Spells and Scones (22 page)

Phoebe stared at the older woman, then at me. “What is this?”

“Well,” I said in an almost apologetic tone. “It's a trap really. And you fell into it. Though, honestly, I don't know for certain why you came.”

Quinn's eyes narrowed.

“I mean, I understand that you killed your sister. That I figured out. You slipped the cyanide in her sweet tea and waited for her to die. You acted so grief stricken, so at sea, that no one suspected you.”

Standing on the very spot where Dr. Dana Dobbs had succumbed to death, her sister glared at me. “Who
are
you?”

“I'm the one who made the sweet tea, which you then poisoned. I'm the one you almost killed in the alley with the Dumpster.” I felt anger surging, blooming in my chest with red heat. “I'm the one who knows for certain that Angie Kissel didn't kill your sister. That
you
did. And I'm the one who's going to make sure you go to prison for your crime.”

Over her shoulder, Quinn managed to look skeptical, impressed, and amused at the same time. I didn't know if she recognized him in his casual clothes.

“I'm sure the police can find out all they need about the details, but I want to know why you did it.”

She took off the hat and tossed her hair. “I don't know what you're talking about. Honestly, accusing me of killing my own sister.”

“We just caught you in the middle of a break-in,” I pointed out. “You're not exactly in a position of power.”

Croft strode toward her and stopped a few yards away.

Fear flared on her face when she saw him; then it was replaced with calculation. “Mr. Barrow,” she said. I could almost see her brain scrambling for an explanation. “I
know this was wrong, but I was so desperate to find my wallet, you see. It contains something quite sentimental—”

“You told me you found it in your car,” I said.

Croft made a rude noise.

She skewered me with her eyes. Opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“Let's see here,” I said, starting to pace back and forth in front of her. It had helped me think earlier. Maybe it would now. I kept my gaze on her the whole time.

“The tarot spell book.”

She blinked.

“And the candles. Not your sister's, were they? They were yours. And you're the one who left that little campfire on my front lawn in an attempt to bind me from looking for her killer.”

Quinn's brow knit in puzzlement.

Phoebe's nostrils flared.

“But who did you want to . . . Oh.” I stopped. “Oh, my. You're in love with Nate Dobbs.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes.

I shook my head. “You're
such
a good liar. The way you acted like you could barely stand him at the signing. The way you avoided him. I bet your sister, your
trusting
sister, never had a clue you two were having an affair.”

Mimsey watched us with an unreadable expression, but over by the shelving units, Lucy's mouth was twisted into repugnance. Ben held her close to his side. Nearby, Angie gaped up at the tableau. Red fury rolled off Croft so strongly that I feared for his heart.

“We weren't having an affair,” Phoebe whispered. “He was too good for that.”

“Right. Isn't that why he wanted a divorce?” I asked.

“He wanted a divorce because my sister was watching
his every move. Because he couldn't stand it anymore.” Her voice grew louder. “Because he couldn't stand
her
anymore. But she wouldn't let him go.” She swallowed, hard. “And I didn't have a chance with him unless he was free of her.”

“So you killed her,” I said. Our eyes were locked. The rest of the room seemed to have faded away. “The red candles and tarot spell book you implied were Dana's at the radio station—you tried to use them to make Nate love you.”

Her breath came in ragged gasps.

“And you saw the book open on the table when you came back in with the police to see your sister before they took her to the morgue. The book where Dana had written his name.”

A sob, and her hand came up to cover her mouth as if she could keep the words inside.

I fell silent. Seconds ticked by.

And another piece fell into place.

“If it wasn't you, then it was Nate,” I said airily. “I guess Dana really did name her killer moments before she died. I mean, he had access to the poison she was killed with, and she wouldn't give him a divorce. Now he has his freedom, and I'm betting he gets the majority of her money, too.” I broke eye contact and turned away. “Maybe I was mistaken about what you told me about your wallet. But if that's why you're here, then Nate must be the killer. Croft, we need to call the police and show them the book.”

“No!” Phoebe wailed. “No, it wasn't him. I saw what she'd written and knew the police would think he'd killed her. I didn't know he worked with cyanide! I'd never have made it if I'd known.” She reached into her
pocket, and through the thick fabric, I saw her hand close around something.

“You're insane,” Croft said, shuffling closer. His eyes blazed, and his hands were clenched into fists by his sides. “A heartless, murdering psychopath. You deserve to rot for what you did.”

“Croft,” I warned.

She pulled her hand out of her pocket and raised it to his face.

Quinn saw and started toward her.

