Ghosts & Gateaux

by Sara Bourgeois

  "Patrick!" I yelled as I stood up and ran from the room.

  I kept calling his name, and eventually, he met me at the bottom of the stairs. "What is it?" Patrick asked. "You're starting to sound like him. Guests are going to be here soon. You have to stop that caterwauling."

  "He's dead. Marcel is dead."

  "What? Come on. I was just talking to him. You know, this isn't funny. Fern, you're never going to get hired by anyone again if it gets out what a flake you're being right now."'

  "I'm not being a flake, Patrick. Marcel is dead. Somebody stabbed him. He's up there right now with a knife in his back."

  All of the color drained from Patrick's face. "You're not joking."

  "I'm not. We need to call the police."

  Patrick pulled his phone out of his pocked and punched three buttons. He stood there for a split second looking at me as if I was going to say I was joking at any second. When I did not, he hit the send button and put the phone up to his ear.

  He told the dispatcher what I'd told him. I could only hear his end of the conversation, but apparently, dispatch didn't like that we were still inside the manor.

  "Yeah, we're downstairs but we're still in the house," Patrick said. "Ma'am, I guess the killer could still be here. This place is huge. The New York Yankees could be up on the third floor and we wouldn't know it. Yes. Okay. Yeah."

  He'd collapsed onto the steps during the call, but Patrick stood up and motioned for me to follow him. First, he locked the manor's front doors, so no guests could get in, and then led me out of the house through the back door off the kitchen.

  We didn’t have to wait long for the police to arrive. In fact, I relaxed a little when I saw a familiar face. Mitch didn’t look nearly as happy to see me.

  "I didn't expect to see you here,” he said as he started up the back steps where Patrick and I were waiting.

  "I'm not sure why not," I responded. "I am... I was catering the Darlington Seance."

  Mitch just sort of harrumphed at that. To him, a completely non-magical person, the Darlington Seance was just a kooky Brookdale tradition. Weird people in a weird town doing weird things for fun. Of course, I'd have bet he didn't consider himself a weirdo even though he lived among us.

  "I'm going to go have a look at the body. Wait here. I need to take your statement before you go home."

  "Sure thing, Mitch,” I said.

  He was gone for a few minutes and returned. I watched as officers stood watch at the end of the long Darlington Manor drive. They were turning cars away as they arrived. It had to be a huge job because the cars had lined up as far as the eye could see. I wished I'd brought some De-Stress Donuts with me, but I couldn't have foreseen what happened. I was a kitchen witch, not a psychic.

  A few minutes later, Mitch returned. He walked down the steps between Patrick and me, and when he reached the bottom, he motioned for me to follow him. I obliged, and walked off into a grassy area behind the house away from Patrick and the other police officers. We stood obscured by some meticulously sculptured bushes shaped like different animals. The grounds of Darlington Manor were a wonderland during the day, but just then as the dusk was transitioning into full night, they seemed a little creepy. I'm the scariest thing in the dark, I said in my head. Still didn't believe it.

  "So, he was dead when you found him?" Mitch asked, skipping right over the pleasantries and into the questioning.

  "Yes."

  "And Patrick was the last person to see him alive?"

  "I assume the killer was the last person to see him alive,” I said. "Are you saying that was Patrick?"

  Mitch took a deep breath in through his nose. "Let me rephrase that. Patrick was the last person you know of to see him alive?"

  "Yes. He said that Marcel wasn't in the right headspace for the seance and that he'd requested a glass of elderberry wine. I took that up to him."

  "Why did you take him the wine?" Mitch asked as he wrote down what I'd said in a little black notebook. "Why didn't Patrick get the wine?"

  "Patrick said I should do it. I still don't know if that's because Patrick was just at the end of his rope with Marcel or if Mr. Love had demanded that I do it,” I said. "Marcel could be... challenging to deal with at times."

  "I'm aware," Mitch said. "Who else was at the manor at the time of the murder?"

  "As far as I know, it was just Marcel, Patrick, and me. None of the guests had shown up yet. I suppose there could have been manor staff around, but I didn't see anyone."

  "It looks as though someone dropped a glass of wine in the room. You mentioned taking him elderberry wine."

  "Yes. I dropped the wine when I walked into the room and saw his body,” I said.

  "Did you disturb the scene in any other way?"

  "I walked over to see if I could help him, but it was obvious he was already dead,” I said. "Oh, no! I contaminated the crime scene, didn't I?"

  "It was a natural thing to check and see if he was alive. I think most people would do that." Mitch's tone had softened somewhat. "Did you touch the body or the knife? Did you touch anything around him?"

  "No. I ran out of the room when I saw that he was dead. I went downstairs to tell Patrick, and he called you right away. Well, at first he thought I was telling some sort of sick joke, but when he realized I was being serious, he called you."

  Mitch finished taking a few notes. "Okay. I think that's all I've got for you right now. I'll contact you if I need to speak to you again. Don't leave town,” he said firmly.

  "Am I a suspect?"

  "Don't leave town. Okay?" Mitch said softly.

  "Okay,” I said, sensing that was all I was going to get from him.

  I got in the delivery van and drove down the long, winding driveway that led out of Darlington Manor. The police turning guests away held the traffic long enough for me to get out.

  When I got home, Gumbo was a little surprised to see me. "You got fired, didn't you?"

  "Worse,” I said. "Marcel love was stabbed to death before the guests even arrived."

