Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Page 8
This is news to me and I sit back. “Haylee played in Dad's band back in the day?”
“I try not to speak ill of folks, but I believe Sean preyed on her need to be a famous singer. I also think Nash felt sorry for her and created a spot for her.” He winks at me. “Nice guy, your dad.”
He crosses his legs and taps his glasses on one knee. “Things didn’t go well, and Nash kicked her out because she wasn’t reliable. Mr. O’Reilly left town shortly after, if memory serves.”
Mrs. Stout bustles in, all southern grace covering her surprise. “Why, my, my. I heard the doorbell and look who’s popped in for a visit.”
She offers herbal tea or decaf coffee. Rhys and I thank her but pass. “We’ll be done shortly and leave you two be,” I tell her.
“The reverend does have an appointment in a few minutes,” she says, with a deft smile. “A scheduled meeting.”
Her very gracious way of saying our unscheduled visit needs to wrap up.
“I’ll finish with Ava and Rhys and get ready for it in a moment,” her husband says.
Once she leaves, I resume. “Have you seen her since she’s been in town for the holidays?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but we don’t have that type of bond. Her mother died while she was on the road with the band. I miss my sister greatly, but neither she nor her daughter value family like we do.”
As Rhys and I are leaving, Penn and Beau John Reed show up. We greet each other and Penn promises she’ll pay her late bill as soon as she can. I think about the fact we’re all struggling in our own ways, and I reassure her that it’s okay, I know she’s good for it. She doesn’t even know that I delivered a message from her grandmother to her at her wedding. I’m pleased to see the late Mrs. Calhoun is no longer hanging around in Penn’s aura.
Persephone floats next to my ear as Rhys and I descend the steps, her voice startling me. “You might ask that gal if she’s seen this Haylee character.”
Clearing my throat, I stop and pivot. “Penn? Any chance you know Haylee Dean Bower?”
She glances at Stout, then nods at me. “I saw her earlier today.”
“Where was she?”
“Walking past your place. I was on my way to work and saw her standing outside the gate.”
The gargoyles definitely didn’t mention this. “What was she doing?”
“Just staring at the house. For a minute, I wondered if she was gettin’ married, the way she peered at the window displays.”
Rhys grips the railing. “Did she enter the property?”
Suspicious now, Penn’s face turns serious. “I was driving by and not paying a lot of attention. Why?”
“’Cuz of that O’Reilly guy,” Beau tells her. “Right?” he asks of me. His accent is heavy. “They was a thing, from what I heard.”
“Eww,” Penn comments. “Kinda old for her, wasn’t he?”
“Thank you,” I say. “Sorry to keep you.”
Rhys and I walk to the car. Persephone is nowhere to be seen but Sherlock is waiting in the back. He stares at the couple entering the house. “Is this the man we need to help us with the hex?”
“You tell me. He’s not Methodist, and I’ve never seen him knock people out with his preaching.”
“Ah, well, I assume he won’t do then.”
As I reverse out of the space, I glance at him. “You don’t really believe you’re Sherlock Holmes, do you?”
He feigns resentment. “I certainly am.”
“Where’s your British accent?”
Persephone pops in next to him and twitches her lips. “She’s got you there, buster.”
Sherlock vanishes. Persephone shrugs and disappears as well.
It’s like ghostly tag in the backseat.
Rhys gets a text from Brax. No dice at the Toad.
Driving aimlessly, hoping to spot Haylee, I review the possibilities. Thornhollow isn’t that big.
My phone rings and I hurriedly pull to the curb, seeing who it is. “Daddy?”
“Hey, where are you? I got home and the place is dark.”
“You’re out?”
“Of course, I am. Circumstantial evidence is all Jones has. The coroner will perform the autopsy and the police have interviews to do. They’ll figure out what happened.”
“What a relief! They better leave you alone.”
“Hey, your boyfriend’s here. Looks like you left in a hurry. Willa’s best brandy is on the table. Where’d you go?”
“I’m heading home right now.”
“Ava, sweetie. Don’t worry, all right?”
I yank the wheel to change direction, once again feeling some hope. “Just don’t drink all the brandy before I get there.”
Chapter Sixteen
By the time I return, Daddy’s in bed, and I’m disappointed.
Logan is waiting with hot chocolate, complete with tiny marshmallows and a candy cane. “Said he was exhausted and he’d talk to you tomorrow.”
We take our seats in front of the fireplace, and I’m itching to check my messages. While I was looking for Haylee, Winter called, as did an unknown number—my intuition tells me that one is Paris.
Well, my intuition and Sherlock. Hovering in the living room, he tries to get me to hurry Logan along so I can get back to the business at hand.
Logan’s argyle socked feet are on the coffee table, and he wears a serious expression on his face as he watches the flames in the hearth. They dance, throwing golden light over his features.
I nudge him. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
He glances toward the staircase and lowers his voice. “I don’t want you to worry, but I have a feeling someone is setting up your dad.”
“That’s exactly what I think. I suspect Haylee Dean Bower is involved.” I relate what Penn told me. “I haven’t tracked her down yet, but when I do, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “She has to be staying here in town. Somebody must know where she’s at.”
