Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (26 page)

“Right.” Quinn glanced over at his companion. “Well, we have an investigation to start.
Detective?”

Taite threw a fierce look at us and stomped up to the front door. A uniform let him
inside. I let out a whoosh of breath when the door closed behind him.

“Okay, what the heck is going on between you and my new partner?” Quinn demanded.
“I mean, you can be really irritating, Katie. I’d be the first to admit that.”

“Hey!”

“But he wants to put you in a holding cell until you tell him—what?”

I swallowed audibly. “A…You’re kidding.” I considered how much to tell Quinn. “Did
you know he came to see me at the Honeybee? He seemed to think I was involved in Dr.
Eastmore’s murder.”

He gaped. “He never said anything like that to me. He thinks
you
killed him? Good God, why?”

“Oh, no, I don’t believe he thinks I actually committed murder. Sheesh, at least I
hope not. But he does think I know more than I do. He seems to be obsessed with some,
uh, occult aspect of this whole thing.” The
best lies are full of truth. I stubbed my toe into the ground and shrugged. “At least
that’s what he said.”

Beside me, Steve made a noise in the back of his throat that reminded me of Mungo.

Quinn didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glanced toward the house and sighed. “Yeah,
he’s got a thing about tracking down spirits or vampires or something.”

“What
?” Steve and I exclaimed at the same time.

“I don’t know.” He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “I do my best not
to pay attention. The guy has obviously watched too many horror movies.”

I couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled to the surface. It choked out of me, followed
by another seconds later. Soon I was laughing so hard I had to gasp for breath.

Quinn cocked his head, watching me without breaking a smile. “Better take her home.
She’s hysterical.”

“Am not!” I snorted. Another wave of giggles swamped me. I bent over, trying to catch
my breath.

“Come on.” Steve took my arm and guided me to his car. Feeling the accusing eyes of
the crowd on me, I climbed in. Mungo stood on my lap, put his paws on my shoulders,
and licked my chin. That should have made me laugh, but instead my outburst of laughter
faded as Steve got in and we drove away.

“Sorry,” I said after a while.

“It’s all right. Been a long day—and night, for that matter.”

“I’m not hysterical.” At least not now.

“Okay.” He turned toward the Honeybee rather than heading toward my house. Good.

“I just feel so relieved.” I lowered the window and
hung my head out with Mungo, relishing the air moving through my hair.

I felt more than saw Steve looking at me. “Relieved?” he asked.

“Sure. Taite isn’t a witch-hunter, not a real one. I mean, vampires? Really? He’s
just a harmless dork.”

Steve drove in silence for a few moments. “A harmless dork who zeroed in on your coven
and the Dragoh Society within a few weeks of arriving in town. A harmless dork with
a detective’s shield.”

Well, when he put it like that I didn’t feel like laughing at all.

 * * *

By the time we got back to the Honeybee, it was late afternoon. I was glad to hear
Lucy had sent Nel home early since she’d come in earlier than scheduled to cover for
me. The bakery closed at five, and we found Ben checking supplies behind the espresso
counter while Lucy wiped down the kitchen and readied ingredients for the next day’s
baking—including all the extra goodies we had planned for the party.

Leaving Steve to tell my uncle why we’d been delayed, I pulled Lucy back to the office
to tell her that Greer Eastmore was dead. My gentle aunt listened with growing alarm
as I related the events of the day, twisting a damp dish towel in her hands over and
over until her fingers began to turn pink.

I eased the raveled fabric away from her. “Maybe you should sit down. There’s more.”

She sank into the desk chair with a resigned sigh. But when I went on to haltingly
explain that Steve had spent the night at my house because I’d been magically
assaulted and had been afraid of being attacked again, she responded like a trouper.

“We cannot allow anything like that to happen again,” she said, leaping to her feet.
“My goddess, your father would have my head if anything happened to you—not to mention
my sister! I do want to hear more about how Mother was involved, of course. Imagine!
Anyway, I’ll call Mimsey, and she can tell everyone else what’s going on, including
Andersen Lane.” She opened the door. “You’re spending the night at our place tonight.
Have Steve take you home, pack a bag, and drive immediately there. You know where
the extra key is if you get there before we do.”

