Magic and Macaroons Read online

  She held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Gris gris,” she repeated, and her slight accent highlighted the word’s French origin. “G-r-i-s. It’s a talisman, of sorts.” She took a deep breath. “A voodoo talisman of power.”

  My hand flew to the silver ring I wore on a chain around my neck under my workaday T-shirt. In my short stint as a witch I’d already learned a bit about the power a talisman could hold. Mungo nudged my hand with his wet nose. He knew a bit about power, too. “What does it do?” I asked.

  One shoulder rose and fell. “It depends.”

  I paused, then plunged on. “Our visitor said something about a voodoo queen.”

  She looked away but didn’t say anything.

  “Any ideas?” I urged.

  By now the others had crowded close to listen. Cookie still wouldn’t meet my eyes, obviously eager to end the conversation.

  But I couldn’t let her, not yet.

  “Please, Cookie. This poor woman comes banging on our door, asking for me, says her uncle sent her, and then babbles something about a voodoo queen and some lost talisman I’m supposed to find. I have no idea who this uncle might be, only that he may be involved with voodoo somehow. Or not.”

  Finally, she glanced my way. “So that’s what she told you,” she said, her tone speculative.

  “Yes, and not much of anything else. So, what do you think?” My frustration leaked out around the words. I really wanted her advice.

  She leveled a cool green gaze at me and picked up her bag. “I think I no longer practice the religion of my childhood. I think I don’t engage in voodoo in any form.”

  “But—”

  Cookie held up her hand. “I think you need to take your questions to someone else.”

  Lucy put her hand on my arm, and my next words died in my throat.

  The door opened, and a strikingly handsome man entered. “Ready to go?” Oscar asked his new wife, glancing around at the rest of us with an expression that turned from mildly friendly to downright perplexed. “Or am I breaking up the party?” He looked at his watch. “You said—”

  “You’re right on time.” Cookie turned a dazzling smile on him. “There was a bit of excitement, which we’re all recovering from. I’ll tell you about it on the way home.” Without meeting anyone’s eyes, she hooked her arm through his, and they moved toward the exit.

  “Bye!” Bianca called. The rest of us remained silent.

  Cookie’s hand rose in a gesture of farewell, but she didn’t look back at us as they left.

  I stared after her. “Well!” I said.

  Lucy squeezed my arm once before letting go. “You know Cookie had some difficult times in Haiti. And you know her father’s death was related to him being a voodoo priest.”

  My shoulders slumped. “Of course. I wasn’t trying to make her feel bad or bring up bad memories. It’s just—”

  “We know, Katie,” Mimsey said, reaching for her purse. The energy in the room had definitely shifted.

  Lucy went behind the espresso counter and retrieved a towel. She went to the sofa and began dabbing at the wet splotch left from the water Cookie had thrown in the woman’s face. I watched as Honeybee followed her, leaping up on the coffee table and weaving between the half-full wineglasses without so much as touching a single one. The others began to wonder out loud about our visitor while at the same time moving to the Honeybee library to help clean up.

  “She seemed pretty determined to find you, Katie,” Jaida said.

  I winced. “Determined. Desperate. Something. Lucy, have you ever seen her in the bakery before?”

  My aunt looked up from her self-imposed task. “I’m sure I haven’t, and I have a good memory for faces.”

  “You do,” Bianca agreed, pulling the keys to her Jaguar out of her alligator clutch. “Katie, how did she know to find you here?”

  “Well, it’s not a secret that I spend a lot of time at work. Maybe the uncle who supposedly sent her is a Honeybee customer. But you’re right—I’m not usually here this late.” I frowned. “And I cannot, for the life of me, think of any of our regular customers who would fit the bill. It’s not like I advertise that I’m a witch.”

  “Maybe the uncle isn’t a customer.” Lucy paused in wiping the top of the coffee table with a dish towel. She looked up at Mimsey. “Could he be one of the druids?”

