Delia made eyes toward her pocketbook, silently asking if I wanted to use the hex on Patricia after all.
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t think that would start any kind of truce off right. I shook my head.
Dylan kissed my cheek as he dished out the chili. Several small ramekins filled with toppings already sat on a dark cherry lazy Susan in the middle of the table. Cheddar cheese, scallions, white onion, sour cream, and avocado slices.
We all sat, perfectly civil—Patricia and Dylan opposite each other at the ends of the rectangular farm table, Delia across from me.
I’d found the vintage jadeite chili bowls at the local white elephant sale a few years ago, and I adored them. If Patricia made one crack about them, I was going to come across the table at her, so help me.
“It smells delicious, Delia. Thank you,” Patricia said, shocking the hell out of me.
Louella wandered into the kitchen and went straight to Patricia’s chair and sat at her feet. Patricia leaned down and rubbed the dog’s head, and I swear if Louella was a cat she would have been purring.
“Thank you,” Delia said. “It took second place at the Darling County fair last year.”
“I can see why.” Patricia took another bite. “It should have placed first.” She broke off a piece of corn bread and fed it to Louella, shocking the hell out of me again—for two reasons. The first being the egregious breach of etiquette on Patricia’s part and the second being that Louella actually ate. She hadn’t eaten a thing since I brought her home hours ago.
Delia raised her eyebrows at me.
I shrugged.
Apparently we’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone.
The plan had been to eat first, quiz Patricia second. She had other plans.
“So, Carly,” she began. “I hear you’ve been busy harassing my friends.”
Dylan dropped his head. “Mama.”
“What would you call it?” she asked him. “She’s been interrogating my nearest and dearest. She left poor Hyacinth in such a state this afternoon that she needed a sedative.”
“I hope she didn’t mix it with her gin,” I said, setting down my spoon. “That could be a deadly combination.”
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. “You have no right to judge her.”
“I wasn’t judging.” I dropped my hands to my lap and clasped them together to stop myself from flinging something at her. “I was stating a fact.”
She looked at Dylan. “Carly’s questioned all the Harpies and their husbands over the past couple of days, acting as though they are criminals. It’s an embarrassment. They’re my friends.”
“They are,” I agreed. “Not one of them would tell me why you were being blackmailed. Why were you being blackmailed? What are you hiding?”
Across the table, Delia clutched her locket. I didn’t grab mine. I wanted to feel Patricia’s reaction . . . and was immediately rewarded.
A surge of unadulterated panic shot through my body.
“You have no right to interfere in my business.” Fury flared in her eyes.
“No, but I do. Carly’s been helping me try to clear your name,” Dylan said in a low voice. “So you don’t go to prison.”
I knew that tone. He was angry. Absolutely enraged.
“I did not ask for her help,” Patricia seethed. “I do not need her help. I did not kill Haywood, so I have complete faith that justice will prevail.”
She was telling the truth about not killing him.
“Do you know who’s behind the blackmail?” I asked.
“Of course not!”
It was the truth. And with that, the last Harpie fell. None of them knew much of anything about this entire case.
“This is insanity. What I need,” Patricia said to Dylan, “is for her to stay out of my private affairs and to leave my friends alone.”
“But,” I protested, “your friends tell me the most interesting things.”
Redness flooded her cheeks as she gripped her wineglass. “Like what?”
Setting my elbows on the table, I leaned in. It was like Delia and Dylan vanished, leaving only Patricia and me to face off. “Like how Hyacinth told me that no one but her knows who Avery Bryan is. But you know who she is, don’t you, Patricia?”
I was almost knocked clear off my chair by the anxiety that flooded through my veins. Patricia’s hand shook as she set her glass down. “Who’s that now, dear?”
“She’s an Ezekiel. Rupert Ezekiel’s great-granddaughter, in fact.” I noted that her energy didn’t change at this information. “She’s Haywood Dodd and Twilabeth Morgan’s daughter.”
At this bit, her heart started racing to the point where my chest ached, and I feared she was going to have a heart attack.
“Never heard of her,” she said coldly.
Dang, she was a good actress. No wonder she hadn’t out-and-out failed the lie detector test she’d taken.
I needed to figure out why this information set her off. “Heard of who? Twilabeth?”
My chest constricted painfully but Patricia didn’t so much as break a sweat. She had an out-of-this-world high pain tolerance.
So this was about Twilabeth. Haywood had kidded that Patricia had turned on him when he married her, and I had believed it to be a joke. Until right now. Despite being married to Harris, did she have a crush on Haywood back then?
She set her napkin on the table. “No. Avery Bryan, whoever she may be.”
“You’re sticking to that story, are you?” I asked.
Rising, she said, “It’s time for me to leave. Delia, my apologies that I did not finish your delicious supper. I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Would you like to take some home?” Delia asked.
I shot her a look of disbelief. So much for helping me out.
She winced and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“No, thank you, dear,” Patricia said.
Dylan rose, too. “What is going on here? I know you well, Mama, and you’ve been lying through your teeth this whole time. Why?”
