magic potion 03 - ghost of a potion

by blake, heather

  “It took a while and a subscription to one of those genealogical Web sites, but I found that the name Deboe had been changed from de Bode sometime in the mid-twenties. When I plugged de Bode and New Orleans into a search engine, there were thousands of hits featuring the same subject.”

  “You’re killing me. What?”

  She grinned. “Susannah and Simon de Bode ran a high-class brothel in New Orleans’s red light district during the late eighteen hundreds and into the late teens, when the area was eventually shut down. They made a fortune.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it again. A whorehouse? Idella Deboe Kirby, one of the most elegant and high society women I’d ever met, had hailed from brothel keepers?

  “Hardly blackmail worthy,” Delia was saying, “especially because brothels were legal back then, but I’m sure she’s terrified her sterling reputation will be sullied if it leaks out that all the expensive things she buys are a result of something so lurid. She gets bent out of shape if too much cleavage is showing.”

  She did. Don’t get her started on tube tops and miniskirts, either. “That is quite the family secret, as Doc Gabriel alluded to.”

  “Idella would sell her soul not to let that information get out. Personally, I think it’s terribly fascinating, and if it were my family’s history, I’d be using it as a conversation starter.”

  “Right, because the whole magic thing isn’t interesting enough.”

  She smiled. “Oh come on. The red light district in New Orleans? Think of the stories.”

  I laughed, amused by her reaction and glanced out the window. We’d already talked about how Avery Bryan couldn’t be ruled out as a suspect in her father’s death because she might inherit the house. But what about the blackmail? Who was behind that? Was it the same person? Or were we looking at two different cases altogether?

  “Dylan’s hoping to get a look at the financial documents of all the Harpies,” I said. “The blackmail is deeply personal. These are not secrets just anyone would know.”

  “I agree. The blackmailer is someone who knows all of them well.”

  “Doug Ramelle is convinced it was Haywood. Is it possible it was?” Hyacinth thought it was a ridiculous notion, but maybe Haywood had been good at keeping the truth from her.

  “Anything is possible,” Delia said. “Where was Doug when Haywood was killed? He’s awfully quick to place the blame on someone who’s not around anymore to defend himself.”

  “He was standing with my parents when it all happened.”

  “You saw him there?”

  “I saw him right before . . .”

  “Right before? Or when?”

  I tried to recall. “It was a couple of minutes beforehand, but he said he was still with them.”

  “Did you confirm it with them?” she asked.

  “I didn’t even think to, because I’d seen him . . .” But it was entirely possible he’d slipped away with an excuse to use the restroom or something along those lines. He could have been gone and back before anyone would even put it together. “I’ll ask them as soon as I can.”

  There was something about Doug that was nagging at me, but I couldn’t quite recall what it was. Something he said, perhaps. I stewed on it for a bit before letting it go for now. It would come to me eventually. It always did.

  By the time we made it to Moriah’s it was closing in on one o’clock and fast. I knew from the information my daddy had given me that she worked nights at one of Auburn University’s campus libraries and wasn’t due to be at work until three.

  We’d just pulled up in front of her house when a minivan came backing out of her driveway.

  “It’s her,” Delia said, ducking low as to not be seen.

  “Well, follow her!”

  Delia whipped the car around so fast that poor Louella nearly fell off the backseat. She growled and repositioned herself. I was growing worried about her, as she still wasn’t eating or drinking properly.

  It wasn’t long before we pulled into a Publix parking lot. We sank low and spied on Moriah as she stepped out of her van, pulled open a sliding door, and fussed with something inside. A moment later, she straightened with a baby girl in her arms.

  I checked the rearview mirror, and Jenny Jane was still floating behind our car, oblivious to what was going on around her. “We’ve got to go in,” I said. “Jenny Jane didn’t see her.”

  With a sigh, Delia pulled a sun hat from the backseat and then reached into her glove box and extracted a black scarf covered in white skulls. “Use this as a bandanna to cover your hair. Between that and your sunglasses, she won’t recognize you.”

  “She might think I’m you.”

  “You should be so lucky,” she said, smiling as she threw open her door.

  I wrapped the scarf around my head and cracked up when I looked into the mirror. I definitely looked like Delia.

  “What are we going to do with Louella?” It was too warm a day to leave her out here. “Do you want to go inside with Jenny Jane while I stay out here with the car running?”

  “It’s better if we go in together in case Jenny Jane gets too close.” Delia glanced around, walked away, and then came back with a buggy decked out with a built-in baby seat. “We’ll take Louella with us.”

