Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (9 page)

“Oh, my God! I’m so
sorry
!” The voice came faintly from above, and I craned my neck to look up. A dark-haired
woman in a purple bathrobe waved her hands from the eighth-story terrace. “Stay there!
I’m coming right down.” She disappeared into the apartment behind her.

“Are you okay?” The woman who had honked at me only moments before asked with obvious
concern. She was a few years older than me.

I blinked back at her. “I guess so.” Took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes. Of course.
I’m fine.” She could have run right over me. I shuddered again.

But this nice woman hadn’t been the one who warned me. I looked around. A few residents
had ventured out of nearby doorways to inspect the mess. As soon as they realized
no one was hurt and there would be no flashing lights to gawk at, most turned right
around and went back inside.

Katie! Go left! Now!
I’d heard the words loud and clear and had responded to the directive without a split
second of thought. Or question.

Which had probably saved my life. That telltale shiver ran down my spine, and then
made the return trip back up to the base of my skull. No one had been anywhere close
to me, but someone—something?—had warned me to get out of the way. It had been
a familiar voice, too. But not one I’d heard since my grandmother had died when I
was nine years old.

“Oh, my Lord, I cannot believe that happened.” The woman from the balcony came boiling
out of the front door of the apartment house. Her hair, not as dark as I’d thought,
dripped with water. Tall and thin to the point of being gaunt, she tightened the belt
of her bathrobe and shuffled her feet. I looked down and saw that she was wearing
a pair of unlaced yellow tennis shoes.

“I was just turning one of those dang punkins around to see which side my little boy
might want to paint, and it tipped right over the balustrade,” she continued in a
harried, breathy voice. “Right out of my hands. I’m so, so sorry. I tried real careful
to keep those dang things away from the edge there. So’s nobody’d get hurt, you know?”

Her expression pled with me. I nodded my understanding. In the minivan a child began
to cry, and the woman who’d managed to not run me down said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve
got to go. You really are okay?”

“Uh-huh. Just a little shaken up, but no harm done.”

Both women breathed sighs of relief, and the first one got into her van and drove
away. I heard her soothing murmurs through the open window as the van passed.

“How many pumpkins were up there?” I asked the robed woman in front of me.

“Eight. They were for my little boy’s Scout troop. We’re having a punkin-painting
party tomorrow. Or we were. I’ll have to get some more, I guess. Keep them in the
car this time.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage. “Guess I have
a bit of cleanup to
do here, too. Who knew a few little squashes could make such a mess?” Shaking her
head, she brought her gaze up to meet mine.

“How many of them fell?” I asked.

She paused and looked away. “All of them.”

The amount of orange muck sprayed for yards around us confirmed her statement. It
still didn’t make sense, though. I chose my words carefully. “I can see how one might
tip off the balustrade like that, but all of them?”

She licked her lips and met my eyes again. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

Goose bumps played along my vertebrae. “Try me.”

“The first one? The one I was holding? I swear, it felt like something grabbed it
right out of my hands. And the ones after that, well, they went down like dominoes,
one after another. But, honey? They weren’t even
touching
each other. That edge is eighteen inches wide, too. I just can’t figure it.”

We blinked at each other for a long moment.

“Were you the one who screamed?”

She nodded. “’Bout scared the life right out of me, seeing you down here. You got
some quick reflexes, girl.”

I tried a smile, but the adrenaline whipping through my veins made my lips quiver,
so I stopped.

She tugged on the purple belt again, peering at me. “You’re not gonna sue me, are
you?”

I shook my head. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I was pretty sure that whatever
had happened hadn’t been this woman’s fault. “Listen, I have to go now,” I said, surveying
the mess in a mild state of shock.

“Okay, honey.” She patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Seriously, I’m real sorry.
And I’m awful glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too,” I muttered.

As I ran home my dragonfly amulet bounced under my T-shirt, near my racing heart.

I rounded the corner to find a baby blue 1964 Thunderbird convertible parked in the
driveway behind my Volkswagen. The top was down, and Lucy and Mimsey got out as soon
as they saw me approach.