“I’m ready to leave now.” She tapped her foot. Louella circled her legs.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said to her.
Jaw tight, she asked, “What is that exactly, Dylan? Please enlighten me.”
“You can’t keep treating Carly this way, abusing her at every turn. Talk about an embarrassment.”
“I’ve never abused anyone in my whole life,” she declared, outraged.
My eyes nearly rolled clear out of my head and down the hallway.
Dylan crossed arms. “Never mind all your past misdeeds, which are too long to list. More recently, do you recall at the ball the other night when you first insulted her dress, then stepped on it and nearly made her fall? Or how about the many times tonight you’ve insulted her with your little digs, both silent and verbal, at her choice of wine, her housekeeping, her hostess skills, her napkins, for heaven’s sake. And then you lied your face off when all she’s trying to do is help you stay out of jail.”
She paled. “As I mentioned, I don’t need her help.”
“Carly,” he said through clenched teeth. “Her name is Carly.”
Drawing her shoulders back, she said, “I do not need Carly’s help. My life is none of h—Carly’s—business. Now, I’m ready to go home. Can we please go now?”
Dylan slid his keys out of his jean’s pocket and handed them to his mother. “I’m staying. You can drive yourself home.”
In shock, my heart fell to my feet, flopped around.
He may as well have slapped her. Southern boys did not disrespect their mamas in such a way.
Pain slashed across Patricia’s face. “I’ll walk.”
“Suit yourself,” he said.
Only Louella followed Patricia to the door. When she closed it behind her, the dog started whining.
Swallowing hard, I looked at Dylan.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said, throwing open the back door and storming out. It slammed behind him.
>
I turned to face Delia. “What in the hell just happened?”
She drew in a deep breath. “A battle of wills. I think you won.”
Walking over to kitchen window, I peered out at Dylan’s retreating form. “I don’t know about that. I think we all might have lost.”
Chapter Nineteen
Muted orange light pooled under the window shades early the next morning. At barely seven, it was almost sunrise, but long past when I should have been up and about since I had a busy day ahead.
I’d been leery of leaving Dylan’s side. He’d come in late, long past midnight, and had been lying stone-still beside me since then.
Poly crept up the bed and head-butted my face. I’d been forgiven for the moment, since no ghosts, no dogs, and no Patricia were around. Jenny Jane had gone home with Delia, Louella was downstairs, and I had no idea where Patricia was but figured she was never going to step foot in my house again, so that was bound to make the cats happy.
It should have made me happy, too. But it didn’t.
I’d wanted to make things right with Patricia. I never for a moment believed that we’d ever become friends, but I thought we could be civil.
We were grown women. Why couldn’t we just get along for Dylan’s sake?
It shouldn’t have come to what happened last night, putting him in the position to make a choice between us. Admittedly, I had thrown my own barbs Patricia’s way a time or two or twenty, but almost always in retribution.
I could have done better.
I should have done better.
Then I shook my head.
I’d tried. Several times over the years, I’d tried. And always ended up on her bad side.
At this point, I was beginning to question whether she had a good side.
I patted Poly’s head while watching the orange glow grow brighter and feeling my heart ache.
Roly was glued to Dylan’s side, where she normally slept when he stayed over. When she realized Poly was getting attention that she wasn’t, she climbed over Dylan’s chest to me and began kneading my stomach. She purred as I scratched her chin.
Dylan stirred and stretched his arms over his head. Sleepily, he blinked his eyes, squinted at the clock, and groaned.
At the noise, Roly abandoned me and started kneading Dylan’s arm. She was head over heels for him.
I knew the feeling.
Poly plopped next to me, his tail swishing. I rolled to my side and threaded my fingers into Dylan’s hair. After a moment, he caught my hand and brought it to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“For what?” I asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, rolling onto his side, too, facing me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed your mama so much, but I wanted answers, and I knew she was lying.”
“I shouldn’t have brought her here. She’s stressed-out right now, and when she’s stressed, she attacks. I thought if she knew you were trying to help her . . .” He dragged a hand down his face.
“She’s never going to like me, Dylan,” I said, laying my heart on the line. “She wants what’s best for you, and she doesn’t think I’m it, so she’s always going to fight against me being in your life.”
“I’m a grown man. I can decide on my own who’s best for me. And that’s you. It’s always been you.”
I blinked back emotion. “I don’t like knowing that I’m causing trouble between the two of you.”
He reached out, cupped my face. “It’s been a long time coming. I should have taken a stand ages ago, but I always believed she’d come around and warm up to you. If she wants me to choose between the two of you, I’m not going to do it. She has to learn that it doesn’t have to be one or the other. My heart is big enough for the both of you.”
I didn’t think he quite realized that last night he hadn’t just taken a stand, as he thought. He had made a choice. He’d stayed with me.
In his mama’s eyes, he chose me over her.
Game over. The end.
“But your mama . . .”
“She can choose what she wishes to choose, but I won’t have her coming between us again. We suffered too long without each other and worked too hard to get back to where we are now. I won’t lose you again. My mother will just have to accept that. And if she doesn’t, she’ll have to live with the knowledge that the choice was hers.”
