Spells and Scones (3 page)

I bolted out to retrieve my dog. “Mungo! Get back here!”

Croft had been leaning against the endcap of a bookshelf near the front of the room. Now he pushed himself upright, his expression livid. “Oh, for Pete's sake, Katie!”

“I'm sorry,” I said, feeling the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks. “So sorry.” Bending to scoop up Mungo, I paused for a second in surprise. He wasn't looking at Dr. Dana at all. His eyes were riveted on the dark-haired pixie who sat next to Margie.

She stared at him as well, her face suddenly as pale as mine was red.

Confused, I grabbed him tightly into my arms and went to stand by Declan again.

“Now, everyone, let's settle down and let Dr. Dana speak,” Croft boomed without the aid of the mic, while at the same time aiming a vitriolic look at me.

Dana Dobbs managed a wavering smile, took another drink of water, and gathered herself. Soon the psychologist was reading from the introduction to her book, which, from what I understood in my distracted state, explained in detail how to track another person's every move.

Mungo wiggled in my arms. I tucked him closer to my shoulder and whispered, “Do you know that woman sitting next to Margie?”

He nosed my chin, then nuzzled into my neck.

I tried to listen to Dr. Dana drone on about how spouses—and significant others if they were really, you know,
significant
—should exchange passwords for e-mail and social media, as well as grant each other access to voice mail. But I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd found my little Mungo.

Of course, he'd actually found me. I'd later discovered that's how it works with familiars, after he'd wiggled his furry behind into my new life on my very first day living in Savannah. That was before I even knew I was a witch. Cute as a button, he'd bounded down my driveway and then kept mysteriously showing up in the backseat of my Volkswagen Bug when we were getting ready for the grand opening of the Honeybee. It hadn't taken long before it was clear the little terrier and I were destined to be a team.

My attention returned to Dr. Dana as she began to describe the difficulties she and her husband had been having before she'd discovered the joys of Radical Trust. My gaze slid to his face. How must it feel to have your spouse share your personal life in print and on the radio?

Finally, the author finished and stepped away from the podium, water bottle in one hand and signing pen in the other. Her assistant led her to the table Croft had set up near the front of the store, and the audience rose to form a ragged line. Nate Dobbs moved to stand behind his wife, while Phoebe went to talk to Croft.

Ben poured a cup of peach sweet tea and took it over to Dr. Dana. Leaning down, he said something to her.
She smiled and put her hand over his, then shook her head. He said something else and came back to the buffet table.

“No sale on a pastry,” he said. “She seemed pleased to get the sweet tea, though.”

I noticed she was drinking her water, though, while the paper cup Ben had taken her was untouched.

A woman wearing a bright pink-and-orange Mexican poncho and a long blond braid down her back entered the bookstore. Her gaze swept the room and landed on the podium. A sour expression twisted her mouth, and her eyes narrowed. She saw Phoebe then, adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder, and threaded her way through the crowd to the author's assistant. They spoke for several seconds, Phoebe shooting looks at her sister the whole time. Then the newcomer gave Phoebe's arm a squeeze and marched over to cut in front of the fan at the head of the line, her Mexican poncho nearly knocking over the cup of sweet tea. Dr. Dana's eyes widened in alarm, and she flinched when the woman leaned over to say something into her ear. Then the woman straightened and walked back out of the bookstore.

The author looked visibly shaken. Phoebe hurried over and opened another bottle of water for her. Dr. Dana took a sip and motioned the next person in line forward.

A few minutes later, the portly man who had dished the dirt on Dr. Dana grabbed one more corn pone with a quick wink at Lucy, purchased his mystery novel, and exited the front door with Sophie. I saw Margie moving up in the queue. She seemed to be purposely avoiding her erstwhile seatmate, whom Mungo had seemed so interested in. After the woman had made such a
scene, I couldn't blame my neighbor for distancing herself.

