Strange.
Very strange indeed.
I glanced at Virgil again. His car accident was weighing on my mind, and I took a quick moment to access the digital newspapers on file at the Hitching Post Public Library’s Web site. I recalled his death being a big news story, not only because it had been a hit-and-run, which was unusual around here, but also because it had happened on Founder’s Day, a local holiday. Its festivities rivaled that of a Fourth of July celebration around these parts with a parade, a pageant, a fair, and fireworks.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the sheriff’s office had no leads at all in the case. I skimmed a few articles and found very little helpful information. Virgil had been hit just after eleven at night while walking Louella. There had been no witnesses.
Trying to refocus on Avery, I reached over to the coffee table for the cordless phone, and dialed a number I knew by heart. I leaned back, waiting for my aunt to pick up, and kept thinking about the conversation I’d overheard between Hyacinth and Avery earlier.
“Your anger is misplaced, Hyacinth. If you recall, I am not the one who dragged myself into this.”
“So says you.”
“I do say. Haywood got a letter, same as you did.”
There was clearly much more going on between them than met the eye, and I suspected it was why Haywood was keeping his distance. He didn’t want to tell me about it.
“The Silly Goose, this is Eulalie.”
“Hi, Aunt Eulalie, it’s Carly,” I said. “Do you happen to have a home address for Avery Bryan?”
“Are you going to see her?” Eulalie asked eagerly. “I can clear my afternoon schedule if you want some company.”
I smiled at her exuberance. “Not today I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out her connection to Haywood,” I explained, “and I can’t find anything online about her. I thought if I had an address that it would be a good starting place. See if she owns a house, who might live with her. That kind of thing.”
The tax and census forms from Haywood’s paperwork had given me the idea as property records were viewable to the public. Eulalie undoubtedly had a billing address for Avery in her files, and I hoped she’d share it with me.
“As long as you don’t breathe to a soul where you got it,” she said.
“Cross my heart.”
She rattled off an address, and I jotted it down. “Thanks, Aunt Eulalie.”
“Anytime, darlin’.”
After hanging up, I’d just started typing the address into my computer’s browser when I heard a knock. I glanced up, found Ainsley peering through the glass panel on the front door. I waved her inside.
Dressed in leggings and a thigh-length sweater, she rushed inside carrying a grocery sack. She hadn’t seemed to realize that she’d just walked straight through Jenny Jane, so I didn’t enlighten her.
She dropped the sack on the coffee table. “Carter has Clingon duty, so I’m yours for the rest of the day. I’ve got microwave popcorn, cheese puffs, Twizzlers, peanut butter cups, Almond Joys, a family-size bag of tortilla chips, a jar of extra-hot salsa, and enough Diet Coke to float us to the Gulf. I’ve got DVDs of Meet Me in St. Louis, Jurassic Park, Good Will Hunting, and The Great Gatsby, the Tobey version.”
In Ainsley’s mind, the star of the most recent remake of Gatsby hadn’t been Leo DiCaprio. It had been Tobey Maguire. She adored him. His role in Spider-Man was why she’d nicknamed my witchy warning tingles “witchy senses.”
She motioned for me to move my legs aside and sat down on the sofa. “We, my friend, are ready to do hibernation up right and proper, but first, tell me what you know about Haywood’s death and why you ran out of the ball last night. I need details. I’m dying. Rumors were flying at services this morning despite Carter’s homily about the sins of such nattering.” She rolled her eyes. “The man means well, but he hasn’t quite grasped that around here, gossip is a religion. Just don’t tell Carter I said that okay? I’d never hear the end of it.”
There were some days I loved her more than words could say. Today was one of them. “My lips are sealed.”
I reached for the bag of peanut butter cups. Peanut butter was my weakness. I unwrapped a two-pack and handed one to her. “If gossip is your religion, brace yourself for a spiritual bombshell. Do you want the good news first or the bad?”
Drawing her legs up onto the couch, she pulled her sweater over her knees. Her amethyst eyes flashed brightly with eagerness. Around a mouthful of chocolate, she said, “Good!”
I set my laptop on the table next to the heart attack–inducing smorgasbord and sat cross-legged style, leaning in close to her. “Patricia Davis Jackson was arrested this morning.”
She shoved me back against a throw pillow. “Shut your mouth!”