The Cupcake Coven (6 page)

Mrs. Reese had made a hair appointment for April and picked her up on her day off. April wished she could repay the woman’s kindness and vowed that someday she would.

The salon was in North Hampton, and Mrs. Reese said she liked taking the scenic route so she drove down Route 1A next to the ocean. The view was breathtaking.

“Do you live near the beach?” April asked.

“Not within walking distance. We’re about five miles away.”

“I love the ocean. Maybe I live near the beach and don’t even know it.”

“Maybe. Does anything about it seem familiar to you?”

April frowned. “Not really. Nothin’ does.”

After a short silence, Mrs. Reese asked, “What do you like about the beach?”

“I don’t know. I guess I like watchin’ the boats and the seagulls. I like the salty air too…well, except at low tide.”

They exchanged knowing smiles.

“How about you?” April asked.

“I like how it’s always changing,” Mrs. Reese said. “Some days you walk along the sand and find tons of shells, seaweed and driftwood, especially after a storm. Then the next day it’s back to normal. It’s as if an etch-a-sketch erases the day before and gives you new things to look at with each new tide. It never gets boring.”

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

They grew quiet again. April’s mind wandered, as it often did, to what her real life might be like. She felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole when she stepped off that bus. Sometimes she still felt like she was wandering around in Wonderland. Why hadn’t anyone come looking for her? And why could she remember a story she’d obviously read at one time, but none of the details about her life today?

The police had said they’d keep an eye out for missing person’s reports and let Mrs. Reese know if any of them might pertain to her. So far, they hadn’t heard anything. That didn’t mean they weren’t doing their job—or that they were and sadly no one was missing her. She really needed to get down to the police station and take a look through the reports herself—if she could get there on her own. She didn’t want to impose on her case worker’s kindness and she certainly wouldn’t be getting on a bus anytime soon.

Mrs. Reese drove up to a salon called Tranquility Day Spa and parked in the small gravel parking lot. “Here we are.”

“I hope I remembered to thank you for doing this, Mrs. Reese.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Only about a dozen times.”

At this point, the least April could do was to be polite and appreciative.

“I think you’ll like my stylist. She’s upbeat and the music is too. Sometimes she dances to it as she waits for hair color to process.”

They tromped up the stairs and entered the bright lilac and silver salon. Two women were sitting in a couple of the hair chairs, chatting. Another stylist was working on a client.

Mrs. Reese approached the desk and another woman April hadn’t noticed before looked up.

“Hi, Danielle,” the receptionist said. She swiveled toward the two women who’d been sitting and chatting. “Hey, Lana. Your ten o’clock is here.”

The woman with bright red hair who must have been Lana hopped up out of the chair and strode over to them. “Hi. Is this the girl you told me about, Danielle?”

“Yes. This is April. Take good care of her.”

“Oh, we will. Are you going to wait for her?”

“I figured I’d do some errands and come back. Getting all that black out of her hair might take a while, right?”

Lana parted April’s hair with her fingers, assessing the job before her. “It depends on the color that goes over it. What color do you want, April? Brunette? Auburn? Or maybe a deep plum?”

April laughed. “Purple? Naw. I’d like to go back to my natural color, it that’s possible,” she said, cautiously.

Lana tipped her head and scrunched her nose. “It looks like a medium to dark blonde. Are you sure you don’t want something a little prettier?”

“I can’t afford to keep it up. If it ain’t pretty, it ain’t pretty.”

Lana shrugged. “Okay. You can always play a zombie in the upcoming 5K race.”

Mrs. Reese gasped.

“Does it pay?” April asked, totally brushing off the insult. “In cash?”

“I doubt it. I was just kidding. Do you need a job?”

“I sure do. But I need to be paid in cash.”

“Hmmm…do you live around here?”

“I don’t think so.”

Lana raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Mrs. Reese, who gave her a quick head-shake.

What was that about? Does she want to protect my privacy, or is there some other reason she doesn’t want people to know my situation?
Something about that head-shake made her wonder if she should keep her circumstances to herself.

“Okay. How long do you want to fart-around, Danielle? Stripping all this color could take some time.”

“Take whatever time you need. I have a book in the car. If I come back too early, I can read.”

“You got it.”

“Oh, and if she’s done first, have Isabelle give her a half-hour massage or basic facial or something.”

April whirled on her. “I can’t ask you to spend your hard-earned money on me like that.”

Mrs. Reese waved away her objection. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been wondering what to do with my tax return.” She glanced at her watch. “What do you think, Lana? Will two hours be enough time to ‘fart around’ as you so delicately put it?”

Isabelle called out from the chair where she’d been looking on, “Anybody who’s been farting for two hours ought to be going to the doctor, not doing errands.”

The bakery closed for the day. Rebecca flipped the sign over, and Dru thought he noticed her glance shyly in his direction. Truth be told, he was feeling a little shy himself.
Now what? Should I kiss her goodbye?
Somehow, the moment didn’t seem right. It would come out of nowhere. Yet he had kissed her already. Maybe he could put off leaving for a little while.

“Rebecca. Before I go, can I ask you a few questions—about Wicca and the coven?”

Her face brightened. “Sure. Let’s go into the back. Grab something to eat and I’ll pour us some coffee before I dump what’s left.”

As she lifted the heavy urn, he rushed to her side. “Let me get that.”

“Okay. I’ll get the food.” She let him take the urn from her. “What would you like from the display case?”

“I said I’d try not to eat the profits, but since there were no profits at all…” He caught the frown on her face and decided not to continue that conversation. “Uh…I’ve been eyein’ those lemon squares all day.”

