Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) (23 page)

She put her drink on the table and stood, moving to stand in front of the largest bookshelf with her back to me. Mungo popped to his feet, watching her. Dawn was beginning to creep through the blinds on the windows.

“You picked those particular cookies for a reason, didn't you?” I asked.

Her head bobbed, which made her ponytail swing back and forth. “I knew Ursula would eat at least one of them.”

The psychic had been right. She'd been the target, not Owen.

“Owen only ate half a cookie,” I said, hearing my voice rise. “If Ursula—or anyone else—had eaten much more than that, she might still be horribly ill. Or worse.”

“I know,” Althea whispered and turned to face Mungo and me. “And so does Detective Quinn. I confessed.”

“Good.” I hoped he would charge her with reckless endangerment at the very least. “Why Ursula?” I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, though. Althea had poisoned the cookies before she even knew about our planned séance with Simon; then she protested having the séance, and finally ruined it in the end.

She came back to the chair and sank into the cushions. “See, I hadn't seen Robin for a very long time.”

I bit my tongue and waited.

“I found I didn't really know him that well. But he's my . . . friend. So if he killed Simon because he'd fired him and embarrassed him, then I wanted to protect him. I believe in Ursula's powers, you see. Really believe. She's passed on advice from my own spirit guides.” She looked sheepish. “I don't always follow that advice, but at least I can get it with her help.”

“So you protected one friend by poisoning another,” I said.

Althea reddened. “I'm not proud of my actions. I have some issues. I guess you know that.” She sighed. “Heck, anyone who reads
People
or watches the news knows that. But like I said, I'm getting help. And Ursula forgives me.”

Mungo jumped up and put his paws on her knee. Apparently, he forgave her, too.

“Will you?” she asked, her voice timid. “Forgive me?”

Thoughts of Aunt Lucy and the Rule of Three crowded into my mind. I nodded. “Of course. And I wish you the best of luck in the future, Althea. I admire what you've decided to do.”

She stood, blinking back tears. “Thanks, Katie. For all that.” She shrugged her shoulders, not in dismissal but as if she were letting go of a great weight. It made me happy to feel like I might have contributed to that. I rose, and she moved toward me. She hesitated. I held out my arms, and she moved into the hug, awkward at first and then giving a good squeeze in return before backing off.

The rising sun cut through the window, illuminating the hope on her face with golden light. Looking down, she picked up one of those books that shouldn't have been sitting on the coffee table. “This caught my eye. Do you think I could buy it from you?” Then she seemed to think better of her words and dropped it back. “Never mind. That's silly. I can find my own copy.”

I picked up the book and held it out to her. “No, that's what the books in the Honeybee are for. Everyone can just take what they want, or bring what they want.”

“Oh!” She smiled. “Thank you!”

I led her to the door, unlocked it, and sent along my best wishes to Ursula as she left.

Rarely had I seen anyone so happy to get a free book. How lucky that Mimsey had
just happened
to bring in that title only days before.

The Creative Woman's Guide to Authentic Recovery
.

The friendly bell over the entrance to the Honeybee chimed, and I completely ignored it. Once again Lucy was brewing coffee drinks, Ben held reign at the register, chatting up customers, and I could concentrate on developing a new recipe for sweet brioche pizza. Finally, things were back to normal.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Lucy exclaimed, cutting through my internal debate over whether to include toasted coconut as a topping. “Katie! Come out here.”

I wiped my hands on my orange-and-purple paisley apron and walked around the corner of the refrigerator. When I saw why Lucy had summoned me, I stopped cold.

“Cookie!”

She grinned, and I rushed out to throw my arms around her.

“When did you get in?” I demanded. “Why didn't you let us know you were coming? We would have had a welcome-home party. Oh, well, we still can. Come on.” I pulled her toward the empty furniture in the reading area. “I want to hear all about your time in Europe.”

“Katie, wait!” She pulled back, laughing. The lilt of her Haitian accent was evident in those two words, and I realized how much I'd missed it.

I stopped. “You want something to eat?”

Still laughing, she shook her head. “No. I want you to meet Oscar.” She pronounced it Oh-scar.

I looked up to where she was pointing. A man stood by the front door. His dark shock of thick hair curled down to his bright hazel eyes, and his full lips curved into a blazing white smile. He was, simply put, gorgeous. I smiled a welcome at him and said in an undertone, “Oscar, huh?”

She nodded. “I met him in Paris. He's from the Dominican Republic. We have a great deal in common.”

“What happened to Brandon?” I asked.

