“And then the poor dear cried her eyes out all night long. Clearly she’s grieving.” Eulalie pointedly looked at me over the rim of her cup. “Do you think, perhaps, she and Haywood were . . . well acquainted?”
It was obvious what she was hinting. That perhaps Haywood and Avery were having an affair. A pretty younger woman. A handsome older man of means. It wasn’t out of the question; however, Haywood didn’t strike me as the cheating type, and I’d never read anything in his energy to support that theory.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
If Aunt Eulalie had so easily made a leap to an intimate relationship between the two, it made me question whether Hyacinth had witnessed the pair together and jumped to the same conclusion.
She’d already buried three husbands . . . all of whom died of natural causes.
Supposedly.
“Do you know of any bad blood between Patricia and Haywood?” I asked, then added, “It could be an old grudge.”
“There’s none that I know of unless there is a connection between him and Avery. Last night Patricia was madder than a wet hen in a paper sack, and I can absolutely see her taking out that rage on Haywood if he dared confront her about her deplorable behavior.”
I could see it too. “Do you know of anyone else who might hold any ill will toward him?”
“I certainly hold a smidgen of ill will toward the man.”
Shocked, I said, “What?”
“I’m personally offended that he has never shown an inkling of interest in moi.” She preened and batted her eyelashes. “Choosing to date Hyacinth Foster shows a distinct lack of good taste on his part. Perhaps, he’s had a death wish all along. Everyone knows the rumors about her former husbands. He might very well be alive right this moment if he had only looked my way. God rest his soul.”
Eulalie had never lacked for ego.
She finished her coffee. “No matter what potential relationship there was or wasn’t between Avery and Haywood, Avery’s tears have broken my heart. I know you’re in the midst of hibernating and all, but I was hoping you could sneak over for a visit with her, read her energy. If anyone is in need of a healing potion, it’s her.”
I wasn’t buying her broken heart nonsense. Eulalie wanted to know what was going on between Avery and Haywood.
Truthfully, I wanted to know, too. Not only because I was nosy, but because I could easily recall the desperation in Dylan’s voice the last time I spoke to him. He needed to find another suspect to take the heat off his mother. Perhaps if I could help find that person it would go a long way to bridging the gap between Patricia and me.
If you want Dylan you have to figure out a way to make nice with Patricia.
My daddy was a wise man.
With any luck the mysterious Avery Bryan might have some insight into Haywood’s life that she wouldn’t mind sharing. “Okay. Later, though. I have to go out with Dylan for a bit.”
Eulalie clasped her hands in glee. “Perfect! She went out for a walk a little bit ago, but I’m sure she’ll be back soon. I’ll call as soon as she comes through the door.”
She gave my hands a squeeze and headed for the door, her skirt swaying and her heels clacking.
As I watched her go, I thought about Haywood. Whether or not he was having an affair, it was becoming clear that he had been keeping some secrets.
Rounding up a few more suspects was just a matter of discovering who had known those secrets . . . and if Haywood had been killed because of them.
Chapter Seven
Haywood Dodd had lived in a pretty teal green Queen Anne–style house that had a wraparound porch with beautifully crafted spindles and posts, a turret, and a big Palladian window on the first floor.
His landscaping was meticulously tended, the shrubs sculpted just so, the lawn cut to the perfect height. Despite the rain and the chill in the air, the pansies and mums that lined the front walkway were bright and cheerful.
There were only two items glaringly out of place in the serene setting: The yellow crime tape on the front door . . . and me.
I paced the length of sidewalk along the tree-lined lane, rain pinging off my polka-dotted umbrella as I waited for Dylan to arrive. He’d called and said he was running late and asked me to meet him here. I’d decided to take my chances and walk over instead of driving, which might have raised the suspicions of the neighbors with my Jeep parked in front of Haywood’s.
It was a decision I regretted. Turned out Dylan was running later than he thought, and I’d been waiting for close to ten minutes now.
Out here in the open.