Still, I had serious reservations about Dana Dobbs' advice. The whole concept of Radical Trust sounded like exactly the opposite, more like the doublespeak one might expect from a prevaricating politician than from a professional therapist offering relationship tips.

I murmured into Mungo's ear, “If I put you down, will you stay here behind the table?”

He huffed.

“No? Well, I guess I'll have to run you next door to the Honeybee.” He came to work with me nearly every day, and not once had he ever misbehaved. Now he wiggled in my arms, trying to get down.

“What is the matter with you?” I hissed.

He kicked, and I had to stoop quickly to set him on the floor so he wouldn't fall. He scooted away. I grabbed for him, but he was too fast. Just beyond my reach under the buffet, he whirled to face me, sat down, and tipped his head to one side as if to say,
See? I'm being good.

Lucy and Declan approached. “Everything all right over here?” my boyfriend asked.

I regarded my familiar suspiciously. “Fine and dandy. Right, Mungo?”

The dog delivered a soft grunt and grinned up at me.

I gave him a hard look.

He kept grinning.

Taking him at his grunt, I left Declan to chat with Ben while I set out a few more savory Greek scones. I inhaled the scent of rosemary and admired the pretty flecks of green in the golden triangles. Rosemary promoted fidelity, among other things, but Lucy and I hadn't cast any spells to trigger that element of the plant. Now, looking around at the avid faces of Dr. Dana's
fans, I wondered if they were all having trouble in their relationships, and I wished we had focused on that aspect of the herb.

Margie moved to the head of the line and eagerly handed her book to the author. Relief settled over me. My neighbor and her husband were obviously head-over-heels in love even after three children and a trucking job that took him away for days at a time. Margie was simply starstruck by meeting a celebrity, and, more than likely, others were here to see Dr. Dana for the same reason.

At least I hoped so.

A few minutes later, I looked up to see Dr. Dana's pixie-haired female heckler, the one Mungo had been so interested in, marching up to the head of the line. Unlike everyone else, she wasn't holding a book.

“Hey! Wait your turn!” a man who had been standing patiently for several minutes protested. Margie, who had been excitedly discussing something with her idol, fell silent.

The dark-haired woman whirled to face us with her hands on her hips. “My name is Angie Kissel, and I'm here to tell you that this woman is a fraud, people! She has no up-to-date qualifications as a therapist, and her
doctorate
isn't even in psychology, for heaven's sake. Dana Dobbs is a sham whose goal is simply to take your money, not help you with your marriage.”

Dr. Dana's face went stark white, and even from across the room I could see the bottle of water in her hand was shaking.

Margie's lips parted in surprise, and then anger flared in her eyes. “Listen here, lady,” she started, but Dr. Dana interrupted her.

“You horrible woman!” She stood and pointed her
finger. “I'm warning you. Leave me alone, or I'll get that restraining order we threatened. I'm not kidding, Ms. Kissel. I will see you behind bars if you continue to harass me.”

As she spoke, Nate Dobbs took a step forward. He looked furious. Across the room, Phoebe started hurrying toward her sister.

Croft Barrow stepped in. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ma'am,” he said with a scowl, and reached for the interloper's arm.

Angie Kissel jerked away from him and marched to the front door. Yanking it open, she stepped across the threshold. At the last moment, she turned and regarded the silently watching group. “I'm just trying to help. Don't let her fool you.” She pulled the door closed and was gone.

“Thank you,” the author said to Croft in a shaky voice. Then she cleared her throat, took a sip of water, and turned back to Margie. Slowly, her husband stepped back to lean against the wall again, while Phoebe whipped out her cell and began murmuring into it.

“Wow. Quite the drama,” Declan said in a low voice.

“No kidding. I hope it doesn't hurt sales,” Ben said.

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, watching Mungo. He was on his feet, gazing at the front door as if there was bacon on the other side of it. His furry brow was wrinkled in a frown.

I bent and rubbed his head. He glanced up at me, then back at the door.

