Spells and Scones Page 3

  He rolled his eyes. “She probably only drinks rare water from an underground spring in the south of Monrovia.”

  I gave him a gentle pinch. “Be nice.”

  “I’m not the one who showed up late, insulted Croft, and then makes everyone wait while she gets her special beverage.”

  Ben shifted on one foot to lean closer to us. In a barely audible voice, he said, “I’m with you, Deck. Let’s get this show on the road. It’s getting late, and I’ve got an eight o’clock tee time at Crosswinds tomorrow morning.”

  “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Thanking you, my dear readers—and listeners,” Dr. Dana said. “How many of you listen to my nationally syndicated radio program?”

  Half the hands in the audience shot up, including Margie’s.

  “Wonderful! So that means many of you are already familiar with my husband, Nathan Dobbs, whom I often talk about on the program.” Her arm extended in a royal gesture as she smiled at the handsome man who had followed her inside. “Nate, the love of my life, and the reason I felt compelled to write this book.”

  One side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

  “You see,” Dr. Dana continued, “we’ve been together for twenty years, and during that time we figured out how to do marriage right! Every day we are so happy and grateful to have each other, and I wanted to pass on how we make that happen so that every one of my readers and listeners can unearth the same kind of bliss in their own relationships.”

  Declan gave me a squeeze and whispered in my ear, “I’m going to have to pick up a copy of that book.”

  “I don’t think we really need someone to tell us how to get along,” I replied.

  “Maybe it’s different once you’re married,” he said.

  I patted him on the arm but didn’t reply. Lately he’d hinted a lot about moving in together and sometimes mentioned future plans that included children. However, after my last disastrous engagement—a major reason I’d left Akron for Savannah—I was inclined to move a bit slower.

  “The key,” Dr. Dana went on, “is complete honesty.”

  Well, duh.

  “Trust. Radical Trust.”

  The way she said it made me envision the term followed by a trademark symbol.

  “My husband and I have no secrets whatsoever. I know everything he does all day long, and he knows everything I do.”

  Okay . . .

  The short woman who was sitting next to Margie laughed. Margie turned to look at her, mouth automatically pursed into a shh as if the stranger was one of her children. The woman ignored her.

  Dr. Dana looked down at the front row. Her eyes widened for a fraction before she licked her salmon-tinted lips and continued in a distracted tone. “We have GPS trackers on each other’s phones. We have lists of each other’s passwords—for everything imaginable.”

  The petite woman turned to look at the author’s husband. My gaze followed hers in time to see the unguarded look of distaste on his face before it was replaced with a smooth mask of disinterest.

  “And we regularly check each other’s texts and voice mails,” Dr. Dana said.

  The woman next to Margie shot to her feet. “That’s crazy!”

  The author blanched, then quickly recovered her poise. “On the contrary,” she replied. “It’s honesty.”

  “It’s an invasion of privacy!” the portly man who had so enjoyed the bacon jalapeño corn pones said. Unlike the dark-haired woman, he remained seated. However, his voice was deep and loud enough for everyone to hear. “And pretty awful advice, by the way. Just like the rest of your relationship wisdom. My fiancée was so insulted when I ran a background check on her—which, among other things, you advised me to do on your radio show—that our relationship nearly ended. Luckily, I backed off, and we’re married now. But I can just imagine what she’d think if I started reading her private e-mail.”

  I saw Sophie duck her head as if embarrassed.

  “Now, folks.” Croft started forward. “Let’s just settle—”

  Dr. Dana cut him off with a raised palm, and he stopped short. “No, no.” She shook her head at her detractor. “You don’t understand. Only by being completely honest and open with one another can you really make marriage work. Your wife must have been hiding something.” She nodded sagely. “In fact, she probably still is.”

  Now Sophie turned bright red.

  Declan murmured, “I take it back. We definitely don’t need her book.”

  The petite woman next to Margie stabbed the air with her finger. “Well, I called into your radio program, too. And I was dumb enough to follow your advice to tell my husband about something in my past. You know what, Miss Smarty-Pants marriage expert? I’m divorced now.” She sat down again and folded her arms across her chest.

  Margie stared at her seatmate with a wounded, bewildered expression. I knew later I’d hear my neighbor’s strong opinions about someone crashing a book reading for no better reason than to heckle the author—probably over a glass of her favorite pink wine. At least I hoped so. In fact, I wouldn’t have minded a glass of it right then. I cast my attention around the room, trying to get a feel for where things might go next. Ben was frowning, and Lucy’s face was worried. None of us were particular fans of Dr. Dana’s, but we all wanted things to go well for Croft’s sake.

  The talk show host shook her head and looked sympathetically at her critic. “Dear, I’m so very sorry. But a successful marriage cannot tolerate secrets of any kind. I’m afraid your divorce was—”

  Mungo let out a loud yip! and suddenly ran out from under the buffet table. Stunned, I watched him beeline toward the podium.

  Midsentence, Dr. Dana looked down and saw him coming toward her. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth formed an O of surprise before she opened it wider to scream.

  Chapter 3

  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.