  I blinked. The spellbook club had a history with the Dragohs, a druid clan that had existed longer than Savannah had been a city.

  Mimsey pursed her lips in thought. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

  “I could check with Steve Dawes,” I said. He was Declan’s former rival and one of the Dragohs. We’d agreed to remain friends once I’d put the kibosh on romance, though that friendship came with a certain awkwardness. In fact, Steve’s joining the druid clan was one of the reasons I’d chosen Declan over him. The other, of course, was that I fell for Declan’s strength, gentleness, and humor. It also didn’t hurt that he was handsome as all get-out. That man had eyes so blue, a girl could drown in them.

  Never mind Steve’s eyes, a deep, warm brown, accented by long eyelashes that—

  Mungo broke in to my thoughts, wiggling in my arms to let me know he wanted me to set him down. Reluctantly, I complied. His little body felt solid and comforting in my arms.

  Once on the floor, he ran under the table next to the entrance. As I watched, he nosed at something brown and rectangular tucked back against the wall. Curious, I approached and knelt down. He nosed the item toward me.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said.

  Everyone’s head turned. Jaida, holding three empty wineglasses, paused on her way to the kitchen. “What is it?”

  “Her purse,” I said, stretching out on hands and knees in order to reach it. Mungo nudged it right into my palm. “Good boy! Thank you.” I drew it out and straightened up.

  Mungo wagged, You’re welcome.

  Lucy came over to join the others who had gathered around. I opened the metal clasp and peered inside.

  Our visitor wasn’t one of those women who kept everything including the kitchen sink in her bag. Unlike the ginormous tote bag I hauled around, which held everything from running clothes and a cell phone to my lunch and my dog, her purse was petite and had precise compartments. I was surprised there wasn’t a phone. Other than a wallet, the purse contained only a thin notebook, pen, comb, and pale pink lip gloss.

  I took the wallet out between my thumb and forefinger. Everyone’s attention focused on the thin leather. I ducked my head and opened it. The stranger’s pale face gazed out from behind the clear plastic window. She looked healthy, even happy, with a slight smile and friendly eyes that did not reflect any of the fear I’d witnessed within the past hour.

  I squinted at the writing by the picture, hard to read through the cloudy plastic. I could tell it was a New York driver’s license, but that was about it, so I removed the plastic card. My lips parted in surprise when I saw the name.

  Lucy leaned over my shoulder. A moment later I heard her gasp.

  “What is it?” Jaida asked, crowding close.

  “Her name is Dawn.” Dazed, I raised my head and looked around at the ladies. “Dawn Taite.”

  Mimsey’s eyes sparkled. “Taite, as in T-a-i-t-e?”

  I nodded and tried to work up some saliva in my suddenly dry mouth. “What do you want to bet her uncle’s name is Franklin Taite?”

  They exchanged glances, and I knew what they were thinking: Here we go again.

  Chapter 3

  Besides my family gift of hedgewitchery, which consisted primarily of garden and kitchen magic, the spellbook club had declared from the beginning that I was also a catalyst. That meant things sort of happened around me. Things like serendipity and coincidences.

  And dead bodies.

  Since I’d moved to Savannah, I’d been in
volved in four separate murder cases, and except for the first one, they all involved magic. Perhaps that one had, too—I was too new in the Craft to recognize whether Mavis Templeton was a witch or not, but she sure as heck had been evil.

  Then I’d been told that in addition to being a catalyst, I was also a lightwitch. It had something to do with battling black magic, blah, blah, blah. I’d never really understood it completely because the man who’d informed me of this “calling” had disappeared soon afterward.

  His name was Detective Franklin Taite.

  Now, hearing his name, Lucy groped for the back of a chair and sank into it. Both Bianca and Mimsey looked shocked, while Jaida seemed to be considering the consequences of this news.

  “Oh, my stars,” Mimsey breathed.