“Are you up for helping me make a few calls?”
We set our cocoas down and take out our phones. In twenty minutes, we have no further leads, and it’s late enough that people are starting to get annoyed at the invasion. I’ve put Rosie and Queenie on the hunt, though, so I know we’ll track her down soon enough.
I finish my drink, torn between savoring this peaceful moment and sending Logan off with a kiss so I can return to the other issues, especially the one concerning him.
He rubs my back, takes the empty cup from my hand, and rises. “You need rest, and I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I trail after him to the kitchen. He rinses the mugs and puts them in the dishwasher as I soak up every inch of him and consider telling him the truth. He hugs and kisses me before he leaves, and I hold my tongue.
As he crosses the street to his place, I stare at the vulgar yellow police tape trembling in the breeze. I confront the cat door knob. “You didn’t tell me Haylee Dean Bower was here.”
“Don’t know who that is,” the cat answers with a sleepy yawn.
“You didn’t see her attack Sean?”
“No one attacked him,” one of the gargoyles snarls. “Go to bed!”
I turn off the porch light and head upstairs. They aren’t ones to lie. At least I have no reason to believe so, but if it’s not an accident and no one killed Sean…that would mean it was natural causes.
“He tripped and choked,” I tell myself again.
But the idea of Haylee knocking him off still clings to my mind.
In order not to wake my father, I text Winter after listening to her voicemail and let her know I’ve collected the ingredients for the spells. They and the hex box sit on the dresser.
I fill her in about the preacher and also mention I might be able to get help from Raven’s sister. I’ll feel more confident if she’s here to guide me. Winter replies, wishing me luck, and insisting I keep her in the loop.
&
nbsp; As expected, Paris left me the name and number of two different preachers who may be able to assist in reversing Birdie’s hex. I take down the information, knowing it’s too late to call them right now. First thing tomorrow.
I reach out to contact Sherlock to share the news. He doesn’t respond to my summons, and I wonder if he’s as unreliable as Persephone.
Ghosts. They don’t adhere to time and space limitations and can be exceptionally erratic, vague, and frustrating.
I can’t sleep, tossing and turning all night. The cats usually camp on the bed with me, but they abandon it and find more peaceful lodgings.
The next morning, I trail after the smell of coffee and discover Daddy making breakfast. He’s already eaten, and as I enjoy the biscuits and eggs, he plays snippets of a new song he’s working on, filling the kitchen with the sound of his guitar and voice. I enjoy every minute of it, putting off the impending awkward conversations I’m due to have today.
“Brax and Rhys are having an open house this afternoon at the Thorny Toad,” he tells me as I clean up. “I’m going to play Christmas songs.”
“That’s great. I’ll stop by later.”
Rosie arrives and shakes her head first thing, alluding to the fact she’s found out nothing about Haylee. Our day kicks off with a crying bride-to-be whose mother-in-law is giving her fits about her January wedding. Dad wisely withdraws upstairs and I have to again, postpone calling preachers.
The local florist, Betty Lee, phones an hour later to tell Rosie the mistletoe has arrived for the ballroom decorations, and Rosie hustles off to pick up the boxes.
I’ve decided to do Winter’s ritual on the locket in the attic, so when Daddy goes to the gazebo in the backyard to write lyrics, I grab the assortment of ingredients and the hex box, and carry them to the third floor. There, I try both preachers and get their voicemails. Doesn’t seem like something I want to leave specifics about in a message, so I simply ask them to return my call and emphasize it’s an emergency.
I rearrange old furniture and shift a wool rug out of the way to reveal the wooden slats underneath. Dust clogs my nose and makes me sneeze as I wash the stained floorboards to prepare them for my chalk drawing.
I hear Rosie return, and I return downstairs to find Dad putting on his coat and slinging his guitar case over his shoulder.
“Got to go set up.” He kisses my cheek. “See you later?”
“Have fun.”
None of the locals I contacted last night in my search for Haylee have returned my calls. I stifle the urge to warn him about her.
By lunch, I’ve reached out to more friends and acquaintances, but no one knows the woman’s location. Even Queenie has failed at hunting her down. Neither preacher has responded and I try them again, with the same outcome.
Like Sherlock, it appears Haylee has vanished into thin air and perhaps these holy men have too.
My phone rings and Rhys’ voice is excited when I answer. “She's here. Just arrived! What do you want me to do?”
“You’re at the Toad?”
“Yep.”
“Keep her there.” I shove a half-eaten sandwich into the fridge and head for my coat. “I’m on my way.”
* * *
The Toad is decked out for the open house, and Dad is already playing classic carols when I arrive. People filter in and out, enjoying the vendor booths and buying craft items and gifts, along with certificates for tarot readings, past life regressions, and energy healing services.
The mood is high, but as Dad plays his own holiday song, the jukebox starts up. He glares over at a woman, who’s sobbing over the glowing lights of the machine. She detaches herself and ambles to the bar.
I catch Rhys’ eye and he nods in her direction.
Haylee Dean.
I squeeze through the crowd. She appears quite drunk, stringy blond hair falling past her shoulders and nearly into the mug of beer in front of her. She sings with the Springsteen song on the jukebox at the top of her lungs, and I flinch at the screechy sound.
