Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery (12 page)

“I wanted to find out about Dr. Rickers, and I knew you’d be curious about Logan. It seemed a good subject to talk about in person.”

Taken aback, I said, “That was nice of you.”

“I can be, you know. Nice, I mean. And I thought you might be interested in another nugget of information I learned this morning.” He drained the dregs of his cappuccino and stood. “Skip Thorsen—Autumn Boles’ ex? He notified Father that he’s no longer interested in buying into the golf course.”

Frowning, I asked, “Why not, especially if he has the money now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the insurance company won’t pay. Or perhaps they won’t pay soon enough. He could even have found something else to invest in.”

“Huh. Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Steve said. I walked with him to the door, dodging the group of tourists as they left. Ben’s eyes followed us.

Before Steve left, I asked, “Does Thorsen have a real job?”

“He’s a dentist.” He raised his hand to Ben in farewell and went out as another customer entered the bakery.

A steady trickle of people came in after that. We worked our way through the sudden flurry. After a good forty minutes, things settled down a bit. Most of the customers had left after making their purchases, presumably returning to their desks for a few more hours of work. The sofas in the library were full of chatting clientele, however, and a few bistro tables were still full, too.

I began restocking the display case. We’d had a run on the lemon-raspberry tea cake, which pleased me. Out of the four sandwich cookies, the peanut butter and chocolate fillings seemed to be winning out over the others. Maybe we’d end up sticking with two varieties in the end.

Ben sidled over as I worked. “Declan came in with some of the crew while you were gone. He was disappointed that you weren’t here.”

“Darn it. I’ll give him a call in a little bit.”

“Surprised, too.”

“Bianca, Cookie, and I went out to see Fagen Swamp this morning. Didn’t Lucy tell you?”

“Of course. But you didn’t tell Declan.”

My brow wrinkled. “No, I didn’t. And I doubt that he tells me everything that he does. Unlike you and Lucy, we aren’t married.” Even if we were, I couldn’t imagine having to report in on every activity, nor would I expect him to.

Ben continued, unfazed. “Steve Dawes sure seems determined to stay in your life.” Disapproval laced his tone.

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “He’s not good for you.”

Bending to place the last slice of tea cake in the back of the row, I weighed how to respond. My uncle had mentored Declan in the fire department for years and viewed him as almost an adopted son.

Standing upright, I turned to him. “Steve is trying to help me find out more about Fagen Swamp and the golf course deal his father is involved in. That’s all.” At least I thought that was all. “Declan
is
good for me. That’s what’s important.”

Relief settled across Ben’s features as the bell over the door signaled another customer. I smiled at him, glancing over to where Lucy had been tidying the espresso prep area.

She wasn’t paying a whit of attention to our conversation, though. Transfixed, she stared wide-eyed toward the door.

I whirled to see what had snagged her attention, and I caught my breath, stunned. Standing just inside the Honeybee, the newcomer took in the room, soaking in every detail. She wore a tweed suit and pointy-toed beige pumps that matched her handbag. Freckles scattered across her ski-jump nose, and her hair was the same red-blond it had always been, though now it came out of a bottle. Her lower lip was firmly clenched between her teeth.

“Mary Jane!” Ben said, walking toward her with both hands extended in welcome. “You’ve finally come for a visit.”

Lucy came out of her trance and rushed toward her sister. They embraced for a long moment right in the middle of the bakery. Customers watched for a few seconds but soon lost interest. This was obviously a family thing.

When Lucy turned away, I saw her eyes were wet. I approached my mother more slowly but hugged her just as hard.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “We only spoke last night, and you never mentioned coming to Savannah.”

Mama smiled ruefully. “It was a bit of a surprise to me, too.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s just say I was instructed to get my tail down here. So I did.”

Lucy and I exchanged glances. “Instructed?” she asked.

Mama pressed her lips together. “By Mother.”

My fingers flew to my throat. “Nonna?”

Ben frowned in confusion. Mama raised her eyebrows and gave me a knowing look. Suddenly aware of all the people in the bakery, I took her arm and said in a low voice, “Let’s go back where we can talk.”

Lucy was right behind us, leaving Ben to fend for himself. His baffled gaze followed us through the kitchen and into the Honeybee office. Closing the door behind us, Lucy moved to perch on the edge of Mungo’s club chair and gestured at the swivel desk chair. Imagining how my mother would react to having a dog in the bakery, I was glad he’d stayed home.

She sat down, smoothing her skirt over her knees and crossing her ankles. “You might have mentioned your nonna’s visits.”

I gaped at her. “Are you kidding me? You wouldn’t talk about the simplest of spells, about
anything
having to do with magic for the last year. How could I tell you about Nonna . . . ? Hey, wait a minute. How did you find out?” I looked at Lucy. “Did you tell her?”

She shook her head and looked at the floor. “Mary Jane might not have spoken to you about anything magical, but she didn’t speak to me at all.”

My mother reddened. “I’m sorry about that, Luce.”

Lucy was quiet. She’d been deeply hurt and angered by her sister’s actions. Mama had cut Lucy off a long time ago when she’d turned her back on the Craft in an attempt to keep me safe.