“He didn't want to leave France,” she said. “And I did.” She flipped her hand in dismissal, and something flashed.

I grabbed her hand. “Is that an
engagement
ring?”

Eyes sparkling, she shook her head. “Oscar and I are married.”

I didn't know whose mouth dropped open wider: mine, Lucy's, or Ben's.

* * *

In celebration of Ben's return to the Honeybee, I'd taken Saturday afternoon off to tend to the neglected weeds in my garden. My uncle had been happy to cover for me, especially since he wanted to play his usual round of Sunday golf the next day.

Cookie had offered to be on call if we needed her over the weekend, as well. I didn't know if they'd call her in today, but I knew I'd have a hard time not getting her to at least stop by the Honeybee on Sunday—to answer the gazillion questions I had about her new husband, if nothing else.

Iris, Patsy's Goth stepdaughter, had taken me up on my invitation to stop by the Honeybee, and while there had filled out a job application. She was about to graduate from high school and had already been accepted at the Savannah College of Art and Design. Lucy and Ben had both taken to her, and heaven knew we needed some regular help. Iris was slated to start part-time at the bakery in two weeks.

A toad hopped out from under the sprawling leaves of the watermelon vine and stared at me with bulging yellow eyes. “Well, hello,” I said, and continued to pull weeds from around the tender base of the plant. So far I'd made it through about a third of the vegetable patch and still had the herb garden to weed as well. At the rate I was going, I'd finish the task about the same time Declan got off work at the firehouse on Monday.

The toad was good luck, however, a sign of cleansing and renewal in magical circles and simply a harbinger of good ecology in the scientific world. “Bring your friends,” I encouraged him, and moved on to tie up some indeterminate tomato vines.

Mungo sprawled on his back in the morning sunshine, napping after a big breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast and his favorite orange marmalade. The hot weather had faded away to unseasonable coolness, surely a temporary shift, which I welcomed nonetheless.

In my peripheral vision, my familiar rolled onto his stomach and turned his attention to the front of the house. Moments later I sensed rather than heard the gate open. Looking up from where I crouched on my knees, I saw Steve come into the yard.

Pushing myself to my feet, I brushed dirt from my knees and hands. “Hi.” It had been months since he'd stopped by the carriage house out of the blue. That, plus his recent declaration of affection, put me on my guard. I waited, rooted among my vegetables.

“Hey,” he said easily and strolled over to Mungo. My dog rose to his feet and allowed a scritch under the chin, but he'd never greeted Steve with the same enthusiasm he showed Declan. “Doing a little garden maintenance, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Take a break?”

“Okay.” I stripped off my gloves. We settled into mismatched chairs in the gazebo, and I offered him some lemonade from the sweating pitcher I'd brought out for the work.

“There's only one glass,” he said.

“I wasn't expecting company. But I haven't had any yet, so this is clean.” I filled it with lemonade and handed it to him.

“You don't seem that happy to see me.”

My fingers drummed on the table as I debated about what to say. “Steve,” I began.

He held up his hand. “Listen, I get it. In fact, that's why I'm here. I think I kind of scared you the other day. When I said I was still hoping?”

“Not scared. Just . . . Steve, you can't wait for me. I'm not going to change my mind.”

“I know. I needed to clarify what I meant. I'm not expecting you to dump Declan or change your mind. I know you guys are solid—maybe even more so now that he can channel spirits from the other side.”

A grimace sneaked onto my face before I could stop it.

Steve smiled. “He's not too happy about that, I imagine.”

“Would you be?”

His eyes widened. “Seriously? Of course I would. Imagine how useful it could be.”

“How practical of you.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway, he's not your run-of-the-mill firefighter anymore. I can see how that would bring you even closer together.”

“Declan was never run-of-the-mill,” I said quietly.

Steve shook his head. “I'm botching this. I'm sorry. All I wanted to say was that you don't have to worry about me waiting for you, because I'm not. I mean, if I meet someone, I won't hesitate. It's just that I haven't yet.”

I smiled.

“And honestly, it's hard to imagine who would interest me more than you do.”

My smile dropped.

He stood. “But someone will. I'm sure of it.” He stepped out of the gazebo and I heard him mutter, “And soon, I hope.” He turned. “Just wanted to clarify. Thanks for the lemonade.”

I stood and followed him out into the yard. “You didn't drink any—”

“That's all.” He was walking rapidly toward the gate now. “See you around.”

“Steve!”

He paused and waited with a pained expression for me to catch up.

