Spells and Scones (13 page)

Yip!
Mungo added his two cents.

Steve's face clouded. “Katie.”

“I'm sure I'll see you around,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, and escaped into the bakery.

He didn't follow.

My hands were trembling, and my insides felt like jelly. I'd forgotten to put Mungo in my tote, but no one seemed to care. The homeschoolers were oblivious, but Ben, Lucy, and Iris were all watching me as I hustled behind the register. Mungo beelined through to his chair in the office.

“So Steve's back,” Ben said. Obviously we'd had an audience. My uncle's disapproval was clear. Declan had been his protégé in the fire department long before I'd come to town, and he viewed him as the son he'd never had. He'd never cared that much for Steve and had been over the moon when Declan and I got together.

“He is.” I kept my tone neutral.

“Ohmagod,” Iris breathed. “He is so
hot
. I would just die if he asked me out.”

“He's twice your age,” I said wryly.

“The chocolate torte is in the oven,” Lucy said diplomatically. “I see you found a card.”

“You didn't forget your own anniversary, did you?” Ben asked.

I managed a bright “Of course not!”

Lucy frowned at the lie, but I crossed my fingers that I could count on her not to give me away.

“A whole year!” Ben grinned. “From what I understand you can expect filet mignon tonight.”

“Ben!” Lucy admonished. “Declan may have wanted to surprise her.”

“I promise I won't let on,” I said, hustling to drop my tote in the office and get back to
work.

As I went about my work, I kept an eye on Arthur, the writer who came in to work at the corner table several days a week. When he sat back, removed his noise-canceling earphones, and looked around, I sidled over. He looked up with surprise.

“Hey, Arthur. I hope I'm not breaking your concentration.”

“Not at all. I needed to take a little break. What's up?”

I sat down across from him. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me how to find the name of an author's literary agent.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and grinned. “Why, Katie. Are you writing a book?”

“Heavens no!” I mentally scrambled and settled on the usual: “It's for a friend.”

He looked puzzled but shrugged. “Some authors list them on their Web site.”

Dr. Dana hadn't. I'd just checked in the office.

“And most agencies list their authors. But that's not what you're asking. You could ask the author directly.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Not in this case.”

Understanding dawned. “Your ‘friend' wants to know who repped Dana Dobbs?”

I nodded.

“Well, I don't know why, but you could always check the back of her books. Most writers that I know thank their agents in the acknowledgments.”

I brightened and stood. “Thanks. I'll try that. Can I get you more tea?”

He held out his mug. “Sure.” As I walked away, he said, “For a friend, huh.”

I pretended I didn't hear him.

*   *   *

Even though I'd ducked out twice already, I couldn't help running next door about half an hour before we closed. Croft was perched on his usual stool behind the register when I came in, and he looked up hopefully. When he saw it was me, his face fell.

“Gee, thanks,” I said.

“Sorry, Katie. I was hoping you were a real customer. I can see there's traffic out on the street, but no one's coming in except reporters and looky-loos who want to know the gory details.” He looked disgusted.

I didn't blame him one bit. “Did they at least buy Dr. Dana's books?”

With a rueful twist to his lips, he said, “A couple, but there aren't many left.” His shoulders slumped. “I just couldn't bring myself to bring the ones she was signing in the back room out to sell.”

“Oh, man. I hadn't thought of that.”

“And Mrs. Potter was so upset by what happened that she didn't come in to work today. Since she's the story lady, story time was canceled.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure some of the kids came over
to the Honeybee this afternoon,” I said. “I'm sure they'll be back over here in no time.”

“If Mrs. Potter is.” He sighed. “I don't suppose you're here to actually buy anything.”

“Sorry. But I'll sure be in after Thanksgiving to do some Christmas shopping. Today I just wanted to take a look at one of Dr. Dana's books.”

He waved his hand. “Knock yourself out. There are some left over there on the table.”

Dr. Dana's earnest and slightly judgmental eyes gazed up at me from the cover.

Who hated you enough to slip cyanide in your drink?
At least Angie had been up-front and honest about her feelings regarding the psychologist. Whoever had killed the woman was as sneaky as they came.

I flipped through to the acknowledgments. It was a short paragraph. The author had listed her husband first, then her fans, and then her sister. There was no mention of anyone else. Closing the book, I sighed. “Well, so much for that.”

“What are you looking for?” Croft asked.

“The name of Dr. Dana's agent.”

“Well, that's easy. Ronnie Lake.”

I whirled. “How did you know that?”

He slipped off the stool and came around to the front of the counter. “She was here the night of the signing. Long blond braid, wore some crazy Mexican poncho? Only showed for a couple of minutes. I didn't talk with her, but Phoebe told me that's who she was.”

A small whistle escaped my lips. “That was her agent? Golly. No wonder she looked so unhappy.”

His forehead wrinkled. “I don't remember that.”

“You had a few other things on your mind, Croft.
But she was definitely unhappy. And since I heard Dr. Dana had just fired her, I can see why.”

Croft looked thoughtful. “Phoebe didn't mention that part. All I know is that Ms. Lake lives in New York and came down for her client's event.”

So she was long gone. My shoulders slumped.

Shuffling back toward the office, he said, “Apparently she's spending the holiday in Savannah with family. I've got her card if you want it. Phoebe gave it to me as backup when she was arranging the signing.”

I tried to keep the glee out of my voice. “Yes, I'll take it. Thanks.”

He returned with a business card and held it out to me. “I get the feeling you're doing that investigative thing you've done before. I don't get why you feel like you have to snoop around when the police are already on the job.”

“Croft—”

He raised his hand like a traffic cop. “But you got your uncle Ben off the hook last year, and that makes you golden in my book. Seems to me that Kissel woman probably did it, but I want the right person to be prosecuted for what happened in my store. So you let me know if there's anything I can do to help.”

