Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery) - Plot & Excerpts
Amelia might be sleeping better since Mrs. LaBadie died—or Mama Lottie killed her—but my nights grow shorter and shorter. At least Beau was with me when I woke up at five this morning, and he is quite good at providing distractions of many kinds. Now it’s after seven, and we both need to get moving. Yet neither of us has budged an inch, even though our skin sweats under the covers and my bladder is complaining. “What’s wrong, Gracie Anne?” The question startles me. We’ve been quiet for a while, my thoughts entirely somewhere else. “What?” “There’s something on your mind.” His fingers brush my skin, sweeping softly over the surface. “Are you still thinking about what Brick said last week? About us?” I drop my head to the side until it presses into the pillow, the prickly end of a down feather scratching my cheek. His hazel eyes are soft, loving, and they feel as though they’re caressing my insides with the same care his fingers give my outside. The fact that he cares about me is written in bold, scrawling ink over his face, his expression, and it fills my lungs.
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