My chest ached. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a stretch, and I began to wonder where Delia was. It had to be past eight at this point. It was much easier to think about her rather than the mucky mess my life was in.
When I heard a car coming down the street, I craned my neck. It wasn’t Delia, however. It was my aunt Eulalie. She swerved into her driveway, bumping over a curb and nearly taking out a holly bush in the process.
Driving was not her forte.
Eulalie parked, saw us and waved, and made her way over through the connecting gate between the yards. “Hidy-ho!”
We waved.
She carefully tiptoed through the grass so her heels wouldn’t stick into the ground, and nearly tripped when Louella lunged at her, her teeth aiming straight at Eulalie’s ankle.
“Yeee!” Eulalie screamed, wobbling backward.
I dashed down the steps, grabbed Louella’s leash, and pulled her backward. “Down!” Louella didn’t listen to a word I said, intent on taking a chunk out of Eulalie. “Go on around,” I told my aunt. “I’ve got her.”
Eyes wide, Eulalie skirted around the dog and climbed the steps as fast as she could. Once she was on the porch, she pressed a hand to her chest and exclaimed, “What in tarnation!”
“Carly adopted a devil dog,” Mr. Dunwoody said, handing her his flask.
Aunt Eulalie unscrewed the top of the flask and tipped her head back. Giving her head a shake, she said, “Hooey! That stuff’s like to kill you.” Then she took another swallow and handed him back the flask. “Thank you kindly.”
I adjusted Louella’s leash, giving it a shorter range of motion. “She’s . . . special. You’re not looking to adopt a special kind of dog, are you?”
“Oh hell no.” She sat in the rocker I just vacated, adjusting her voluminous skirt and taking off a floral neckerchief. “I’ve done had it up to here with special. I’ve just come from the hospital to see Wendell Butterbaugh and he’s specialing all over the place. He was set to come home today, but he’s convinced the doctors that he’s dying, and they’re running every test known to man.”
Mr. Dunwoody laughed his tee-hee-hee.
She frowned at him.
“You volunteered, Eulalie,” he reminded her.
“I thought the heart attack would knock the weak constitution straight out of him, but all it’s done is made it worse. Lord-a-mercy. You don’t see Johnny Braxton acting like that, making a fuss over every little thing.”
Everything made sense now as to why Eulalie had volunteered to watch over Mr. Butterbaugh. She thought he’d be her Johnny. Johnny Braxton had a heart condition I’d diagnosed, but he hadn’t yet visited a doctor about it because he was a stubborn ass.
The Odd Ducks had an odd pact to always do everything as a trio. If one bought an inn, they all bought inns. It had been this way all their lives until Marjie bucked the tradition and started dating Johnny, while the other Ducks didn’t even have boyfriends. Aunt Hazel had since started dating mailman Earl Pendergrass, but Eulalie was still on the hunt and clearly feeling left out of her family dynamic.
“Johnny has his own issues,” I said.
“Am I on a cruise right now?” she asked. “No, I am not. I’m stuck here with a hypochondriac and I was almost attacked by a devil dog. I rest my case.”
Mr. Dunwoody started to laugh until she glared at him. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow, nearly draining the amber liquid.
“You have Mr. Dunwoody and me,” I said. “Plus, you know how Marjie gets motion sick. She’s probably having a terrible time.”
“You think?” she asked hopefully.
“Definitely.” She didn’t need to know I’d given Marjie a potion for seasickness before she left.
“That does make me feel better.” Standing up, she dusted herself off. “I best get going. I promised Wendell I’d bring him some slippers and an electric blanket. He’s chilly.” She rolled her eyes.
As we watched her sashay back to her place, another car came down the street, and I leaned forward to see if it was Delia.
It wasn’t.
“You expectin’ someone?” Mr. Dunwoody asked.
“Delia. We’re headed off to deliver Jenny Jane Booth to Opelika. And then we’re going to Auburn to meet up with Avery Bryan. I’m starting to think Haywood must be down there with her, too. I haven’t seen him since the fire.” I glanced Mr. Dunwoody’s way. “I’m pretty sure he’s her daddy.”
His eyes went round. “Well, if that don’t beat the band, I don’t know what does.”
Louella gave up her stoic stance and plopped to the ground, stretching out. “Her mama is Twilabeth Morgan. Do you know her? She and Haywood were married for a minute back in the late eighties.”
“Twilabeth? Sure thing. Prettiest little thing you ever did see, all big green eyes and curly blond hair. Smart as a whip. I always wondered where she’d gotten off to. She left town right after the divorce. I worried a fair bit about her over the years, hoping she was all right.”