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Delia parked at the curb. “Nice neighborhood.”

“Sure enough.” The homes weren’t the grandest, but they were well appointed and tended. It looked like a neighborhood with money.

I stretched my legs when I stepped out of the car, starting to feel the effects of the long ride. When I opened the back door to let Louella out, I looked up to find Avery leaning against her front doorjamb, confusion plastered across her face.

“Hi!” I called out as though I dropped in on her all the time.

Wearing tight jeans and no shoes, she came down the steps. “Carly, right?”

Remaining behind in the doorway was Haywood Dodd. I’d been right . . . he’d been down here with Avery. I flicked him an annoyed glance, and he hung his head.

I nodded. “This is my cousin, Delia Bell Barrows. And this”—I motioned downward—“is Louella. She’s a bit bitey, just letting you know.”

Avery’s dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She didn’t have a lick of makeup on, and she was breathtakingly pretty. Fair skin with a hint of freckles. Perfect bow lips. Beautiful jawline. Not even the dark circles under her eyes could detract from her natural beauty.

She tugged down the sleeves of an Auburn sweatshirt until they reached the tips of her fingers, then crossed her arms. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but what in the hell are you doing here? How did you know where I lived? This is strange.”

“We need to talk to you,” I said.

“About what?” she asked.

I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head so she could look into my eyes. “Your father.”

Tipping her head backward, she drew in a deep breath, then looked at Delia and me. “Come on inside.”

It was so dark inside the house that it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Avery went about moving textbooks from the sofa and chairs to the floor.

“Excuse the mess.” She motioned for us to sit down and opened the front draperies, which flooded the room with light.

It was like the space had come alive. Gone were the shadows, and in their place unique treasures appeared. Glass tiles in the fireplace surround, lovely pottery, vibrant artwork. An antique mirror hung above a mantel lined with pictures, most of Avery and a pretty blond woman. Twilabeth, I assumed.

“You’re still in school?” I asked, keeping an eye on Louella so she didn’t accidentally tinkle on the big textbook on the floor.

“Almost done,” she said. “I graduate in December. I’m a little behind due to a bitter divorce from a cheating jerk.”

“Ouch,” Delia said in sympathy.

“Tell me about it,” Avery said. “I’m still dealing with the fallout. For example, I still need to get my name changed back.” She sighed. “One day at a time, right?”

“Right,” I said.

Haywood had retreated to the small kitchen, giving Delia and me space. He was doing his pacing thing. I didn’t know how to bring up what I needed to bring up, which was also something I probably should have thought about before coming here.

Delia sat next to me and Avery across from us in a wing chair. She drew one leg up and sat on it. Tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair, she said, “This is all kinds of awkward.”

“It is,” I said, “and I’m sorry, but time is limited and we need some answers.”

“Are you with the police?” she asked.

I said, “No. We’re just . . .”

“Didn’t Miss Eulalie say you owned a potion shop? I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand why you’re here. This makes no sense to me. I think you should leave.”

“Did you kill your father?” I asked. “Haywood?”

Shock flashed in her eyes. “What? No!”

It was the truth, and I relaxed a bit.

“Who do you think you are?” She stood up. “Get the hell out right now, or I’m calling the police.”

Neither Delia nor I budged. I figured that if I was going to get any information out of her at all, that I was going to have to break some of my own rules. “Do you see that doorway right there?” I pointed toward the kitchen.

“I’m calling the police.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket.

“Your father’s in that doorway,” I went on. “Glaring at me, I might add, though I’m the one upset with him.”

Her finger froze midjab. “Are you
crazy
?”

“She is,” Delia said, nodding. “Completely off the charts.”

I shot her a dismayed look. “Not helping.” Looking over my shoulder, I said, “Haywood, will you please assist me here? As you may recall, I didn’t want to get mixed up in this in the first place yet you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

He opened his mouth.
“Emmbberrree.”

Louella growled low in her throat and let out a sharp yip. I patted her head. Again, she didn’t bite. So either she’d grown weak from lack of food, or I was growing on her.

For some reason, I doubted it was the latter.

