Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery (18 page)

“One of the reasons?”

Quinn fell silent, and I could hear him breathing. I waited.

“Katie, the lab called me this morning. They found something on those paper bats.”

“What was it?” I tried not to sound too excited.

“Formalin and methanol. Formaldehyde.”

“But . . . I don’t understand. Formaldehyde isn’t exactly a poison, is it?”

“It can be in large enough amounts, but there was only a trace on the paper. Katie, formaldehyde is a primary ingredient in embalming fluid.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“If Hunter Normandy comes back, do
not
let him in. In fact, I’d prefer you leave Georgia Wild immediately since he already knows you’re there.”

But why on the good green earth would Hunter Normandy want to kill
me
?

Speaking of which.

“I saw in the paper that you guys found the SUV involved in the hit-and-run yesterday.”

“We did,” he said. “A BMW abandoned in an alley on the Southside. The front is totally trashed, and it has red paint on it that matches the Corolla it hit.”

My heart gave a double thump in my chest. “And it was stolen?”

“At least that’s what the owner said last night. It took him that long to report it. Says he left it home all day and walked to work.”

That sounded familiar. But no, that would be too much. “What’s the owner’s name?” I pushed.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Quinn said.

Try me.

“Logan Seward.”

“Did that son of a . . . biscuit try to run Wren down? Or was he aiming for me?”

“He has a pretty good alibi for the afternoon—unless Heinrich and Steve Dawes are both lying.”

They were fellow druids. How far would they go to protect one another? How far would
Steve
go? With an unpleasant feeling deep in my gut, I had to admit I really didn’t know.

“So you believe Seward?” I asked. “Because that’s kind of a crazy big coincidence, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Quinn agreed. “Any thoughts on that?”

“Not really.”

“Me, either. At any rate, I’m going after Hunter with everything I can muster.”

I hung up after promising to pass on the information to Wren. On the way out to my car, I spent more time looking over my shoulder than watching where I was going.

Mimsey and her husband lived in a newer ranch-style home in Midtown. The lawn was an even, perfect green without a blade of grass out of place or a single weed. Even the edges along the sidewalk were precisely trimmed in winter. I pulled into the driveway leading to their two-car garage and got out. Mungo bounced to the ground, ran once around the yard, and came back to where I was retrieving Wren’s file from the backseat.

All around the tasteful charcoal-gray house, winter shrubs unfurled in bloom. Bright yellow flowers dotted the witch hazel by the garage, while the wintersweet sported purple-brown and yellow petals. Winter jasmine flowed over the retaining wall that separated the Carmichaels’ yard from their neighbors’, and the winter honeysuckle flowers, though small, filled the slight breeze with their sweet fragrance. Pansies gamboled around purple ornamental kale in the pots on either side of the front door, and hundreds of spring bulb spikes reached upward from garden soil rich with compost and potential.

Mimsey’s husband, James, answered the door. “Katie Lightfoot! You are a sight for sore eyes, sugar. Come on in.”

“Good to see you, too.” I followed him through the formal living room to the comfy family room off the open kitchen. Mimsey and Wren were seated on the floor in front of the hearth, surrounded by black-and-white photographs. Heckle snoozed on his perch by the window, training one fierce eye on me for a moment before letting it drift closed again. An oak-wood fire crackled in the fireplace, filling the air with warmth. The aroma of popcorn filled the room, and a bowl of fluffy kernels sat nearby. It would have been a scene of homey domestic bliss except for the cast on Wren’s arm and the haunted look in her eyes.

Still, she smiled up at me. “Thanks for bringing over the donor file. At least I can make some phone calls now.” She held up a picture of a young man in uniform. “Gran and I were going through some old family pictures. And I do mean
old
.”

“Watch yourself, young lady,” James said. “That picture is of me.”

His granddaughter ducked her head. “Oops.” But they were both grinning.

Mimsey smiled at them both, a bit of the twinkle back in her blue eyes, and beckoned for me to come over. “Join us here by the fire, Katie. Hello, Mungo.”

James Carmichael settled on the sofa, and Mungo lay down next to Wren and put his chin on his paws, blinking up at her. I sat down cross-legged on the carpet and let the fire warm my back. “A few things have happened since I spoke with you this morning.”

In answer to their quizzical looks, I told them how Hunter Normandy had come to Georgia Wild looking for the ring that Quinn said he’d stolen.

“From a dead body?” James said, obviously astonished. “That’s low.”

“The lowest,” I agreed.

Mimsey blanched when I related the information about trace amounts of formaldehyde being on the origami bats, but Wren looked at me with tired eyes that seemed incapable of surprise any longer.

