1 Lowcountry Boil Read Online Free PDF

turtles. Gram taught us what to feed them, how to clean their tanks, and to make sure they spent time under sun lamps. Merry was only four, so Blake and I helped her take care of her turtle.  She named him Ted. Mine was Susan Akin, after the reigning Miss America, and Blake’s was Donatello, after one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Marci would never tell us her turtle’s name. She probably never gave it one.
    Against Gram’s better judgment, Marci took The Turtle with No Name home to the rented duplex where she lived with her parents. Marci’s mamma, my daddy’s older sister, was one of those mothers who had too many of her own problems to pay much attention to her daughter, let alone a pet. Mamma generally avoided allowing us to cross the threshold of that sad, neglected home, but she occasionally relented, when she ran out of excuses to offer Aunt Sharon.
    One day I was over at Marci’s and The Turtle with No Name was splotchy, his eyes filmy. The tank smelled to high heaven, and what little water the turtle had was filthy. I told Marci the turtle was sick and needed to go to the vet. She told me to fuck off. By the time I alerted Gram, his symptoms had disappeared.
    That evening, Merry’s turtle, Ted, had splotches and milky eyes. He died before we could get him to the vet. Marci denied switching the turtles and Aunt Sharon pitched a hissy fit when Gram called her on it. Two weeks later, my turtle disappeared. I know in my bones Marci took Susan Akin, either for the pure-T meanness of it or to replace Ted after she’d killed him . Donatello lived to a ripe old age under tight security. The last occupant of Marci’s tank died within a month.
    I was only six, but I think I knew even then that something was bad wrong with Marci.
    A flock of seagulls flew by.
    “How do you know when the flashlight was dropped? It could’ve been there for months.”
    “Maybe,” Blake allowed. “But I don’t think so. Looked brand new.”
    “Where exactly was it?”
    “I’ll show you.” Blake led the way down the steps. The space was adjacent to the garage and had a sand floor. “Over there.” He pointed to the area in front of the stacked firewood.
    It felt preternaturally chilly under the deck. A burst of wind swirled through, whipping my hair into my face and blowing sand. I rubbed my arms.
    “I’ve got to get back to the office,” Blake said. “Promise me you’ll let me handle this.”
    “Don’t ask me to make a promise you know I can’t keep.”
    “Dammit, Liz—”
    “I’ll promise you this. I’ll bring you anything I find. I’d never do anything to make you look bad. And I’ll be careful.”
    His shoulders rose and fell heavily. “It’s still a mess inside. I would’ve had someone clean up the print dust if I’d known you were coming.” He turned and left.
    I stepped back into the sunlight and surveyed the area one section at a time. What had Gram been doing out here that night in gale force winds?
    A familiar ripping pain tore through my abdomen.
    I staggered to the nearest support beam and leaned against it, holding my stomach with one arm, gripping the post with the other. Ovarian cysts, the gynecologist in Greenville had said. I squeezed my eyes shut. Bursts of light popped behind my lids. Somehow I was going to have to see a local GYN damn quick. Thank heavens the bad pains were rare.

    Rhett’s high-alert bark sounded from the front yard. I made my way around the house. Rhett ran a circle around me, then sprinted down the driveway and barked emphatically up Ocean Boulevard.
    Catching up with him, I peered up and down the street. The only sign of life was an older gentleman in a baseball cap several blocks away walking in the other direction. Rhett kept barking at him, alternating woofs at me.
    “What is it, boy?” I knelt and stroked his head. The man disappeared around a curve. Someone whizzed by on a bike. Uneasy, I scanned the area once more. If anyone else had been there, he—or