I was going for. “Don’t be crass, Grace. It’s not becoming.”
    “It’s not becoming?” I stop walking,hands on my hips as she holds open the door. “Have you been possessed by your mother? Have I been confiding to Aunt Karen this entire time? ”
    She snorts, tipping her head. “Are you done? Can we go inside now?”
    “I guess. But I’m asking Daria about exorcisms later.”
    “Fair enough.”
    We settle down, awed by the grandeur of the lobby. It’s exactly the sort of building I love, designed to highlightthe gorgeous original floors and fixtures but still incorporating clean, modern lines into the space. The receptionist looks like she might be a college student, with a mousy brown ponytail and bright red lips stretched into a giant smile.  
    “Hi,” she squeaks in a chipmunk voice that I don’t think she’s putting on. “Welcome to Rice, Rice, and Britton. Do you have an appointment?”
    Christ Almighty,she belongs under the heading perky in the dictionary. Or possibly out on a ledge somewhere. It’s too early in the morning for me to respond without cringing, and my cousin steps up, clutching her hands together as though she’s hoping to hide the fact that they’re shaking.  
    “Hi, yes. Amelia Cooper for Ms. Rice.”
    The girl nods, typing loudly into the giant Mac desktop for about ten seconds beforelooking back up with a manic sparkle in her brown eyes. “Fifth floor. Her secretary will be expecting you.”
    “Thanks,” my cousin murmurs, eyes on the elevator bank.  
    I follow her through the all-white, marble lobby, happy to leave the disconcertingly peppy receptionist behind. Maybe she is the sort of person who should have a job greeting perfect strangers wandering in off the street, but forme, anyone who can make that much glee seem natural probably needs medication. Or needs to tone down her current dosage.
    The elevators open as soon as Amelia presses the button, and the doors slide shut behind us without a sound. Our images are reflected in clean, polished mirrors as the car zooms upward—opposites in just about every way except for our green eyes. My brown hair frizzes slightlydespite my best efforts while Millie’s gold waves tumble smoothly past her shoulders. She’s petite, more than two inches shorter than I am, but inside, we’ve always been more alike than different.
    I reach out and give her hand a tight squeeze before the doors open and reveal us