Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery (5 page)

Ouch.

“Oh, well,” she said with a shrug. “Something will come along.”

Bianca patted her arm. “Does anyone else want to share their wishes?”

“Um,” I said.

Jaida cocked her head to one side. “Yes?”

They were all watching me. “I wished for clarity.”

Cookie tipped her head to one side. “Clarity?” She took another bite of bannock cake and washed it down with a swallow of spiced cider.

“In what regard?” Bianca sounded puzzled.

“As a candela, a lightwitch,” Lucy supplied, with a gentle look. “It must be difficult not knowing exactly what that means.”

Wren’s voice was raw. “Grandma and Lucy were talking about it on the way over here. I don’t really know what a lightwitch is, but it sounds like you’re supposed to do something to bring Autumn’s killer to justice.”

My aunt looked at me apologetically.

“That’s what I wish for this spring,” Wren went on. “No,
before
this spring. I want justice. And money.”

I blinked. “Money?”

“Autumn had been funding most of Georgia Wild’s day-to-day operating expenses with her own money so the first donations we received could go directly toward saving habitats. I don’t have enough to keep it going. Heck, I can’t make it without a regular paycheck, small as it is. Autumn willed what she had left to G.W., but that’s going to take a while to go through probate, won’t it?”

Next to me Jaida inclined her head in reluctant agreement. “How long depends on how complicated it is and whether anyone challenges the will.”

“Well, her ex-husband might,” Wren said. “In the meantime, Georgia Wild was just getting started, and we were operating on a shoestring. We’re waiting on a couple of grants, but the coffers are empty right now. I can get into the nonprofit’s bank accounts, but I don’t have access to Autumn’s. I don’t even have the money to pay the rent that was due two days ago.”

Bianca looked thoughtful. “Let me do some checking with my bank. I’m sure I can at least cover that for you.”

Wren took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her tone had lost its desperate cast. “Thank you. I just need a loan until the grant money comes through.”

I was grateful the subject of money had crowded out Wren’s insistence that I investigate her friend’s murder, but my relief was short-lived. She turned toward me again, and the flames that were reflected in her glasses hid her eyes. I could feel her watching me, though. Willing me.

Bianca popped the champagne cork then, and we toasted Brigit before reversing the circle and watching the fire die down in the copper bowl. As I drained my glass, I wondered whether Dom Perignon was supposed to taste like sawdust.

•   •   •

The party broke up a little after eleven. Though the next day was Sunday, many of us had early mornings—Lucy and I in particular. She had offered to stay the night, concerned about me being alone after the grisly discovery, but I assured her it was unnecessary.

Lucy, Mimsey, and Wren were the last to leave. The Coopersmiths’ windows were dark as they got into the Thunderbird, everyone battened down for a good night’s sleep before Margie rousted the kids out of bed in the morning to go to church. I was glad to learn Wren was going to stay the night with her grandparents. She slumped wearily into the passenger seat, fastening her seat belt before removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes. She blinked myopically up at where I stood by the passenger window, a tentative smile flitting across her features. It was the first time she’d smiled all night.

I leaned down. “Wren, you know the paper bat Detective Quinn showed us this afternoon?”

“Like I could ever forget it.”

One corner of my mouth twisted up. “Right. Anyway, it felt . . . odd to me.”

She put her glasses back on and peered at me through the lenses. “Odd how?”

“You didn’t get any strange hit off it? Like an aura, but not really an aura? More like a scent or a flavor, but not something you could actually smell or taste?”

She frowned.

“Guess I’m not making any sense, huh?” I said.

“Sorry, Katie. I didn’t feel anything but ill looking at that thing.” She looked nauseated just remembering. “What do you think it means?”

I squeezed her shoulder. “I wish I knew.”

They drove off, Honeybee gazing enigmatically out the window and Mimsey’s hand still fluttering good-bye as Lucy turned the corner. I kept thinking of what Wren had said about the overdue bills at Georgia Wild. It didn’t seem fair that she had to worry about that on top of finding her best friend murdered.

Inside, I double-checked that the fire in the backyard was thoroughly out and locked up. My nerves were on high alert, so I brewed a cup of chamomile tea. While the water heated, I picked up the living room, which took about three minutes. There was space for the slope-backed, purple fainting couch, a Civil War–era trunk that served as a coffee table, and two small wingback chairs but not much else. The built-in bookshelves displayed all sorts of knickknacks and reading material, though most of my spellbooks were up in the loft where I kept my small altar tucked inside a lidded secretary desk.

Hot tea in hand, I shut off the lights and headed into my bedroom. Mungo sprawled on the bed, waiting for me with sleepy eyes. The small lamp on the bedside stand cast a quiet light on the Williamsburg blue walls. Next to it a scented geranium offered a subtle citrus fragrance from its tiny twisted leaves.

