Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (3 page)

Ben turned, reaching for the day’s mail, and saw me standing by the door. His eyes
lit up in greeting behind his rimless glasses. Shaking his head, he put down the envelopes
and came out from behind the counter.

“What are you doing back here on your day off, sweetie? I thought you were meeting
Deck for a date.”

“I guess you could call it that.” I didn’t like to think of our platonic picnic as
a date, but I could see how Ben would. Steve probably would, too—if he knew about
it. And for that matter, I couldn’t have guaranteed it would have stayed quite so
innocent if a dead body hadn’t intruded on our morning. Declan was so easy to
be with that I sometimes let my guard down. “Something happened, though. I thought
I should tell you before Peter Quinn does.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot up at that, but before I could say anything more, laughter erupted
from the far end of the Honeybee. Recognizing it, I leaned around my uncle to see.
Sure enough, Jaida and Bianca had stopped by for their usual Saturday lattes and were
sitting in the reading area by the big bookshelf. They were both members of the book
club my aunt and I belonged to.

The spellbook club—that was what my coven called itself.

The door opened behind me, and Mimsey Carmichael hurried in from Broughton Street.
Two steps into the bakery she saw me and paused, a grin crinkling the crow’s-feet
at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, good. I hoped you’d be working today.” Her indigo
slacks brushed the tops of alligator shoes dyed to match. A long vest in a lighter
shade of the same color hung gracefully over a crisp blouse as bright white as her
smooth pageboy.

“Actually, I just stopped in for a few minutes,” I said. “Did you need me for something?”

Mimsey peered up at me, her blue eyes twinkling. “Did anything interesting happen
to you this morning?” She was also a member of the spellbook club and a frequent visitor
to the Honeybee. Among other specialties, she favored color magic, and her attire
invariably reflected that. From my lessons with her I knew indigo was the color of
intuition.

I looked at Ben, and he raised his eyebrows in question. He wasn’t a witch, but since
he was married to my aunt he knew about our magical antics.

“I guess you could say that,” I said to Mimsey.

“I knew it!” Satisfaction spread across her face. “Or at least my shew stone did.
And Jaida and Bianca are still here? Good. Let’s get Lucy and Cookie, and you can
tell us all about it.” Cookie was not only the newest Honeybee employee; she was also
the youngest member of the spellbook club.

My uncle smiled. “Drop your stuff in the back and then come tell us all what happened.
That way you won’t have to do it twice.”

Mungo shifted against my hip.

“Right.” I headed for the small office at the rear of the bakery, wondering what Mimsey
had seen in the sphere of pink quartz—literally a crystal ball—that she called her
shew stone. Divination was an iffy business and open to plenty of interpretation.

I had to admire Ben’s ability to put his curiosity on hold. It was amazing, really,
how much he’d mellowed since retiring as Savannah’s fire chief and starting up the
bakery. I’d wondered whether he might find running a business a bit tame after so
many years of saving lives and property, but when I asked him about it he told me
his position as chief had become so much about administration and politics that he’d
welcomed the change.

With Mungo deposited out of sight, I returned to find that Lucy had finished with
her cake customer and was sitting with the others by the bookshelves. She beckoned
Ben and me over. As we made our way through the tables he greeted many of the customers
by name, briefly asking after one man’s family. Yes, this was the perfect venue for
his particular social talents. Even tourists who stopped in for a snack ended up feeling
like my uncle was an old friend before they left.

“I do believe Cookie’s nearly finished with her duties in the kitchen for a while
and will be able to join us momentarily,” Mimsey said. “Sit down and take a load off
while we wait for her.”

“Hi, everyone.” I sank gratefully onto the sofa next to Lucy. Ben remained standing
where he could keep an eye on the register and the front door.

My aunt, sweeter than was sometimes good for her, looked like a throwback to the sixties
with her batik print skirt and mane of blond hair streaked with gray. She was shorter
than me by several inches, and now patted my bare knee with a calm smile. “Glad you
could join us.”

The others murmured greetings. Mimsey took a seat on the sofa opposite Lucy and me.
On her left sat elegant Bianca Devereaux, a fortysomething single mom and practicing
Wiccan with an affinity for moon spells and making piles of money in the stock market.
She smiled now and said, “Mimsey has made us all quite curious about your morning,
Katie.”

