Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery (5 page)

The door opened yet again, and I cursed myself under my breath for not locking it after Declan’s arrival. Two policewomen entered, followed by Steve Dawes.

My stomach was upset enough without the effect he seemed to have on it. I tried to ignore his sudden presence,
but couldn’t quite. Still, when I did glance over at him he wasn’t paying attention to me at all.

All his energy focused on Declan.

And Declan returned the favor.

The air between the two men vibrated with sudden, intense hostility. I could
see
the hatred distort the atmosphere.

No, wait. That couldn’t be.

“Mrs. Eagel?” one of the officers asked.

Lucy stood.

“And you’re, um”—the other woman consulted a notebook and looked up at me—“Ms. Lightfoot?”

“Yes.” I rose, too, still distracted by the interplay of emotion between Declan and Steve.

As soon as I moved, Declan scrambled to his feet and placed himself solidly between Steve and me. Not once did he look at the policewomen, only at the newspaper columnist. Any minute now, they’d bare their teeth and start snarling. Lucy’s eyes darted between them, but the police officers didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re aware of the death that occurred outside earlier?” one asked.

We all nodded.

“We’re talking to everyone in the neighborhood and wanted to ask you a few questions. Were you present, sir?” the officer asked Declan.

He tore his gaze from Steve and shook his head. “No.”

Promptly ignoring him, she turned back to Lucy and me. “Perhaps over here?” She indicated the reading area.

Lucy and I followed behind the uniforms like zombies.
In the back of my mind I wondered whether we should talk to anyone at all without a lawyer. As we settled into the cushy furniture, both policewomen breathed sighs of relief and one absently slipped her foot out of her shoe and rubbed her heel.

Behind us, the door of the bakery slammed. I looked back to see Declan’s shoulders slump as he flipped the lock. He looked over at me as Steve stormed past the window outside. I couldn’t read his expression.

The policewomen seemed almost bored as they asked their rote questions—
tell us what happened, did you see anything or anyone suspicious, where were you when you learned of the death
. They each insisted on calling it “the death” rather than “the murder,” which was what we all knew it was. But I didn’t quibble. They hadn’t separated Lucy and me, and they didn’t seem to be aware that Ben was being questioned by their superior as we spoke.

I didn’t enlighten them, either. Just the facts, ma’am.

We’d cleaned up everything and put the extra food away well before Uncle Ben and Jaida returned to the Honeybee, a little before five o’clock. Declan had stuck around, flipping absently through books in the reading area as we tidied the kitchen, and then we’d joined him.

The key turned in the lock, and Aunt Lucy rushed to her husband’s side when he came through the door. “Oh, thank heavens! Are you all right?”

“Of course. Detective Quinn was just covering all his bases. No worries.” He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, but not before his eyes
slid past mine. I could tell the situation was far more serious than he was letting on.

Jaida shut the door behind her and threw the dead bolt. She nodded at Declan. “Thanks for coming.”

“Glad you’re here,” he replied.

“What happened at the police station?” I asked.

Jaida placed her brown leather briefcase on a chair and sank into the one next to it. Her lips pressed together as she smoothed her navy suit skirt against her leg, weighing what to say. “Is there any coffee?” she asked. “Just plain old regular coffee?”

“I’ll make fresh.” Grabbing my apron, I hurried to the counter.

Ben urged Lucy into a chair. Declan continued to lean against the wall. The light began to angle through the slats of the window blinds. It had been a long day. I set up the coffee to drip. The sharp smell of dark roast beginning to brew hinted at invigoration, and suddenly I craved a cup, too.

I returned to the table where Jaida sat, and we all waited for her to speak.

“There was a witness.” The tone of her voice made my throat tighten. “A woman,” she continued. “She saw a man hurrying away from Mavis Templeton’s car moments before Mavis was discovered with a broken neck. The woman’s description fits Ben to a T: tall, brownish-red hair, beard, glasses.”

Lucy stared at Jaida, then at me, then back at Jaida. “No. No, that can’t be.”