“Where have you been?” Lucy demanded.

“On a run. Why?”

“You didn’t take your phone.”

“I never take my phone when I run.”

Mimsey pursed her lips. “We tried to call you several times, to see if you’d learned
anything more from your…from Steve. When you didn’t answer, we became worried.”

“So we came over to make sure you were all right,” my aunt said.

“You said you’d call,” the older woman said, then paused, inhaled, and seemed to force
a lightness into her words. “I mean, my stars and garters, Katie, darlin’, this is
a good time to be extra careful.”

I thought of the pumpkins crashing down right where I would have been if I hadn’t
been warned by the mysterious voice. A voice I’d recognized. On the
way home I’d thought of nothing else—except for the near miss with the monster truck
when I’d almost run the stop sign on my way home from the Honeybee.

“Let’s go inside, okay? This isn’t something we need to discuss out on the front lawn,”
I said.

The two other women exchanged looks, and turned in sync toward the porch.

Once the front door was closed and Mungo had greeted both of them, I asked, “Have
you eaten? Can I get you something?”

“I’ve had my supper, but I wouldn’t mind something sweet if you’ve got it,” Mimsey
said.

I smiled and gestured them into the kitchen. They settled into chairs at the small
table, and Lucy moved the potted basil plant to one side. I pointed to the cake on
the counter and asked, “How about a piece of this?”

“Is that caramel…? Oh my, yes.” Mimsey’s eyes twinkled. “No, a larger piece, if you
don’t mind. And a nice big glass of milk?”

I put an enormous slab of cake on a plate and poured the milk she requested. Mimsey
was what she described as “comfortably round.” Who was I to argue with her comfort?
I watched as she took the first bite and closed her eyes in apparent bliss.

“Did I get it right?” I asked.

“My heavens, yes, right down to the crispy crust on the outside of the frosting.”

“Ben’s waiting on supper for me,” Lucy said. “But he’s probably getting impatient.
I didn’t tell him why we were coming over here. I was afraid he’d worry.”

That sounded ominous. “You’re obviously worried, though.” At one time I would have
pooh-poohed my
aunt’s concern, but I’d learned she was right more often than not. I joined them at
the table.

“Those druids can be dangerous.” Mimsey dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the
corner of a napkin. Half of her cake was already gone.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “And how do you know that, Ms. Carmichael?”

She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. “We had an incident of sorts. A friend
of our family, of my husband’s, really, crossed Heinrich Dawes in some kind of financial
deal. I don’t know the details—Heinrich calls himself a venture capitalist, but I
really have no idea what that means. Anyway, suddenly all sorts of bad things started
happening to this man. Accidents, a tax audit out of the blue, traffic tickets, even
an ugly skin rash. It seemed obvious foul play, of the magical variety. So I did a
little divination to find out exactly what this poor man was dealing with.”

“And?” I prompted when she seemed to have trouble finding the next words. I couldn’t
help thinking about what Steve had said about the Dragohs’ justifying some questionable
practices to themselves. What were they capable of?

“I discovered there was a group behind the, well, the curses, really. That’s what
they effectively were. Never found out how many were in the group, or much else about
them, but I went to Hein—to Steve’s father—” She took a sip of milk.

“All alone,” Lucy interrupted. “It was stupidly dangerous, Mimsey. You should have
told the rest of us. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.”

Mimsey waved her hand in the air as if dispelling a
foul odor. “Lucille, you’ve already forgiven me, and you know it. After all, it all
ended well.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

She tossed her white pageboy. The indigo bow stuck to the side of it didn’t budge.
“I talked to him, of course.”

“That’s it?”

“At the time that was enough. They’d kept their group secret. Not even their wives
were aware, from what I understood. And I told Heinrich I’d keep quiet if he stopped
cursing my husband’s friend. But he’ll find out I told you. I don’t know how those
druids could react if they felt cornered or threatened.”

“So did you find out anything more about them from Steve?” Lucy asked.

Nodding slowly, I leaned back in my chair. “From Steve and from his father. Heinrich
himself dropped by.”