“No!” I yelled. It was as much at myself as at Phoebe. A familiar power had flared to life beneath my skin, erupting at a cellular level. I struggled to contain it, hyperaware of Quinn's approach.

She grimaced and pressed down on the black plastic tube in her hand, squirting pepper spray into the bookstore owner's eyes. He screamed and covered his face with both hands, staggering backward toward the wall.

Ben rushed her next, and she spun toward him.

I watched as if it was all in slow motion. “No, no, no.”

Spray erupted from the canister, heading straight for my uncle's face. I closed my eyes and reached out my hand. My intention coiled out to
grab
the aerosol droplets from two yards away and
fling
them back into Phoebe's face.

She cried out.

I opened my eyes.

My skin was still pulsing with an undercurrent of silvery light. A quick glance around revealed Angie staring at me with wonder, while Ben and Mimsey had turned their attention to Quinn. Lucy had rushed to Croft's side and was already leading him out front to the restroom, murmuring comfort.

“What the hell was
that
, Lightfoot?” Quinn thundered.

I swallowed and took a deep breath and pointed to Phoebe, who had fallen to her knees at his feet. “I told you I'd get a confession.”

“Yeah, yeah. I recorded it. But that's not what I'm talking about.” He looked wildly around. “Did you guys see that?”

Mimsey politely raised her eyebrows. “See what?”

Quinn took a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of his leather jacket. “Ben?”

“Don't know what you're talking about,” my uncle said gruffly. “I'm calling an ambulance for Croft.”

“She glowed,” Phoebe said through her tears as Quinn helped her to her feet. Her face was swollen, and her eyes red. “She did it in the alley, too.” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “She's a witch.”

I forced a laugh. “Right. I love it when a murderer calls me names.”

But Detective Quinn's look was speculative as he began the process of wrapping things up.

For the first time in a week, I slept like a baby for three solid hours. We'd been giving statements and helping Croft shore up his back door for a good hour after Phoebe had been taken out. Angie had decided to go to her apartment after picking up her car at the carriage house. So it was just Mungo and me, snoring away until dawn crept through the windows to wake us. I honestly couldn't have told you the last time that had happened.

Justice had been served up hot. Dr. Dana's killer had been apprehended after giving a full confession right in front of Detective Quinn. Before she was led out, I'd asked her where she got the cyanide. She'd told me she'd found a video online that showed how to make it.

So Phoebe would be eating her turkey dinner in jail, while Quinn got to go home to his family. I felt bad for her on one hand, but on the other I was glad she'd be someplace where she couldn't hurt anyone. I had a feeling that if she'd gotten away with killing her sister, she might have tried to solve her problems the same way in the future. Nate was a lucky guy to have escaped her version of love.

Angie Kissel could go on with her life, and I'd fulfilled
my promise to Mungo. I had a rare day off and would be sharing a scrumptious meal with my favorite people in the world. Maybe best of all, I'd made another big decision. Maybe not everyone would like it, but that wasn't my problem.

As for Quinn seeing me glow? I wasn't sure what to do about that. He'd directed a lot of looks my way during the follow-up the night before. They'd ranged from curious to baffled to thoughtful. I had a feeling we'd be having an interesting conversation in the near future.

I puttered around the carriage house in my pajamas for a while. Declan got off his shift at nine, but I'd talked to him after all the excitement the night before, and they'd been kept busy with the usual idiotic holiday escapades. There had been two car wrecks, and a serious fire had resulted from the combination of faulty wiring and an over-the-top Christmas light display gone wrong. The firefighters had been out all night, and he hadn't had much sleep. His plan was to take a nap before meeting me at Lucy and Ben's for Thanksgiving dinner.

At least that's what he'd told me. I was sure he wasn't avoiding me.

Pretty sure.

I'd just fed Mungo his second breakfast of leftover chicken and potatoes when a knock sounded at the door. The wooden floor felt cool on my bare feet as I padded over to answer it. Angie stood on the front porch, grinning like a Cheshire cat on steroids.

“Hi, Katie!” She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“You seem awfully chipper after hardly any sleep,” I said.

“Chipper barely covers it. Oh, Katie, I'm so
happy
.”

I smiled. “Nice not to have a murder arrest hanging over your head, huh. Coffee? Tea?”

“I'd love some tea.” She shucked her purse and jacket and followed me into the kitchen. Mungo left his chicken to greet her, and she bent down to give his ears a good scritching.

“Hey, little guy.” Her voice was tender.

The water heated in no time in the electric kettle, and I suggested we go out to the back patio to drink our tea.