Avery slowly sank back into her chair, her gaze fixated on the kitchen doorway. “What’s going on?” she asked so quietly that I barely heard her.

“It’s a long story,” Delia said. “But—”

Avery cut her off. “I have time.”

“Your dad doesn’t.” Delia leaned forward. “He’s a ghost right now, but if he doesn’t cross over to the other side by midnight, then he’s sent to his grave for another year. He can’t cross yet, because his soul is unsettled. He wants to find out who killed him, and he went to Carly for help the night he was murdered. She’s been trying to figure out who killed him ever since, and that’s why we’re here.”

Avery’s eyebrows shot up. “If that’s not the biggest load of bull I ever heard, I don’t know what is.”

I looked at Delia. “Said out loud that way, it does sound a little bit like a Hallmark Halloween movie gone wrong.”

“It really does,” she agreed.

Glancing at Avery, I said, “It’s much more dramatic when you’re living with it.”

Avery stood again. “Look, I don’t know who you two are or what you want or what kind of game you’re playing, but it’s sick. It’s time for you to leave.”

Delia stood up, walked over to the fireplace, and waved Haywood over to her. As soon as he came closer, my head started pounding and I knew Delia’s had to be, too.

“Come here,” she said to Avery.

She recoiled. “What? Why?”

“Please,” Delia said on a sigh.

Reluctantly, Avery walked over. Delia faced Haywood. “When I count to three, Haywood, float into my body, okay? And stay there.”

Yes.

“Carly, as soon as he does, count to three. Hay, when Carly reaches three, you back out. Got it?”

Yes.

I wasn’t sure what she was up to. This wasn’t something I’d ever seen before.

Delia turned to the mirror, and positioned Avery to face it as well. “One. Two. Three.”

Haywood floated forward. In an instant, Delia’s image in the mirror faded away, replaced with Haywood’s ghostly one. His blue eyes went wide with wonder.

Avery fainted.

•   •   •

An hour later, Avery still had a look of shock haunting her eyes. We all sat on the floor around the coffee table, coffee cups in hand.

We’d explained everything to her the best we could. The hows and whys of being able to see ghosts. I told her of my dealings with the Harpies, and how we suspected Avery was Haywood’s daughter.

She said, “Haywood approached me out of the blue nearly six months ago and told me he’d been married to my mother.”

Six months. When the first blackmail letter showed up.

“That was a shock and a half,” Avery went on, “as I’d never known she’d been married at all. She’d been gone for more than a year at that point, and I’d never found anything in her papers that mentioned a divorce. Buried deep in a box in a closet, I did find a picture of her while pregnant with me kissing a man, but it wasn’t Haywood. But even more shocking than the divorce news was when Haywood said he suspected he was my father.”

“Hello, bombshell,” Delia said.

“Exactly,” Avery agreed. “I hadn’t ever doubted my mother’s story that my father was dead. She painted it as a tragic love affair kind of thing, and I had no reason to believe that she’d lie to me. I’ve been stressing about it ever since I found out. Why wouldn’t she just tell me the truth? Why keep me from my father, who by all accounts was one of the nicest men around? It doesn’t make sense, and I can’t help but think all the answers are in Hitching Post.”

“Why’s that?” Delia asked.

While we talked, Haywood paced the kitchen, listening. I had the feeling he was learning some new things today as well.

“She was very skittish about her time spent in Hitching Post in general. She didn’t like to talk about it. It upset her greatly.” Avery swallowed hard. “I don’t like thinking about that, but I always believed it was because my father had died tragically, leaving her to raise me on my own. That clearly wasn’t the case at all. Yet, something happened there that made her vow never to return.”

I recalled what Mr. Dunwoody had said about Twilabeth’s battle with depression. Did Avery know of that? If not, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Her mama was dead. Let her rest in peace now.

“She was happy here,” Avery said. “She used to regale me with stories about packing her things and moving down here, starting life over. She bought this house, had me, and eventually became a law professor at the university. We traveled and had all kinds of adventures. She was absolutely the best mom ever. I miss her every day.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Delia said in a way that made me believe she was thinking of her own mama’s shortcomings.