In the chair next to the sofa, Jaida French cocked her head to one side. “Did something
happen when you were out with Declan?”

“We weren’t ‘out,’” I protested. It sounded weak, though, and she rolled her eyes.

“Where were you
not
out
, then?” She might be wearing jeans and a Bob Marley T-shirt right now, but Jaida
was a lawyer by profession. Interrogation came as naturally to her as the tarot magic
she practiced.

“Johnson Square,” I said. “Now wait until Cookie gets here, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Cookie Rios was the reason I was able to take this Saturday off in the first place.
Four months before,
she’d given up her job as an apartment manager and, out of the blue, asked to work
at the bakery. Lucy, Ben, and I had jumped at the offer. Business was going great
guns, and we desperately needed the help. Her addition to our staff freed up more
time for me to learn the Craft.

Each of the spellbook club members had been schooling me in her own magical specialty,
and I’d been attending the spellbook club meetings; for the most part our gatherings
really were about studying spells and spellbooks. I added to my personal grimoire—a
kind of magical journal where I recorded my spell work—every day, but I knew I still
had a long way to go. Gradually, I was getting a handle on some of the specifics about
practicing magic. It was really all about different ways to focus intention in order
to manifest change in the real world. Witches are naturally better at it, but magic
exists for anyone who wants to reach for it. The spellbook club practiced a gentle,
subtle magic.

Well, for the most part. A couple of things had surprised me during my relatively
short journey. Things like being able to direct energy to healing, or infusing my
voice with a Command. But we all believed in the Rule of Three: All actions and intentions
came back to you threefold—so it paid to be careful with your abilities.

“Ah, what is this all about, then?” Cookie’s slight Haitian accent lilted from above
and behind me.

I tilted my head and watched her come around to sit on Mimsey’s right. Her teensy
apron barely covered her miniskirt, but with those lanky legs and her graceful manner
Cookie could pull off the skirt-and-tank-top combo with an oddly tasteful sexiness.
She regarded
me with jade eyes that were a little too wise and a little too willing to break the
rules. Her lips curved into a smile.

“Mimsey, what did you see in your shew stone?” I practically whispered. We didn’t
usually talk magic in the bakery unless there were no customers to overhear us.

“Well, my stars!” Mimsey kept her voice low, though it trilled with excitement. We
all leaned closer. “It appeared to be an emergency, though of what kind I simply can’t
pretend to know. My dear little pink stone only indicated that you needed help, darlin’.”
She looked around at the others.

I pressed my lips together. “Your crystal ball is nothing more than a gossip, then.”

Her face fell, and Bianca gave me a stern look. I backpedaled. “I mean, yes, Declan
and I discovered a body under a rhododendron bush in the square, but that doesn’t
have anything to do with us. Long term, I mean.”

“What!” Ben exclaimed.

Heads all over the bakery turned toward us, and I felt my face redden. I scooted closer
to Lucy and motioned Ben to the cushion next to me. “Shh.”

He ducked his head. “Sorry.” He sat down and whispered, “A body? What happened?”

Glancing behind me to make sure no one was too close, I said, “Peter Quinn says it’s
a homeless man, but I don’t think so. Quinn has a new partner, by the way—Detective
Taite—and he seems to think the guy was homeless, too. But he didn’t even want to
admit the poor guy had been hit over the head, even though I saw the blood. Anyway,
the man Declan and I found
was wearing clothes with dirt on them, but he also had a nice watch and had recently
shaved. Except for his hands, he looked bathed and, well, healthy.” I made a face.
“Other than, you know, being dead.”

They all stared at me. I realized that after talking with Quinn, and then Taite, and
then Declan as he drove me and Mungo the few blocks to the bakery to pick up my car,
I perhaps sounded a little callous. But they didn’t know about the nice breakfast
now burning a hole in my stomach or the headache slowly building in my temples.

“Did Quinn tell you who the victim was?” Jaida asked.

I shrugged one shoulder. “He said the guy didn’t have a wallet. Didn’t seem all that
excited about giving me information.” I sat back and said in a louder voice, “And
that’s fine. It’s none of my business.”

