Spells and Scones (8 page)

When I returned to the Honeybee, the last two members of the spellbook club had arrived. Bianca Devereaux towered over the others, her long black hair worn loose, and an elegant, mauve-colored maxi-dress draped on her willowy frame. Of all of us, she looked the most like a traditional witch—Mimsey actually looked more like the fairy godmother in Disney's
Cinderella
. Bianca also had quite the talent for making money in the stock market, which nicely augmented the income from Moon Grapes, her wine shop on Factors Walk. I saw her familiar, a white ferret named Puck, stick his little pink nose out of the pocket of the jacket she'd slung over the back of her chair.

Cookie Rios was the last and youngest member of the group, and even though I knew familiars chose their witches, I couldn't help hoping that she'd left her king snake, Rafe, at home. She was originally from Haiti, her background in voodoo, but she'd turned away from that element of her life to focus on the kinds of magic the rest of the spellbook club practiced—until very recently, that is. Now she was slowly delving back into
some of Savannah's voodoo culture despite the concerns of her husband of less than a year.

She'd worked as a commercial agent for Quartermaine Realty for more than six months, and though she'd changed jobs every three months when I first met her, so far she wasn't showing any signs of restlessness. Today she wore leggings as well, though unlike Jaida's simple black ones, Cookie's were leopard print and worn with metallic leather ballet slippers and a swirling ochre top studded with fake jewels. It made her look older; though I had only a few more years than her twenty-six, I tended to think of her as a bit of a youngster. Still, she was a settled, married woman, while I'd practically been left at the altar in Akron.

I dashed over and gave them each a hug. “Hey. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Lucy said you needed us,” Bianca said with a smile, and that said enough.

“We just need to close things down so we won't be interrupted,” I said. “Then I'll fill you in on what happened last night.”

“Oh, I've already done that,” Mimsey said. “At least all the information your aunt gave me.”

“Well, that'll save some time,” I said wryly. “But I might have a few tidbits to add.”

“Do tell,” Jaida said, her curiosity evident.

“Oh, I will,” I said, and headed into the kitchen.

It was almost one o'clock. Of course, we could have added a few sales to the register if we'd stayed open on Sunday afternoon, especially in late November, but we had decided to draw the line. After all, if we'd stayed open until ten at night we would have garnered traffic from the after-dinner crowd, too, but there had to be some kind of a limit. Maybe we'd rethink things when we could hire
another full-time employee. As it was, Lucy and I worked a lot of ten- and twelve-hour days. That was one of the reasons why being able to add Iris to our roster had been such a boon. I loved my work—I mean, I
loved
it—but I couldn't work twenty-four-seven.

The spellbook club usually met on Sunday afternoons, and often at the bakery. We'd had a few meetings since Iris had been hired, but Lucy and I hadn't mentioned anything about a meeting today, and her interest was obviously piqued. As she chopped a pile of candied orange peel and dried cherries, she eyed the ladies in the reading area again and again.

“Better watch what you're doing,” I teased, donning a vintage apron from my collection arrayed on the back wall. “That knife's sharp.”

She blushed. “What's going on over there?”

“A little impromptu meeting,” Lucy said as she breezed by. “Why don't you go ahead home when you're done there, dear. We'll finish closing up.”

Iris looked disappointed. “I can stay if you need me.”

“Nonsense. You go on and enjoy yourself,” Lucy said.

The younger woman grimaced. “If you call doing homework enjoyment.”

I laughed. “It can be. I used to love coming up with recipes for class when I was in pastry school.”

“Sure. I bet you liked taking tests, too.”

Actually, I had, but I knew better than to say so. “What homework's on your docket this afternoon?”

She sighed. “I have to write a short story.”

“Really? I thought you were taking metalsmithing.”

“And graphic arts. And photography. And creative writing.”

I smiled. “Sounds like you're dipping your toe in a lot of waters.”

“I just can't make up my mind.” She sounded frustrated as she scooped the chopped fruit into a lidded container and set it aside on the big steel worktable.

“You'll figure it out. And you know how many times I've said you have a knack for baking—especially our kind. Those pumpkin spice cookies worked wonders this morning.”