“Oh, Croft.” I gave him a hug. He stiffened at first, then awkwardly patted me on the back. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” he said in a gruff voice and turned away.

I grinned.
Old softie.

*   *   *

I couldn't follow up with Ronnie Lake personally that night, and it would be difficult to get away the next day. Perhaps I could convince her to come into the Honeybee for a cup of coffee. How, though? I was a complete stranger, and she'd likely already been inundated with
calls from reporters wanting to know more about her deceased client.

What if I used my Voice?
A little shudder went down my back.
No. Bad things happen when you do that.
Like that time I'd almost killed Declan. Or when I'd told the kids in the schoolyard to leave me alone—and none of them had spoken to me for years.

But you didn't even know you had that power back then. You have better control now.

Slowly, I punched in the number Croft had given me, running over in my mind what to say. If I compelled Ms. Lake to come to the bakery, would I have to use my Voice to get her to talk to me? What if other people heard? That seemed like a recipe for disaster.

I was almost relieved when the call went to voice mail. I left a simple message asking her to call me back.

And yes, I might have infused the words with the tiniest smidgeon of Voice.

*   *   *

Before leaving for the day, I carefully wrote in Declan's card:

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart! I decided the best gift would be a getaway together to Boston. You can show me around, and I can finally meet your mom and sisters. We could go for Christmas, or New Year's! Love you!

I sketched a quick heart but stopped myself from adding a smiley face. That plus the heart and exclamation points would definitely alert him that I'd almost forgotten our anniversary.

After a quick text to let Deck know I was on my way, I loaded Mungo into the tote, grabbed the yummy torte
Lucy had made, and headed home. The ambrosial scent of dark chocolate filled the interior of the Bug, and by the time I got to the carriage house my mouth was watering.

Declan met me at the door. The aromas of baking meat, caramelized onions, and tarragon boiled out to the porch, piquing my appetite still further. He wore jeans, a crisp collared shirt—and one of my vintage ruffled gingham aprons.

I grinned. “Something smells delicious. And you have no idea how sexy you look in that apron.” I raised my face to his.

But instead of kissing me, he took the torte out of my hand with a grimace and stepped aside to reveal Margie sitting on the couch, her face streaked with tears.

“Welcome home, honey,” he said with the faintest trace of sarcasm.

“What on earth happened?” I asked, rushing in and throwing the tote on a chair.

“Oh, Katie! I don't know what to do!” Margie wailed.

Looking uncomfortable and bewildered, Declan called the dog in from the yard and returned to the kitchen. Mungo settled in the corner by the bookshelf, out of the way but watching intently.

“Now, honey.” I took Margie's hands in my own. They were trembling. “Tell me.”

“I did what she said, and now he hates me.”

“What . . . who . . . oh. You mean Dr. Dana?”

She nodded, her red-rimmed eyes welling again.

I retrieved a tissue and sat down next to my friend.

Margie blew her nose. Hiccuped. “I'm sorry, Katie. I can tell you guys had a special night planned.”

“Now, don't you worry.”

A snorting noise came from the kitchen. I hoped Margie hadn't heard it.

“What did you do?” I asked.

She took a shaky breath. “I installed a GPS tracker on Redding's phone. He leaves for Oklahoma tomorrow. I'm not very tech savvy, though, and he found it right away.”

Ugh.
“But isn't part of Radical Trust for people to know they're being, er, monitored? Isn't that where the trust part is supposed to come in?”

“I guess so,” she said in a small voice. “But I thought he might get mad, so I didn't tell him.”

“How did he take it?”

“Oh, God. He's furious!”

I would be, too.
“Honey, did you explain about the book?”

“I tried. He was too mad at me to really listen, though. Katie, do you think he's hiding something from me? I mean, he could have a whole other life I don't even know about!”

“Oh, now, come on. You know better than that! You two have been married for what? Seven years?”

Her head bobbed an affirmative. “Almost eight. And we dated for three years before that.”

Declan dropped something in the kitchen, and I heard him swear under his breath.

“So you're trying to tell me that your husband of almost eight years, the father of your three children who calls them on the computer
every
night he's on the road so he can read them a bedtime story, is leading a double life?”

She looked at the floor. “I guess not.”

“No. I guess not. How would you feel if he hired
someone to follow you around when he was gone to make sure you weren't doing anything he didn't like?”

“He'd never—! Oh. No, I wouldn't like that at all.” She gave me a pleading look. “But that's not what I was trying to do.”

“First off—how was he to know that? It looks like you're suspicious. Are you?”

Her ponytail swished back and forth. “Of course not. At least I wasn't.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because Dr. Dana—”

I stood. “Radical Trust might have worked for Dana Dobbs and her husband, but I just can't see how it would work for most people.” And remembering Nate Dobbs' face when his wife had been regaling the public with private details about their marriage, I didn't think it had really worked for them, either.

Margie let out a big sigh. “You're right. Like I said the other night, the whole thing seemed a little heavy-handed. But since she's gone now, I thought I could at least give it a try.”

“Out of respect?” I ventured.

“Uh-huh.”

That was a first: follow bad advice as a way to honor the dead.

“You are a sweet thing, Margie Coopersmith. But you know darn well that Redding loves you and those kids like crazy.”

She sniffled. “Yeah.”

“He's a proud man, though. And now he thinks you don't trust him. You need to go back over to your house and let him know that you do.”

One last honk on the tissue, and she stood. “You're
right.” Her shoulders straightened. “I'll fix this if it's the last thing I do.”

I smiled at the dramatic statement, but I didn't stop her as she marched out the door. When it closed behind her, I turned to see Declan had ventured out of the kitchen.

“Is it safe?”

Nodding, I moved toward him. “Now, where were
we?”