She placed two lemon squares on paper plates and followed him to the kitchen.

He set the coffee urn next to the sink and returned for the milk and cream pitchers. “How do you take it?” he asked.

She slumped into one of the two chairs beside a small bistro table and dropped her head into her hands.

“I don’t know…”

He paused a moment. “You don’t know how you take your coffee?”

“Oh!” She leaned back and laughed. “I thought you meant—never mind. I take it with milk. No sugar.”

“I guess you don’t need sugar, ‘cause your sweet enough.”

She rolled her eyes, but at least she was smiling. “You being here…” she began. Then she waved off the rest and said, “What did you want to know about Wicca?”

“What were you about to say?”

“About what?”

“About my bein’ here.”

“Oh. Just that you make me feel better…and worse at the same time.”

Dru wrinkled his forehead. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You make me feel good about myself as a woman, but I’m such a dismal failure as a business owner. With you seeing that, I can’t deny it much longer.”

He sat across from her and covered her hand with his. “My momma had a sayin’. When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. Has it been like this for a while?”

She shook her head. “No. Never this bad.”

“That kind of leads into what I was going to ask about Wicca.”

She sat up straighter. “Please. Ask away.”

“Do you think
I
did this?”

Her brows shot up. “You? What do you mean?”

“Well, I ruined the spell and all. Do you think the goddess is gettin’ back at me?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged. “I…well…I guess I don’t know as much about the religion as maybe I should.”
And catching up on all the particulars is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Rebecca placed her hand over his. “The Goddess isn’t like the vengeful God of the bible’s Old Testament. She wouldn’t punish you. The worst that would happen is simply nothing.”

“In other words, the spell was a waste of time.”

“We don’t know that yet. And even if that’s the case, you did what was right for the good of all. That’s what the Goddess wants. A hotel fire would be so much worse than an aborted spell.”

He didn’t know if she was being honest or trying to make him feel better. “So, you’re sayin’ the goddess either answers your spell in the affirmative or she don’t. That’s it.”

Rebecca bit her lower lip. “Well, sort of. As long as you don’t try to do any black magic, you’ll be okay.”

“What happens then? Not that I’m plannin’ to try that, mind you. I’m just anxious to learn more about magic in general.”

“Well, the Witch’s Rede says it all. The quick version is, ‘Do no harm.’ If you willfully cast a spell to negatively affect or manipulate something or someone, it’ll come back on you three times. It’s called the law of three.”

“Hmmm. Sort of like Karma on steroids?”

Rebecca laughed. “Sort of. Believe me, you’re better off casting spells for good things for yourself rather than focusing on others. As they say, living well is the best revenge.”

Dru couldn’t hide his confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought I heard somewhere that spells shouldn’t be done for personal gain.”

Rebecca burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You’ve been watching too much TV. Witches who do spells for personal gain are
more
apt to be granted their wishes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they’re the ones who really want it. The more energy that’s poured into a spell, the better it works.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Visualizing the positive outcome is a big part of manifesting whatever will happen too. You’re better able to picture the exact outcome you want.”

Maybe I should visualize Shasta more.
“So how did you visualize your bakery succeeding?”

“I pictured a short line of customers coming to the cash register with dollar bills in their hands.”

“Maybe you should have pictured a whole crowd waving credit cards.”

“I was afraid to. Until you came along, I was by myself.”

He nodded, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t promise he’d be there for her. As soon as he found Shasta he’d be taking her home…one way or another. That thought made him desperately uncomfortable.
Of course she’s alive. I don’t know why she hasn’t called me, but I’m sure there’s a good reason.

Rebecca broke the uncomfortable silence. “I—um…I can sell some of the pastries tomorrow, but the bread is now ‘day old’. Would you like to bring it to the homeless shelter?”

He felt for her. How the hell could she stay open when all she’d made for two days was less than twenty dollars? And if she gave away day old bread, would that cut into her business? He had a lot of questions, but she didn’t seem to appreciate his asking them.

Well, hell. Someone had to point her in a profitable direction. He didn’t see her father helping—especially if he kept demanding his money back. Dru wished he could do a spell to make her old man forget about the loan, but that would probably be manipulation and it might harm the old coot. He wished he knew why her father suddenly needed the money.

As if she’d read his mind, she said, “About my Dad…He’s been, um…dealing with a personal situation.”

“And he’s dragging you into it?”

“No. Not really. He was doing so well with Gambler’s anonymous, and I thought his moving to casino-free New Hampshire was a sign that he’d really confirmed his commitment. But I have to remind myself there are always sports to bet on and a couple of tracks nearby.”

“Shoot. So you think he relapsed?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry.” He wished there was more he could do. He didn’t even know what to say. She seemed to squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he should just change the subject. “I didn’t realize you weren’t born and raised here. Where did you move from?”

“Massachusetts, near the Connecticut border. A lot of people come from Mass. We’re called Taxachusetts refugees.”

That gave Dru hope. It was entirely possible that Shasta came up here for the same reason. Tax-free income. Tax-free sales. Maybe she had a job and was just working really hard.
Too hard to pick up her cell phone though?
Probably not.

“What about your family, Dru? Are your parents alive? Do you have more siblings?”

“No and no. Shasta and I don’t know who our daddy is, and now that mamma’s gone we never will.”

Rebecca’s hand covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No need to fret. We had plenty of male role models growing up on the ranch. Our momma worked as a cook and housekeeper from the time I can remember. When she got sick, the owners took care of whatever medical bills we couldn’t. They treated us like family, and momma insisted she’d had a good life.”