“And I brought this.” He pulled an apricot-colored potion bottle from his coat pocket and held it out. “Special delivery.”
My hand closed around the warm glass. I tugged the stopper and sniffed, picking up the predominant scent of New England aster, which was an excellent choice to soothe my lungs. I drank the potion, feeling its effects almost immediately. The pain in my chest eased, and my throat stopped aching. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and marveled at the magic that was in my life.
“Better?” he asked.
“Better. Thanks, Daddy.”
He dropped a kiss on top of my head. “So help me God, if I find out who did this to you . . .”
“You’ll have to get in line,” I said, smiling.
“Any leads yet?” He bent and picked up Boo, who then bathed Daddy’s chin in kisses.
“Not really. Partial sneaker footprints were found outside the kitchen windows at the Ezekiel house that support the theory someone had been out there looking inside. Spying on Mr. Butterbaugh and me. A deputy took casts as evidence. The kitchen was full of fingerprints because of the party the night before and it’ll be weeks before that’s all sorted out.”
Still holding Boo, he leaned against the countertop. Quietly, he said, “I’m guessing the fire had to do with you nosing into Haywood Dodd’s murder?”
The kettle began to whistle. “We don’t know why the fire was started yet,” I evaded.
“Carly Bell.”
“Daddy.”
Shaking his head, he said, “You’re as stubborn as your mama. Where was Patricia when the fire started?”
I pulled the kettle from the burner. “Dylan had just dropped her off at Hyacinth Foster’s home. Apparently Patricia wanted to check on her in light of Haywood’s passing. There wouldn’t have been time enough for her to get to the mansion and start the fire. Besides, when have you ever known her to wear sneakers in public?”
“I’ve been thinking. Have you ever considered that Hyacinth and Patricia could be in cahoots?”
I couldn’t help but smile.
Boo’s round black eyes were drifting closed as my father rhythmically rubbed his head. “What’s so amusing?” he asked.
“The way you say cahoots. Cah . . . hoots. Almost like a sneeze. Say it again.” I pressed my hands together in a praying gesture. “Please?”
Stone-faced, he didn’t so much as blink. “Carly.”
“Daddy,” I echoed, using the same no-nonsense tone.
“You have to at least acknowledge the possibility the two are . . .”
Ever hopeful, I lifted my eyebrows.
“. . . working together.”
Let down, I said, “It’s something to consider.” Any or all of the Harpies could have worked together to kill Haywood. Tag-teaming, as it were. I needed to find out which one of them knew Haywood was Rupert’s heir. That would narrow down suspects in a hurry. Because of my conversation with the Kirbys yesterday, I could already cross Idella off that list. That left Patricia, Hyacinth, and Mayor Ramelle. They could all easily lie to my face, but they couldn’t keep me from reading their energies. It always told the truth. “Tea?” I held up the kettle.
“No, thanks. I need to get back to the shop to relieve Ainsley. She has to pick up the Clingons.” He put Boo on the floor and reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I do want to show you something before I go. Take a look.”
I set the kettle back down and picked up the paper. It was a copy of an official-looking letter from a genetics company. It was dated a week ago.
Daddy said, “I found it in the stack of papers you photocopied at Haywood’s house. A DNA paternity report. It was the only thing that jumped out as interesting in that entire pile.”
Wide-eyed, I read it quickly. With ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent certainty Tyson Ezekiel was the father of Haywood Dodd. “Who’s Tyson Ezekiel? Is that Rupert’s son?”
“I believe so.”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “Mr. Dunwoody said Tyson had been at war when Haywood would have been conceived. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I can’t explain it, but science confirmed it.” Daddy gave me another hug. “I have to get going. You’ll be okay here on your own?”
“I’ve got Boo.”
The little dog wagged his stumpy tail.
“In that case, call if you need anything. I’ll be at the shop until closing. Oh, and I’m waiting on some return calls about Moriah Booth Priddy. I should know something by the end of the day.”
Between Daddy and Mayor Ramelle, I should have Moriah’s address by nightfall. I started planning ahead for a road trip tomorrow.
Setting my mug down, I walked him to the door. “Thanks again. For everything.”
He gave me a nod and headed out into the sunny afternoon. When he was halfway down the driveway, he looked back, lifted a hand in a good-bye wave, and pretended to sneeze. “Cahoots!”
I laughed and laughed. He blew me a kiss, then turned out of sight.
When I went back into the house, Virgil was floating in the kitchen.