Mimsey leaned forward. “Oh, my.”

“He actually told me the name of the group, though he said it was a men’s club.” I
told them what I’d learned about the Dragoh Society. I ended by telling them who the
dead man was. I felt a twinge of guilt, since Steve had let the information slip because
he thought I already knew, but it didn’t seem like something I should keep to myself.
I was surprised by Lucy’s reaction.

“Lawrence Eastmore?” she gasped, her eyes widening as she bit her lip. My aunt was
as tenderhearted as they came, but this was something more.

“Did you know him?” I asked, shifting in my chair to lean my elbows on the table.

She took a deep breath. “Dr. Eastmore, actually. Mimsey had shared with me that there
was a powerful
group of druids here in Savannah, but we didn’t know he was one of them. Though it
doesn’t really surprise me to learn that. He was a professor, you see, but he was
also an expert in rare books. Specifically, rare occult books.” She glanced at her
friend, then back at me. “Last year I arranged to borrow a copy of the
Heptamaron
for the spellbook club to review.”

My forehead wrinkled.
“Heptamaron?”

“It’s an ancient Latin spellbook. He had an English translation. It was terribly interesting,
wasn’t it, Mims? And we were all so grateful for his generosity in lending it to us.”

“So you didn’t know he was a druid, but he knew about the spellbook club.”

“Well, he knew we have a book club, and he certainly struck me as quite intelligent.
I’m sure he was able to add two and two and get four.”

I pressed my lips together.

“That our spellbook club is really a coven isn’t much of a secret,” Mimsey said. “In
certain circles only, of course. I doubt my husband’s golfing friends would think
much of his wife’s magical affiliations.” She winked at me.

“Anyway, I decided it’s silly to think I need to help Peter Quinn identify Eastmore,”
I said. “I bet he did that hours ago and has already developed a list of suspects.”
I just hoped they were more likely to have committed a crime than Uncle Ben had been
when Quinn had considered him a murder suspect.

Lucy and Mimsey exchanged skeptical looks.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m not so sure Detective Quinn will have made much progress,” my aunt said.

“You don’t think he’s good at his job?”

Mimsey shook her head. “That’s not it at all. But if these Dragoh druids are as powerful
as we think they are, they might be able to keep him from being good at it. If you
know what I mean.”

“Magically.” It wasn’t a question.

They both nodded.

Well. That added a sticky element to an already messy situation.

Mimsey said, “And now you’ve crossed Heinrich Dawes. That’s not good. I should never
have told you to talk to Steve. I just thought since he lo—cares about you he wouldn’t
put you in danger like that.”

I thought about the pumpkin guts splattered all over the pavement and swallowed.

My face must have reflected my thoughts, because Lucy put her hand on my arm. “Katie?”

I patted her hand. “Please don’t worry. I’m a pretty powerful witch my own self, you
know.”

“You’re still so inexperienced,” she protested.

I couldn’t deny that. “I have this.” I pulled the dragonfly amulet from where it nestled
inside my T-shirt. Lucy was the one who’d given it to me. “And besides, someone’s
watching out for me in a big way.”

Mimsey tipped her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had two narrow escapes today.”

Now they both looked alarmed. I held up my hand. “I’m fine. And they were both accidents.
Sort of. The first one was my fault. I got distracted thinking about…things…and almost
ran a stop sign.”

Yip!

I looked down at Mungo. “That’s right. This little
guy warned me in time, and I stopped before that big truck—” I saw the looks on their
faces and stopped. “That was before I even talked to Heinrich Dawes, so I don’t see
how it could have anything to do with the Dragohs.”

“What else happened?” Mimsey’s voice held flat accusation. Lucy blinked worried eyes
at me.

“Some pumpkins fell off a balustrade at the top of an apartment building as I was
running underneath.”

“You mean right before you got here?” the older woman demanded.

I nodded. “Shortly before, yes. It could have been an accident, too.”

“But you don’t think it was,” Lucy said. “I can tell.”

Shrugging, I said, “No, I don’t. From what I was told, they seemed to move of their
own accord.”