  I eyed the seat that was a good three feet off the ground. “Who’s putting Louella in that thing?”

  Delia peeked in the car. Louella growled. “This is ridiculous. She’s what? Five pounds? How vicious can she be?” She reached for her and Louella chomped her wrist. “Yow!”

  “Pretty vicious,” I answered.

  Dots of blood pooled on her arm, and she frowned at them as though not truly believing what had just happened. “Are her shots up-to-date?”

  “Doc Gabriel says she’s healthy as can be.”

  “Fabulous,” Delia grumbled. Then an eyebrow went up. “You know, I still have that sleeping hex in my pocketbook . . .”

  “We are not hexing the dog.” I tugged Louella’s leash, and she hopped out of the car.

  “It wouldn’t hurt her. It’d just make her sleepy. For, you know, a couple of days.”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  I thought on it for a second. “We’ll pretend she’s a service dog or something.”

  “She doesn’t have a vest,” Delia pointed out.

  “By the time anyone can raise a stink about it, we’ll be long gone. We just need Jenny Jane to see the baby, and we can get out of here. Jenny Jane?” I called. “You ready to see your grandbaby?”

  Her brows dropped as she glanced at the grocery store and pointed.

  “Moriah’s doing a little shopping,” I said. “Is that okay?”

  She nodded.

  Louella tugged the leash as she led our little group to the entrance of the store. Suddenly, a buggy came whizzing past me that had Delia coasting on the back of it. She jumped off, tugged the cart to a stop, grabbed the dog, and dropped her in the baby seat, wham bam boom.

  “Take that,” she said to Louella. “Bite me, will you? Hmmph.”

  Louella flattened her ears and growled but settled down right quick. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind riding in the buggy at all, lifting her nose in the air and taking in the sights and sounds.

  “You’re crazy,” I said to Delia. “You know that?”

  “It runs in the family.”

  Air-conditioning blasted us as we walked through the automatic doors and swung the buggy toward the produce aisle. “She’s here somewhere,” I said, looking around.

  “Up there,” Delia said, pointing toward the bakery. “See her, Jenny Jane?”

  Jenny Jane’s hands flew to her mouth as her face bloomed with joy. Tears moistened her eyes, and a smile creased her cheeks. She floated toward them.

  Delia and I moved closer. Louella had slumped in the seat and her eyes were drifting closed. How long could she survive on this hunger strike of hers?

  Cautiously, I reached out to rub the s
pot on her head between her ears. One of her eyes flicked open, and she gave me a halfhearted growl, but she didn’t nip. Now I was extra worried. If she didn’t perk up by tomorrow morning, I’d take her to see Doc Gabriel.

  In the bakery, Jenny Jane was playing peekaboo with her granddaughter, and the baby girl was smiling at her.

  Like animals, babies had a special connection with the spirit world and could often see what adults could not. I wasn’t surprised that she could see her grandmother just fine. Moriah looked over her shoulder with a quizzical look, as there was no around.

  I pretended to study a loaf of rye bread as I watched, feeling my heart grow full. The little girl, who looked around eight or nine months old, had her short hair pulled atop her head, styled into a spiky ponytail tied with a bow. She had her grandmama’s blue-gray eyes. Kicking chubby legs, she squealed as Jenny Jane continued to play with her.

  Moriah once again looked over her shoulder, and Delia grabbed up a lemon meringue pie, pretending to study the ingredients list. “My word, three hundred and sixty calories per serving.”

  “Worth it,” I said.

  “Amen.” She set it in the buggy.

  I eyed her.

  “What?” she said. “We’re here and I’m hungry.”

  “Well, now we need to find some forks.”

  “I’m on it,” she said, scooting off.

  Slowly, I followed Moriah into the next aisle and faked a great interest in apple sauce when she stopped to pick up a couple of cans of green beans.

  Jenny Jane, I noticed, had begun to fade.

  Delia was back a moment later with a box of plastic forks and a six-pack of water. “Lemon makes me thirsty, and this music is making me stabby.”

  It was classic rock Muzak.

  It was making me stabby too.

  Jenny Jane soared over, about ten feet in front of us, and pointed excitedly before holding her hands over her heart.

  “She’s gorgeous,” I said. “Looks just like you with that hair and those eyes.”

  With a nod and a big smile, she lost a little bit more of her haziness. She floated back over to the little girl, and Delia took charge of the buggy.