She brightened. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “For the sister of the woman who was killed last night.”

That sobered her. “Well, that's nice to know.” She hesitated. “It's just that there are so many choices. What if I make the wrong one?”

Lucy passed by with a roll of paper towels and the disinfecting cleaner we used on the tables. “You'll make a new choice. Don't worry about it. Some of your decisions are going to be wrong. That's okay. Life teaches you how to live it the longer you do it.”

I stared after my aunt. Was that directed at Iris or me?

Lucy and I quickly tidied and cleaned after the last customer left. I'd already set up the sourdough levain to rise overnight in the refrigerator for a quick pop into the oven the next morning. Iris left, and we locked the front door and flipped the
CLOSED
sign.

Finally, I let Mungo out of the office, loaded a tray with goodies from the display case, poured myself a cup of drip brew, and joined the ladies of the spellbook club.

Lucy had already removed her Birkenstocks and tucked her feet under her on one end of the sofa. Her orange tabby was curled up in her lap, purring contentedly.

“Well, hello there,” I said to the feline. Mungo put his front paws on the chair and the two familiars touched noses.

My aunt smiled. “Ben brought her by after his golf
round. I feel like I haven't spent enough time with her lately. Will you be okay?”

“Of course!” I said, though I could already feel a tickle in my nose. I adored Honeybee. It wasn't my fault I was so allergic to cats.

Mimsey sat in the smallest chair, her sensible heels barely brushing the floor. Cookie lounged sideways in the other one, her legs draped over the arm. Jaida had settled in next to my aunt. They had been working out logistics for Thanksgiving dinner—which was coming up fast.

Lucy smiled at me. “Guess what. For the first time, we'll all be together for the holiday. Mimsey here was just telling us that Wren is spending the week with her mother in Europe.” Wren was Mimsey's granddaughter. My aunt continued. “And Cookie and Oscar have decided not to travel to Florida this year, so they'll be joining us, too.”

I couldn't help grinning as I looked around at my fellow witches. “That's terrific.”

“Ben will smoke the turkey,” Lucy said. “And I'll make the corn bread dressing and mashed potatoes with collards.”

Mimsey said, “I'll bring my sweet potatoes with bacon and pecans. It's actually my mama's recipe.”

“That sounds fantastic!” Cookie said. “I'll bring salade russe—a beet salad that my family always makes for the holiday. I imagine you're on dessert duty, Katie?”

I set the tray of pastries on the coffee table. “Sure. We'll have plenty of pies to choose from. And count on me for sourdough rolls, too.”

“God,” groaned Bianca as she eyed the tray of pastries. “All this talk of food, and then you tempt us with all those yummy muffins and cakes. I love this place, but
sometimes I wish you and Lucy had started a health spa or a juice bar. You two are murder on my waistline.”

I rolled my eyes and didn't even bother to comment. Bianca was tall and slim enough to be a model, with a natural elegance that simply would not permit any damage to her figure. It wasn't that she ate like a bird; she simply enjoyed her food slowly and deliberately. Now I watched as she licked a bit of maple buttercream from the edge of a peach cupcake and rolled it around in her mouth.

I, on the other hand, was often so busy baking and serving that I forgot to eat. My stomach grumbled, and I snagged one of the Greek scones that were my current favorite before taking my place on the other end of the sofa next to Jaida.

Jaida leaned forward and put her empty mug on the table. “Okay, Katie. Spill.”

I took a deep breath. “You know Dr. Dana was murdered, and that Lucy figured out she was poisoned by cyanide.”

Mimsey nodded enthusiastically at my aunt. “Well done, dear.”

Lucy smiled. “It was just luck.”

Bianca tapped her temple. “And smarts.”

“Detective Quinn confirmed her, uh, diagnosis earlier today,” I said, and filled them in on our conversation.

Cookie impatiently jumped in. “Katie, why have you been called to remedy this situation?” The vestiges of a Haitian accent lilted around her words.

I was quiet.

Lucy's eyes narrowed. “You've been keeping something from me.”

I looked at Mungo. His eyes urged me to tell them.

