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“Let’s make a deal. You agree to read my mother’s energy at supper tonight, and I’ll bring you a copy of my mama’s mug shot.”

“You play dirty.”

“Deal?” he asked.

I was going to frame that photo. “Deal.”

“I truly hate to put you in this position, but we need answers,” he said softly.

We did.
Haywood
did, too. I thought about his eyes as he led me to the hatch in Rupert’s study and felt my chest squeeze. Time was running out faster than I imagined. “All right,” I finally agreed. “But I’m only agreeing for Haywood’s sake.”

There was a stretch of silence on his end and for a moment, I thought he hung up. “Care Bear, I’m just glad you’re agreeing at all. We’ll be by at seven.”

Okay, I may have lied a wee bit. It wasn’t just for Haywood. As I’d been talking to Dylan, my daddy’s voice had been playing on a loop in my head.

If you want Dylan you have to figure out a way to make nice with Patricia.

I wanted Dylan. So I would make nice with Patricia even if it killed me.

Which it might.

Grumbling, I hung up and looked at Virgil. “Almost ready.”

As I rinsed my mug, I glanced at the paternity test again and noticed a detail I’d missed on first look-through.

It had been a bone sample used for the test.

Well, that explained some things.

Getting hold of that bone had to have been what the grave robbing on the Ezekiel property had been about. Because Haywood wasn’t around to confirm the information, I had to go about confirming it on my own.

All I had to do was stop by the Ezekiel cemetery and take a peek to see which grave had been dug up. In fact, I could stop on my way to Dr. Gabriel’s office. It was on the way.

Easy peasy.

No problem.

Piece of cake.

Except for one tiny problem.

That cemetery scared the bejeebers out of me.

Chapter Sixteen

B
eing a self-preserving kind of witch, I decided to postpone the trip to the Ezekiel cemetery until
after
my visit with Dr. Gabriel.

At least then I wouldn’t be entirely alone. I’d have the meanest dog around with me. I figured Louella was scarier than anything in the graveyard.

I hadn’t been able to find my spare sunglasses, so I pulled the ball cap low over my eyes as I speed-walked toward Doc’s clinic, three blocks away. I took the long way in order to bypass the Ezekiel house.

On our way to the clinic, we happened to pass the spot where Virgil had been hit by a car and killed. He paused a moment, taking in the scene.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He nodded.

“I wish there had been witnesses. Doesn’t seem right that justice hasn’t been served for you.”

Yes.

“Do you remember anything about what happened?”

Yes.

“Was it a car or truck that hit you?”

Looking around, he pointed to an SUV parked nearby.

Excited, I said, “What was the color of it?”

He pointed to his skin.

“Gray?” I asked.

Shaking his head, he smiled and pointed again.

Ah, his skin before he was a ghost. “Black?”

Yes.

“Did you see who was driving?”

He tipped a hand side to side in a kind-of gesture.

“Man or woman?” I asked.

A car drove slowly past, and I realized I must look like a complete loon standing out here talking to myself. I didn’t care though.

Once again, he pointed toward himself.

“A man.”

Yes.
He jabbed a finger at my arm.

“White?” I guessed.

Yes.

He pointed upward at the lamppost, then at the top of his head, and made an explosive motion with his fingers.

Puzzled, I blinked.

He took both his hands and placed them atop his head, covering up the hair.

“He had on a hat?”

No.

Again he covered his head, this time, tugging on his forehead to raise it up. I laughed. “Bald!”

Yes.

He pointed to the lamppost again and did the explosive thing with his fingers.

It took me a second, but I finally said, “There was a glare off the bald head.”

Yes.

When another car slowed, I started walking toward the clinic. “Did you see a license plate?”

No.

“Was he alone?”

He shrugged.

A black SUV driven by a bald man. It was a place to start.

There were a lot of bald men around town but not too many black SUVs.

A block later, we walked by the Ramelles’ house, and the cheerful sound of the fountain made me smile. A little farther down the block, I passed Hyacinth’s house, and I wondered how she was doing. Even though her cherry red car was in the driveway, it didn’t look like anyone was home. I had to wonder if she was on a stool at the Delphinium.

When we reached the vet’s office, Jenny Jane waited outside but Virgil came in with me. As I pulled open the door, I glanced back at Jenny Jane. She floated restlessly, wringing her hands. I hadn’t yet heard from Mayor Ramelle with the address I needed, and I had to wonder if Doug had remembered to give her the message. I added calling her to my growing to-do list.

A receptionist smiled as I came in, and I explained that Dr. Gabriel was expecting me because I was there to adopt Louella.

I left off that he’d been expecting me a good six hours ago because the moment I mentioned Louella’s name, terror filled the young woman’s eyes.

“You’ll need to fill this out,” she said, her hand shaking as she pushed a clipboard over to me.

I flipped through the three-page adoption form. Not only did I have fill out an application that was probably more prying than a request for top-secret government clearance, I also realized I had to shell out a hundred-dollar adoption fee to bring the she-devil home with me.

Taking a seat in an uncomfortable office chair, I slid a perturbed glance toward Virgil, who was patiently waiting for me to fill out my living arrangement, employment history, and the names of three references. I double-checked to make sure they didn’t want a pee sample and was surprised not to find it listed somewhere in small print.

Oh, I understood why such an in-depth form was necessary. There were truly some sickos in this world and the animals needed the protection this paperwork afforded.

I was just feeling a mite cranky that I was undergoing all this scrutiny for
a dog I didn’t want
.

Then, with a stab of guilt, I recalled how just yesterday Virgil had saved my life, and I stopped my grumping and filled out every single line in my very best penmanship.

I’d do right by Louella.

Somehow.

Muted barking came from the kennel area in the rear of the property as I turned in the paperwork and sat back down to wait for Dr. Gabriel. The reception area was separated from the rest of the office by a thick wooden door with a glass panel. Virgil hadn’t budged from a spot in front of that door since we’d come in.

Animal photographs hung on the wall, brightening the space. Mostly dogs and cats but also a guinea pig, a hamster, and a ferret.

“Ms. Hartwell?” the receptionist said.

“Yes?”

“It’s against our policy for you to list Dr. Kirby as a reference.” She held out the clipboard. “I’ll need another name.”

Biting my tongue, I smiled and took the clipboard. “No problem.” I crossed out the doc’s name and wrote in Caleb’s.

I handed it back.

“Also,” she said, “is Augustus Hartwell related to you?”

“My daddy.”

“No family members,” she said, sliding the clipboard across the counter.

No grumping. No complaining. No ruckus.

I penciled in Ainsley’s name and hoped they didn’t call her, because if they told her I was adopting Louella, she might not ever stop laughing. “Here you go.”

“You can have a seat. Dr. Kirby will be right out.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Twenty minutes later I’d counted every ceiling tile in the room, and had been hissed at by a very cranky Siamese cat.

I was on the verge of hissing myself, so I didn’t hold it against the cat.

Finally, Doc opened the door, used his heel to hold it open, and said, “Carly, come on back.”

Virgil practically shimmered with excitement.

As I passed by the desk, I heard the receptionist whisper, “I’ll pray for you.”

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.