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

take us shopping and to lunch, butter her up?” I bat my eyelashes at Millie, knowing that she’s as weary of her mother’s needling about coming home to raise the baby as I have been with Aunt Karen my entire life.
    “I guess. It’ll get her off my back for a few weeks, anyway.” She glances down at her bulging belly. Fear, worry, and wonder cross her face in quick succession, and I know she’s thinking that he’ll be here a few weeks after that.
    All of this is going to be real very soon, and the sacrifices we’ve both made better be worth it. He has to survive.
    Without Mama Lottie agreeing to help in exchange for my assistance with her own evil curse, we’d both be holding our breath for over a decade. Hell, even if she does say the curse on our family is broken, we’ll probably still hold our breath. I mean, how much can we trust a woman like that, one so focused on revenge she can’t even see that her own son loved one of the Draytons she’s so desperate to ruin?
    We finish our lunch in silence, neither of us taking any joy in the little things today. My thoughts are on Beau and what I’ve lost to this nonsense but turn back to the curse soon enough, and the worry that Mama Lottie might not hold up her end of the deal. Aside from dragging Amelia to see Odette in Charleston this weekend, I’m not sure how we would even verify whether it’s been lifted or not.
    I put that on my list of things to do. Can’t hurt.
    Lunch is over and it’s time to get back to work, which with so few people coming in and out, means cleaning and shelving books all afternoon. Hiding out in the archives has certainly crossed my mind. There’s nothing in particular I’m searching for at the moment, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe there might not be clues to my own family’s history hidden on the shelves. Frank Fournier claims we have a legacy that has included some form of spirit communication since, well, forever. He says there are things I need to know about being a Fournier, even if it is in genetics and not in name.  
    My mother never even mentioned him. I’m sure I never met him before a few weeks ago, but that doesn’t mean the family doesn’t have roots that run through Heron Creek. After all, he knew where to find me.
    “I’ll call Frank again.” I can’t call him my dad, even if Millie doesn’t seem to have any trouble sliding him into that hole in my life like a perfect, round peg.
    “Good. Convince him you need him. Men love that.”
    I roll my eyes at my cousin, who knows good and well that neither of us have the right to claim any expertise as far as men are concerned, but I know she’s right. Frank can make ghosts do things. Mama Lottie might be terrifying, and powerful, and terrifying , but she’s still a ghost. It stands to reason that she has to follow some rules. I hope.
    Amelia grabs the dust rag, and I roll the cart of returned books along the aisles, using the menial labor and the quiet to screw up my nerve. Contacting Frank makes me nervous, and asking him for favors sits even less comfortably with my conscience. It’s not smart to be indebted to a career criminal—I’ve learned that much from my reluctant association with Clete Raynard. The fact that I’m still on the fence about letting Frank into my life in any other capacity really makes asking for his help inadvisable.
    My stomach churns as my thoughts linger on the curse coming for the Draytons. They turn quickly to how Mama Lottie ignored me last night when I went back to find her. What if she ignores me forever? What if the lives of Draytons are ruined for centuries to come and Mama Lottie retires to the islands to stick her toes in the sand and laugh at my dumb ass, believing her that Anne Bonny’s curse could or would be lifted, as well?
    The phone rings once, then twice, on Frank’s end. I let myself hope that he won’t pick up so I can avoid all of this for a few more hours.
    “Graciela?”
    No such luck.
    “Hi,