Hyacinth leaned toward Avery. “You’re not so naive to believe it’s a coincidence.”
“Your anger is misplaced, Hyacinth.” Avery stood up. “If you recall, I am not the one who dragged myself into this.”
Hyacinth rose as well. “So says you.”
“I do say,” Avery snapped. “Haywood got a letter, same as you did.”
This was getting very interesting. And a letter? What letter?
Haywood threw his hands in the air and tipped his head backward as though looking to the heavens for some sort of assistance.
“Yes, and his was postmarked from Auburn,” Hyacinth accused as she placed the straps of a designer purse on her shoulder. “Make no mistake that if you stick around, you’ll be talking to the sheriff soon enough.”
Hands on hips, Avery said, “Is that a threat?”
“Yes,” Hyacinth replied, sweet as pie. “Have a safe drive back home, y’hear.”
She strode away from the table, and Eulalie and I scattered. I ducked behind the reception desk, and Eulalie slipped into the kitchen.
Hyacinth didn’t look back as she walked out the front door, and I thought for sure she would slam the door, but instead she closed it softly behind her. In her wake was the strong scent of gin.
She’d been drinking. A lot, if the smell was any indication.
Fortunately, she’d left her snazzy red sports car at home and was walking. A good thing, too. The car was fairly new. Just a couple of months old. A gift from Haywood.
Eulalie emerged and I stood up. A moment later, Avery Bryan came into the front room and picked up her luggage. “I’m heading out now. Thank you for the hospitality, Miss Eulalie. It was lovely meeting you.”
Haywood followed her. When he saw me, he floated toward the fireplace.
He didn’t acknowledge Virgil, nor did Virgil acknowledge him. For good reason. Ghosts couldn’t see one another.
I was very curious about Haywood’s connection to Avery Bryan, but I couldn’t very well ask him any questions here and now.
“You sure you won’t stay a few more days?” Eulalie asked Avery.
“I’m sure,” she said, her green eyes shiny. She flicked a glance at me.
Eulalie said, “Avery Bryan, this here is Carly Hartwell, my niece. She owns the potion shop in town and can work wonders with what nature gives us and a little bit of Southern magic. Headaches, heartaches, stomachaches . . . You should stop in. Get a little pick-me-up to take back with you. It’ll perk you right up.”
I stared at my aunt. She made my shop sound akin to a marijuana dispensary.
“They’re herbal remedies,” I clarified. “Homeopathic preparations for the most part. There is a touch of magic in the potions, its roots harkening back to the white magic hoodoo of my great-great-grandmother.” I often left off my great-great grandfather’s history of practicing voodoo. It tended to put people off. But truth be told his magic was just as important in the Hartwell family, as it was what helped create the Leilara drops and is what Delia used to make her hexes.
Leila Bell and Abraham Leroux’s love story had been bittersweet. A good witch falling for a bad one. They overcame a lot to be with each other, and had died in each other’s arms after he’d been bitten by a poisonous water snake. She’d tried to save him by sucking the venom from the wound and succumbed as well. In the spot along the Darling River where they died grew an entwined lily that bloomed only one night a year. After opening its petals, the blossoms wept, and those droplets were the Leilara—the magical ingredient I added to my elixirs that ensured my potions would cure just about anything.
“Bless your heart,” Avery said to me so sweetly that I almost believed it to be sincere and not an insult. “But there isn’t anything in this world to cure what ails me.”
“And just what is that, sugar?” Eulalie asked, her nosiness on full display.
Avery gave a small shake of her head. “Nothing time won’t heal. I best get on the road. Thanks again.”
Nosy myself, I opted to read her energy before she left. A wave of grief and anger swamped me, so strong I nearly burst into tears. Latching on to my locket, I took a few deep breaths, separating my energy from hers once again but a residual sadness remained, thickening my throat.
Eulalie walked her to the door. “I do hope you’ll consider staying here again the next time you’re in town.”
Avery stepped over the threshold and there was a steely undertone to her words as she said, “You’re very kind, Miss Eulalie, but I don’t plan on ever coming back.”
Chapter Nine
My next-door neighbor Mr. Dunwoody was sitting in a ruby red rocking chair on his front porch as I left Eulalie’s inn and headed for home.
“Good morning, Miz Carly!” he called out, raising up a mason jar of amber liquid in a toast.