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“It’s been overwhelming,” I agreed.

Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from Louella and turned her attention back to the graveyard.

There was something beautiful about old cemeteries with the way the earth seemed to embrace the old mossy tombstones as its own. Creeping vines twisted and twined as though hugging the limestone markers tight. My gaze skipped from headstone to headstone, some of which were unreadable due to age. The chiseled lettering had been worn down by a century of weather systems.

Rupert’s headstone stood out among the others for its newness. At only five years old, it hadn’t the botanical patina of the others. Next to his, his wife’s stone was worn but still readable. Patsy Ezekiel had died in the early forties. But it was the stone next to hers that caught my full attention—only because of the turned earth around it.

Tyson Beauregard Ezekiel. I squinted to make out what was printed beneath his name:

CPL

U.S. ARMY

KOREA

JAN 20 1927–DEC 10 1952

MEDAL OF HONOR

He’d been so young. So very young.

The muddy dirt in front of the grave was the only soil disturbance in the small cemetery, and I shuddered at just the thought of unearthing the old casket.

Haywood had to have been fairly desperate to dig up the grave.

“Did you know Haywood was an Ezekiel?” I asked Hyacinth, my voice low as though not wanting to disturb the dead.

Her hand gripped the iron fence, her knuckles white. “He told me a month ago that he suspected he was, and I thought he had lost his mind. When he received the paternity test that confirmed it and showed me the results, it was shocking to say the least. To both of us.”

“Both? He hadn’t known his whole life that he was an Ezekiel?”

“Not a clue,” she said. “He only started suspecting a few months ago.”

Louella sniffed Hyacinth’s boots, and Hyacinth recoiled a bit. I tugged the leash to the right, away from her, and Louella stubbornly plopped down right where she was. Virgil sat next to her, and her tail started thumping happily. My body ached, but I didn’t shoo him away. I noticed that Hyacinth looked at Louella as though viewing her worst nightmare, her face pinched with panic.

Louella must have really done a number on the woman for such a reaction.

“How did he come about suspecting after all these years?” I asked.

She looked away from the dog and sighed. “During the renovation, Hay came across a box of Tyson Ezekiel’s belongings that the army had shipped back to Rupert long after Tyson had died at war. Inside was a stack of love letters written to Tyson from a woman named Ree that had been sent overseas to his post in Korea. Sweetest things you ever did read. Apparently they met at a USO dance over in Rock Creek while Tyson was home on a short leave and it had been love at first sight. They had only one week together before he was shipped off to war.”

That explained a lot about the timing questions surrounding Haywood’s conception. Tyson had been home for only a little while. Hardly time enough to leave an indelible stamp in people’s memories.

Hyacinth went on. “In the last letter in the bunch Ree told Tyson she was with child . . .” She sighed. “Even though there had been no return address on the letters, Hay started figuring dates and such and couldn’t get it out of his head that he was the baby in the letter, as Ree was Hay’s mama Retta Lee’s nickname, used by only her family. Turns out he was.”

Hyacinth’s story also explained why the heir to the Ezekiel house had been so mysterious. It was entirely possible that Rupert Ezekiel hadn’t known the true identity of the woman named Ree so he hadn’t been able to find the grandchild whose existence he knew about only because of a bittersweet love letter in his son’s personal effects.

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.

“Why is the mayor being blackmailed?” I asked.

“Oh no,” Hyacinth wagged a finger. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” she answered.

I pushed my luck. “How about Patricia?”

She paled and shook her head. “Leave it alone, Carly.”

Her reaction set my nerves to jumping. What was Patricia hiding? “Do any of the other Harpies know Avery is Haywood’s daughter?” I asked.

“It’s not proven she is,” Hyacinth snapped. “There’s been no paternity test. Could be Twilabeth was catting around and that’s why she never told Haywood. She wasn’t right in the head, that one, so anything is possible. Her mood swings about drove Haywood insane.”