“Margie Coopersmith found Dana Dobbs.”

Cookie waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Your neighbor.”

“And Angie Kissel was kneeling over the body,” I said.

“Right,” Jaida said. “Sounds like she's the prime suspect. Do you think she did it?”

I looked at Mungo. “No.”

Her gaze sharpened.

I said, “Unfortunately, not only did Angie confront Dr. Dana in front of her fans at the Fox and Hound last night, but I found out she'd followed her several times and attended at least one other event.”

“When did you learn that?” Lucy asked.

“Just now. Next door. That was Phoebe walking by on her way to Croft's,” I explained to the others. “She was looking for her lost wallet. Anyway, I went over to offer my condolences, and she told me that she'd been planning to get a restraining order on Angie.”

Lucy nodded. “Dana Dobbs said something about that last night.”

“Right. Well, Phoebe also told me that Angie had been writing letters to the radio station here in Savannah where Dr. Dana records her syndicated advice show. Angie was trying to get the manager to dump the show.” Then I told them about the letter-writing campaign Angie had threatened.

“Okay, motive for sure,” Jaida said. “Though I admit it's a pretty long way from writing letters to killing someone.”

“I agree,” I said. “But then Croft kicked Angie out, and she came back, only to be found in a rather suspicious position over Dr. Dana's dead body.”

“Opportunity,” Jaida said. I could tell the lawyerly part of her was enjoying this bit. “So what was Kissel's beef with the victim?”

I related what Angie had told me about how Dr. Dana's advice had ended her marriage.

Bianca's lips pressed together, and I could tell she was thinking of her own ex, who had left when she'd developed a strong interest in Wiccan spell work and moon magic.

Jaida nodded decisively, adding that bit of information to the rest. “What else haven't you told us?”

Lucy, as patient as Job, slowly raised her eyebrows. “There's a magical connection, isn't there?”

Mimsey swung her legs like a little kid. “Of course there is.”

“Angie Kissel is a witch.” I looked down at Mungo. “Or rather, was a witch.”

Lucy's eyes grew wide, while Jaida simply looked speculative, adding this new information into the equation. Cookie whistled.

Mimsey, however, frowned. “Do you think she might have used magic to murder Dr. Dana?”

I snorted. “Only if cyanide is magic. Last I heard, it wasn't.”

“However,” Lucy said thoughtfully, “it might be possible for a witch, say, an experienced hedgewitch with knowledge of plant extraction techniques, to obtain cyanide.”

Surprised, I asked, “How?”

“Oh, it exists naturally in apple seeds and peach pits, as well as other stone fruit seeds—like cherries and apricots.”

“I guess I've heard that. But only in tiny amounts,” I said. “Nothing lethal.”

“There are ways to extract it and concentrate the effects—both mechanically and magically.”

I blanched. “Good heavens.”

“So,” Jaida said, and reached for a brown butter
scone. “More opportunity to go with the motive if Ms. Kissel specialized in hedgewitchery. Do you know?”

I shook my head.

She tipped her head to the side, her wise eyes boring into mine. “Do you think you're being called to right a wrong involving this Angie person? Because I have to say, you don't seem all that enthusiastic about it.”

I looked away.

“Katie, how do you know she's a witch in the first place?” Lucy asked the question no one else had thought to.

“She told me.”

“Why?” Cookie said bluntly.

I washed down the scone with a swig of lukewarm coffee, taking my time. “Because she figured out right away that I'm a witch.”

Alarm crossed all their faces.

“Because of Mungo.”

All eyes turned to him. He responded with a panting grin.

“He used to be her familiar.”

Complete silence descended over the group.

Puck nosed his way out of Bianca's sleeve to look at Mungo. Rafe coiled out of Cookie's bag to run up her arm and take a look at my dog over the edge of the chair. Honeybee sat up on Lucy's lap.

“Well, I'll be dipped,” Mimsey breathed. She looked around at the other ladies. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

As one they shook their heads.

“Not ever in all my years,” Mimsey went on, “have I known a witch to give up a familiar and then have it go on to find another witch.” She seemed truly disturbed as she turned toward Mungo.