“Did you know Simon Knapp was a sorcerer of some kind?” I asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“Did you? Was he a druid, by any chance? Is that how he knew Heinrich?”

He frowned.

I waited.

“I'm sure I don't have any idea what you're talking about,” he said. “I have to go.”

“But—”

Mungo gave me a wry look as Steve barreled through to the front yard and the latch snicked closed behind him.

“Well, that was interesting,” I said. “Do you think he was lying about Simon?”

Yip!

I heard the gate open again and looked up hopefully.

But it wasn't Steve returning. Instead, Ursula rounded the corner of the house, grinning ear to ear when she saw me. “Steve said you were back here. Hope you don't mind me showing up like this. Your aunt gave me your address.”

I waved her in. “How's your head?”

“Hard as stone, apparently.”

“How are you at weeding?”

“Lousy.”

I laughed. “How about drinking a glass of lemonade, then?” I indicated the pitcher still sitting on the table in the gazebo.

“Much better.” She laughed.

“Hang on. I'll get another glass.” I went into the kitchen through the open French doors.

When I returned, she was standing with her hands on her hips, examining the garden. “Katie, this is stunning. I've never seen a vegetable garden landscaped like this. Simply beautiful.”

“It's a potager garden,” I said, pleased. “I've added a few of my own design elements, but all plants are attractive, don't you think? And arranging them like this pleases me aesthetically as well as taking advantage of beneficial companion planting.” I bent and snapped a spent flower head off a marigold that was tucked in next to a cherry tomato plant.

“There's something else.” She paused, her eyes narrowing in thought. Or perhaps she was listening to one of her spirit guides, because suddenly she laughed. “You're a garden witch as well as a kitchen witch!”

“Um, yeah. It usually works that way,” I said, covertly checking the Coopersmiths to see if my neighbor was anywhere about. I heard Margie call to the twins through the open window. Relieved, I turned back to Ursula. “It's not something I advertise.”

“Why not?”

“Hmm. Well, I'm certainly not ashamed of it. But not everyone understands. And since Lucy and I practice at the bakery, I don't want customers to think we're doing anything weird to the food. All we do is harness the magical aspects that are already in the seasonings we use, even the food itself.”

She nodded her understanding and turned her attention to the gazebo, where I was pouring the lemonade. She stroked the bare wood, which was beginning to turn gray from the weather. “And this? It feels well guarded.”

“It is.” I didn't offer more, feeling strangely vulnerable. Ursula might be psychic, but she wasn't a witch. It wasn't that I didn't trust her—I simply felt private about my Craft.

Ursula pursed her lips, then nodded once. “Okay.”

I handed her a sweating glass, and she took a sip. “Mmm. Mint, too. Nice.” She folded her lanky frame onto the grass next to Mungo. “I'm here because I got a message for you that I promised to pass on.”

Three dragonflies winged past, heading for the tiny stream in the corner of the yard. A shiver ran like a mouse down my spine, and I sat down beside her. “Oh?”

“It's from Franklin.”

I bit my lower lip. “He came to you again?”

She nodded. “Yep. He said for me to tell you he's sorry.”

“About what specifically?” Though I could think of a few things, truth be told.

“That he didn't tell you more about what it means to be a . . . lightwitch?”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“I've never heard of a lightwitch,” Ursula said. “Anyway, he said you already know what you need to do if you pay attention.”

Great. More of the same.
“Did he say how he died?”

“Nope. But he said he's going to remedy his failure to properly mentor you before he passed.”

“How is he going to do that?”

“He's sending someone.”

“He's . . . Who? When?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Don't know. That's all he said.”

My shoulders slumped.

She drained her glass and got to her feet. “Listen, I have to meet Althea to drive back up to Dahlonega.”

I stood as well, and Ursula threw her arms around me, surprising me with the force of her hug. “Don't worry, okay? I don't know what a lightwitch is, but I can tell that Franklin is a good soul and he has good intentions. So do you, Katie.” Together we walked to the gate, Mungo padding through the grass behind us. She opened it and put her hand on my shoulder. “Really. Everything will be fine.”

I watched her stride out to her rental car and returned her good-bye wave as she drove off.

Mungo leaned against my leg, and I bent to pick him up. Snuggling him under my chin, I muttered, “The problem is that her idea of fine and mine might not be exactly the same thing.”

My familiar's soft pink tongue swiped at my cheek, and I had to smile.

“You're right. Even with all the crazy stuff, life is awfully good, isn't it?”

Yip!