“Who all did you talk to yesterday?” Dylan lifted my legs and sat on the sofa, then dropped my legs onto his lap.
Which didn’t make Roly and Poly very happy. They bookended my hips; Roly curled into a ball as she napped, and Poly sleeping on his back, his limbs outstretched. Dylan had disturbed their slumber and they meowed protests until Dylan scratched their heads and they started purring. They offered forgiveness easily.
They did not get that trait from me.
I said, “Mama, Daddy, Delia. Ainsley, Eulalie, Mr. Dunwoody. Avery Bryan, the Kirbys, the Ramelles. Jessa, Mr. Butterbaugh . . . you. I saw Hyacinth Foster but didn’t actually speak with her. I think that’s it. Unless you count the ghosts.” I sounded a lot like Jessa with my strained voice.
The ghosts, minus Haywood, were out on the front porch. Haywood had once again pulled a disappearing act.
I supposed I should be grateful he had been there for me when it truly mattered, but I was growing weary of him hiding out.
Yesterday when I had sent Virgil to find Delia, she’d still been asleep. The sound of the cats freaking out at the ghostly presence woke her up, and she quickly realized that Virgil wanted her to follow him. When she was leaving, Dylan was pulling up after springing his mama from the pokey, and lo and behold, Haywood had been with him.
They’d all converged on the Ezekiel house and saw the smoke. Haywood showed Delia the secret tunnel that led beneath the shed out back to the house, and Dylan had gone in after me.
Mr. Butterbaugh was still in the hospital. He hadn’t only hit his head during the fire—he’d also had a heart attack. My aunt Eulalie had volunteered to sit with him, and I resurrected hopes that there might be a love connection between them yet.
Neither Virgil nor Jenny Jane had seen who tossed the bottle bomb, and I don’t know why my witchy senses hadn’t kicked in, either, other than maybe I was too far away from the source of danger.
“Is there anyone you didn’t talk to?” Dylan asked, smirking.
I smiled. “A couple of people . . .”
“You upset someone with your nosing around. What did you find out about Haywood’s case?” Delia asked.
I once again refrained from pointing out that Mr. Butterbaugh could have been the intended victim. It was a bit of a stretch. “What did I find out? Well, let’s see. Hyacinth might be a lush who hates Avery Bryan. Avery is angry and grieving. The Kirbys didn’t know about Haywood inheriting the house, and I think I volunteered to adopt Louella, Virgil’s she-devil dog.”
Delia nearly choked on her tea. “You what?”
“Long story,” I said, waving it off. I was supposed to have been at the kennel this morning, but I was sure Dr. Gabriel would understand my tardiness. “Mayor Ramelle might have a gambling problem and you already know about the secret room in the Ezekiel basement and how someone had searched it.”
Fortunately yesterday afternoon after the fire broke out, someone passing by the Ezekiel house had spotted the smoke and called the fire department. The majority of the damage had been contained to the basement, and because the house had been so solidly rebuilt, the structural integrity hadn’t been compromised. The basement needed a complete overhaul, but the rest of the house would need only a professional restoration service to get rid of the smell and soot. On the whole, the place would be just fine. A miracle.
“Oh,” I added, “and there’s something going on about letters. Hyacinth and Avery talked a little bit about them, and Doug hinted that Haywood had been the one who sent them and deserved what he got.” Suddenly I bolted upright.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, concern filling his eyes. “Are you having pains?”
“Doug told me that when you played with fire, you got burned. He said it in reference to Haywood, but it seems a bit coincidental . . .”
“I’ll kill him,” Dylan seethed.
“Not if I get to him first,” Delia added in a stone-cold tone of voice.
I held up my hands. “We don’t know anything for sure. Let’s see if he has an alibi before we go killing anyone. And really, I should get first dibs.”
We fell into silence for a moment before Dylan said, “I don’t like this letter business. The crime techs went back to Haywood’s house yesterday after I gave the sheriff the info on Haywood’s family tree. The ashes we had found in the trash can? Remnants from typed letters.”
“Haywood said he didn’t burn them, so someone broke in just to set them afire?” I asked.
Was it possible it was the same person who’d tried to set me afire?
“Must have been something incriminating in them,” Dylan said, rubbing my feet.
“Incriminating letters that are upsetting people? Sounds like blackmail,” Delia theorized, glancing up from the computer screen.