The Cupcake Coven (3 page)

“Yes.” She waved him in. “Hurry, before anyone else comes by.”

He strode to the door and slipped around it like a cat burglar. She locked it behind him.

If anything, he was even handsomer than she remembered. His facial features were chiseled with angles and planes that created a handsome face with a masculine edge. A hint of stubble on his jaw added to his sex appeal.

They stood there just admiring each other for a long moment. Before it became too uncomfortable, she snapped back to reality. As if he had been mesmerized too, he quickly removed his cowboy hat.

“I have to keep an eye on some stuff in the back. Want to grab a cup of coffee and keep me company?”

“I’d love that,” he said.

She hurried to the kitchen and let out a long
Whew... Why does he have such an effect on me?
She mentally snorted.
Three guesses and the first two don’t count.

He joined her momentarily and she pointed to a tiny round table and two chairs against the wall. “Have a seat. Want a bear claw?”

“As long as it’s not attached to the bear,” he said, grinning.

Damn. That cute cowboy charm will be the death of me.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do about that. They’ll be coming out of the oven in just a few minutes.” She wiped her suddenly damp hands on her apron. “I need to mix up some muffins.”

“Can I help?”

She swiveled toward him. “You know how to bake?”

He chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. But I’m a quick learner.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Don’t you have any help?”

She sighed. “No. I used to, but my assistant quit.”

“And left you in the lurch? That wasn’t very nice.”

“I wasn’t able to pay her what she was worth—and she got benefits at the supermarket bakery.”

“Oh. That sucks.” He closed his eyes and took a big appreciative whiff. “I’ll bet their stuff doesn’t taste half as good as yours smells. I’d work for free if I could live in your store room and stuff my face a couple times a day.”

Rebecca pictured him sleeping on sacks of flour and almost laughed. “Last night, you said you needed a job, right?”

“I did. Are you wantin’ some help?”

“Boy, do I. I can’t pay much, I’m afraid.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m about as cheap as they come. I was kiddin’ about living here and eatin’ the profits. I just need to pay for my room at the flop house.”

“The what?”

“I guess it’s what y’all up here call a boarding house. A place to lay your head and share a bath with half a dozen guys, but you can rent week to week.”

“That sounds awful!”

“It ain’t too bad. It’s kind of like the bunkhouse at the ranch back home.”

“You were a rancher?”

He nodded proudly. “I’m the foreman, and I was being groomed—pardon the pun—to take over as ranch manager when the current one retires. I got a nice little cabin to myself, but I started out as a regular ranch hand when I was sixteen and still goin’ to school.”

She set her hands on her slim apron-covered hips. “So what the heck are you doing here?”

His gaze dropped to his feet, and he scuffed the already scratched linoleum with the toe of his boot. When he lifted his head, his eyes were a little glazed, like he was trying to hold back tears.

“I wasn’t gonna tell ya, but it might be good to talk about it with someone other than cranky police detectives. I’m lookin’ for my sister. She was comin’ to New England to research our roots. I got one phone call sayin’ she made it here, then nothin’.”

“Oh, my Goddess! How long has she been—um, gone?”

“She’s been missing for three months. She was a senior at college in Austin and was just goin’ for a week over spring break. She was learnin’ about our family tree. At first, I thought she was probably just caught up in her research and gettin’ some leads that took her to different places, but she never answered any of my follow-up phone calls, e-mails, texts, nothin’. She’d never let me worry like that, and she wouldn’t miss her graduation, so somethin’ must be drastically wrong.”

“And you already talked to the police…”

“Yeah. But with her bein’ an adult and only one phone call sayin’ she was in Salem, Mass, they’re not knocking themselves out to find her.”

“Are you sure she made it to New England?”

“Yeah. They couldn’t trace the call from three months ago to an exact spot, but they narrowed it to the Salem area, so she definitely made it to New England—although one cop said she might’a been callin’ from Narnia.”

Rebecca noticed his accent had become thicker. Maybe talking about home and family brought it on, or maybe he just didn’t bother to hide it when he was upset. At any rate, she couldn’t help feeling for him and wishing she could help.

She rested her hand on his arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know. I spent a month in Salem, and I think I talked to every witch, wizard and goblin down there.”

Rebecca tried to suppress a smile but was only partially successful. “Goblin? Really?”

“Hey some of them people…they looked pretty strange.”

“Granted. So how did you end up here in a coven of witches? Are you really a solitary?”

He frowned. “I guess I am now. Shasta, that’s my sister’s name…she became a Wiccan in Austin. I started looking for clues there and began learning about the religion she believed in, hopin’ it would give me some insight.”

“Did it?”

“Maybe. I think I figured out what she found attractive about it…It’s like her, all nature-based, loving, and maternal-like. I just knew she’d seek out her own kind wherever she went. That’s probably what drew her to Salem, Mass. Until last night, I had no idea witches had so many names. I was just callin’ her Shasta around Salem.”

The timer buzzed and Rebecca had to stop and take out her bear claws.

“Can I help with that?” he asked.

“No. But as soon as they cool, you can arrange them on a clean tray and put them in the display case for me.”

“I’ll do that.”

She had to get her muffins mixed, but she hated to turn on the mixer and drown out their conversation. Oh well. She’d just have to raise her voice. Customers wouldn’t give her a break if the muffins weren’t ready, because she’d had to take a few precious minutes to comfort and get to know a new friend.

“So what brought you to Portsmouth?” She tossed the basic ingredients into a huge stainless steel bowl. “Did you get a lead?”

“You could call it that.”

She started the mixer and turned halfway so she could see him. “Go ahead and talk. I’m listening.”