I wondered at her comment about Twilabeth not being right in the head but set that aside for now and said, “You seemed pretty angry at Avery yesterday. Is it because if she is Haywood’s daughter, she’s now the heir to the Ezekiel house?”

Looking over her shoulder again, she tightly said, “She’s not an heir to anything. I am.”

That’s right, she was. Mayor Ramelle had mentioned that Hyacinth was the beneficiary to Haywood’s estate. “His will would be easily challenged in a court of law.”

Rage colored her cheeks as she poked my shoulder. “Stay out of this, Carly Bell. Keep your mouth shut about Avery, you hear me?”

Louella sprung to her feet and growled low in her throat.

“Take that damn dog and go home,” Hyacinth seethed. “No wonder someone tried to burn you up. You’re too nosy for your own good. Leave well enough alone.”

Anger had flared when she touched me, but dissolved when I picked up the hint of fear in her voice. I tipped my head, reading her easily. “You’re scared.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Leave Avery out of this.”

My mama wasn’t the only one around here filled with bluff and bluster. Hyacinth was, too. Her anger toward Avery was all an act. She was trying to
protect
her.

“You know she’s his daughter, and you don’t want anyone else to figure it out,” I said softly. “You’re afraid someone will go after her, too, if they believe she’s the heir now. You think he was killed because someone found out he was an Ezekiel.”

Her panicked energy confirmed my theory.

But . . . then there was Patricia’s fight with Avery to consider. “How does Patricia know Avery? Their argument at the ball seemed to be on a personal level.”

“She doesn’t know her, and it wasn’t personal. She just can’t abide party crashers. No one but me knows her identity, so let’s leave it that way.”

Hyacinth believed what she said, but it didn’t make sense. Patricia obviously knew the woman somehow. If not through Hyacinth and Haywood, then how?

Plus, someone had sent Haywood a blackmail letter, which meant that Hyacinth was wrong. Someone knew exactly who Avery was.

“Just go home, Carly,” Hyacinth said, pressing her eyes closed. “Just go home.”

Louella lurched forward and barked as someone approached. The woman stormed forward like General Pickett on his infamous charge.

Mayor Barbara Jean Ramelle said loudly in her mellifluous voice, “What is going on out here? It looks like you two are about to come to blows.”

Behind Barbara Jean, Jenny Jane was skipping happily and pointing at the mayor in a look-who-I-found kind of way.

Hyacinth said, “Carly was just leaving.”

Louella snarled at Barbara Jean.

“Holy hell!” she exclaimed. “Is that Louella? I thought she was long dead.”

“Gabriel changed his mind about putting her down,” Hyacinth said, full of disdain.

I was as puzzled by Mayor Ramelle’s reaction to the dog as I was Hyacinth’s. Why did they seem to care so much?

Jenny Jane was doing jumping jacks now, trying to get my attention. I cleared my throat and said, “Before I go, did Doug mention that I’m looking for Jenny Jane Booth’s daughter, Moriah?”

“He did,” she said, still staring at Louella. “I called you earlier and left a message on your voice mail with the information. Why’d you want to know again?”

“Long story,” I said. Hey, if they could keep secrets, so could I.

“I’m going inside,” Hyacinth said. “I’m not feeling well. Remember what I said, Carly.”

The mayor and I watched her go. When she was out of earshot, Barbara Jean said, “What was that all about, Carly? You’re picking fights with her? Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“Haven’t we all?” I asked, my voice hard. Done playing games, I added, “Did you know Haywood was the heir to the mansion?”

“No,” she said tightly. “Not until I heard it this morning.”

Going by her energy, it was the truth.

“Do you know who killed Haywood?” I asked.

“No, I don’t.”

Once again, she was telling the truth.

“Now it’s time for you to go,” she added. “And a word of advice?”

“What’s that?” I asked with a sigh.

“Don’t come back.”

Chapter Eighteen