magic potion 03 - ghost of a potion

by blake, heather

  Accidentally. Doc meant while drunk but was too much of a gentleman to say so.

  “Did Hay actually send the letters?” he asked. “I don’t know. Haywood was a fairly quiet guy who simply might not have wanted to share his private affairs with others.”

  Doc opened another door, this one leading to an exterior kennel area shaded with a large aluminum overhang.

  “I will say this,” he added. “Like clockwork for the last six months, a letter appeared in our mailbox every Monday morning. One didn’t arrive today.”

  I filed that away to think about later. It made sense if Haywood had been the blackmailer, but he’d been being blackmailed like the rest of them . . . Which led me to believe that someone was framing Haywood, wanting everyone to believe he’d sent the letters.

  But who?

  Most of the stalls out here were empty, for which I was grateful. “Are there any other candidates who might have sent the letters? Any enemies?”

  “We couldn’t think of any. None of us are perfect, not by far, but we couldn’t fathom who’d do this. Or why.”

  “It has to be someone close to all of you if they know your deep dark secrets.”

  His eyebrows snapped down. “Yes.”

  When all else failed, follow the money trail. “Anyone you know hurting for money? Family members? Friends?”

  “Not that I’m aware.” He grabbed a leash from a set of pegs hanging from a cement block wall.

  “How did you get the money to the blackmailer?”

  “Each week a letter arrived with a different location and time listed to drop off the money. Once, Idella and I planted a video camera at one of the drops, but the film didn’t reveal anything helpful, only a person dressed in a black trench coat who carried a large black umbrella. Couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. It’s a frustrating situation, but we couldn’t go to the sheriff without revealing something that Idella does not want known. It was easier to pay.”

  In a blink, Virgil blew past us, peering in each stall as fast as he could fly. I knew immediately when he’d found Louella, as he dropped to his knees and a sudden keening split the air.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t Virgil, which would raise all kinds of questions I couldn’t answer.

  It was Louella.

  Doc sprinted ahead, and I quickly caught up to find Louella prancing in her cage, her tail tucked as she wailed and pawed thin air.

  Only it wasn’t thin air.

  It was Virgil.

  And he was crying.

  It didn’t surprise me in the least that the dog could see him just fine. Animals were finely attuned to the spirit world.

  A large lump lodged in my throat and my eyes welled at the love I was witnessing.

  I kept a bit of a distance from the cage, trying to minimize the pain that came from being close to Virgil. Louella didn’t seem to mind that he couldn’t touch her. She danced all around him, still wailing happily.

  Louella, I noticed, was as gnarly-looking as ever. Long and unkempt wiry brown and white hair. Protruding eyes. A tail that resembled a stringy rope. Her excited yipping hurt my ears.

  Doc opened her stall door, knelt down, and tried to calm her. She wasn’t having it. Her master was here, and it was abundantly clear that she loved him as much as he loved her. She growled at the doc and kept crying for Virgil.

  When a sob escaped Virgil’s lips, Dr. Gabriel’s head shot up. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “That noise . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Is there something wrong with her?” I asked, only because I thought it would be strange if I didn’t acknowledge her odd behavior.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on.” He glanced at me, blue eyes puzzled. “She’s wound up. Excited.”

  I laid it on heavy. “Maybe she can’t wait to come home with me.”

  He gave me a dubious look but nodded. “That must be it.”

  I nearly laughed. He must really want to be rid of her.

  Still kneeling, Doc carefully slipped the leash around her neck. “She’s up-to-date on all her shots. Perfectly healthy. I recommend introducing her to Roly and Poly gradually.” He handed me the leash. “You also might want to invest in a muzzle. Soon.”

  Lordy. “I’ll look into that,” I promised.

  “Unless you run into a problem with her, I don’t need to see her for another a year for a wellness checkup.”

  Louella came when I tugged the leash only because Virgil floated ahead of me and she strained to keep up with him.

  Doc’s eyes were wide open in pure astonishment. “She really does like you.”

  “You seem shocked. I’m a likable kind of person,” I said, stopping as we neared the reception area.

  He laughed. “Yes, you are. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you doing this? Adopting her?”

  I couldn’t very well tell him about Virgil. But when I spoke, I spoke from the heart. “Louella shouldn’t have to spend her life in a cage. It’s not right.”

  Softly, he said, “No one should. Especially when it’s not a cage of your own making.”

  I had the feeling he wasn’t talking about Louella anymore.

  He was talking about the blackmail.

  I hemmed, I hawed, before I finally just blurted, “Do you know why Patricia was being blackmailed?”

  I was beyond curious as to what she could possibly have to hide.

  Absently scratching his grizzled beard, he said, “She didn’t tell Dylan or the sheriff?”

  Wearily, I shook my head.

  He opened the door leading to the exit. “Then it’s not for me to say, either.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I cursed Dr. Gabriel and his integrity the whole way to the Ezekiel house.

  Louella trotted ahead of me, still following Virgil. I planned to stop at To Have and to Cuddle pet shop on the way home to pick up a dog bed, some toys, food, and maybe a tranquilizer or two.