It took a split second to decide. “Okay, I’ll take you up on the offer.” I cringed
at the thought of spending the night alone at my carriage house, and I couldn’t ask
Steve to stay again.

Wouldn’t
ask Steve to stay again.

“Ask Mimsey to tell Andersen I couldn’t get the book he wanted. That I’m sorry.”

She froze in the doorway, then turned. “Was it for the counterspell he was working
on?”

I nodded.

“Oh. Dear. All right. I’ll tell her.” Her jaw flexed in determination. “Don’t worry,
Katie. It’s all going to be okay.” She took three rapid steps and threw her arms around
me.

I hugged her back. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that, you know.”

She stood back and looked me in the eye. “Of course. We all need to hear that sometimes.”

I began gathering files and paperwork.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking a few things with me to work on tonight. Orders, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, Katie.”

“Druids or no druids, dead bodies or not, we’re running a business here, and I was
no help at all today.”

Shaking her head, she went back to the kitchen. I finished packing up and took my
bulging tote bag out front to find Steve sitting at one of the bistro tables with
Ben. His usual cappuccino steamed beside a plate of pumpkin spice cookies slathered
with cream cheese frosting. I slid into a third chair and snagged a cookie, suddenly
ravenous.

Ben frowned at me. “Steve told me what you found at this Lawrence Eastmore’s place.”

I nodded, mouth full.

“You okay?”

I nodded again.

“I don’t like it.”

Swallowing, I said, “Gosh, Uncle Ben. You think I like it?”

He opened his mouth, glanced at Steve, then closed it again and shook his head. “Of
course not.”

Steve drained his cup, grabbed another cookie, and stood. “You ready?”

“As can be. Mungo and I are going to stay with Ben and Lucy tonight.”

“Good idea. I’ll meet you out front.” The bell above the door jingled as he left.

As I rose to follow, Ben put his hand on my arm. “Katie, what happened with Deck this
morning?”

“Oh.” I sat back down. “It was just a stupid misunderstanding. What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Scott came in, though—you met him the other day?”

I nodded.

“He said Deck wasn’t planning on coming in here for a while. Scott said he was pretty
angry at you.”

“He is.” I passed my hand over my face. “But it’s not my fault, and I can’t deal with
it right now, Ben. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Declan, I really will.”

“When?”

I stood abruptly. “After the party.”

 * * *

It hadn’t been my imagination. The carriage house really did feel different. When
we walked in, I set Mungo down on the floor, but he didn’t move any farther into the
living room. Smudging with sage and juniper might have worked to get Heinrich’s heebie-jeebie
vibe out of the place, but it was going to take more than that to rid my home of the
evil metallic aftertaste from the night before.

“Do you feel it?” I asked Steve.

He made a face. “I do. Did last night, too.” Yet he’d stayed with me.

“I’m glad Lucy invited me over,” I said. “I don’t like it in here. And you know what?
That really makes me mad. I’ve loved this place since the first time I laid eyes on
it.”

Steve looked at me with sympathy. “I know. You’re sure you’ll be okay driving yourself?”

“Sure.” My fingers flew to my mouth. “Oh, Steve. You must have had other things to
do today. Interviews. Your column. Deadlines at the
News
.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and drew me toward him. “It’s okay. You’re more important.”

Well, that made me feel good and bad at the same time. More good, though.

The kiss on the cheek he gave me then was nice, too. Not as exciting as our kiss the
night before, but nicely…sane.

After Steve left, Mungo followed close at my heels as I quickly assembled clothes
for the next day. I’d need my working clothes, plus my costume for the party. I began
to throw another pair of sleep shorts and tank on the pile, then thought better of
it and added an oversized T-shirt instead of the tank. Turning toward the armoire,
I remembered my duffel was still out in the Bug. Grabbing the box with my unused wedding
dress, I went out to the driveway and dumped it in the backseat, then reached for
the bag.