“Let's just sit here, if that's okay. I can't stay long. I just came to pick up my things.” She beamed.

“Okay,” I said, getting a little suspicious. Putting a plate of apricot scones on the table, I sat down across from her.

She took one. “Oh, yum! These are so good. All the Honeybee pastries are just so delicious. I really loved working there.”

“Is that what all this joie de vivre is about? You're looking for a job?”

She sat back and laughed. “Goddess, no. I have a job. I
love
my job.”

Swallowing my tea, I narrowed my eyes. “Then what is going on? Are you this happy because we caught Phoebe?”

“Well, I am happy about that, of course. And thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Yip!
Mungo weighed in from where he was scarfing down the last of his breakfast.

“Don't bark with your mouth full,” I said. “And you're welcome, Angie.”

“And thank you for . . . for helping me to understand that I need to trust myself.”

“How did I do that?”

She looked thoughtful. “I'm not sure. Maybe just by
being you. Someone tries to use sorcery to make you love them, and the same night someone tries to bind you with a spell, and you just take it all in stride.”

I made a face. “I wouldn't exactly say that.”

“The point is, you obviously trust yourself. And that made me think that I need to do the same thing. See, I stopped practicing magic because a spell backfired on me. It was my own fault, but instead of learning from it, I just stopped. From fear.” She took a deep breath. “I've decided that I'm going to take up the Craft again.”

YIP!

“I'm sure she appreciates that, Mungo.” But my stomach was turning somersaults. What did that mean for Mungo? I forced myself to say, “And I'm happy for you. It's clear that you know your stuff and that you have real power as well.”

She blushed. “Thanks.” She drained her tea and stood. “I'll just grab my things.”

As she left the room, she didn't so much as glance at my familiar. He largely ignored her as well. I heard Angie climb the stairs to the loft, and my shoulders gradually relaxed. Mungo and I belonged to each other now, and just because his former witch had decided to practice magic again didn't change that. Lots of witches didn't have familiars. Heck, Cookie hadn't had one until a few months before.

Taking a deep breath, I got up to put the teacups into the sink. “See? More good stuff,” I said to Mungo. “There's a lot to be thankful for today.” For good measure, I tried the little two-step Iris did when she was happy, but I stumbled and almost dropped the kettle. “Maybe I'll leave the happy dance to Iris,” I said.

Angie appeared in the doorway with her bag in her hand.

“Heading over to your friend's for dinner now?” I asked, following her out to the living room.

“In a bit.” She dropped the bag, and we hugged. Turning, she opened the door. “Come on, Mungo.”

My breath stopped in my chest, while my heart started pounding double time. A fist of disbelief clenched my stomach.

No. She can't be taking Mungo! My Mungo?

He trotted out the door behind her, and I felt my legs crumple. As I caught myself on the back of the chair, my breathing started again—ragged, gasping, sobbing inhalations.

He's going with her.

MUNGO!
I mentally shouted.

Yip!

He stood in the doorway, looking at me with quizzical worry.

“Katie, are you coming out?” Angie called from the yard.

Shaking, I rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes and straightened. “Mungo?” I croaked at my familiar.

He ran over and jumped up on the chair, scrabbling up the backrest until he was in my arms and frantically licking my face.

“Hey, you two. Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

Trembling and sick to my stomach, I went out to the porch.

Angie was sitting in the grass near the front walk where she'd parked her car. The door was hanging open, and she was leaning over something.

Something very, very wiggly.

Angie looked up with a huge smile. “If I needed any more evidence that I'm supposed to follow my true nature, this is it. She found me this morning.”

A tiny caramel-colored puppy tumbled out of her lap and gamboled toward us. I let Mungo down, and he raced to the newcomer. They rolled in the grass, and the baby dog barked, tiny and high and sharp. I sank to my knees next to Angie, tears welling despite the smile on my face.

“She's a cocker spaniel. My neighbor found her and was going to take her to the pound. But as soon as I saw her, I knew. Katie? What's wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Her name is Olivia.”

“Hi, Olivia,” I said softly.

She ran over and jumped in my lap, wiggling and wobbling and wagging. A giggle erupted from my chest.

“She's adorable,” I said. “Welcome, Olivia.”

Olivia blinked up at me, mouth hanging open in a doggy smile.

The sound of a car engine made us all look up. I recognized the Audi and stood. Mungo ran to stand beside me.

Angie saw our faces and bundled Olivia back into the car. “Who's that?”

“The furata guy,” I said.

“Ooh.”

