Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (20 page)

 * * *

Bianca was due back at Moon Grapes. She pulled her Jag up to the curb in front of
the Honeybee. I got out and waved as she drove away. Someone had propped the door
of the bakery open, and warm, homey smells drifted out to the sidewalk. It was our
best way to advertise.

A customer waited at the register while Cookie frothed up a coffee drink behind the
espresso bar. I asked if he’d been helped, but it turned out the coffee drink was
for him.

“Lucy and Ben are back in the office with my replacement,” Cookie said.

I was stunned. “They hired her while I was gone?”

“Of course not. But you will. Hire her, I mean.”

Hmm
. But I wasn’t going to say anything about feeling railroaded in front of a customer,
so I pasted a smile on and clicked back to the kitchen on my heels. If I didn’t get
those things off my feet soon I’d be crippled for life.

Sure enough, my aunt sat in the swivel chair in the little office by the storage closet,
and Uncle Ben leaned his forearm on the tall filing cabinet. Nel Sandstrom sat on
Mungo’s usual chair, gesticulating with both hands.

“Oh, my, yes. I love to create cakes for people’s special days. I could whip something
up if you’d like to see my decorating skills. I also brought this to show you some
of the things I’ve done before.” She handed Lucy a legal-sized leather portfolio.

Lucy began flipping through a series of photos. Her eyes widened. “These are wonderful.
Oh! I love this one—the pond with airbrushed lily pads? Just lovely. Heaven knows,
I wouldn’t mind expanding that part of the Honeybee’s business. Katie’s too busy with
all her fabulous treats, and I simply don’t have enough time for elaborate wedding
cakes and the like.” She looked up. “Speak of the devil, here she is.”

Nel jumped to her feet. “Wow. It looks like I’m going to have to up my fashion game
if I’m going to work here. That suit is stunning!” She wore a knee-length denim skirt
with brown loafers and a white blouse covered with a cardigan. Her hair was in a precise
bun instead of a braid today.

Well, no one said you had to look like Cookie to work with us at the Honeybee. Maybe
Nel would add a kind of Aunt Bee flavor to the joint. I had plenty of questions for
her before it got that far, though.

“Thanks,” I said, “but hardly my usual work duds. Lucy, could you reach that duffel
for me?”

She extracted it from under the desk and handed it to me as Ben said, “Katie’s just
been to a political fund-raiser.”

“Um…,” I said.

“Well, good for you.” Nel grinned. “I avoid anything to do with politics as much as
possible. Keeps my shoes cleaner.”

I found myself grinning in return. “Isn’t that the truth. Back in a sec.”

“Sure! We’re having a grand time getting to know each other.”

Ben and Lucy both beamed. That was a good sign, at least. They were both good judges
of character.

After changing, I grabbed my orange skeleton apron and carried my suit bag into the
office. I laid it over the file cabinet so I could shut the door and then managed
to tie on my skeleton apron without elbowing anyone. The office was a tight fit for
four people. I remained standing, since I didn’t have any other choice. My feet still
hadn’t recovered from wearing high heels.

“Nel has lots of restaurant experience, and some very specific bakery experience,
too.” Lucy handed me the cake pictures she’d been looking at.

Quickly shuffling through the photos, I had to admit they were pretty impressive.

Nel nodded. “I love to cook, especially baking and developing new recipes. But I’ll
do anything you tell me to. I’d just like to get back into the atmosphere of a working
bakery.”

“How do you feel about early mornings?” I asked, thinking of Cookie’s bleary arrivals
at o’dark-thirty for the last four months.

“I’m up with the chickens. Always have been.”

“I’m afraid we get up even before the chickens,” I said.

“Oh, that’s just an expression. I’m a very early riser.”

“Can you tell me a bit more about your baking experience?”

She’d run a small bakery more or less single-handedly in Athens, though she’d never
been to pastry school. She had, however, attended a cake-decorating academy. I had
to agree with Lucy that it would be nice to be able to offer more of that specialty
to our customers, and the truth was I was more interested in flavor than in creating
a piece of art, and truly good decorators were fine artists. The more we talked, the
more I could see why Lucy and Ben had already taken to her.