“So the police are on the lookout for him as we speak,” I said.

“Golly!” Heckle squawked, apparently awake after all.

“Oh, hush.” James glared at the bird. Heckle returned the favor. I barely managed not to smile.

“Do you think he killed her?” Wren asked.

Mimsey tsked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure that was his Wrangler leaving when I got to Georgia Wild, but you didn’t see him that night, did you?”

“Nuh-uh,” Wren said. “If he killed her, it had to have been before I got there. Why would he hang around?”

“Hard telling what goes on in the mind of a killer,” James said.

“True.” I grabbed a handful of popcorn as my brain worked. “I guess the ring could be the motive. Maybe he wanted it back and Autumn wouldn’t give it to him. Or maybe she found out where he got it. I can’t imagine she would have been pleased. She might have even threatened to report him to the police if she knew. And he could have stolen Logan Seward’s BMW and tried to run you down. Us down.”

“What?” Mimsey and James said together.

I explained about Seward reporting his SUV stolen shortly before the police found it wrecked and abandoned.

Wren nodded. “No one knows where Hunter’s been, so he could have been the one who stole it. But why Logan Seward’s car?”

“I’ve been wondering that. Autumn must have at least mentioned the maroon bats and her environmental battle over the sale of Fagen Swamp. Hunter could have left the origami bats to direct suspicion away from himself. Maybe he tracked down Logan Seward’s vehicle for the same reason.”

“Maybe.” Mimsey looked thoughtful.

The others nodded slowly.

I pulled the satellite photo out of my bag and handed it to her. “Does this make any sense to you?”

She took it with a frown and settled her reading glasses on her nose.

Wren scooted next to her grandmother to take a look. “That’s the swamp, of course.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But see those lines? They lead to a giant cypress tree out there. The biggest one in the area. Do you remember it?”

Wren nodded. “It’s impressive.”

“Do you know if it’s part of the land that Fagen wants to sell? It looks to be on the far edge of the swamp.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I assumed it was, but I don’t really know exactly where the boundary lines are for Fagen’s property.”

“That tree is—” I glanced at James. “It’s powerful.”

“Magic!” Heckle crowed.

James directed a dirty look at his wife’s familiar. Somehow Heckle managed to look self-satisfied.

Mimsey handed the photo back and took off her glasses. She spoke slowly. “I’m not positive, but I think the satellite may have somehow captured a set of ley lines.”

James stood. “I’ll leave you all to your photographs. There’s a game on that I’ll watch in my den.” Leaning over, he gave Mimsey a buss on the check and an affectionate look.

“What kind of game?” I asked as he walked down a hallway and shut the door behind him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mimsey said lightly. “He gets bored with magic talk.”

I squinted at her. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Good heavens, why should it? We’ve shared a long life together, have a wonderful daughter and a wonderful granddaughter.” She beamed at Wren. “But he isn’t interested in magic, and I don’t want to watch his Neanderthal football or have anything to do with that silly game of golf. We have different interests, and after forty-nine years of marriage, we’ve worked out how to leave each other alone to enjoy them.”

Well. That certainly put my worries about Declan not “getting it” into perspective. If I truly loved him, I shouldn’t expect him to want to know all about my witchiness. It wasn’t as though I wanted to convert him, and I already had plenty of people in my life whom I could share magic with.

Wren’s phone rang, and she checked the number. “I have to get this.” Standing, she went into the kitchen. Soon I heard murmuring.

“She forwarded the Georgia Wild phone calls to her cell,” Mimsey explained.

“So tell me more about ley lines,” I said, peering back down at the picture.

Mimsey leaned her back against the couch. “They are deep currents of energy that run through the earth, like a mystical energy highway. They have a force, a magnetic force, that’s measurable by scientific instruments—or even by holding a simple iron rod in your hand. Stonehenge is famous for the lines of energy that emanate from the center, as are other stone circles. Some dowsers say ley lines affect how they find water.” She stared into the flames lapping against the logs in the fireplace. “There’s some which-came-first debate about whether they have been here forever, or whether they were created—by ancient trade routes, holy sites, or even the gods and goddesses. They supposedly emanate from the Bahamas, affect the area known as the Bermuda Triangle, and there are several places in the United States that are supposed to be built near these fields. Sedona, Arizona, is one.”

“I guess I’ve heard that,” I said. “Curious that Sedona is where Gart Fagen lives now, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps he’s drawn to them. I think of ley lines as the energetic nervous system of a living, breathing earth.”