Steve boiled out of the car and walked toward me, hands outstretched. “Katie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're right. I'm a jerk. I never should have tried the charm.”

“Charm! That thing is a serious spell. Did you really think you could
make
me love you?”

“No, no. It was only a charm. Like the one you wear . . .” He trailed off, staring at my bare neck. Recovering himself, he said. “At least that's what the medicine woman I got it from told me.”

“She told you wrong.” Angie's voice was flat. “It's
far more powerful than a simple charm. It's a forcing spell.”

Steve stopped. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” Angie and I said at the same time.

“Which is more than I can say for you,” I said.

He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I've completely ruined it between us,” he moaned.

Moaned.

I'd never heard Steve Dawes moan in my life.

“Oh, for Pete's sake, stop being so dramatic,” I said. “You're a Dragoh at heart.”

“I'm not—”

“You are.” I barely stopped myself from stamping my foot. “You always have been, no matter how much you tried to deny it at first. It's in your blood, like my gift is in mine, and Angie's is in hers.”

He dropped his hands and looked at my new friend.

My eyes cut toward her to see if I'd overstepped my bounds. She didn't seem upset. In fact, her eyes were glued to Steve.

And she didn't look very upset with him, either.

“I don't know, Katie,” he said slowly. “Maybe you're right.” He took a few steps toward us. “What was your name again?”

“Never you mind what her—”

“Angie,” she said, stepping toward him.

I exchanged a look with Mungo.
Seriously?

“Angie Kissel.”

“Oh, I've heard about you from my friends in the police department. Congratulations on your freedom.”

She ducked her head coyly.

“Our Katie here does good work, doesn't she?”

Angie nodded. “Without her help I'd probably be going to jail.”

Steve met my eyes again. “I really am sorry. I don't know that you're right about me, but I'll think about it. At least Father is speaking to me again. Pretty sure my mother had something to do with that.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Happy Thanksgiving to you both.”

With one last, long look at Angie, he got back into his car and left.

She turned to me. “
That's
the guy who gave you the furata?” The look on her face reminded me of Iris' reaction to Steve.

“Mmm-hmm,” I said wryly.

As she and little Olivia left, I had to admit Angie might be a good choice for Steve. And he for her?

Well, the jury was still out on that.

*   *   *

Honeybee met us at the curb in front of Ben and Lucy's town house. She rarely ventured outside, but on special occasions she took it upon herself to guide guests inside. Mungo and I greeted her and followed her elegant orange-and-white-striped tail up to the front door. I inhaled the scents of turkey, onion, garlic, sage, and cinnamon, and sure enough, my stomach growled.

Lucy had replaced the carved jack-o'-lanterns of Halloween with gourds and squash arranged on a series of hay bales around the front door. Herbs and flowers crowded into the small yard on either side of the front walk. Cornstalks leaned on either side of the door, and a Thanksgiving wreath of pinecones and dried leaves decorated the red door that led inside.

The door opened into a verdant oasis where Angie would have felt right at home. Houseplants stretched out of pots on the tables and floor and swung down from the high, bright ceiling. Ivy crawled up the bricks that
surrounded the fireplace. Skylights and tall windows streamed November sunshine into the light, airy space.

The white sofas and chairs had been moved out of the center of the living room, and a long, many-leaved table filled most of the space. The white tablecloth and two-story white walls contrasted beautifully with the dark cherry-wood floors and boldly patterned rugs.

Mungo ran off with Honeybee to join the other familiars, who were gathered in the cheery, glassed-in breakfast nook. Clever them, staying out of the way of the busy humans, I thought as I joined the melee of furious activity that dominated the kitchen. The scarred wooden worktable where Lucy packaged the herbs from her garden and prepared food for canning was covered by dishes ready for the table. I added the biscuits I'd decided to bring instead of sourdough rolls, an urn of homemade strawberry jam, and three pies from the Honeybee.

Ben came over to help me unload the box in which I'd transported my loot. I looked sideways at him.

“Thanks for what you did last night,” he murmured. “The pepper spray thing.”

“Sure,” I said. Another time I might have brought up his comment about protecting me, but it was Thanksgiving.

“I got a call from Bing Hawkins yesterday afternoon,” he said.

“Uh . . .”

“I've decided on a trial run of one ad, three times a day for a week. We'll see if it brings more people in.”

Barely keeping myself from laughing, I said, “He did bring up a lot of good reasons for advertising on the radio.”

“I'll say,” he muttered.

“Honey, can you reach that gravy boat on the top shelf?” Lucy asked her husband, and he went to help her.