With a sense of urgency, I rushed back inside to finish packing as quickly as I could.
Mungo, who had followed me out to the Bug, stayed on the tiny front porch this time.
I couldn’t blame him. I fished sweatshirt, makeup, extra toothbrush, hose, and the
heels I’d worn to the fund-raiser out of the duffel, replaced the toothbrush, and
piled in my clothes. Then I added a pair of high-top tennis shoes with good arch support
because this zombie bride wasn’t inclined to wear high heels while working a party.
Then I went into the bathroom to see what I’d missed.

It hit me then, hard enough that I had to sit down on the edge of the tub.

My hairbrush should have been in the duffel. It wasn’t.

Steve had said whoever had breached my protections the night before would have needed
a
piece
of me. Fingernails or
hair
.

And I hadn’t locked my car.

Forcing myself to my feet, I went back into the bedroom, grabbed my things, and went
out to where Mungo waited. As I locked the door I wondered whether I was locking something
out or something in. “Come on, sweetie. I bet you’re hungry. Lucy will have something
for you.”

“Katie! Wait!”

Margie hurried across her front yard to my driveway. I paused with the driver’s-side
door open, wondering what awkward questions I’d have to answer about the recent activity
at my house. “Hi,” I said.

“Oh, honey!” She flung her arms around me, almost knocking me over. “I’ve been so
worried. But you’re okay.”

I bobbed my head. “I’m fine.”

“Well, my heavens, girl.” Taking a step back, she pressed her palm over her heart.
“I was a little worried when your reporter arrived like his hair was on fire last
night, but then when both your men were here at the same time this morning, and you
didn’t go to work…”

I could tell my smile was pretty lame.

Margie’s forehead wrinkled. “And now you’re leaving?”

“Only for the night.” I hoped. “Staying with Aunt Lucy and Uncle Ben.” I scrambled
for a good reason and didn’t come up with one. “The Halloween party tomorrow.”

She stepped in, bless her heart. “Last-minute planning, eh? I get it.” She leaned
forward. “So what happened this morning? Did your fireman find out you’ve been seeing
the reporter?”

“Oh, Margie, I haven’t been keeping any secrets. But, yeah. Things did get a little
dicey today.”

Seeing my expression, she patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. You had to make
a decision sometime. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

That lame smile flitted across my face again. We’d developed a close friendship in
some ways, but as with Declan, there were huge parts of my life I couldn’t share with
Margie. It made for a special kind of loneliness sometimes.

“Thanks,” I said. “Mind keeping an eye on the place tonight?” Not that anything would
happen if Mungo and I weren’t in it, but it seemed like a neighborly thing to ask.

“Of course, darlin’. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?” She turned to go back home.

“Looking forward to those little costumes. And, Margie?”

She stopped, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Thanks for dinner last night. I had a great time.”

A big grin split her face. “Me, too, hon. We’ll do it again.”

By the time I pulled out of the driveway, I was already wondering how I was going
to get through the Halloween party while worrying the whole time about some crazy
druid casting the Spell of Necretius.

All of them had alibis, except for Andersen, yet none of those alibis were what I’d
call ironclad. Brandon Sikes could have left the Dawes home and then returned. Ditto
Heinrich. Victor Powers’ wife was his alibi, and wives were known to lie for their
husbands. Especially high-profile husbands.

Then an idea occurred to me as I drove. Would the
Dragoh Society consent to a meeting on Samhain? A meeting at which they were all present?
If only one was unwilling to stay with the other three for the duration of Samhain,
then he’d give himself away.

I pulled into a parking space and called Andersen Lane. If he could get them to agree
to a meeting, it might stop a murderous Dragoh from going through with the summoning
spell.

Lucy and Ben were already home by the time I made it to their town house. Mungo’s
head bobbed up and down in my tote as I walked up to their door. Of course I was juggling
the tote, my duffel, and a bag of garden greens I’d plucked from the fridge so they
wouldn’t go to waste.

The sun had set while I broached my plan to Andersen Lane. Since he hadn’t managed
to come up with what he felt would be an adequate counterspell, he was open to the
idea of having the Dragohs watch each other during the vital hours of Samhain. He
said he’d make some calls and get back to me. His willingness to meet with the others
helped assuage my suspicions about his motives.