  Indeed. Because Franklin Taite had been dead for at least three months. Not that that was common knowledge. I knew only because he’d contacted me after he left Savannah, at least in a way. Granted, that way was through a psychic medium, who had, in turn, passed on a couple of irritatingly cryptic messages from the spirit world to me. But Ursula Banford channeled only the dead, ergo Franklin had to have crossed the veil by then. Which made a certain amount of sense, because I’d been unable to find hide nor hair of the man.

  I had told Lucy first, and eventually the rest of the spellbook club. The last message the medium had given me was that Franklin was sorry he’d left before really explaining what being a lightwitch was all about, but that he would send someone to mentor me.

  I’d kept that bit to myself. So far no one had suddenly appeared to explain to me just what I was, but now I wondered: Could Dawn be that mentor?

  I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around the notion. She’d been scared and desperate, apparently seeking my help, not offering any of her own. That didn’t preclude her from being the person Franklin had promised to send, of course. Circumstances changed.

  Boy, did they ever.

  Bianca glanced at her watch. “Oh, Katie. I’m so sorry. It’s after seven thirty, and Colette’s at a friend’s house. I need to pick her up.” She looked at me. “This is all very strange, but don’t you worry. We’ll figure it out.”

  Jaida nodded. “We always do.” She reached for her briefcase. “However, I’m meeting Gregory at Casbah for supper, and I’m already late.”

  I waved my hand. “Of course. Go on, you two. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I grimaced. “If you can.”

  Lucy stood and squared her shoulders. “I’ll call the hospital. Let them know who they just took away in the ambulance.”

  “I’ll swing by with her purse, if you want,” Jaida said. “They might want it.”

  “Um, right. Of course.” I stared down at the license still in my hand. Dawn Taite was an organ donor.

  I slid the license back into the battered wallet and the wallet into the purse, then gave it to Jaida. She leaned in and gave me a hug, and I breathed in the scent of cinnamon I always associated with her. It wasn’t until I felt the comfort exuding from her that I realized how badly I needed it. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and now a tremor shivered deep in my core whenever I thought of the despair in Dawn Taite’s eyes, of how she’d looked like she would scratch right through the window glass to get to me.

  What had Franklin been thinking when he sent her to me? When had he done it? And, for heaven’s sake, how had she gotten mixed up with voodoo?

  “Go home, Katie. Be with Declan,” Jaida said.

  I nodded. I, too, was going to be late for supper. After all that had just happened, I missed Declan like crazy, even though I’d seen him only that morning. “Good night.”

  Bianca and Jaida left together, and Mimsey helped Lucy and me with the last of the cleanup. The dishwasher was swishing away, and I had just texted Declan that I was on my way when the door to the bakery opened.

  I cursed myself for not locking it behind Bianca and Jaida, until I saw who it was. Detective Peter Quinn paused on the threshold.

  My phone pinged in my hand, and I read Declan’s response to my text.

  Quinn coming to see you. Should be there soon. No hurry.

  “Hello, ladies,” Quinn said. “When I stopped by Katie’s house, Declan said she was still at work, but I didn’t know I’d find you two here. Hey, Mungo.”

  Yip!

  Honeybee and Heckle, not usually the best of friends, had both tucked themselves into unobtrusive nooks in the reading area.

  At the mention of my boyfriend, I imagined him whipping up one of his patented firehouse recipes in the tiny kitchen of my carriage house. The thought made my stomach rumble, despite the recent drama.

  Mimsey marched up to Quinn and took his arm. “Now, Detective, we don’t need to cool the whole outdoors, do we?” she asked, tugging him inside and pushing the door closed behind him.

  He looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, darlin’.” She beamed a big ol’ Southern smile at him. “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

  “Now, Mims,” Lucy murmured. Then, “Peter, do sit down. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  Except back when he was accusing Uncle Ben of murder. But there had been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and most of it was friendly enough.

  Quinn’s lips twitched with amusement as he settled at a table. He was tall, with neat, close-cropped hair far more salt than pepper, and a deep tan. As usual, he was dressed impeccably and looked cool as a glass of lemonade, despite the unseasonably high temperature.