He raised his voice accordingly. “A woman thought she recognized Shasta’s picture and used her ‘third eye’ as she called it to tell me where she’d gone. She said she’d left the state and gone north, but not too far. She guessed it might be in Portsmouth. She saw tug boats, some kind of tower that said “Navy” on it, and a submarine.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“There are charlatans everywhere,” Dru said. “But I’m pretty sure she was sincere and tryin’ to help. She didn’t charge me nuthin’. I’m almost positive Shasta was in Salem, Mass in March. A dozen or so people recognized her picture but hadn’t seen her for two weeks or more. One guy said she was askin’ about cheap rentals. He told her it was cheaper livin’ in New Hampshire, and she could always take a bus back to Salem when she wanted to.”

Rebecca’s batter was smooth, and she turned off the mixer. “So, that’s all you have for leads? Go north? And maybe she was looking for a rental in New Hampshire?”

“The psychic was pretty sure she was still on the seacoast. She said she saw her on a dock feedin’ seagulls.” He smiled sadly. “That would be her. Feedin’ vultures.”

Rebecca whirled around. “Vultures?”

“Sorry. That’s not very Wiccan of me. But seagulls are scavengers, right? They wouldn’t starve if nobody fed ‘em. But there she’d be with a big bag of day-old bread.”

She gave him a sardonic smile. “We call them flying rats.”

He laughed. It was a welcome sound considering how down he had been feeling.

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“Sure do. I tried to put up some posters, but a lady walked right behind me, tearing down each one. She said she was from the Keep our Seacoast Beautiful campaign or some such nonsense.”

He fished his wallet out of his back pocket. The picture showed a smiling blonde leaning against a fence, wearing a cowboy hat and plaid shirt tied above her waist, exposing a taut midriff. The hat was tipped back and showed a very pretty face with big blue eyes.

“She’s stunning.”

“Yeah, she got all the nice-looking genetic material.”

Rebecca glanced at him over her shoulder as she popped the muffins into the oven. “I don’t know…I’d say the looks are about equal.”

One side of his lip curled up. “Are you callin’ me purty?”

Rebecca laughed and her face heated, having nothing to do with the warmth of the oven.
Busted.
“Sorry. I guess that wasn’t very professional of me, especially if you’re going to work here.”

“You think I’m gonna sue you for sexual harassment? Ha! You can harass me any time you like, darlin’.”

She just about melted inside when he drawled the word ‘Darlin’’ as if it were an endearment. If only there weren’t a million other things on her mind…a handsome distraction was just that. A distraction. She had to focus on her business.
How was his working here a good idea again?

Case manager Danielle breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the homeless shelter’s psychologist. “Dr. Frampton. I’m glad you could come. I’d really like you to take a look at a young woman we’re calling April.”

He entered the case manager’s office and closed the door. “This case sounded interesting on the phone, so I cleared a spot in my schedule and came right over from the clinic.” He took one of the chairs opposite Danielle at her desk. “I was told she has no memory and no apparent trauma either?”

“That’s right. She was examined by an MD initially, and he felt she’d probably recover her memory on her own; however, it’s been a couple of months and…nothing.”

“You’re sure she’s not faking amnesia? Maybe hiding out here?”

“We’re not sure of anything, but she looked pretty lost when the police brought her over.”

“Where can I meet with her?”

“Sit tight. I’ll go get her, and you can talk right here in my office.”

Dr. Frampton leaned back and removed a small notebook from inside his suit jacket pocket.

In a few moments, Danielle brought in the pretty young woman who looked to be in her early or mid-twenties. She was almost too pretty. Fair, flawless skin, and raven hair gave her an edgy look, but it was clear black wasn’t her natural color. Much lighter roots were growing out. Her large blue eyes looked almost haunted. She stood in the doorway and waited.

Dr. Frampton rose and extended his hand. “Hello.”

“This is Dr. Frampton. Go on in, April,” Danielle said.

The girl looked at her imploringly. “Can you stay, Mrs. Reese?”

Odd. Or maybe not. Could she have been abused?

The director looked to Dr. Frampton and he nodded.

Both women entered and Danielle returned to her spot behind her desk. April took the empty chair. She didn’t move it farther away, but she never did shake his hand either.

He turned his seat toward her and studied her for a moment. Her long black hair looked slightly damp as if she’d recently showered. She worried her lips. Her blue eyes stared at him, as if searching for something, but not knowing what.

“Hi, April. I’m Dr. Frampton. A psychologist from Portsmouth General Hospital. I stop by every now and then to talk to the residents. How are you feeling today?”

“Okay,” she said meekly.

“I understand you came here a little while ago. Can you tell me what brought you here?”

“A police car,” she answered simply.

She’d pronounced the hard R. If she had an accent, an expert in linguistics might be able to pinpoint her place of origin. She certainly didn’t sound like a New Englander.

“What can you tell me about that day?”

She chewed her lip and looked sad. “I don’t remember much. I was on a bus.”

“Did you have a ticket?”

She shrugged. “I must have given it to the bus driver, but I don’t remember.”

“So, what’s the very last thing you remember?”

“I was on the bus. The woman next to me was sleepin’. When we stopped, the driver turned around and said, ‘Aren’t you getting off here?’ I looked out the window and didn’t know where I was but reckoned I’d figure it out once I walked around.”

‘Reckoned’. Definitely not New England.

“So, your very last recollection was being on the bus. Did you have any luggage?”

“There was a bag on the floor between me and the sleeping woman. I didn’t recognize the bag, so I left it there. I got off the bus, because the driver said it was where I was supposed to get off. Nobody was there to meet me, but I waited a while just in case.”

“And you don’t remember anything before that? Your name or where you’re from?”

“No, sir.”

Manners. That’s not very common among New England’s youth either. Maybe she’s southern.