The tragic nature of the story tugged at my heartstrings.
After a moment, Hyacinth said, “I thought Haywood would like to be buried here, next to his daddy. There’s space enough—don’t you think?”
I nodded. “Plenty.”
“I think so, too.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from the birds in the sky and the wind in the trees.
“Was Haywood going to announce he was the heir at the masquerade ball?” I asked.
“Yes. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was proud. So very proud.”
“Did any of the other Harpies know that was the announcement?”
“Not that I know of,” she said, “and honestly I dreaded them finding out. It was bound to rip the group apart after all the work that had gone into restoring the house.”
I read her energy. Amid a powerful grief, she was telling the truth. If she had been lying, physiologically, her energy would have changed with a sudden increase of adrenaline and anxiety.
“Do you think he was killed because he was the heir?”
Again, I read her energy as she said, “I don’t know why he was killed.”
She was being honest, but this time when she spoke I picked up another emotion in addition to grief . . . guilt. It was eating her from the inside out.
If she didn’t know why he was killed, then the guilt couldn’t stem from Haywood’s death. That meant she hadn’t been in cahoots with anyone. There was no way for me to know why she was feeling what she was, however, and I couldn’t figure out how to ask her flat out. I also refrained from asking about her previous three husbands, though I was quite curious about their fates. My nosiness was no cause to heap on her misery.
“He was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle man in the world.” Tears puddled. “And now he’s gone. It’s . . . unfathomable.”
“When’s his funeral?” I asked after giving her a moment to collect herself.
“Thursday,” she said.
Louella had fallen asleep on the ground, snoring softly. Virgil was nearly invisible now, a mere outline of his ghostly self.
It reminded me how time was not on my side for Haywood and pushed me to pry more than I would have ordinarily. “How come you don’t want Avery Bryan to come to the funeral?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“I was at the Goose yesterday when you told her so. You weren’t exactly speaking quietly.”
Glancing back toward the mansion, she said, “I should get back. The insurance adjuster is here . . .”
“Haywood would probably want his daughter there—don’t you think?” I pressed, echoing her earlier words.
She froze. Ice dripped from her words as she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A lie—that energy came off loud and clear.
“Sure you do.” No more Ms. Nice Witch for me. “Avery is Haywood and Twilabeth’s daughter. Is Avery why he was being blackmailed? Did he not know he had a daughter?”
She looked off to the distance, and for a moment I was positive she wasn’t going to answer.
Finally, she said, “He didn’t know. Not even a hint until the first letter arrived with a picture of Avery and her birth date, calling him a deadbeat father and threatening to expose him for abandoning his only child. The blackmailer should be the one who is dead, not Haywood.”
“You don’t think he was the blackmailer?” I asked. “I know a few people think he was.”
Fiercely, she said, “It’s the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard. Doug Ramelle is out of his pea-pickin’ mind for even suggesting Haywood is the blackmailer. Doug’s jumping at straws, looking for a scapegoat. Just because Haywood refused to share his secret with them, he’s suddenly a criminal.”
“What does the blackmailer have on you?” I asked.
She fidgeted. “None of your business.”
“How about the others?” I hoped she would gossip a bit. “Idella?”
Rolling her eyes, she snorted, then smiled. “Miss Prim and Proper’s family money isn’t exactly pure, and that’s all I’ll say about that.”
My eyebrows shot up. By her snarky tone, I had the feeling she didn’t like Idella much at all, but having known Idella most of my life, I understood. She was a hard woman to like because she held herself so aloft from others.
The only time I’d felt a real bond with her was in August when she secretly came into my shop to buy a healing potion for Dr. Gabriel after it became clear that all his other treatments weren’t working effectively.
She’d been beside herself with worry and begged my help as a last resort for the man she loved.
Although I couldn’t cure terminal ailments, his cancer hadn’t yet reached that level. To this day, he still didn’t know that it had been me who helped nudge his cancer into remission.
As soon as he was well, Idella had gone straight back to treating me indifferently.
I expected nothing less out of her, but I hadn’t given her the potion to make friends. I’d given it to her to help Doc. And I’d do it all again if I had to.