Blessed be. What did I get myself into?
“Sorry about your wait,” he said, leading the way, past treatment rooms and a small lab. “Doc O’Neill is on vacation, which he richly deserves after covering for me while I was undergoing treatment.”
Doc Gabriel was the principal partner in the vet clinic, with only one other partner and a couple of associates. I didn’t know Dr. Matt O’Neill well, but what I knew of him I liked. He seemed like a nice guy.
“You’re doing well now?” I asked, noticing he looked drawn and tired. It had been a long couple of days for all of us.
“Much better,” he said. “Remission is a wonderful thing.”
I sniffed and caught a whiff of pipe tobacco, and something stirred in my subconscious, but I couldn’t quite pull it into focus. I blamed the fire for my brain fog. “But still smoking your pipe.”
He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t start in on me, too, Carly. I get enough of that from Idella.” His blue eyes softened. “We all have to die sometime. I might as well enjoy what I enjoy.”
He had a point, but still. “It’s only because we care.”
“I appreciate that, and I have cut back a lot.”
I doubted that. If I could smell the scent through my fire-induced body odor, then it had to be strong. He probably reeked of it. “That’s good,” I murmured.
He eyed me, assessing me like a patient. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see you this afternoon, all things considered. I have to say you don’t look any worse for wear after what you went through.”
I recognized his attempt to deflect the conversation and went with it. “A little potion can work wonders.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. Though he’d always been nothing but kind to me, he didn’t believe in my kind of healing. He was textbooks and test tubes and Bunsen burners and microscopes.
My kind of healing was unexplainable, really, and because of that he didn’t trust it.
Which I understood just fine. Not everyone was going to support what I did or who I was. At least Dr. Gabriel respected me enough not to openly degrade my magic. In fact, he often peppered me with questions. He was a scientist at heart. Very curious. Always inquisitive.
“How’s Mr. Butterbaugh?” he asked.
“He’s going to be fine in time.”
“It’s a miracle, that’s what that is,” he said, leading me through another door that opened to an indoor kennel.
“It is,” I said. “If it wasn’t for that secret passage out of the basement, Mr. Butterbaugh and I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m still in shock over that,” he said. “The passage. I’ve hauled more stuff in and out of that basement over the last couple of months and never suspected there was a secret room. How’d you know?”
“Haywood.” At his confused look, I added, “He had the house plans.”
Sweeping a hand over his dark hair, he said, “All I’ve heard about the past twenty-four hours is about him being the missing Ezekiel heir. Idella’s beside herself with the news.”
Stalls lined both sides of a wide aisle. Most were full, one dog per cage, and my heart broke a little bit more as we passed each one by until I finally had to stop looking or I was going to bring them all home with me.
“I can imagine,” I said. And I could. She’d probably been in hysterics over it all night.
“Did the sheriff find who set the fire?” he asked. “Or why?”
“Not yet. We can only guess that it’s related to Haywood’s death, but it seems the more answers uncovered only serve to dredge up more questions.”
He stopped walking and looked at me. “Like what?”
“Like his family history,” I said, then purposely dropped a bombshell. “And if he sent out blackmail letters to the other Harpies.”
“Blackmail?” he said, trying for shocked but falling short.
I quickly read his energy, and his heart was pounding with anxiety.
So, Delia had been right. Those were blackmail letters.
Because Doc Gabriel knew about the blackmail, I bluffed a little, trying to get him to talk. “So far the sheriff knows Hyacinth and Mayor Ramelle got letters, and Patricia’s bank records confirm she was paying someone off. Was Idella being blackmailed, too?”
I didn’t mention the burned letters in Haywood’s trash can on purpose. I wanted to see if Doc Gabriel, like Doug, believed Haywood had sent the notes.
Looking down the long aisle, he exhaled loudly, then faced me straight on. “Idella received the first one six months ago.”
He began walking again, leading me down another corridor.
“It came in the mail, postmarked from New Orleans. It was computer printed and threatened to reveal a family secret of Idella’s if she didn’t pay up.”
New Orleans? Hyacinth said Haywood’s letter had been postmarked from Auburn. “What family secret?” I asked.
Shaking his head, he said, “I’d rather not say what it is.”
Peeved that he wouldn’t tell me, I said, “The sheriff will need to know.”