I stared at her. “And this set is coming from a tree that pulled me toward it as surely as if it had lassoed me around the neck.”

She looked away from the flames to study me. “Really? I must see this tree. Because if those really are ley lines, there are a
lot
of them—and they’re strong.”

“You’re never going to believe who that was,” Wren said, reentering the living room.

I cocked my head to the side and waited.

“Evanston Rickers,” she said.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“Bianca’s phone number.”

•   •   •

When I got back to the Honeybee, Declan and Ben were installing yet more shelves in the library. These were under the window. Since the books we offered drew in customers, I couldn’t argue with using the last of the available wall space to house more volumes.

I paused under the
LIBRARY
sign, watching them. Declan looked up from the hole he was drilling in the wall and saw me. A huge grin spread across his face, and I couldn’t help returning it.

“I like the new shelves,” I said.

“Seemed like a waste not to put this area to use,” Ben said.

“Hey, you.” Declan put the drill down and came over to where I stood. He put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze. “How was your day?”

I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Interesting. I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?”

“Deal.”

“Now get back to work, mister.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Laughter sounded from the kitchen, and I saw Lucy and Mama working side by side, filling muffin cups to go into the oven.

“Looks delish,” I said as I went by to take Mungo into the office.

“Your mother even did a little
special
baking,” Lucy said with a huge smile.

“Now, Luce,” Mama said, but she smiled at me. “Sweetie, what are you doing here? I would think you’d savor a day off, especially after your day yesterday.”

“Thanks for filling in for me,” I said. “I really do appreciate it, and it gave me a chance to follow up on a few things this morning.” I told them everything that had happened at Georgia Wild.

“You handled that very well,” my mother said.

I showed them the photo of Fagen Swamp and told them what Mimsey had said about it. Lucy leaned over it for a long moment, then looked up at me and nodded. “I think she’s right. They look like the images of ley lines that I’ve seen before in books. Mary Jane?”

Mama licked her lips. “They do look familiar. And you say you’ve been near this nexus?”

“Yeah. Bianca and Cookie, too. Do you think it might have something to do with maroon bats? Could they be surviving in the swamp because . . . No, that’s silly. It just seems like it should
mean
something,” I said.

“It does,” breathed Lucy. “We just don’t know what yet.”

“We don’t even know if that cypress is part of the sale. I imagine there’s information about that in Autumn’s office, but I’d rather stay away from there until Quinn finds Hunter Normandy. I’m going to make a phone call.”

The sisters watched as I went into the office, but they didn’t follow. Mungo snoozed on his chair as I got online and did a phone number search for Gart Fagen in Sedona. He had an actual landline, which I dialed. Unfortunately, I reached his voice mail. I left my name and number, but didn’t go into details about why I was calling.

When I went back out front, Lucy was putting a slab of mocha shortbread on a plate for Jaida, and Bianca was in the library with Mama, helping to supervise the work crew. Declan said something, and Mama laughed. I could tell she really liked him.

Suddenly tired, I poured a cup of caffeine and slid onto the chair next to Jaida.

“Hey,” she said. “Anything going on?”

I half laughed and filled her in on everything. “But you have to tell Bianca and Cookie. I’m worn out from giving updates.”

Her look was wry. “I bet. You have quite the posse, don’t you?” Her eyes cut to my mother giving advice on attaching the last shelf to the wall. “And now you have a new addition.”

“Sheesh. You make it sound like I had a baby instead of a visit from my mother.”

“How long is she going to stay?”

“I don’t know. But you know what? It’s been kind of great having her here,” I said. “So far.”

She gave a firm nod. “Glad to hear it. I know you two have had your problems.”

I sipped my coffee, and she took a big bite of the dark, rich shortbread.

“So Logan Seward’s SUV was stolen for an attempt on Wren’s life. Maybe yours, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Suspicious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’re wondering where the boundaries are in the real estate transaction he’s brokering.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked.

She popped the last bit of shortbread in her mouth and chewed, then swallowed. “I mentioned that I’ve met Seward once. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better, being a fellow attorney and all.”

“He’s a druid, too,” I said.

Her jaw slackened. “You’re kidding. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Like you said, I have a lot of people to keep in the loop.”

“Is he . . . ?”

“He’s Nel’s cousin. The one the Dragohs recruited from Kentucky.”

“Holy crow. I was going to suggest that we go see him,” she said. “But now I think I’ll insist.”

My watch said eight minutes after three o’clock. Where had the day gone?

“Shall we call him first?” I asked.

“Hmm. No. I don’t think so. Do you know where his office is?” Jaida asked.

“Boy, do I.”