I meet Rhys at the opposite end of the bar. He wipes the counter and sets down a glass of seltzer water with a lime on the side. “She’s played that song at least ten times. People are getting annoyed. If she doesn’t quit, they might leave.”
“So why don’t you pull the plug?”
“You said to keep her here. I was afraid she’d leave if I did that.”
I pat his hand. “Thank you. I’ll handle this.”
I mosey toward her, bringing my drink along. “I’m really sorry about Sean.”
Her eyes are blurry when she lifts them to glance at me. “He was my soulmate.” Her shoulders shake. “Now he’s dead. What am I going to do?”
I motion at Rhys to unplug the jukebox and he does, The Boss dying in mid-chorus. Haylee doesn’t even seem to notice, her nervous hands fiddling with her mug. “I wanted everything to be perfect, and then…”
“Then what?” I prompt.
She peeks from beneath her hair, and suddenly stiffens. The vacant eyes clear. “Hey, I know you.”
Persephone appears next to her. “Ava, be careful.”
“Now you show up,” I murmur to the angel, and Haylee frowns.
“What?”
Persephone’s tone is a warning. “Ava…”
I may be in the presence of a murderer. Combined with the fact she’s drunk as a skunk, I probably should heed my angel’s advice.
Haylee swivels on the seat, glaring toward Dad.
He’s playing Silent Night, a handful of folks gathered to listen. Haylee flies off the bar stool, shoving a woman carrying several bags aside, as she hurls herself at him. “It should be you! You should be dead, not Sean!”
I rush after her, grabbing her an instant before she tackles him. She cries and tries to break free, but she’s easy to swing around.
Dad stops playing, and I motion at him to keep going. I shove his attacker toward a booth. “Relax,” I tell her as she crumples into the vinyl. “Or Rhys will throw you out.”
The patrons return to their business, giving us questioning glances. I sink down across from her. “Why should my dad be dead instead of Sean?”
She clams up, so I keep prodding. “Come on, Haylee. I know you were in love with Sean, but I doubt he was your soulmate. You know he was dating others, right?”
She flops her arms on the table, head hanging, and sniffs. “He was mine. In his heart, he knew I was the only woman for him.”
Reasoning with a drunk is not something I’m adept at. When Persephone slides in beside me, I’m almost grateful. “You better record this.”
I just look at her. “Huh?”
“If you’re going to get a confession, you need it for proof, and your interrogation skills could use work.”
“Not helpful.” But then I relent. “What do you suggest?”
“Your phone. Use it,” she says, exasperated.
At the same time, Haylee lifts her head. “We had a chance, a real chance.”
I fiddle with my cell, turning on the recorder app and setting it on my lap. I’ve never used it before and I hope it works. “At what?”
“Your daddy knew it, too,” she continues, oblivious, “but he deserted us on our big night. Sean always said that was the turning point.” She taps the table with a jagged fingernail. “We missed our opportunity because of him.”
Dad’s playing an upbeat jingle and people are enjoying it. “What do you mean deserted?”
Haylee goes silent, seemingly lost in a memory, or maybe the effects of the liquor.
Persephone reaches over and yanks a strand of her hair.
“Ouch.” She glares at me, as if I’m the culprit.
“What do you mean?” I repeat.
“It was St Louis.” She wipes her nose. “They sold over a thousand tickets before our debut there. It was rumored Bruce Springsteen’s manager was going to be in the audience. We could have opened for him! Can you imagine it? The Boss. We would have gone big time.”
“What happened?” I ask Haylee.
She snarls. “Nash said he had to get back to Thornhollow. He never even told us why, just skipped out. We couldn’t take the stage without our front man.”
She sits back in a huff. “All my dreams down the drain. Sean’s, too. Your father ruined the band and never even told us why.”
Sherlock appears next to the table and begins pacing. “Ask her what happened between her and the drummer.”
Persephone nods. “Do it.”
I’m slightly surprised she’s agreeing with the ghost. “Did you and Sean break up then or later?”
A tear slips from the corner of Haylee’s eye. “Sean went into a deep depression. Said I reminded him of the group and everything he’d lost.”
“No, no, no.” Sherlock is contrite, snagging his glasses from the end of his nose and waving them around. “Ask her about yesterday and the fight.”
I give him a skeptical glance. “How do you know about that?”
Haylee eyes me as if I’m the one who’s drunk. “What?”
Good thing she won’t remember this conversation.
Sherlock jabs the glasses toward her.
Fine. “What did you and Sean fight about yesterday?”
“Fight?” She rears back. “We never fought.”
“Liar,” Sherlock says, replacing his spectacles. “They argued over your mother.”
“What about Mama?”
I’m asking him, but Haylee’s eyes widen. “Are you psychic?”
Good lord. “Did you and Sean quarrel about him seeing her? You know they had a relationship, right?”
She slides out, holding onto the table for balance. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“That’s true.” I set the phone on the table so she can see it. “You can talk to Detective Jones after I give him this recording of our conversation. I think he’ll be interested to hear about the fight.”
Outrage on her face, Haylee flings herself at me.