“Did Nonna tell you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “When Mother came—while I was in the bathtub, of all places, she didn’t bother with news updates. You light a few candles, have a glass of wine, listen to a little Rachmaninoff, and the next thing you know your dead mother is filling the room with her flowery perfume and telling you to stop acting like an ass.”

“She didn’t say that,” I scoffed.

“Oh, I just bet she did,” Lucy said with an amused expression. “She was never one to pull punches.”

Mama nodded. “Told me to stop acting like an ass and to start being a good mother again. Let me tell you, there is nothing like a voice from the past to goose you into doing what’s right.”

“But we had already begun to make up,” I said.

Lucy looked surprised.

“Last night on the phone,” I explained.

“Apparently that wasn’t good enough. ‘Get down there and see what Katie is up to. Embrace it. She needs her mother.’ When I told Skylar, I’m afraid he spilled the beans about her visits to you in the past. How she—” She swallowed. “How she saved your life. So you see why I had to come.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I
did
want to see my mother, but it wasn’t the best timing. We had a lot to work through, a lot to heal. Between the search for Autumn’s murderer, trying to keep Georgia Wild afloat, and my usual duties at the Honeybee, I didn’t know how I would find the time to spend with my mother.

“How long are you going to be here?” I asked.

“Indefinitely.”

Oh. My. “I see.” I pasted a bright smile on my face.

“It’s all right if I stay with you, isn’t it?”

The smile froze on my face as I struggled to find the right words.

Lucy saved me. “Oh, you don’t want to do that, Mary Jane. Katie’s carriage house is adorable, just perfect for one person, but she doesn’t really have the room for a houseguest. Come stay with Ben and me. Our guest room is all ready, and you can have your own bath.”

It was the private bath that changed Mama’s mind. I sent a grateful look to Lucy, who acknowledged it with a twitch of her lips. Now, there was someone who knew how to be truly good.

“Are you sure Ben won’t mind?” my mother asked.

“Of course he won’t.”

The funny thing was, Lucy was right. Ben loved having houseguests, and he was curious as all get out about my mother. His natural gregariousness would go a long way toward smoothing the rocky patch between the two sisters.

“Let’s go ask him,” I said. The tight quarters were making me claustrophobic.

When we trooped back out to the front of the bakery, Ben was busy but handling everything all right. Since he was steaming milk, I stepped to the counter to take the order of the next waiting customer.

“Don’t you have any
fun
drinks?” asked the scowling woman. Deep frown lines testified to her ongoing bad attitude, and her hands were jammed into the pockets of her stretched-out cardigan.

“We pretty much stick to the regular stuff,” I said with cheer. “Since the Honeybee is a bakery more than a coffee shop, we focus more on fun pastries, cookies, cakes, and the like.”

“Well, maybe you should up your game, missy.” She stomped away.

I certainly wasn’t sorry that she was taking her grumpy energy out of the Honeybee.

“Why, that was so
rude
,” Mama said from where she stood beside me.

Lucy joined us. “What do you think the best thing would have been for her?”

Guilt stabbed me. I should have thought about how to make her feel better, not been glad when she left. Looking down at the counter, I mumbled, “It’s hard to know since I don’t know why she’s in such a foul mood. Maybe a little bergamot for general peacefulness? Plenty of that in a cup of Earl Grey tea. And olives for stress.” For some reason I’d added kalamata olives to a few of the sourdough loaves I’d baked that morning.

Lucy patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because she could have gone to a coffee shop in the first place, but she came here because something inside told her we could help her.”

“But I didn’t.” I sighed.

“Like I said, you’ll get another chance.”

My mother had been listening to our exchange. “So that’s what the Honeybee is all about? Using your”—she glanced around—“talents to help your customers?”

“For heaven’s sake, Mary Jane!” Lucy’s voice rose. “What did you think?”

Customers turned their heads toward us.

“Lucy,” I said.

She went on in a lower tone. “Katie, of course, has other powers, and she’s a consummate pastry chef. But of course we employ hedgewitchery here in the bakery.”

My mother’s forehead wrinkled, and an ominous look entered her eye. “What do you mean Katie has other powers?”

Lucy put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “Your daughter is a catalyst and a lightwitch,” she whispered. “And so far that has manifested in her being a tool of justice.”

I snorted.
Tool of justice.
Sheesh.

Jerking her head back, Mama stared in outrage at her sister first, then at me. “Meaning?”

I shrugged, but Lucy plunged on. “She brings killers to justice. It’s happened twice so far, and now she’s going for a hat trick.”

“Oh, come on, Lucy,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?”

“A hat . . . You mean . . .
Katie
,” Mama hissed. “Is that why Mother had to save your life?”

Holding up my hand, I said, “Remember what Nonna told you. ‘Embrace it.’”

Mary Jane Lightfoot’s jaw clenched and her nostrils flared, but I had to give her credit when she said, “I’ll do my best. Now, are you going to show me around the bakery or not?”

•   •   •

As predicted, Ben loved the idea of my mother staying in his and Lucy’s townhouse for as long as she saw fit. After I showed her around the kitchen and the reading area, Mama started in on the questions about how we applied herbal craft to our recipes. Finally I had to quietly point out that our customers didn’t know that the rosemary Parmesan scones would promote fidelity—or any of the other intended effects of our baked goods.