“Add the fact that several people who attended the DBA brunch this morning saw Ben and Mrs. Templeton have a rather serious altercation, and it doesn’t look
good. Not good at all. Especially since at least two of the witnesses to that argument cited Mrs. Templeton’s threat to put the Honeybee out of business. Both assured Detective Quinn that while a threat like that from someone else might be mere posturing, Mavis Templeton was well known for her ability to ruin the lives of those who crossed her.”

Ben leaned forward, grasping Lucy’s tiny hand in both of his. “But they had to let me go.”

Jaida inclined her head. “True. See, Quinn wanted the witness to see Ben.”

Declan pushed away from the wall. “They put you in a lineup?” He seemed almost as upset as Lucy.

My uncle’s dry laugh fell short of humor. “Can you believe it?”

“She didn’t identify him,” Jaida said. “But—”

“Because it wasn’t him!” Lucy punctuated her statement with a stamp of her foot under the table.

A smile played around the edge of Ben’s mouth. “Well, of course it wasn’t me. I was out in the back alley taking deep, calming breaths.”

“Detective Quinn let you go because he couldn’t get a positive identification from the witness, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.” Jaida’s coffee mug banged down on the table. “I was right there. She pointed you out to him, then changed her mind. Said she couldn’t be sure enough to put a man in prison.”

We were all quiet as that sank in.

Jaida spoke again. “Ben, you’re sure no one saw you in the alley after your fight with Mrs. Templeton?”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Lucy insisted.

“It wasn’t a love-in,” Jaida countered. “Ben?”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone, but someone may have seen me. Not that there are many windows out there. A couple up high, I think. My attention was focused on calming down so I could figure out how to get Mavis to pay the full bill for the brunch without having the whole mess backfire in my face.”

“Quinn said they’d check out your story, and that will likely include talking to anyone who might have seen you. But if no one did, then he may try to make a case against you despite the unsure witness.”

“I’ve known Peter Quinn for over twenty years,” Ben said. “He’s not going to railroad me.”

Jaida said, “He’s an honest man, but honest men have been known to make honest mistakes. I’m sorry to have to be so blunt, but we have to be realistic.”

Tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “We have to do something,” she choked out.

“We will, honey.” Jaida took her other hand. “We will.”

Lucy began crying in earnest.

Ben cleared his throat. “Let’s go home, Luce. There’s nothing else we can do right now. Katie, will you close up? We can reconvene here in the morning after a good night’s sleep.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Declan put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I’ll drive you.”

My uncle opened his mouth to refuse, but then shut it and ushered Lucy toward the door. “Thanks, Deck.”

As they went by, Lucy’s shoulders hitched in a stifled sob. Ben looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. The lines etched into his forehead had deepened in the
course of a few short hours. Even his beard seemed to droop. I felt helpless watching them walk out.

“Don’t worry. Declan will get them home and settled in.” Jaida flipped the dead bolt again after they’d gone and leaned her back against the door.

“So you know him.”

She cocked her head. “Your uncle took Declan under his wing when he first became a firefighter. He’s a gentle soul, but there was an incident early in his career that would’ve made a weaker man quit—or worse. Ben helped him through it. You know, he’s good for Ben, too. He always wanted a son.”

Lucy had never mentioned that. She and Ben had married later in life, and I’d wondered if she missed having children.

Jaida changed the subject. “It’s a shame your big day’s been ruined like this.”

My shoulders rose in a brief shrug. “It’s not about me. Something like this shouldn’t happen any day. I’m scared to pieces about Uncle Ben. Is it really as bad as you said?”

She sighed and came back to the table. Sat down. “I’m afraid so.”

“I should go over to Ben and Lucy’s, too.” I got to my feet.

“There’s nothing you can do over there, you know.” The words were tempered by her gentle tone. “Ben and Lucy have relied on each other for years. It might be best to give them some time. Besides, Lucy will be …”

“What?”

Jaida hesitated. “There are some things you don’t know about your aunt.”

“Like what?”

“Well, she’s more resilient than you might think. And she has … unusual resources at her disposal.”