Fire or no fire, after spending a couple of hours outside, I was feeling pretty chilled. Rooting through the bottom drawer of one of the armoires that served as my closet space, I pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas. Baby pink with white snowflakes, they weren’t exactly what I would have bought for myself, but my mother had always insisted that pink was a good color for me because of my dark red hair. She’d sent the pajamas last Christmas, perhaps forgetting that winters in Fillmore, Ohio, were a bit more severe than those in Georgia. Still, tonight they were just what Brigit ordered, and I donned them with gratitude.

As soon as I had plumped my pillows and climbed under the quilt, my phone rang. Leaning back against the filigreed wrought-iron headboard, I peered at the display. Dear Declan, calling well after Emily Post’s recommended cutoff for telephone calls. He knew that I didn’t sleep more than a few hours a night, though, and would still be awake.

“Hey, you,” I said.

“Back atcha. How’re you doing?”

“Okeydoke.”

“Katie.”

“Seriously, I’m fine. The ladies just left, I’m wearing my flannel pj’s, and Mungo is passed out on the bed.”

“Flannel pj’s, you say. Somehow you make that sound sexy.”

I laughed. “You are so biased.”

“Yep. So, did you hear that Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow today? We’re looking at an early spring.”

“Just another method of divination on St. Brigit’s Day.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Imbolc, Groundhog Day, St. Brigit’s Day, Candlemas—all pretty much the same thing to different people. So things are slow at the firehouse?”

“So far only a couple of traffic accidents, even though it’s Saturday night, and a smoke detector triggered an alarm in a hotel. A false alarm as it turned out. The chili was a big hit earlier, though.”

“Here, too.” No need to mention that I’d eaten only a couple of bites. My stomach growled at the thought, and Mungo lifted his head to peer at me.

We chatted for a couple more minutes. Then we indulged in a few sweet nothings and said good night.

This time I finished the whole bowl of chili.

A regular routine had developed on Sunday mornings at the bakery. Ben was off, either playing his weekly golf game with a bunch of his cronies or, in bad weather, hanging out with them at the clubhouse. Lucy and I got most of the baking done early so we could cover the register and espresso counter. Croft Barrow generally came in for a double espresso before heading next door to open his bookstore, and Annette Lander from the knitting store on the other side of us popped in a couple of times to indulge in her twice-on-Sunday cookie fix.

“These are on the house,” I told Annette as I handed her a selection of all four sandwich cookies Lucy and I had been experimenting with the day before. “All I ask is that you give honest feedback. Especially on the chocolate filling.” The addition of cayenne pepper had already convinced me that was our winner.

She grinned. “Can do—and thanks!”

The bell over the door rang as she hurried back to her store with the Honeybee Bakery bag clutched tightly in her hand.

Once a month the spellbook club met to talk spellbooks—yes, we were a real book club, too—after the bakery was closed to the public. But every Sunday morning the ladies of the spellbook club came in to tidy and update the books in the big shelving units in the reading area. Each would bring a few new selections, chosen through spell work or simple intuition to help customers. They’d remove other items they felt had already served their purpose.

So when Jaida and Bianca breezed in around ten a.m. the morning of February third, I waved from the kitchen and called to Lucy for a venti coffee frappe and a large mocha. I loaded up a couple of plates with chocolate chip gingerbread and took them out to the table where the two women had settled. Next to Jaida’s elbow, I spotted a how-to guide for upholstering your own furniture and a copy of
Pride and Prejudice
. Bianca had a tote bag of old copies of
Life
Magazine
, a copy of
Jitterbug Perfume
, and a coffee-table book showcasing the art of Georgia O’Keeffe.

Did I mention the Honeybee library housed an eclectic selection?

“Where’s Mimsey?” Jaida asked. The older witch usually showed up before the rest.

I shrugged and glanced over at where Lucy was wiping down the front of the glass display case.

She looked up. “Might not come today. Depends on how Wren is doing, I imagine.”

“Of course.” Bianca nibbled at a bit of chocolate on the corner of her gingerbread. I swore, it took that woman all day to eat a single pastry. I slid onto the chair beside her.

“What about Cookie?” I asked.

Jaida looked up from the business section of the paper. “Job interview.” She said it as though I should have known.

“Really? She didn’t say anything about it last night.”

“She did to us. Said she wanted to have something lined up before the gallery closed,” Bianca said. “Perhaps you were inside.”

“I guess.” But now that I thought about it, Cookie hadn’t been hanging out at Honeybee like she used to, and it had been weeks since I’d had any real one-on-one conversation with her. I racked my brain, trying to think if I’d done something to offend her. “What’s the job?”

“Data entry at a medical office.”