  I rose automatically, retrieved a plate, and put a mint julep blondie on it. “We don’t have any coffee brewed right now . . .”

  He waved off my budding apology. “I didn’t come for food, Katie.” He sniffed at the blondie. “Hmm. This smells awful good, though. Don’t mind if I do.” He took a big bite, and pleasure crossed his face.

  Lucy surreptitiously slipped her copy of Spells for Everyone behind the counter. Mine, thankfully, was already in my tote. Mungo ambled over and sat down, placing his paws on Quinn’s loafer. The detective reached down and scratched behind the terrier’s ears, and Mungo squinted his eyes in doggy bliss.

  “We’re just finishing up our sp— er, book-club meeting after all that excitement!” Mimsey said, plopping onto the chair beside him with an expectant look on her face.

  Quinn stopped with the blondie halfway to his lips. “Excitement?”

  Disappointment wiped away Mimsey’s smile. “You mean, you aren’t here because of the girl who collapsed?”

  His eyebrows raised. “Collapsed? When did this happen?”

  “Just now!” Mimsey said, looking to Lucy and me for confirmation.

  “I thought you were here because of that, too,” I said. “But you went to my house first, so you were looking for me, right?” I seemed to be much sought after this Tuesday evening.

  His lips pressed together. “I was. First tell me what happened. Who fainted?”

  I took a deep breath. “A woman showed up a little after six. She was looking for me. We let her in, but she seemed woozy. Disoriented, you know? But also frightened. She lost consciousness. It didn’t appear to be a delicate Southern swoon, Quinn. Anything but. Whatever knocked her out was serious.”

  He took another bite, interested, but, given his line of work, hardly shocked.

  However, his eyes widened when I continued. “Her heartbeat stopped, and Bianca started CPR. The ambulance came and they took her to Candler. Joe Nix—one of the paramedics?”

  He nodded. “I know him.”

  “Well, he told us she stopped breathing again before they left. So we don’t even know if she’s alive.”

  “She’s a friend of yours?” he asked in a sympathetic tone.

  “Nope. Never met her.” I took a deep breath. “But I found her driver’s license. Jaida is on her way to the hospital with it now. Qu
inn, her name is Dawn Taite.”

  Quinn’s head jerked back in surprise.

  “She mentioned her uncle sent her to see me,” I went on. “Do you think she could be Franklin Taite’s niece?”

  Detective Franklin Taite had once been Peter Quinn’s partner. I’d met Franklin over the body of a dead man Declan and I found when we were picnicking in Johnson Square.

  Quinn dropped the last of his pastry onto the plate and glared at me. “Dawn Taite? Damn it, Lightfoot. I should have known you’d be involved somehow.”

  Mimsey and Lucy shared a glance.

  I straightened my shoulders. “There’s no need to swear at me.”

  He blinked, but his expression softened

  “Involved in what?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “I just came from a rather, uh, mysterious situation.” He regarded Lucy and Mimsey, who were both leaning forward to catch his every word. “This is a bit unpleasant. Are you sure you ladies want to hear this, too?”

  “Pffft!” Mimsey said with verve. “We’re not wilting violets, Detective.”

  Lucy nodded her agreement, though with less enthusiasm.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “All right, then.” His attention returned to me. “A body was found in an empty warehouse out on Old Louisville Road. It didn’t have ID. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I didn’t need it.”

  Was that sorrow that flickered across his features before being replaced with his usual professional poker face? Or perhaps regret? Baffled, I waited.

  “It was Frank Taite.”

  My jaw dropped. “What?” I felt the blood drain from my face. A shiver started at the base of my neck and ran down the length of my back. Intellectually, I’d already accepted that Franklin had crossed the veil, but hearing it like this came as a shock. The man I’d come to reluctantly consider one of my mentors was definitely dead.

  “Oh, my,” Mimsey muttered.

  “But it couldn’t be—” Lucy began then clamped her mouth shut.