“It’s true. Dylan’s with her right now at the courthouse. They convinced Judge Wilfork to come in on his day off for a bail hearing.”
Ainsley fanned her face. “Lord-a-mercy! Did she admit to killing Haywood?”
“No.” I relayed what Patricia had said happened.
“Do you think she did it?” Ainsley asked, her gaze narrowing on me.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. She didn’t like Haywood, but no one knows why, not even him. Do you know?”
“Not a clue, which is strange, because as a pastor’s wife, I’m pretty sure I know the status of all social interactions within this community. You wouldn’t believe what people openly tell me.” She smiled suddenly. “Or maybe you would.”
Being the owner of the Little Shop of Potions, I was a bit of a mystical bartender. Customers talked. A lot. I listened. “I do hear a lot, but I’ve never heard anything about Patricia and Haywood.”
“I’ll put out some feelers,” Ainsley said. “Now tell me the bad news. You and Dylan didn’t break up, did you?”
“What? No!” Heat flooded my cheeks. “Why would you think that?”
“Sorry!” she said quickly. “It’s just that Patricia’s a lot to handle. I thought you showed great restraint in not pushing her down the stairs last night when she stepped on your dress. Dylan loves you . . . but she’s his mama.”
Leave it to Ainsley to know my worst fear and not be afraid to talk openly about it. “I know. Up until now it’s been easy enough to separate her from our lives, but her arrest highlighted the lone crack in our relationship. Which isn’t so much a crack as a . . .”
“Chasm?” she guessed. “A gorge? A deep endless abyss?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I was going to say a scar, but yeah, those work, too.”
“You two will figure it out, Carly,” she said, shoving another peanut butter cup toward me.
“That’s the thing. It isn’t about the two of us. It’s about the three of us.”
Dejectedly, Ainsley glanced at the coffee table and frowned at the Diet Coke. “I might need tequila to deal with all this.”
I agreed.
“So, what is the bad news?” She peered at me with only one eye cracked open as though bracing for the worst.
“This year’s hibernation has been canceled, due to an unfortunate run-in with Haywood Dodd’s ghost.” I paused a moment. “Then with Virgil Keane’s ghost.” I paused another moment. “And also Jenny Jane Booth’s ghost, though technically she belongs to Delia. Except for Haywood, they’re here now. Delia’s upstairs napping on account of Jenny Jane putting Delia through the wringer.”
Jenny Jane shot me a sharp look.
“What?” I said to her. “It’s true.”
She gestured wildly.
“Okay,” I amended. “She unintentionally put Delia through the wringer this morning.”
Jenny Jane nodded and went back to staring out the front door.
Ainsley flicked a glance in that direction. Her eyes looked about to pop straight out of her head. “I love you, I truly do, but that’s just plain freaky.”
I laughed. “Welcome to my world.”
“Where’s Haywood?”
“He’s run away. Floated away?” I shook my head. “You know what I mean.”
Fanning herself again, she stood up, went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of vodka under one arm, a bottle of tonic water under the other, and two glasses half full of ice cubes. “You’re out of tequila.”
“I’ll be sure to go shopping as soon as possible.”
As she poured, she said, “Tell me everything.”
I did, ending with how Jenny Jane Booth came to be in my living room. “My daddy mentioned that Moriah’s a librarian now, and he’s planning to make some calls to find out where. We don’t even know for certain why Jenny Jane wants to find Moriah so badly, but can only assume it’s about a grandbaby.” I explained the rock-a-bye arm gesture Jenny Jane had made.
Ainsley smiled and it lit her from the inside out. “Carter presided over Jenny Jane’s funeral last December and Moriah was there. She’s Moriah Priddy now. Got married a couple of years ago. She was eight months pregnant and so sad that her mama wasn’t ever going to meet her first grandbaby. I’m positive that Jenny Jane must feel the same. She wants to see her grandchild, and that’s why she can’t cross yet.”
By the door, Jenny Jane nodded her head vigorously.
“She’s agreeing with you. Okay, so we’ve got to find Moriah. Did she move far away?”
“Somewhere to the southern part of the state. I can check the church files to see if we have a forwarding address, but you know who’d know for sure?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Mayor Ramelle. She and Jenny Jane were best friends, and she’s Moriah’s godmama.”
“Mayor Ramelle and Jenny Jane?” The two didn’t seem likely friends, being from such vastly different stations of life.