Avery took a sip of her coffee. “She was.”

“Did you know about the blackmail letters Haywood had been receiving?” I asked.

“Not at first. He eventually told me about them. They infuriated him to no end. So much so that after my paternity test came back he left a note at the drop site instead of money.”

“Paternity test?” I knew only about the one that revealed Haywood was Tyson Ezekiel’s son.

“I have it if you want to see it. I asked Haywood to do it. I just wanted to be sure. Ninety-nine percent positive that Haywood is . . . was . . . is . . . my father.” She glanced hesitantly toward the kitchen. She smiled and rolled her eyes. “He wanted to tell the whole world. That’s why I was at the party. He was going to share the news about me . . . and about his own parentage.”

“You knew he was an Ezekiel.” It wasn’t a question.

“He told me when he found the box of Tyson’s letters in Rupert’s study. He was so excited. Beyond. I have those too,” she said. “The letters. I took them when I broke in to the house the night my father was killed.” She winced. “I didn’t want anyone finding them . . . and making them disappear. Dad had showed me how to get in and out of the house unnoticed, as he’d been doing it since he found the study. Going there at night was the only way for him not to raise the suspicions of the other Harpies.”

So she and Haywood were Mr. Butterbaugh’s “ghostly” visitors.

Avery said, “He told Hyacinth, of course, but that was it. And why he told her, I don’t know.”

A moan came from the kitchen, and I looked back. Haywood was gesturing wildly until he realized I had no idea what he was trying to get across. Finally, he cupped his hands together, forming a heart with his fingers. “Love?” I asked him.

Yes.

“He loved her,” I said to Avery.

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “But she’s . . .”

“A good actress,” I said.

Avery stretched her legs. “What’s that mean?”

I explained how Hyacinth had acted a complete and utter bitch to get Avery out of town. To protect her. “She believes he was killed because of his connection to the house. She didn’t want the same fate to fall on you.”

I suddenly wondered if that was why Haywood had been avoiding me as well. He didn’t want me to learn of his connection to Avery, afraid the news would leak and someone would come after her too. I turned and asked him.

Yes.

“Oh.” Her lip quivered.

Delia set her mug on the coffee table. “You mentioned that Haywood left a note for the blackmailer. What did it say?”

Sunlight fell across Avery’s face, making her eyes shine like emeralds. “He essentially told the blackmailer to shove it. That he wasn’t paying anymore, and that he’d spend the rest of his days tracking the coward down until he publicly exposed the bastard.”

“Whoa,” Delia said.

Whoa was right. “Did he suspect anyone?”

“He figured it was one of the Harpies,” she said.

“Hay, did you get any strange vibes from Doug Ramelle?” I asked.

He hissed, and I smiled. “He didn’t like you.”

Yes.

“This might be the strangest day of my life,” Avery muttered.

“Welcome to our world,” Delia said.

“If Doug was the blackmailer,” I theorized, “and he got your note, then I’d say that might be motivation to get rid of you. Especially if he thought your announcement that night was going to expose him.”

Haywood frowned.
“Dohhd?”

“Doug?” Delia guessed.

Yes.

She was good, because I’d been clueless about that one. I explained how we suspected Mayor Ramelle had a gambling problem, and that the blackmail was to cover missing funds.

Haywood went back to pacing.

“Where were you when your dad was killed?” I asked Avery. “Did you see anything?”

“I was freshening my makeup when I heard the scream . . .” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t see anything.”

We were running out of leads. “I need to talk to Doug,” I said to Delia.

Delia nodded. “Then we should get going. It’s a long drive back.”

“Before I go,” I said to Avery, “just how do you know Patricia Davis Jackson?”

“I don’t, really. I only knew her through Haywood’s stories about the Harpies. She didn’t know who I was from a hole in the wall.”

I knew that to not be true on Patricia’s end. “Is it possible she knew your mother?”

“I suppose,” she said. “They lived in Hitching Post together.”

Haywood moaned, and when I glanced at him, he was giving me a questioning look. He wanted to know why I was asking about Patricia. “It’s complicated,” I said to him. “Did you know them to ever have a connection? Were they friends?”