  The tranquilizers were for me.

  Right now Louella was behaving, but I knew Virgil wouldn’t be around much longer and then she’d revert to her malicious ways.

  Even now, Virgil had started to fade a bit, becoming more transparent than usual. Soon, he’d fade away entirely, his transition to the other side complete.

  I tried not to think too much about Virgil leaving. Doing so caused an ache that had nothing to do with my empathic abilities and everything to do with having grown fond of him.

  He wasn’t the only one I’d grown fond of.

  I glanced behind me at Jenny Jane and said, “I’ll call Mayor Ramelle as soon as I get home.”

  Sadly, she nodded.

  I let out a small sigh. This ghost business wasn’t for sissies.

  Fallen leaves were finally drying out and blew about in a gentle breeze as my bizarre little caravan made its way toward the Ezekiel house. When it came into sight, I couldn’t stop twitching with dread. I’d come to intensely dislike the place.

  The south side of the house—where the kitchen was located—had black soot snaking up the facade. Other than that, a passerby wouldn’t be able to tell there’d been a fire there at all recently.

  A few cars were parked in the driveway, including Mayor Ramelle’s black Range Rover and Idella’s white Mercedes convertible. No doubt they were in full disaster-control mode, trying to get the house put back together.

  With Haywood gone, they’d be assuming the mansion was theirs free and clear.

  Unless they knew that Avery Bryan was Haywood’s daughter.

  In that case, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the Harpies had lit the place on fire just so Avery couldn’t inherit it. I could see them being spiteful that way. They’d have the insurance money and she’d have nothing at all.

  I gave the house itself a wide berth and made my way to the back of the property. Leaves crunched underfoot, and Louella was happily sniffi
ng every weed she came across. Jenny Jane had veered off to peek in the mansion’s windows.

  I wondered if she’d always been a voyeur or if this was new to her ghostly state.

  When I looked ahead toward the cemetery gates, I was surprised to see someone there, looking over the plots.

  Hyacinth Foster.

  Her head snapped up and she glanced back at me as she heard my approach. A look of pure horror washed over her face when she spotted Louella.

  Apparently they had a previous acquaintance.

  In a low voice, she said, “I thought Dr. Gabriel had put her down.”

  “He didn’t.” I studied Hyacinth. She’d definitely been drinking as I could smell the gin on her breath. But she wasn’t drunk. “He said he couldn’t bring himself to do it when she was perfectly healthy.”

  A trembling hand went to her throat. “Why do you have her?”

  “I adopted her,” I said, wondering if Louella had bitten Hyacinth one too many times. “When I found out she’d been living in the kennel since Virgil died, I decided she needed a home.”

  Well, I hadn’t decided that. Virgil had.

  The things I did for ghosts.

  Still shaking, Hyacinth kept staring at Louella as though transfixed by the small dog.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Blinking, she said, “I’m just . . . overwhelmed right now with everything going on.”

  Her blond hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail that she had managed to make look elegant, and her statement headband was firmly in place, but the appearance of her eyes revealed her grief. Red and swollen, with dark circles beneath that no amount of makeup could cover.

  “It’s been overwhelming,” I agreed.

  Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from Louella and turned her attention back to the graveyard.

  There was something beautiful about old cemeteries with the way the earth seemed to embrace the old mossy tombstones as its own. Creeping vines twisted and twined as though hugging the limestone markers tight. My gaze skipped from headstone to headstone, some of which were unreadable due to age. The chiseled lettering had been worn down by a century of weather systems.

  Rupert’s headstone stood out among the others for its newness. At only five years old, it hadn’t the botanical patina of the others. Next to his, his wife’s stone was worn but still readable. Patsy Ezekiel had died in the early forties. But it was the stone next to hers that caught my full attention—only because of the turned earth around it.

  Tyson Beauregard Ezekiel. I squinted to make out what was printed beneath his name:

  CPL

  U.S. ARMY

  KOREA

  JAN 20 1927–DEC 10 1952

  MEDAL OF HONOR

  He’d been so young. So very young.

  The muddy dirt in front of the grave was the only soil disturbance in the small cemetery, and I shuddered at just the thought of unearthing the old casket.

  Haywood had to have been fairly desperate to dig up the grave.

  “Did you know Haywood was an Ezekiel?” I asked Hyacinth, my voice low as though not wanting to disturb the dead.

  Her hand gripped the iron fence, her knuckles white. “He told me a month ago that he suspected he was, and I thought he had lost his mind. When he received the paternity test that confirmed it and showed me the results, it was shocking to say the least. To both of us.”

  “Both? He hadn’t known his whole life that he was an Ezekiel?”

  “Not a clue,” she said. “He only started suspecting a few months ago.”

  Louella sniffed Hyacinth’s boots, and Hyacinth recoiled a bit. I tugged the leash to the right, away from her, and Louella stubbornly plopped down right where she was. Virgil sat next to her, and her tail started thumping happily. My body ached, but I didn’t shoo him away. I noticed that Hyacinth looked at Louella as though viewing her worst nightmare, her face pinched with panic.

  Louella must have really done a number on the woman for such a reaction.