“What's up with him?” Declan asked.

At the other end of the table, Lucy was watching the dog, too, and flicked a concerned glance my way.

I straightened. “I'm not sure.”

“Looks like she's about done,” Ben said as two young
couples exited the bookstore. The line in front of Dr. Dana had dwindled to three stragglers, and the piles of her books had all but disappeared. “Let's start cleaning up.”

Together, we dove in. Lucy packed up the remaining pastries, and Declan loaded them into a plastic bin. Ben started breaking down the folding table, and I went out to police any paper plates and cups that careless patrons had left lying around.

Dr. Dana finished and rose. Her husband, who had stopped hovering behind her and now sat on a folding chair with a spy novel, began gathering his belongings. Croft hurried over to the author, and I heard him ask if she'd mind signing some of the stock he still had in the store.

“I'd be delighted,” she said with a gracious air.

“I have another case in the back room.” Croft smiled a rare smile. Sales must have been good after all.

Dr. Dana followed the bookstore owner as he wended his way through to the back room. Moments later he returned to the register to help the last two customers. They paid up and left. As they exited I heard them chatting about the unexpected excitement that evening.

Nate Dobbs had returned to his seat and opened his book again. Dr. Dana's sister, Phoebe, sank onto the chair next to him. He gave her a sympathetic look.

Ignoring it, she took a deep breath and stood again. “I'm going to see if I can find a closer parking space so Dana won't have to walk so far on those silly heels.”

Nate stood. “I'll come with you.” The look he directed around the room was rueful. “I could use the fresh air.”

I stifled a smile.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Her lack of enthusiasm was palpable.

I turned away to pick up a stray plate.

Margie passed by me with her signed book under her arm and a grin on her face. “Hi, Katie! Wasn't she wonderful? She must have talked with me for five whole minutes!”

“Glad you enjoyed your night out,” I said, and gave her a hug made awkward by my full hands.

She grabbed one of the few remaining volumes by the psychologist—this one an earlier advice book about raising children:
How to Do Kids Right
. “I'm getting this one, too. She probably has all kinds of good ideas for how to deal with the JJs. I bet I can still get her to sign it, too.” Before I could respond, Margie headed toward the back of the store, where Dr. Dana was signing Croft's extra stock.

Huh. Just as I'd always thought of Margie and Redding as having a great marriage, I'd been in awe of the ease and wisdom she displayed as a mother. Why on earth would Margie need advice on either front?

I dumped the detritus I'd collected into the trash bag Declan held out for me; then he put a lid on the tub of leftovers. He'd promised to drop them at the homeless shelter after we were done. Lucy had already folded the tablecloth and put it in a bag to take home and wash, and Ben had tucked the table against the wall for the rental company to pick up the next morning. I was tired as all get-out and wanted nothing more than to go home and relax on my back patio with a light, late supper and my boyfriend. Our conversation that evening was bound to be interesting.

A scream echoed from the back room, and my chin jerked up. Mungo started barking, loud and urgent, and took off like a shot toward the sound.

I wasn't far behind him, and Declan was right on my heels.

We barreled through the open door, nearly knocking Margie over. I caught myself on the doorframe. Gently, I pushed my friend to one side and stepped up to stand beside her. Adrenaline thrummed through my veins as my mind scrambled to process what I was seeing: dim light, cartons stacked on metal shelving units on either side, a haphazard pile of books on a small table, and a box half-full of more volumes on the floor. Straight ahead, the door to the alley hung open, and a slight breeze stirred the air.

Between where I stood with Mungo quivering at my feet and that open door, Dr. Dana lay sprawled on her back beside an overturned chair. And hunched over her was the woman Croft had kicked out of the bookstore.

Angie
Kissel.

“Ohmagod!”
Margie rushed forward.

Angie held up her hand. “No. Don't come any closer.”

“But she's sick!” Margie protested. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

The other woman met my eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Are you sure?” I asked, understanding at once.