“It’s not that we’re trying to fool them,” I said. “But some people don’t know that they need help—or believe in our particular methods. We’re only trying to help.”

Mama settled onto one of the bistro chairs in the corner with one of Bianca’s copies of
Life Magazine
while I mixed the sourdough to slow rise until the next morning and prepped as much as I could for the next day’s baking. As long as she was occupied, I went into the office and called Declan.

He answered on the first ring.

“I heard you came by,” I said. “I’m sorry I missed you.”

“Me, too, darlin’. It’s hard to go cold turkey from you for a full forty-eight.”

“You do say the sweetest things. But you make me sound like a bad habit.”

“Oh, no. A very good habit.” His deep voice dropped even lower. “At least I get to see you tonight.”

“Um, I think that can still happen,” I said. “But I have some news that might, er, interfere.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Less than an hour ago my mother showed up here at the Honeybee, completely unannounced.”

“Oh! Katie, that’s great. Isn’t it? I mean, I’ll get to meet your mom before you meet mine.”

“That’s true. But Deck, don’t be surprised if . . . Well, let’s just hope things work out between us.”

“I want that very much,” he said fervently. “As long as it’s the right thing for you.”

Now,
that
was just one of the reasons why Declan was so good for me.

•   •   •

“This is amazing,” my proper mother said around a bite of rosemary shortbread after I’d rejoined her. “You are so talented. I mean, I’ve always known that, but I—I’m really proud of you.”

I tried to hide my surprise.

“Now, tell me about this killer Lucy implied that you’re trying to find.”

We were in the lull that generally hit between lunchtime and the late-afternoon rush for caffeine and sugar. So, haltingly at first and later with my words tumbling all over one another, I told her about Georgia Wild, about Wren and finding Autumn and the maroon bats and Fagen Swamp. When I finished, she was quiet for a long time. I began to regret sharing so much.

“You say your environmental group needs money? How much?”

Ah. She had decided to focus on something nice and safe.

“I don’t know. Bianca is loaning Wren enough to cover the rent for the month, and she applied for a loan this morning. Apparently there is some grant money that will come through eventually, but not right away.”

“Have a bake sale.”

“What?”

“You should have a big bake sale—a huge bake sale—to benefit Georgia Wild. It will make them some money, and it will be a great promotion for you. I know you’re busy, so I’ll be happy to organize it.”

“You know,” I said, thinking through her suggestion. “That might help. You are a wonder, Mama.”

She ducked her head but looked pleased.

“Lucy,” I called, “come hear Mama’s idea.”

•   •   •

About two o’clock Wren and Mimsey came in. They seemed joined at the hip these days, but I could see why. Mimsey was crazy worried about her granddaughter, and Wren had been through enough trauma that she wanted her grandmother around.

I knew what that was like.

Mimsey took to my mother immediately, despite knowing about her tortured relationships with magic, with Lucy, and with me. I filled them in on the visit Bianca, Cookie, and I had made to Fagen Swamp, and Wren shared her experience with the loan officer at Bianca’s bank.

“I know he’ll do his best, especially since Bianca vouched for me, but I got the feeling from some of his questions that there might be some doubt about whether a nonprofit can pay back a loan.”

“What about the grant money?”

“I have to take him more paperwork tomorrow to prove that it’s coming. That might do the trick.”

“In the meantime, my mother came up with an idea. Tell them,” I said.

Ben came over to listen while Mama told everyone what she had in mind. “I know it would have to be soon—say, three days—and that will be tricky,” she said. “Still, that should be enough time to put up posters and let organizations here in town know. I’ll contact the paper, and Ben said he’d contact the members of the Downtown Business Association, who would then pass it on. If we could send out to your local mailing list right away, they might receive the notice in time.” She looked at the ceiling, and I could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. My mother had a passion for fund-raising that had gone to waste in the small town of Fillmore, Ohio.

Wren bounced in her seat. “Katie, did you address those mailers last night?”

“They’re in my car, ready to go.”

“You know what we could do? Make up stickers announcing the bake sale and slap them on the mailers. If we hurry, we could still make today’s mail.”

I glanced at my mother. “That will commit us, though. And I really don’t have the time to do much more than extra baking. Do you really want to spearhead this?”

She nodded vigorously. “I’d really like to help.”

“I’ll contact our printer to make the stickers,” Ben said. “We’ve done a lot of work with them, and I’m sure they’ll be able to turn something like that around today.”

“Perfect,” Mama said. “Where are the mailers?”

“In my car,” I said.

Wren stood. “Let’s go get them.”

I hurried into the office to get my keys and the jewelry box with the filigree ring that I’d stuffed into my bag, then out to the sidewalk where Wren waited.

“I’m parked across the street, but hang on a sec. I wanted to show you that ring I told you about on the phone last night.” I extracted the diamond ring from its case and held it out to her. It glinted in the sunlight. “Do you know if this belonged to Autumn?”

She squinted at it through her glasses before slowly shaking her head. “I’ve never seen it.”