Spells and Scones Read online

  “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 ap
ricots.”

  “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.

  Yip!

  Normally that would have brought a smile to my face, if not everyone else’s, but not this time.

  “The relationship between witch and familiar is like a marriage,” Lucy said in a low voice.

  A few beats, and then we all smiled. Not because she was right, but because we all knew that our connections with our familiars were stronger than marriage. They were a part of us. I couldn’t imagine in a gazillion years what it would feel like to lose Mungo. It would be like losing an arm, or a piece of my soul.

  And Angie had just given him up.

  “So . . . now what?” Jaida asked, ever the practical one.

  “Mungo assures me Angie Kissel is innocent. Quinn thinks she’s guilty and told me to stay out of this one.”

  Lucy and Mimsey exchanged glances. “Like when he was going to arrest Ben for killing Mrs. Templeton?” my aunt asked.

  Bianca said, “Peter Quinn dismisses anything at all paranormal as ‘woo-woo nonsense.’ It’s a blind spot.” She looked at me. “A blind spot you can see.”

  “Mungo wants me to help Angie,” I said. “He made that pretty clear.”

  In confirmation, he jumped up on the sofa with me. Normally, he wouldn’t dream of doing that, since I’d explained that there were people who were allergic to dog hair. But right now I needed the comfort of my little dog in my arms, and he knew it. Heck, he might have needed a little comfort himself. It was a pretty awful situation we were talking about, after all.

  The other witches were looking around at one another again, troubled.

  Mimsey, though, nodded emphatically. “Of course. There is a reason you were there when it happened. Ever since you’ve learned you are a lightwitch with a calling to the light, you’ve done the right thing.”

  “That’s because I felt like I had to.” My former mentor, Franklin Taite, had told me I had no choice but to serve the light. Recently, I’d learned he had greatly exaggerated that obligation.

  Exaggerated as in lied.

  “But I thought if it happened again I’d have a choice. That I could walk away from the darkness of murder.”

  Mimsey made a rude noise. “My dear, dear Katie. You need to pull your head out of the sand. Of course you have a choice. Everyone has choices, for heaven’s sake. But just because those choices are there for the making doesn’t mean there isn’t a right one to make.”

  Well, that gave me pause.

  “Why don’t you think of it as helping Peter Quinn,” Lucy said in that utterly reasonable tone of hers. “In the end, you want justice—and so does he. If Angie is innocent, you’re probably one of the best people to prove that. Besides, you’ve already started, what with following the victim’s sister into Croft’s and questioning her.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t . . .” I trailed off.

  Jaida snorted a laugh. “Oh, I saw you hightail it out of here as soon as you saw her. You might as well admit it. Even if you think you don’t want to investigate, you probably couldn’t help yourself in the long run.”

  I sighed. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  Mungo jumped up and licked my chin. I laughed and pushed him down. He ran back to his bed on the bottom bookshelf, and in doing so he dislodged a thin volume from the shelf.

  I reached over to pick it up and paused. Then I held it up for them all to see.

  It was one of the coloring books designed for adults that had become all the rage. Every single picture in it was of a dragonfly.

  Cookie swung her legs to the floor. “All right, then. That’s settled. Now—what do we do first?”

  Chapter 10

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Do you have any ideas?”

  “The radio station manager,” Mimsey said with authority. “His name is Bing Hawkins, and I’ve known him for years. Old Savannah family. His grandmama and I went to school together, and before he managed the station he was their advertising manager. He still handles my account.” Mimsey still worked at her flower shop most days. She said it kept her vital. Since Lucy assured me she didn’t use magic to keep her youthful vigor, I was prone to believe her claim.

  “I’ll give him a jingle tomorrow,” she went on, “and tell him you might be in the market for some radio advertising.”

  “Oh, Ben won’t like that,” Lucy said. “He’s the one who handles all the marketing for the Honeybee, and he thinks radio is too expensive.”

  Mimsey shrugged. “It works for me, especially around the holidays. And it won’t hurt to talk to Bing. You don’t have to buy anything, honey. Just get in the door.”

  “And find out about those letters Angie wrote,” I said.

  She pointed her finger. “Exactly.”

  “Want some company?” Jaida asked.

  I grinned at her. “I’d love some.”

  “My schedule is busy, but a lot of it’s paperwork right now. Let me know when you want to go, and I’ll see if I can get away.”

  “Deal.” I turned to Cookie. “Do you happen to know anything about the sale of that commercial building on the corner of Victory and Bull?”

  Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “That was before I started working in the business. I don’t even know if my company handled it. Why?”

  “Because Mrs. Standish told me Dr. Dana’s husband bought it, but he hasn’t moved forward with leasing spaces,” I said.

  Mimsey and Lucy exchanged a look.

  An ironic smile curved Cookie’s lips. “I can tell you why, but it has nothing to do with my job. Oscar told me.”

  I frowned. Her husband worked for a company that tested for environmental hazards. Things like . . .

  “Asbestos?” I breathed.

  “Nothing so dire,” she said. “Not so great, either, though. Black mold. It’s expensive to fix, and afterward there will likely need to be significant repairs to the affected areas.”

  I winced. “Sounds horrible. I’ll have to tell Mrs. Standish she lucked out on that deal.”

>   But as I rose to clear away the dishes, I had to wonder what Dr. Dana had thought of her husband’s business dealings. Something told me she wouldn’t have approved.

  * * *

  The ladies left, and Lucy and I shut off the lights. She locked the door that led to the alley and put the cash bag into the safe in the office, while I checked the pans of sourdough that were slowly rising in the industrial fridge. As I came back out with Mungo firmly ensconced in my tote bag, I saw someone silhouetted in the light coming through the front window.

  Someone very short.

  “Hi, Katie.”

  I flipped the lights back on to see that we’d neglected to lock the front door after the spellbook club had left, and Angie Kissel had let herself in. Mungo wiggled and grinned at her. Lucy came out of the office and joined me, her brow wrinkled.

  “I saw the closed sign, but it looked like you were having some kind of a meeting.”

  Yeah. About you.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, but then those other women left so I thought maybe . . . well, I wondered . . .”

  “If Katie could help you?” my aunt asked.

  I stifled a groan.

  Surprise flickered across Angie’s face. “Help me? How would . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “Ah, perhaps that’s it.”

  Lucy shot me a look, then turned her attention back to our visitor. “Why don’t you two sit down? I forgot something in the back.”

  Angie sank into a bistro chair. She wore an above-the-knee skirt with tights and boots and a light cabled sweater—all in brown. According to Mimsey, brown was the color of grounding, protection of familiars, and special favors.

  Is she invoking color magic? Or does she just like earth tones?

  “Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?” I asked, taking another chair and lowering Mungo down to the floor.

  He peered up at me with a question in his eyes, and then hesitantly padded over to Angie.

  Her face broke out in a grin, and she actually laughed as she reached down to scratch under his chin. “I came to see Mungo.”

  That horrible feeling of jealousy pierced through me. I set my jaw against it and reached down to pat my familiar’s back. As I touched him, I felt a zip! of electric energy hiss through me. Angie and I jerked our hands back at the same time.