“I'm sure.” She stood. “I was just feeling for a pulse.”

Margie gaped. “But . . . but . . . are you saying . . . ?”

Declan shouldered past me. “If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look.” He looked over at my uncle. “Try to keep everyone from coming in here.”

Ben nodded.

Angie Kissel looked peeved but took a step back. “She's not breathing, and her heart isn't beating.”

Beside me, Margie let out a small hopeless sound.

“He's a fireman,” I said. “With medical training. He just wants to make sure.”

She gave a nod and stepped back farther.

Declan quickly knelt beside the author and checked her with a professional air. Then he looked up at me and shook his head in confirmation.

Behind us, I heard voices becoming louder, and then a shout. “That's my wife! Let me through!” Nate Dobbs pushed through the door, despite my uncle trying to stop him. He saw his wife on the floor and stared in disbelief. “Dana?” He looked around with bewildered eyes. “What happened?”

Declan stood. “I'm afraid she's gone, sir. I'm very sorry.”

Nathan Dobbs blinked a few times, then rushed toward his wife and kneeled beside her.

“Dana?” Phoebe said from behind me, and pushed forward. “Dana! What happened?”

“Sir, I apologize,” Declan said to Nate, “but I think it might be best if we cleared the room.”

Something in his voice. I felt the skin tighten across my face.

“I'm very sorry,” Declan continued in the smooth, calming tone he reserved for the worst emergencies. “But it's possible the authorities will deem this a suspicious death. We all need to go out front until they arrive.”

Angie's mouth dropped open at the same time I heard Phoebe's sudden intake of breath. Nate rose as if in a trance and shambled over to stand with the rest of us huddled just inside the room.

So I hadn't misunderstood the meaning in Declan's tone. He didn't think Dr. Dana had died of natural causes. From my vantage point, I could see that her face and one hand were flushed a dark crimson, but I couldn't tell if there was any evidence of injury. Still, my boyfriend knew his stuff.

I stifled a sad sigh. Since moving to Savannah I'd learned that I was not only a hedgewitch, but also a catalyst and a lightwitch—meaning things sort of
happened
around me. In practice, that meant I stumbled into an unusual number of wrongs that required righting.

Wrongs that involved murder, unfortunately. And more often than not, some kind of magic.

But this was getting ridiculous. I'd already been involved in five murder investigations in less than two years. Now this? I had no connection to Dr. Dana, at least not that I was aware of. I bowed my head and sent an intention of grace to the soul who had so recently departed for the next plane. And then I allowed myself to hope that my presence this time was plain old coincidence.

I mean, a girl can hope, right?

“The police and ambulance are on their way,” Ben said from behind me. I glanced back to see Phoebe and Croft Barrow crowded in the doorway. Phoebe stared at her sister without blinking, tears slowly welling in her eyes.

Declan held out his hand in a silent gesture to Angie Kissel. She frowned but picked her way around the exterior of the room to where we stood. Declan was right behind her.

“You okay?” he asked me in a low voice.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “But I don't think Margie is.” My neighbor's face had gone waxy beneath her tan, and her pupils were huge. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

Suddenly, she lifted her hand and pointed at Angie Kissel. “She killed Dr. Dana! Arrest her! She killed her!”

Declan put his arm around Margie's shoulders. “Let's get you out of here.”

The fight seemed to drain out of my friend. She let out a long sigh, then obediently allowed him to lead her
away. Declan looked back over his shoulder and mouthed, “Shock.”

I turned to see the Kissel woman watching Margie, her eyes wide and one hand on her throat.

“Now, I think we should all step back for right now,” I heard my uncle say. “Let's all wait out here in the bookstore for the police to get here. Croft, how about we put some of those folding chairs back out for folks to sit in.”

Croft's voice rumbled something like agreement.

Phoebe stared at the overturned chair as if dreaming. Suddenly, she shook her head and passed her hand over her face as she left to join the others. I had a feeling Declan would be treating her for shock next.