“That doesn’t sound like Cookie at all.” It wasn’t like her to “line things up” ahead of time, either. She always happened into whatever she needed exactly when she needed it.

Jaida nodded. “I know. Wonder what’s up with that.” She grabbed the main section of the paper and flipped it open. “Hey, did you see this?”

I knew she was referring to the article about Autumn’s death on page four. “Yeah,” I said. “It mentions Georgia Wild but no details, and they left out my name. Wren’s, too, thank goodness.”

The sound of the espresso machine flared, and I looked up. A woman dressed in khaki corduroys and a bright green sweater handed a bill to Lucy. Croft had finished his double espresso and left, so besides us, she was the only one in the bakery.

“I hope business picks up soon,” I said in a low voice as the woman took her small drip coffee and left. When the bell over the door tinkled again, I looked up hopefully.

Steve Dawes sauntered into the Honeybee as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which, of course, it was. After all, we were a bakery and open to the public, for heaven’s sake. It was just that he hadn’t been in since Declan and I started dating. In fact, I’d seen Steve only a couple of times since I’d broken the news to him in November, and then only in passing.

He waved to us as he walked to the display case, and Bianca began to raise her arm in automatic greeting before she glanced at me and suddenly clasped her hands on the table in front of her. Jaida’s eyes cut my way, then returned to Steve. He turned to look at me with a grin that revealed blazing white teeth and emphasized the wicked curve of his lips. He had dark brown eyes and a sharp nose, and wore a half-zipped microfleece, deliciously tight jeans, and brown hiking boots. His long blond hair was pulled straight back off his forehead into its customary ponytail. I wondered if he’d replaced the charm in the leather cord that held it. My fingers crept to the wire-thin platinum circle I wore on a chain around my neck. It had been woven into that leather tie until Steve, a druid like his father, insisted that I take it. The only time Declan had asked me about it, I’d told him it was a protection charm—which was true. I simply hadn’t mentioned who’d given it to me.

“What looks good today?” Steve asked.

You do.
I blinked and looked away.
Declan is so much better for me, though. Really, he is.

“Try the gingerbread,” Lucy said. “Or we have maple bacon scones, apple fritters, mocha shortbread, peach thumbprints, cherry pinwheels—or if you want something savory, how about a piece of rosemary shortbread? It’s marvelous with chai tea.”

“Gingerbread sounds great,” he said.

Jaida reached for one of the books on the table and became instantly engrossed. Lucy shot a look at me from behind the register.

“Anything to drink?” my aunt asked.

Cappuccino. Dry.

“How about a dry cappuccino,” he said.

Lucy spurred the espresso machine into action.

Steve paid and brought the mug and his gingerbread over to the table next to where Jaida, Bianca, and I were sitting. He sat down in the chair nearest mine.

“Katie.”

“Steve.”

“I heard about Autumn Boles.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “It’s right there in the paper.”

“Are you all right?”

Frowning, I asked, “Did I miss something? I wasn’t mentioned in the
News
article.”

“No, but you were involved with Georgia Wild.”

I shifted to face him, leaning my forearm on the back of the bistro chair. “And how do you know that?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Katie. Of course I keep track of you. Just because you decided you don’t want me in your life doesn’t mean I stopped caring for you.”

“I never said I didn’t want you in my life. Only that I didn’t think we should be, you know, romantically involved.”

Jaida and Bianca gave up any pretense of not listening. Lucy moved closer, industriously polishing the glass of the pastry display that she’d already finished cleaning. Not exactly subtle.

His eyebrow arched. “My mistake. Either way, you do have a tendency to attract trouble. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” I could hear the strain in my voice, though.

He leaned back and looked at me speculatively. “You found her, didn’t you?”

I hesitated a few seconds before shaking my head. “Wren did.”

“Wren?” He took a bite of gingerbread. Pleasure flickered across his face as he chewed the tender spicy cake filled with crunchy candied ginger and dark cacao chips.

“Wren Knowles. Mimsey’s granddaughter.”

He took a slow sip of cappuccino, eyes locked with mine. “There’s more. Tell me.”

I breathed out a sigh. “I came in immediately afterward. I was the one who called the police.”

“Darn it. I knew it.”

“What else do you know?” Heck, as long as he was here I might as well ask.

“About what?”

“About the Fagen Swamp deal your father’s investing in,” I said. “You’re working with your father now that you two are so tight, right?”

He glanced at Jaida and shook his head. “God, Katie. You never stop.”

“Hey—you came to see me, not the other way around.”

He looked around at the other three women who were watching us with unabashed interest. “Well, maybe you need to come to the office if you want to talk about business.”

“Do you know Logan Seward?” I asked. “The attorney?”

“He’s a colleague.” He took a final slug of cappuccino and wiped away the milk-foam mustache with a napkin.