“What else?” Mimsey said. The usual twinkle had left her eyes, and she kept her voice
so quiet I had to strain to hear her.

I couldn’t help but echo her low tone. “What do you mean, what else?”

“There’s something you’re not telling us.”

“Why would you say that?” I frowned.

“Because my shew stone says so. What are you leaving out?”

“Nothing! I mean…” But for some reason I didn’t want to tell them.

Bianca finally spoke. “If we are being called upon to help the unfortunate man who
died, you must play your part, Katie.”

Now I was the one staring at her.

“Is there something else, dear?” Lucy asked from
beside me. Her gaze radiated kindness. It worked better than the most forceful questioning
could have.

“Well…he had a tattoo.”

Cookie raised one eyebrow and exchanged looks with Bianca.

Ben turned in his seat to face me. “What did it look like?”

I raised my shoulders, still reluctant. “Like a wreath, kind of. With lines coming
out of it.”

“Was it black? Or that gray color you see in prison tattoos?” he asked.

“Prison?” I squeaked at the same time Lucy said, “Good heavens!” with her hand at
her throat. Heads turned our way again, and I swore under my breath. “How am I supposed
to know what a prison tattoo looks like, Ben?” I asked.

“Well, what color was it?”

The image was so clear in my mind, I didn’t really have to think at all. “It was green.
Dark green against his pale skin. And the lines were dark yellow. Amber.”

The bell over the door tinkled again. Two women were leaving. Ben called good-bye
and began to turn back to our conversation when one of our regular customers who made
the Honeybee his office away from home walked up to the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” Ben said, and hurried to take the man’s refill order.

I slumped back into the cushy sofa and held my palms up. “That’s it. There’s no more
for me to tell you. And I can’t imagine what that tattoo could have to do with your
shew stone, Mimsey.”

She didn’t say anything. The other ladies exchanged glances. Jaida said, “Could it
be a gang symbol?”

“He seemed a bit old to be in a gang, but you never know,” I replied.

Cookie shrugged and stood. “Probably some personal symbol, like mine is.”

“You have a tattoo?” Though I wasn’t all that surprised.

“Of course. I’d better get back to work. That sourdough sponge won’t mix itself.”
She paused as she walked away, her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be too concerned, Katie.
The dead rarely torment those who have not done them harm.” Then she continued on
to the kitchen.

Jaida laughed at my expression. “Don’t mind her. You know how dramatic she likes to
be with all that voodoo stuff.” She stood. “I’m meeting Greg for a late lunch at the
River House, so I’ll see you all later. Katie, don’t worry. Detective Quinn took your
statement, right?”

I nodded.

“That should be the end of it, then. But if you need me for anything, just give a
call.”

Bianca rose, too. Tall, with long dark hair and translucent skin, she was the witchiest-looking
of us all. She tended toward natural fabrics that flowed with her movements, and today
she’d chosen a layered silk dress in hues of lavender, violet, and mauve.

“I need to pick Colette up from the babysitter. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at
the book club meeting, okay?” She leaned down. “I am sorry to hear about your morning,
Katie. Just remember that death is but a passage onto another plane, and not a tragedy
by any means.”

Trailing her signature scent of cinnamon, Jaida winked at me as they passed by.

“Thanks, everyone—” I stopped as my eyes met Mimsey’s and I saw the deep worry there.

“Do you think you could draw that tattoo, Katie?” she asked.

Beside me, Lucy stilled at the tone of her old friend’s voice.

Mimsey pushed a piece of paper across the low coffee table, followed by a pen from
her purse. Nodding, I pulled them toward me and began to draw. Art had never been
my strong suit, but my memory of the tattoo was vivid and its design relatively simple.
Soon I’d completed a depiction to the best of my ability. I glanced at Lucy, who had
watched with great interest from her perch on the cushion beside me, turned the sheet
around, and pushed it back across the table to Mimsey.

My aunt’s eyes were wide, her gaze glued to my representation of the wreath. It had
three sets of two spokes emanating from its center to extend beyond the edges of the
stylized leaves. Mimsey stared down at it without moving at all.