“Let us call your references, and we’ll get back to you,” I said once I’d asked everything
I could think of. She seemed perfect, but I still had a few reservations about hiring
someone with even a peripheral connection to the Dragoh Society.

“There’s one more thing you should know, Katie.” Lucy’s smile was almost smug.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Nel is Wiccan.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So she understands the kind of herbal ‘help’ we sometimes give our customers,
and we don’t have to be secretive about our other magical activities.”

I looked at Nel, who nodded with a bright smile. “I’ve always practiced solitarily,
but it’s nice to be around other people with similar beliefs. I love the idea of working
with other witches, in the kitchen if not elsewhere.”

Did she know what her father had been? Probably—at least that he was a druid, even
if she didn’t know he was a member of the Dragoh Society. It would be ideal not having
to sneak around. Working with Cookie had been so convenient in that regard, and Nel
was far more qualified as a baker.

I opened the door. “I’d better see if Cookie’s overrun.”

We all trailed out through the kitchen to find her sitting at one of the bistro tables
alone. A woman typed on her laptop by the bookshelf, but otherwise the place was devoid
of customers.

“Where is everyone?” Nel asked.

Cookie shrugged. “Just a lull. We’ll be hopping again in no time. What’s the verdict?”

“Well…,” I said.

“We love her,” Lucy said. “I knew I would when you recommended her, you clever girl.”

“But—,” I said.

“Good.” Cookie stood and took off her apron. “Because I am on to my next big thing.”

“And what would that be?” I heard my wry tone.

“I’m going to work for Xana Smythe at the gallery.”

“That was fast.”

She shrugged. “That’s the way it goes, right?”

For her, sure.

“Xana needs an assistant. I can start tonight if I want to. And I do.”

Nel took off her cardigan and picked up Cookie’s apron. Tying it on, she said, “What
would you like me to do first, boss?”

Lucy was grinning so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. “Isn’t it marvelous how things
work out? How everything happens for a reason?”

Ben raised his eyebrows, watching me.

I’d been about to protest, but Lucy’s words gave me pause. My whole move to Savannah,
starting the Honeybee, learning I was a witch, my new friends—all of it had come with
a big dose of serendipity.

So I smiled back. “Welcome to the Honeybee, Nel.”

Ben nodded his approval. “Follow me, my dear. It’s time for a lesson in all things
espresso.”

Serendipity was wonderful, and Nel’s portfolio was impressive, but good business was
good business. We ran a small, intimate shop, and checking her references was only
practical.

Armed with a double cappuccino with extra-dry foam, I slipped into the office and
shut the door. Our new employee was out front learning barista skills, and the sourdough
sponge wouldn’t need to be mixed for a while. Opening the file cabinet, I extracted
the file of job applications. It contained only four completed forms, and one of them
was Nel Sandstrom’s.

According to the information on her application, she’d worked at the Halcyon Bakery
in Athens, Georgia, for almost nine years before returning to Savannah. She’d listed
the owner as a professional reference, which was a good sign.

I reached for my cell phone so Nel wouldn’t inadvertently pick up while I was talking
to her old boss, and propped my feet up on the desk. Ah…bliss.

A man answered with a simple “Hello?”

“Is this the Halcyon Bakery?” I asked.

“I own the Halcyon. David Talbot. You’ve reached my cell phone.” His voice was deep,
his vowels round and full. A Georgia native.

“Ah.” I explained who I was and why I was calling.

“Well, we just loved working with Nel. Everyone was sorry to see her go. I’m glad
to hear she’s found work again in the field she enjoys so much.”

“Would you say she’s reliable?” I asked, thinking about Cookie.

“Oh my, yes. Showed up on time—or early—every day. Rarely called in sick. And I already
miss her creative approach in the kitchen.”

“Sounds like you’d happily hire her back again?”

“In a heartbeat.”

I thanked him and hung up, feeling happily satisfied.

The Honeybee phone rang. I grabbed it from the cradle. “Honeybee Bakery.”

“Katie?”

There was a click as someone out front picked up, too.

“I’ve got it,” I said, and heard another click as they hung up. “Yes, this is Katie.”

“Just the person I was hoping to talk to. This is Andersen Lane.”

I sank into the desk chair. “Andersen. Hello.”

“Have you had any luck since we spoke yesterday?”