Jaida tipped her head to one side. “Logan Seward? I recently met him. At the courthouse. New to town, isn’t he?”

He nodded. “Relatively.”

She snorted. “
Relatively
new to Savannah means your parents were born here but your grandparents weren’t. You know that.”

“Okay.” He grinned at her. “Definitely new to town.”

“What about Gart Fagen?” I asked Steve.

“Seriously—come by my office. I’ll be there most of tomorrow. I’ll tell you what I can if you’re looking into this. But right now I have to get going.”

“I’m not looking into anything,” I said. However, I couldn’t deny the anger that swept over me at the very thought that someone had killed Autumn—anger oddly mingled with curiosity about the weird, icky energy given off by a silly piece of paper.

“Sure you’re not. Whatever. Say hi to Declan for me.” He stood.

“There’s no call for sarcasm,” I said. Steve was more likely to send a burning bag of dog poop to Declan than pass along his greetings.

“No. Really. I don’t want to be a sore loser. I get why you made the decision you did. I know it’s because I decided to join the society and you don’t approve of us.”

“It’s not—”

He held up his hand. “It’s okay. But you’re still going to be stuck with me when you need me. I’m not letting you go altogether.” He picked up his plate and now-empty cup and moved toward the bussing station.

I followed.

“See you soon, Katie-girl.” He bent and kissed my cheek. Stunned, I stood there like an idiot as he walked to the door.

“Don’t call me that!” I said as he left.

•   •   •

Books tidied and new additions on the shelves, Jaida and Bianca were getting ready to leave. They’d both slipped on their jackets when Mimsey burst into the Honeybee. Her breath came shallowly, and her bright blue eyes were wide as she looked back over her shoulder.

She wore a bright crimson-and-white-striped tunic over white slacks and pumps even though it was well before Memorial Day. The pearl earrings and necklace reflected the smooth white of her hair. Since she always chose the colors of her ensembles with magic in mind, I had to wonder. Red could be for passion, but the square set of her shoulders despite her obvious agitation made me think she was using it for power and determination. White was the color of pure spirit, purification, divination, and protection. After the last twenty-four hours, we all should have been wearing it.

Lucy and I popped to our feet as the door opened wider and Mimsey gestured at someone on the sidewalk. But it was only Wren following her grandmother.

She looked terrible. Her eyelids were red-rimmed behind the chunky glasses, and her nose was pink and swollen. Worry, or perhaps sleeplessness, had painted dark half-moons under her eyes. She wore the same clothes she’d had on the night before, and today the black leggings made her look thinner than ever. If she’d been numb during the Imbolc celebration, it seemed her friend’s death had hit her full force today.

“Oh, honey,” Lucy said as Jaida reached out and gave Wren one of her signature comfort hugs.

Mimsey’s gaze swept the bakery. “Good, you’re not too busy. We have to talk.” She settled into a nearby chair, more brusque and businesslike than I’d ever seen her. “You have to find out what happened to Autumn.”

“I’m sure the police—,” I began.

“Wren, show her.”

“Show me what?” I sank back onto my seat with a sense of resignation. Jaida and Bianca slipped their coats off and settled on either side of me.

“Grandma, she’s not going to—”

“Lord love a duck, will you just show her?” Mimsey insisted.

Sighing, Wren reached into her backpack. She fished around a little before pulling something out. She stretched her hand out toward me, then opened it.

I stared down at her palm. Sitting there, pretty as could be, was an origami bat.

Neatly folded from maroon paper.

A shiver clawed its way up my spine.

“Did you make that?” Bianca asked.

Jaida looked mystified. Maroon bats had not been on the conversational menu during our gathering the previous evening.

Wren shook her head.

“Of course not,” Mimsey said. “I took her home this morning and discovered that someone had slipped that, that
thing
under the front door of her apartment. She told me it’s just like the one Autumn was holding when she found her yesterday.”

Beside me, Lucy’s quick intake of breath mirrored the alarm that passed between Jaida and Bianca. Mimsey crossed her arms over her ample chest.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “It sure looks the same to me.” At least it didn’t have the same weird energy that the first bat had given off, even through Quinn’s plastic evidence bag.

Mimsey nodded emphatically. “We came straight over here to tell you. Now you can see why you have to help the police. Wren’s life is in danger!”

“Grandma, we don’t know that.”

Mimsey shushed her.

“I take it you didn’t report this . . . gift . . . to the police?” Of course they hadn’t, or they wouldn’t have the crumpled paper to show me. It would already be in the lab having goddess-knows-what tests done on it.

Mimsey frowned and looked at the floor.

“Mims!” I protested. “I can’t investigate a crime
instead
of the police. I can only help them.”

She smiled in triumph. Jaida snorted.