wasn’t easy finding Doc Buzzard. No one in Savannah seemed to know him. I began with indirect inquiries, both of my friends and of Savannah’s stranger types. Finally Josie, who had just begun working for my family, took me aside.”
“Wait,” I say. “Josie worked for you back then?”
“She was twenty.”
I furrow my brow, trying to figure this out. “So Josie was twenty, and you were sixteen… but she looks ancient now. I don’t get it.”
My grandmother shoots me a hard look and goes on with her story. “So Josie took me aside. ‘What’s this about Doc Buzzard?’ she whispered.
“ ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Do you know him?’
“She seemed to turn a few shades paler. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘He’s the hoodoo man.’
“ ‘Hoodoo?’ I repeated. I didn’t think she could be serious. I had heard of hoodoo happening on the coast, but those were silly ghost stories. Still, Josie was deadly serious. Serious enough for me to realize that I had to go see this man.
“I went out to his house on a hot afternoon in May. I remember that the sky was white and flat. It was so bright I could barely keep my eyes open. I was scared. My father had just given me this wonderful convertible, so I was as low-profile as a drunk polar bear. I borrowed a pistol from the hunting closet and took two hundred dollars from my father’s safe. The road was full of holes, and I drove slowly so as not to blow a tire.
“When I got to the shack where the locals had told me the Buzzards lived, I almost turned back. It was nothing like the place is now—just a clapboard shack, evil-smelling, with stray dogs lolling about in the yard. I stayed in my car for a few minutes, hoping someone would come out, but nothing happened. Finally I walked to the door and knocked.
“When the door opened, I was surprised to see the man standing before me. His handsomeness seemed out of place with his surroundings. He was tall, with yellow eyes and smooth skin and long fingers. He smiled at me curiously and asked what I wanted.”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “This was Sam?”
“Sam’s father,” my grandmother says, and then goes back to her story.
“ ‘I want to put a hex on my fiancé,’ I said. ‘The same one you used on Mr. Warren.’
“Doc Buzzard looked at me carefully. Then he invited me inside. He motioned for me to sit and then boiled me a cup of what I thought was tea. I wasn’t in the mood for tea. It was ninety-eight degrees outside, after all. But he slid the cup in front of me, almost like a dare. It smelled awful, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I took a sip. My insides cooled instantly, and I could suddenly think much more clearly. It was, of course, my first cup of Swamp Brew.
“ ‘A hex,’ I repeated. ‘I’ll pay you. I’m somewhat wealthy. I can pay whatever you want.’
“Doc Buzzard stared at me, amused. ‘How do you know about hexes?’
“ ‘Mr. Warren told me. He said that you hexed him. Then he died.’
“ ‘Huh,’ Doc said. ‘I was hoping he’d die before he said that.’
“ ‘So you did kill him?’
“ ‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Doc growled.
“ ‘I don’t think the police would see it that way.’
“ ‘No more hexes,’ he said. ‘That was my only one.’
“ ‘But—’
“ ‘Too risky,’ he said. ‘No.’
“As you girls know, I have never taken kindly to being told no. Back then I was even more stubborn. Immediately, I pitched a fit.
“ ‘You need to help me,’ I said in a shaking voice. ‘My fiancé is making a fool of me. I need to get him to forget this other… harlot and be obsessed with me.’
“Doc Buzzard took a deep breath. ‘You mean you want a love potion.’
“ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose so.’
“ ‘Well, sugar,’ he said, ‘you’re in luck. Because that is just the sort of thing I do best.’
“And so we hatched a deal. I was never to mention hexes again. I was to keep Doc’s secret about killing the hotel developer. And I was to pay him a great deal of money.”
“For what?” I ask. I look at Hayes and Madison, who remain silent. Madison’s on her second brandy, and they’re both draped on pillows on the floor.
“Spells,” my grandmother says.
“Can we just stop for a minute?” I ask. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve sort of