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

to whoever waits on the fifth floor. “We’re going to get through this, Millie. All three of us, and life is going tobe boring like it should be and we can finally start looking forward together.”
    “I love you for saying that, Grace.”
    “I’ll love it when you start believing it with me.”
    The smile she gives me is sad. Then we’re facing a second reception area as posh as the one downstairs but softer and more inviting, and there’s no time left for us to confer alone.
    There are three closed wooden doors thatlook heavy and expensive. The carpet is off-white and so thick our footsteps make no noise as we examine the names outside the separate offices until we find the one for Ms. Phoebe Rice, Attorney-at-Law among the other two, one for a Mr. Randall Rice and a Mr. Garrett Britton, and push it open.
    Inside, we find a second secretary who looks up with an expression that is polite but more tolerantthan thrilled. “You’re Amelia Cooper?”
    My cousin nods. “Yes.”
    “Ms. Rice will be with you in just a moment. Can I get you a cup of coffee, tea, or a coke?” Her gaze falls to Millie’s bulging waist. “We have decaf options, of course.”
    We both refuse. I don’t want to chance spilling it on the carpet and Amelia’s still tied up in knots, if her fidgeting is any indication.  
    It turns out not tomatter, since a second dark wooden door swings open a moment later to reveal an inner office—and a woman—who can only be described as stunning. She’s tall, probably five nine or five ten, with sleek, midnight hair cut into a bob that lands just below her chin. She’s wearing a lavender sheath that must have been custom tailored to land at a very appropriate inch above her knee. There’s not a stitchout of place, not a pound that’s not needed to contribute to her perfect curves, and when our eyes meet it’s hard to imagine a lighter shade of blue.
    Ice. That’s the impression she gives off. And while a woman like Phoebe Rice would normally make me cross the street out of pure intimidation, it’s clear in an instant that she’s exactly the kind of woman we want on our side in a courtroom.
    Sheextends a slim hand—complete with manicured nails—toward Amelia, seeming to know without being told which one of us is her client. “I’m Phoebe Rice. You can call me Phoebe.”
    “Amelia.”
    In the back of my mind, which is still recovering from the shock of seeing Beau’s attorney friend for the first time, my devils start to wonder how close she and Beau are. Or how close they might have been in thepast. Or whether it’s possible for any man to get within five feet of Phoebe Rice, Attorney-at-Law, without drooling.
    I resist the urge to tell the devils to shut up since my cousin has made clear, on more than one occasion, her feelings about me talking to myself out loud and in public.
    A nudge at my hip startles me out of my head, and Millie frowns at me. I realize the manicured nails arenow held out toward me, and I jump to shake her hand. “Graciela.”
    “Yes, Beauregard’s girlfriend.” Her cold gaze flicks over me. “Interesting.”
    There’s no time to wonder what the hell that means or get my dander up because she turns, leading us into her office in three-inch, nude, patent leather heels. Her office reminds me of Brick’s, except the view of the city through her giant picture windowisn’t nearly as impressive. The deep cherry furniture is stylish, understated, and almost certainly cost more than I make in a year.
    The effect, however, is relaxing. Amelia’s shoulders fall from where they’ve been hunched up around her ears, and for the first time all day, I can’t hear her breathing. We sit in two matching chairs, and Phoebe perches primly in the swivel chair behind the desk,folding her hands.
    My head is jammed with a million questions, but this isn’t my appointment. Before the lawyer can get out a single word Amelia leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. The