No, it felt a lot like a warning.
Seeing that I wasn’t going to get far asking him questions about Haywood, I switched topics to why I’d come here in the first place. “I actually stopped by to see if you knew how I could reach Barbara Jean. I need to ask her about an old friend. It’s kind of important.”
Suddenly, he was fascinated with a spot on the bar top. Using a rag, he rubbed and rubbed. “She’s out of touch for the rest of the afternoon.”
This was a problem with having no cell reception in town. No one owned cell phones. Out of touch truly meant out of touch.
“She won’t be back until late tonight. What’s this about, Carly?” he asked, his voice hard.
It had definitely been a warning.
I wondered what had made him suddenly uptight. Where exactly was Barbara Jean? Did her location have something to do with those mysterious letters?
“I heard she was good friends with Jenny Jane Booth,” I explained, “and I’m trying to get in touch with Jenny Jane’s oldest daughter, Moriah. I was told Barbara Jean might have contact info for her.”
Letting out a breath, he looked visibly relieved. “I know she does somewhere at home. I’ll have her give you a call tomorrow.”
“Not tonight?” I asked.
“No.”
Well, okay, then. “Tomorrow’s fine, I suppose.” I patted my pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill.
He held up a hand. “On the house. Take care, Carly Bell. And be careful out there.”
Wondering if he was giving me another warning, I tipped my head, and threw him a questioning glance.
“It being Halloween and all. Ghosts and goblins.” He smiled a toothy smile that suddenly felt sinister.
“I will. Thanks, Doug.” As I made my way back outside, I slipped on my sunglasses and looked at Jenny Jane and Virgil, who’d been waiting patiently for me. I grabbed my locket, holding it tight.
I wasn’t so worried about the ghosts anymore.
No, it was an invisible evil that was now making me anxious. The kind that hid behind the familiar faces of people I’d grown up with. People I knew well.
Or so I’d thought.
I couldn’t help but feel that someone I had talked to recently had killed Haywood Dodd.
Feel it straight down to the marrow of my witchy bones.
Chapter Twelve
There were a few places around town to visit when in need of reliable gossip, but hands down the best place to get local scoop was at Dèjá Brew, the local coffee shop. I detoured there on my way home, hoping Jessa Yadkin, the shop’s owner, knew a thing or two about Haywood and the Harpies.
Splinters of sunlight pierced the cloudy sky, highlighting autumn leaves, and hinting at a mild evening to come. After parking my bike at a rack near the door of the coffee shop, I smiled at a group of school kids running by in their costumes and wondered how they’d react if they knew there were real ghosts floating right in front of them.
Most likely, they’d think they were fake. Holograms or something along those lines.
I’d think so, too, if I didn’t know better.
The bell jangled on the shop’s door as I pushed inside, and I breathed in a blended scent of melting chocolate and coffee. Jessa looked up from behind the counter to greet me, and immediately went for the coffeepot. “Good afternoon, Carly!”
It was a hair past noontime, but it felt like this day had dragged on. “Hi, Jessa,” I said, taking off my sunglasses and noting that many of the tables were full. Sundays were one of the busiest for the shop. “What’s Odell cooking up? Smells like heaven in here.”
“Chocolate truffle cupcakes,” she said, her voice raspy from a former two-pack-a-day smoking habit. Her bottle-blond hair was pulled back into a wobbly bun, and today she wore a flirty ruffled apron, its fabric printed with bright red lips that matched her own lip color.
“No wonder it smells like heaven. If I eat those, I’ll die from happiness.”
She filled a cardboard coffee cup, added a bit of cream and a touch of sugar, then set the lid loosely on top of the cup and pushed it over to me. “So you want me to box some up for you when they’re done cooling?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tightened the top on the cup—Jessa never seemed to get it just right—and took a seat on a turquoise-colored padded stool at the counter. “If I’ve got to die, those are the perfect way to go.”
Country music floated from speakers mounted at the ceiling, not too soft and not too loud. Customer laughter and chatter filled the shop and also filled me with a sense of normalcy, which had been hard to come by in the past twenty-four hours.
“Speaking of dyin’ . . .” Propping her elbows on the counter, she leaned toward me, her heavily lined eyelids blinking innocently. Clumps of mascara teetered on long fake lashes.