  We walked in silence for a bit before Delia said, “Do you think you’ll have kids with Dylan?”

  Letting out a sigh, I said, “I don’t know. I haven’t really allowed myself think that far ahead. Part of me is terrified we’re not going to last, so thinking about babies with him just seems like I’m asking for heartache.”

  I recalled what Mr. Dunwoody said this morning.

  Are you strong enough to let him hurt without feeling guilty about being part of what caused the pain? Because if a storm is brewing, he needs to know you’ll be there for him and not run away, thinking you’re saving him from even more agony.

  “Why don’t you think it will last?” Delia asked.

  “History tends to repeat itself,” I said simply. “Now there’s the mess with his mama . . .”

  “Carly Bell, you cannot let your fears stop you from moving forward with him.”

  “Easier said than done.” I glanced at her. “What about you? Do you want babies some day?”

  “I’d love a half dozen,” she said with a smile. “I can’t wait to be a mama.”

  “Really?”

  “I want to do it right,” she said softly. “Not like how my mama raised me.”

  She’d alluded several times to trouble with her mama, but I’d never pressed for more information. Now seemed like a good time. “What would you do differently?”

  Before she could answer, Jenny Jane came back toward us. She was mouthing something, but I couldn’t quite figure out what. I was about to ask her to spell it, then realized that wasn’t going to work either.

  “Name,” Delia finally said after staring for a long minute. “You want to know her name?”

  Yes.

  I glanced at Delia. “Any ideas?”

  “Which one of us is Moriah least likely to recognize?”

  “It’s a toss-up,” I said. We’d both gone to school with the younger Booth, but we hadn’t much to do with Moriah. “Did she ever go into Till Hex?”

  “A couple of times. How about Potions?”

  “Never.”

  “You win,” she said.

  Rolling my eyes, I hurried down the aisle to catch up with Moriah as she stopped to look at pasta varieties. I pretended to check out the canned beans opposite her and slowly backed up until I bumped into her.

  “Oh my word!” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. What a klutz I am.”

  “You’re fine,” she said. “No harm done.”

  I glanced toward her buggy. “What a darling girl! Is it her laughter I’ve been hearing while shopping?”

  Moriah held a box of angel hair. “She’s in a good mood today.”

  “How old is she?” I smiled at the baby, and she gave me a toothy drool-laced grin that stole my heart.

  “Nine months.”

  “Oh,” I said. “She’ll be walmmnn snnn.”

  I glanced behind me. Jenny Jane was hovering. Slyly, I motioned for her to back up. Fortunately, because she was fading, my right side hadn’t been affected by her close presence.

  “Are you okay?” Moriah asked.

  I coughed. “Sorry. Frog in my throat. I meant to say she’ll be walking soon.”

  “She’s already standing up,” Moriah said proudly.

  I held my breath as I said, “What’s her name?”

  “Jennifer Jane,” Moriah said, a flash of emotion crossing her face. “Named after her grandmama, my mama.”

  “It’s a beautiful name,” I said softly. “For a beautiful girl. I’ll let you get back to your shopping now. Sorry again for bumping into you.”

  “No problem. You have a nice day.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then headed back to Delia at the end of the aisle.

  We watched as Jenny Jane waved good-bye to her granddaughter, and the baby waved back at her, her chubby hand flapping awkwardly, before Jenny Jane vanished.

  “Damn allergies,” Delia said a second later, swiping her eyes.

  I linked arms with her. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As we walked to the checkout, she looked my way. “I saw you playing with that little girl. You lit up from the inside out.”

  “She was sweet.”

  “That’s not what I’m getting at.”

  “I know.” I put the pie and forks and water on the conveyer belt and checked on Louella to make sure she was sleeping and not suddenly dead.

  Hey, one could never be too careful.

  Napping. Thank goodness.

  Delia pulled her wallet out of her pocketbook. “All’s I’m saying, Carly Bell, is that maybe you can’t rewrite history, but it’s not too late to change the future if you set your mind to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Avery Bryan lived in a small Craftsman-style bungalow not too far from the Auburn campus, just off a main road filled with quaint boutiques, darling restaurants, and gift shops. As much as the University of Alabama was a religion in my neck of the woods, there was no denying the beauty of Auburn’s campus.

  There was a car in the driveway of Avery’s house, but the shades were drawn, so I wasn’t sure whether she was home or not.

  It was almost two o’clock on a weekday afternoon. Most people would be at work this time of day, which was something that Delia and I hadn’t factored in when we opted not to call ahead.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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?”