“I wouldn’t call it luck. I met Brandon Sikes, saw his horrid artwork, and now he
and Cookie Rios appear to be an item. Steve says Brandon was at Heinrich’s the night
Dr. Eastmore was killed, so unless he’s lying—which I’m pretty sure he isn’t—or Heinrich
and Brandon were in cahoots, that’s a bust. Victor Powers was in town Friday, however.”

“For his grandson’s party. Right.”

“How did you know that?”

“I was there. We all were.”

“All the Dragohs?”

“Except Larry. And I do wish you’d stop bandying that word about.”

“So you didn’t see Dr. Eastmore that evening?”

“He said he would be late, but he never showed up at all.”

“When did the party start?”

“About three thirty in the afternoon. Everyone got there a little early, so we could
surprise the birthday boy. Then it broke up around seven thirty. Why?”

I sighed. “Detective Taite told me Dr. Eastmore was struck at his home sometime after
five o’clock in the afternoon, when a neighbor saw him, and two o’clock in the morning,
when he died in Johnson Square.”

There was a long silence.

Oh, dear. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know about that.” I took a deep, bracing breath and
went on. “Your friend was hit over the head at home, but managed to get to the square
before he died.”

“I see,” he said after a moment. “Well, that complicates things, I suppose.” He sounded
sad and tired.

“I’m afraid that birthday party ends up being part of everyone’s alibi.
You’re
part of their alibi.”

“Only for a few hours. The others might be lying.”

They might be, sure. But why would Carolyn Powers lie about Victor staying home all
night? I didn’t know her, though. As a woman behind a powerful husband, why wouldn’t
she lie?

Hard to think the same thing about Steve.

“Andersen? I have to ask.”

“What?”

“Where were you after the party?”

“I went home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t stop by your friend Larry’s to see why he didn’t come to the birthday
party?”

“I’m afraid not. You’ll just have to take my word.”

Though I didn’t particularly care for Andersen Lane, it was hard to believe he would
drag me into investigating his friend’s murder if he was the killer.

I changed the subject. “Any luck with a spell to counter the Necretius summoning?”
Unlike
Dragoh
, I didn’t like saying
Zesh
out loud.

“Unfortunately, no. I did gain access to the collection last evening, not in a terribly
legal way, mind you. But I need one more book to complete the counterspell. This afternoon
I spoke with Larry’s son, Greer. The police have given their permission for him to
stay in his father’s home, but he refuses to let me in. He’s being quite stubborn
about it.”

“Well, heck. Now what?”

He hesitated. “I was hoping you might be willing to talk to him. Use your powers of
persuasion. Get him to let you see the collection, ask to borrow something. The book
I need is called
The 33 Curses
by Anton Maestrada. It may be able to help us.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why on earth do you think Eastmore Junior would give me something
he won’t give you?”

“Because he doesn’t like me, and he doesn’t know you. I’m not suggesting that you
tell him anything—about your coven or your knowledge that his father
was a member of the society. Didn’t your aunt have some interaction with Larry? He
lent her a book, yes?”

“Yes,” I said with reluctance.

“Use that. Tell him you want to borrow the
Curses
.”

I groaned. “You sure aren’t afraid of asking people to do things for you.”

“Please, Katie. Will you at least try?”

“Oh, fine. What’s the address?”

Andersen recited it. After we hung up, I put my chin in my hands and thought. It made
more sense to ask Steve to go with me, but I was feeling uncomfortable about his recent
“We need to be together” speech. However, I didn’t want to approach Lawrence Eastmore’s
son by myself. Surely if I was simply trying to borrow a book for our “book club”
to read, then it wouldn’t hurt anything to invite a brawny firefighter to come along.
And he’d be off during the day again after tonight. Afterward I’d make him something
special at the Honeybee to pay him back for the excellent picnic grub on Saturday.

I dialed from the office phone again. “Declan? What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

 * * *

Mungo trotted beside me as I carried the bowl of salad next door that evening. It
was almost six thirty, and the remnants of the earlier clouds created another spectacular
sunset. Fireflies danced around my familiar’s head like an electric halo. His affinity
for them matched mine for dragonflies. Though there were fewer fireflies around in
late October, they still seemed to find him in the gloaming.