Ben came up behind me. “I'll stay here and keep an eye on things.”

Angie Kissel turned her head as if considering a quick bolt through the open door to the alley, then took a deep breath and set her jaw as if making a decision.

Mungo whined. She looked down at him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. With my familiar in the lead, we went out to join the others.

“I'm Angie,” the woman said to me in a low voice.

“I heard,” I said in a wry tone. “I'm Katie Lightfoot.”

“Katie, I didn't kill
anyone
. I mean, I'd never . . .” She trailed off.

“Okay,” I said. “So did you see anyone else?” Dr. Dana was still warm, and yet I couldn't keep myself from asking questions. I wasn't proud of that.

Angie shook her head. “I came in from the alley right before that woman started screaming. Dana was bright red, and I thought maybe she'd choked. But her mouth . . .” She blanched. Licked her lips and tried again. “I didn't want to admit it, but that fireman might be right. I think
she was poisoned. And Lord knows there were plenty of people who wanted her dead.”

Including you?

It was a quiet group who waited for the police to arrive: Lucy, Ben, Declan, Margie, Nate, and Phoebe. And Croft, of course. And me and Angie.

Declan had seated Margie in the corner and was talking to her in a low voice. He'd slung Ben's jacket around her shoulders, and a half-full glass of water sat within easy reach. She still looked dazed and pale, but she seemed to be responding to his questions.

Dr. Dana's husband and sister stood by the front window. Nate put his hand on Phoebe's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She shrugged it off without looking at him.

My aunt was perched on the edge of a chair and sprang to her feet when she saw me. “Is it . . . ?”

“She's gone,” I said, holding out my arms for a hug.

“I know that,” Lucy said, sounding almost annoyed as we embraced.

I blinked in surprise. She was usually a bit of a delicate flower. Still, I knew what she was getting at. “We don't know what happened yet,” I said noncommittally, and stepped back.

Her eyes shot to Angie, and her eyebrows rose. “What are you doing here?” Lucy's unusual bluntness spoke to her state of mind.

Angie looked uncomfortable. At Lucy's question, all eyes in the room had gone to the woman Croft had asked to leave the premises.

Croft himself looked livid, his face dangerously red. “Well?” he demanded. “I'd like to know that, too.”

Angie Kissel held up her palms. “I only wanted to talk to Dr. Dana.”

Silence greeted Angie's statement, stretching into
several seconds before being cut by the sound of approaching sirens.

Lucy whispered in my ear. “I'll be right back.”

My surprise turned to understanding as she headed toward the restroom. Then it turned back to surprise as I saw her veer toward the back room, where Ben was keeping an eye on the body.

But Croft was already hurrying to open the front door for a bevy of uniforms, and no one else was paying attention.

What is my dear aunt up to?
I wondered.

*   *   *

“I came back to talk to her,” Angie was saying again, this time to Detective Peter Quinn. “She needed to understand the kind of damage she could cause when she gave terrible advice to people who respected and trusted her. Heaven knows how many relationships she sabotaged. But I never would have . . .” She trailed off.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow but didn't look up from the old-school notebook he was writing in. I'd met him for the first time shortly after moving to Savannah. He'd tried to pin the murder of a horrible old lady on Uncle Ben, and no way could I sit still for that. Over the last year and a half the detective's hair had become significantly more salt than pepper. If anything, it made him even more debonair. He always dressed well, and tonight he wore a suit that matched his gray eyes, and a crisp white shirt. His shoes gleamed with fresh polish.

Soon after he'd arrived, Lucy had strolled casually from the back of the store, Ben close behind her. Quinn had talked to Ben and Margie so far, which hadn't taken long but had certainly turned his attention on Angie. Now he was interviewing her, while I sat unobtrusively on a stool behind the Fox and Hound checkout counter.