  “How did he come about suspecting after all these years?” I asked.

  She looked away from the dog and sighed. “During the renovation, Hay came across a box of Tyson Ezekiel’s belongings that the army had shipped back to Rupert long after Tyson had died at war. Inside was a stack of love letters written to Tyson from a woman named Ree that had been sent overseas to his post in Korea. Sweetest things you ever did read. Apparently they met at a USO dance over in Rock Creek while Tyson was home on a short leave and it had been love at first sight. They had only one week together before he was shipped off to war.”

  That explained a lot about the timing questions surrounding Haywood’s conception. Tyson had been home for only a little while. Hardly time enough to leave an indelible stamp in people’s memories.

  Hyacinth went on. “In the last letter in the bunch Ree told Tyson she was with child . . .” She sighed. “Even though there had been no return address on the letters, Hay started figuring dates and such and couldn’t get it out of his head that he was the baby in the letter, as Ree was Hay’s mama Retta Lee’s nickname, used by only her family. Turns out he was.”

  Hyacinth’s story also explained why the heir to the Ezekiel house had been so mysterious. It was entirely possible that Rupert Ezekiel hadn’t known the true identity of the woman named Ree so he hadn’t been able to find the grandchild whose existence he knew about only because of a bittersweet love letter in his son’s personal effects.

  The tragic nature of the story tugged at my heartstrings.

  After a moment, Hyacinth said, “I thought Haywood would like to be buried here, next to his daddy. There’s space enough—don’t you think?”

  I nodded. “Plenty.”

  “I think so, too.”

  We stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from the birds in the sky and the wind in the trees.

  “Was Haywood going to announce he was the heir at the masquerade ball?” I asked.

  “Yes. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was proud. So very proud.”

  “Did any of the other Harpies know that was the announcement?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said, “and honestly I dreaded them finding out. It was bound to rip the group apart after all the work that had gone into restoring the house.”

  I read her energy. Amid a powerful grief, she was telling the truth. If she had been lying, physiologically, her energy would have changed with a sudden increase of adrenaline and anxiety.

  “Do you think he was killed because he was the heir?”

  Again, I read her energy as she said, “I don’t know why he was killed.”

  She was being honest, but this time when she spoke I picked up another emotion in addition to grief . . . guilt. It was eating her from the inside out.

  If she didn’t know why he was killed, then the guilt couldn’t stem from Haywood’s death. That meant she hadn’t been in cahoots with anyone. There was no way for me to know why she was feeling what she was, however, and I couldn’t figure out how to ask her flat out. I also refrained from asking about her previous three husbands, though I was quite curious about their fates. My nosiness was no cause to heap on her misery.

  “He was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle man in the world.” Tears puddled. “And now he’s gone. It’s . . . unfathomable.”

  “When’s his funeral?” I asked after giving her a moment to collect herself.

  “Thursday,” she said.

  Louella had fallen asleep on the ground, snoring softly. Virgil was nearly invisible now, a mere outline of his ghostly self.

  It reminded me how time was not on my side for Haywood and pushed me to pry more than I would have ordinarily. “How come you don’t want Avery Bryan to come to the funeral?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “I was at the Goose yesterday when you told her so. You weren’t exactly speaking quietly.”

  Glancing back toward the mansion, she said, “I should get back.
The insurance adjuster is here . . .”

  “Haywood would probably want his daughter there—don’t you think?” I pressed, echoing her earlier words.

  She froze. Ice dripped from her words as she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A lie—that energy came off loud and clear.

  “Sure you do.” No more Ms. Nice Witch for me. “Avery is Haywood and Twilabeth’s daughter. Is Avery why he was being blackmailed? Did he not know he had a daughter?”

  She looked off to the distance, and for a moment I was positive she wasn’t going to answer.

  Finally, she said, “He didn’t know. Not even a hint until the first letter arrived with a picture of Avery and her birth date, calling him a deadbeat father and threatening to expose him for abandoning his only child. The blackmailer should be the one who is dead, not Haywood.”

  “You don’t think he was the blackmailer?” I asked. “I know a few people think he was.”

  Fiercely, she said, “It’s the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard. Doug Ramelle is out of his pea-pickin’ mind for even suggesting Haywood is the blackmailer. Doug’s jumping at straws, looking for a scapegoat. Just because Haywood refused to share his secret with them, he’s suddenly a criminal.”

  “What does the blackmailer have on you?” I asked.

  She fidgeted. “None of your business.”

  “How about the others?” I hoped she would gossip a bit. “Idella?”

  Rolling her eyes, she snorted, then smiled. “Miss Prim and Proper’s family money isn’t exactly pure, and that’s all I’ll say about that.”

  My eyebrows shot up. By her snarky tone, I had the feeling she didn’t like Idella much at all, but having known Idella most of my life, I understood. She was a hard woman to like because she held herself so aloft from others.

  The only time I’d felt a real bond with her was in August when she secretly came into my shop to buy a healing potion for Dr. Gabriel after it became clear that all his other treatments weren’t working effectively.

  She’d been beside herself with worry and begged my help as a last resort for the man she loved.