I stared at her.
Resources?
The word was innocent enough. Even boring. But there was something in the way Jaida said it. Something in the way she was watching me now.

A tingle fluttered down my spine.

I looked away and said, “Yeah, maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning—darn it, I almost forgot.” I checked my watch. “I’m supposed to go pick up a box of dishes I found on Craigslist last night. If I hurry, I could still make it.”

Jaida stood. “What can I do to help?”

“I just need to lock up and hit the lights.” I rose, too. “Thanks for dropping everything for Uncle Ben on such short notice.”

“Nonsense. It’s what friends do.”

In the kitchen, my hand hesitated on the knob of the back door. Rather than locking it, I wrenched it open and took a few steps into the alley. Pipes and cables snaked across the three-story brick walls on each side of the asphalt, punctuated by power meters and locked metal access boxes. Many of the windows high above had been bricked over, but a few remained. Down at the end of the block the driver of a white produce van carried boxes into a restaurant.

Jaida joined me, craning her neck up at the windows as I had. “There might be a witness who saw Ben.”

“If someone happened to be looking out at exactly the right time,” I said.

Our eyes met. Neither of us thought there was much chance of that.

Inside, we gathered our things, and I unlocked the front door. As Jaida crossed the threshold to the sidewalk outside, I put my hand on her arm.

Her eyes met mine. “You okay?”

“I will be.” I wanted to ask about her reference to Lucy’s “resources,” but I couldn’t quite find the words. My hand dropped to my side. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. Earlier than later, I expect. Good night, Katie.”

“Good night.”

When I was a teenager I’d heard Mama talking to Daddy one night about Lucy. About how they didn’t need to worry about her because she would always land on her feet. Only Mama used a different word than
resources
.

Mama had said Lucy had
powers.

That evening when I pulled into my driveway the backseat of the Bug held a mismatched set of funky retro Fiestaware dishes. Now I had something to eat off besides the paper plates Lucy had stashed in the cupboard for me. The multicolored stoneware would look nice with the simple silverware I’d brought from Akron, too.

A plate of cookies sat in the deepening shade of the front porch. So did the black terrier who had surprised me the day I’d arrived.

I stopped in front of him. “Hello again.”

Yip.

“You sure are a cutie.”

This time the
yip
sounded like
yup
.

I laughed. “And a good dog, too, leaving those cookies alone. Let me get these things inside, and we’ll go find where you live. I’ll have to know where to return you if you’re this determined to visit.”

His head tipped to the side. When I opened the door he walked right in as if he’d always lived there.

Oh, dear. I hoped he hadn’t. There were all sorts of stories about dogs that had traveled long distances to return to their old homes after their families moved. I put the heavy box of dishes on the counter in the kitchen and returned to the porch for the cookies. They looked like oatmeal chocolate chip, and were arranged on a paper plate covered with cellophane. A note taped to the top read:

Back in the kitchen, I put them on the table and scooped up the dog. He settled into my arms and licked my face with a soft pink tongue. “Let’s go. You’ve given me an excuse to meet a friendly neighbor.” After such a horrible, exhausting day, friendly was good.

I’d met the man who lived to the west of the carriage house when the Realtor had first shown it to me. He was an accountant who lived alone, and I was pretty sure his name wasn’t Margie. So my other next-door neighbor had been the one to leave the sweet treats.

An attractive blond woman with round cheeks and a deep tan answered the door. She wore white shorts, a blue T-shirt, sandals, and a baby on her hip.

“Hello, neighbor!” Her Low Country origins dripped from every syllable.

“Hi,” I said. “Margie, right? I believe I have you to thank for the cookies.”

The baby murmured, and Margie bounced on the
balls of her feet to quiet him. “My mother-in-law made up a pile of them for the kids this afternoon—I can’t cook a lick, makes her crazy—so I cranked up the Welcome Wagon. Thought I might find you home, but no luck. I hope you’re not allergic to chocolate.”

“Not at
all
.”

We both laughed.

“In fact, oatmeal chocolate chip is one of my favorites. I’m Katie Lightfoot, by the way. And I appreciate the welcome.”