Perhaps I moved and drew the detective's attention, or perhaps he'd known all along that I was sitting there, but he looked up and snagged my gaze. When he'd first walked into the bookstore and gave me the evil eye, I'd been a little worried. After all, this wasn't the first—or even the second—time he'd answered a homicide call to find me nearby. We'd butted heads a few times, yet I'd also helped him clear some cases. The result was a tenuous friendship built on conflict, mutual respect, and the occasional bribe of a Honeybee pastry.

Now a ghost of a smile passed across his face, and he shook his head ruefully. That was much better than a scowl and an eye roll.

“Katie, why don't you wait over there?” He tipped his head toward the cluster of chairs.

I balked for a second but knew it was useless. As I slid off the stool and started toward where Lucy and Ben sat huddled with Margie, I heard Quinn ask Angie about her previous interactions with Dr. Dana.

Declan had gone out front to talk with some of his co-workers, who were wrapping things up from the perspective of the fire department. Ben's 911 call had brought out a ladder truck and an ambulance, just in case. However, the body would be transported to the morgue in a county van, and a pot of beef stew was waiting for the firefighters back at the station. In the meantime, Nate Dobbs had requested to see his wife, and two officers had led him to the back room. Phoebe went with him but returned after only a few minutes. Now she stood looking out the window like she'd been hit with a stun gun. The expression on her face brought a lump to my own throat as I turned toward my neighbor.

I sat down next to Margie and put my arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing, hon?”

She looked at me with a bewildered expression, but she nodded and gave me a little smile. “I feel better. That boyfriend of yours is good at his job.”

Warmth flooded through my chest. “He sure is. I'm glad you're feeling more yourself. Have you talked to Redding?”

“Uh-huh. He wanted to come downtown, but I told him to stay home. It's too late to call our regular babysitter, and his mother lives out toward Pooler. I'll be able to leave soon, won't I?”

“I sure hope so,” I said, eyeing the slight tremble in her hands. “Maybe I should give you a ride home.”

I thought she'd pooh-pooh the notion, but instead she nodded in relief. “That would be great.”

My heart ached for her. My neighbor hardly ever got away from her family to do something just for her, and now this had happened. I gave her another squeeze.

“Are they going to arrest that horrible woman?” she asked.

I glanced over to where Quinn seemed to be finishing up with Angie. “I don't know. Did you see her doing something suspicious?”

Her lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. “Like what? She was right there, kneeling over the poor thing when I walked in. But she wasn't supposed to be here, not after Croft told her to leave. She was so
mean
. You could tell she really hated Dr. Dana.”

“Katie, may I speak with you a moment?” Lucy said.

I patted Margie on the hand. “Detective Quinn will be done with us soon, okay?”

She nodded gratefully.

Lucy led me to the reading alcove in the children's section and spoke in a low voice. “Do you smell that?”

I sniffed. “The mulled cider?”

“No! Almonds.”

I tried again, then shrugged. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “I guessed you must not be able to. From what I've heard, not everyone can.”

My brow knit. “Lucy, what on earth are you talking about?”

Her eyes softened. “I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm not being very clear. After all the ruckus in the back room, I smelled almonds. But we didn't bring any pastries made with almonds, or even almond extract. Ben said Dr. Dana may have been murdered, so I got to thinking. I went back there, and Ben let me close enough to her body to make sure. The smell was much stronger the closer I got to her.” She gave me a knowing look.

“I still don't . . .” I flashed on an image of Sherlock Holmes. Yes, the Benedict Cumberbatch version, thank you very much, even if the Conan Doyle tale that came to mind was one of the old classics:
A Study in Scarlet
.

The scent of almonds, which only certain people were able to smell . . .

“Cyanide? Lucy, are you serious?”

Her grim expression showed just how serious.

Flushed face. And something about her mouth.

“No one uses cyanide anymore,” I said.

A stubborn expression settled on her face. “Well, I'm going to tell Peter Quinn.”