He was still angry with her—it resonated with each word he spoke.
My stomach churned. I wanted to fix all this but I didn’t know how. As a healer, it was a devastating realization. But as someone who loved Dylan, it was heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
He leaned over two cats and kissed me. “Me, too.”
The phone on the nightstand rang, and I didn’t want to answer it. I wanted to stay all day here in bed with Dylan and the cats. I didn’t want to deal with anything other than telling him how much he meant to me.
But then I recalled what day it was.
November second.
All Souls’ Day.
I had sixteen-ish hours to help Jenny Jane and Haywood cross over. I had to set my needs aside for them.
Rolling, I grabbed the cordless. It was Delia.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Give me ten minutes.”
Dylan shook his head and slipped his hand under my shirt.
“Twenty minutes,” I amended.
Smiling, he shook his head again.
Hoo boy, that smile.
“A half hour,” I said. “Give me a half hour. I, ah, need to shower.”
Dylan’s eyes lit and he nodded enthusiastically.
Laughing, she said, “I’ll give you a whole hour. And tell Dylan I said hi.”
• • •
Forty-five minutes later, I’d taken a pleasantly long shower with Dylan, dressed, cleaned the kitty litter box, and checked online sources for any news of a cruise ship disaster, found none, and wondered how my aunt Marjie and Johnny Braxton had managed not to cause an incident on international waters.
It was a small miracle.
I’d tried to get Louella to eat, but she only growled and nipped at me, and she had zero interest in any of the toys I’d bought for her the day before.
Roly and Poly had quickly appropriated her doggy bed for themselves, and Louella couldn’t have cared less. She lay listlessly on the area rug in the living room, her head on her paws.
She was mourning, and I didn’t know what to do about it, other than to give her time to process losing Virgil all over again.
I let her be.
Dylan had gone off to fetch some scones and coffee from Dèjá Brew, and I hoped he hurried back, as Delia would be here in fifteen minutes, and I was in desperate need of a caffeine fix.
The phone rang while I was tidying the kitchen. My mama.
“Baby girl,” she said breathlessly, “I was at Dèjá Brew this morning and heard from three people—three!—that you were seen talking to yourself on street corners, and that you were crying on the floor of To Have and to Cuddle in the company of some mangy-looking dog. Crying! You rarely cry. Is this about them ghosts? Do I need to kick some ghostly booty? I will. I’ll do it. Just watch me.”
Glancing at the kitchen table, I had a flashback to the night before and it was easy to recall the scornful look that had been in Patricia’s eyes. I shuddered and thanked my lucky stars for the crazy mama I had. “I love you, Mama.”
“Sweet Jesus!” she exclaimed. “Are you dying? Did that smoke inhalation cause more damage than the doctor let on? I need to sit down. Hold on.” A second later she said, “Okay, I’m sitting, but now I’m not breathing real well on account of my shapewear being a size too small. So tell me quick. Have you seen a doctor? I thought your daddy said that potion he made up worked on you just fine.” Her voice rose. “Hell’s bells, what good is your magic if you can’t use it on yo
urself?”
“Mama, breathe.”
“I can’t. Damn tummy cincher! I should have known not to buy it from one of those infomercials.”
“Mama!” I laughed. “I’m fine. Daddy’s potion healed me right up. I’m having a bit of a rough time emotionally with the ghost thing, but I’m dealing with it. I said I loved you because I had dinner with Patricia last night, and it reminded me of how lucky I was to have you and I wanted to let you know. I can’t imagine a better mama out there. That’s all.”
She sniffled. “Well, if Patricia is your standard, then I’m a peach compared to her. A peach, I tell you.”
“Compared to anyone,” I said.
She sniffled again. “Now I can’t breathe and my mascara’s running. I’m a hot mess and I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Then you’d better go.”
Through the window, I saw Dylan pull into the driveway and watched him as he hopped out of his truck carrying a white bag and a cardboard drink tray with three cups stuck into it. The sun hit his face just so, highlighting his strong jawline and the darkness under his eyes.
My heart bumped around in my chest.
This stuff with his mama wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, but as I still didn’t know what I could do about it other than do the same as I was doing with Louella.
Let him be.
He had to work through this on his own, and all I could do was be there to support him.
“I’d better,” Mama agreed.
Dylan came in the back door, kissed my cheek noisily. I said to my mama, “Give my love to Daddy, too, and tell him thanks again for getting that information on Moriah I needed.” He’d called last night with the name of the library where she worked, her hours, her home address, and her phone number. I owed him big-time.
“I will. By the way, you’re doing a damn fine job keeping him busy,” Mama said. “I’ve barely seen hide nor hair of him since Saturday. Blessed peace. Sweet blessed peace.”
I smiled. “’Bye, Mama.”
“I love you, Carly Bell. You keep that in mind when you’re dealing with ghosts and Patricia or anyone else. And don’t think I won’t kick her skinny booty, too, if I find out she’s done you any kind of wrong. I’ll do it. Just watch me.”
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