  "You killed him?" Gumbo asked with mock shock.

  "No. I didn't kill him. Someone else did, but either way, the seance was called off. I gave my statement to Mitch and he sent me home."

  "Good thing you got paid in advance," Gumbo said.

  "Really? That's what you're concerned about?"

  "Yeah, and it's what you should be concerned about too. Who cares if that nasty old man is dead? He ruined people's lives for fun. I'd say he got what he deserves."

  "That's pretty cold,” I said.

  "It is what it is," Gumbo said before swishing his tail three times and then sauntering out of the room.

  Since my familiar wasn't going to be of any real help, I decided to call Jenny Mae. Professional issues aside, she was still my best friend.

  "Did you kill him?" Jenny said as soon as she picked up the phone. "What happened? Did he threaten to ruin your business?"

  "I guess it got back to you already."

  "Don't say anything. The FBI could be listening. I'm coming over now," she said.

  She hung up the phone before I had a chance to comment on the FBI thing or tell her that no, I hadn't killed Marcel.

  Knowing it would actually take Jenny a little while to get to my house, I slipped into the shower for a quick scrub. I washed everything essential as fast as I could, and then threw on my favorite sweats as soon as I got out. I wound my wet hair up and secured it at the back of my head with a clip just as the doorbell rang.

  "I didn't kill him,” I said as I opened the door for Jenny.

  "I mean, I didn't really think you had, but he was a nasty little man,” she said as she stepped through the front door into my living room. "Are you okay?"

  "I think I'm fine,” I said. "I'm a little shaken up over seeing a dead body. He was stabbed in the back with a spelled dagger."

  "Oooh, now that's interesting. Were you scared?" Jenny asked.

  "It was weird, but why would I be sca
red?"

  "Uh, Fern. Duh. You were in the house with the killer, right? The guy was alive and then you went upstairs and found him dead. The killer could have been hiding in a closet or just across the hall in another room. You were this close," she said and held up her forefinger and thumb," to death."

  I felt a trickle of cold sweat run down my spine. Until Jenny said something, I hadn't thought about how close I'd been to the killer. She was right, though, they had to have been in the house with Patrick and me. I wondered if they were still there when the police got there and had to escape, or if they'd snuck out before Mitch arrived and ran off into the woods surrounding the manor.

  "Let's just get some cocoa and watch a movie. I don't want to think about the murder anymore,” I said.

  "Does that mean we can't watch Practical Magic?" Jenny asked.

  "No, that's fine. We can watch it again,” I said as I headed into the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, I was stirring the cocoa and milk in a pan on the stove, and Jenny was fidgeting like she had ants in her pants. I tried to ignore her, but she seemed like she was about to burst.

  "What is it?" I finally asked as I added a hint of vanilla to the cocoa.

  "I know you didn't want to talk about the murder, but I was just wondering who you thought did it,” she blurted out.

  I had to laugh because she was like a kid who couldn't keep a secret. It certainly took the edge off the whole thing watching her wiggle around like she had to pee.

  “It’s fine. This Comforting Cocoa is working already and we haven't even had any yet. Just cooking it and smelling it is doing the trick. Anyway, I don't know who killed Marcel, but those tell-alls he was constantly putting in the paper made him no friends. I bet half the town wished they could wring the life out of him,” I said as I set my spoon aside so I wouldn't channel any murder thoughts into the cocoa.

  "Great, so most of the town of Brookdale is a suspect," Jenny mused.

  "Let's drink our cocoa and go to bed,” I said. "We can talk about this more tomorrow, and hey, you're going to be on time to work! Especially if you go ahead and crash here tonight."

  "I have my bag in my car,” she said. "It's too bad my Mom didn't get to see the Darlington Seance. I wonder if there will ever be another one again."

  "I'm sure the new head of the Medium Association will take over and hold it next year,” I said as I poured our cocoa into mugs.

  "Now, how about we fall asleep watching that movie?"

  The next morning, one of the bakery's first customers was Detective Landry. He was a frequent flier at the shop, so it wasn't an unusual occurrence. What was out of place was the scowl on his handsome face. Ever since the Praline Manor incident with Elizabeth's bridal shower, Mitch had been coming into the Blue Moon even more. He usually had a smile for me, and a few times, we'd come dangerously close to outright flirting. Judging by the look on his face, today was not going to be one of those days.

  "What can I get for you, Mitch?" I asked when he stepped up to the counter.

  "I'm here to talk to you," he said.

  "Okay, well, would you like some coffee and a pastry or donut?" I asked. "Your usual?"

  "I guess I'll take a large dark roast and one of those donuts with the red sprinkles,” he said. "Since I'm here."

  "Coming right up."

  I poured his dark roast into a to-go cup and put the donut in a paper bag. He didn't appear to want to sit down for the chat, so I figured it was an all-business-and-go type of conversation.

  "Here you go. On the house." I handed him the bag and stepped out from behind the counter. "Can we talk over there?" I asked and pointed to a corner of the dining area that wasn't full of customers yet.

  "Sure."

  We walked over and stood near the window. It wouldn't be long before someone came over and took those tables.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  Mitch took a sip of his coffee before he began. "I needed to make it clear to you that you are a suspect in Marcel's murder."

  "What?" I whisper yelled at him.

  "I'm sorry, Fern. I don't like it any more than you do, and I know it's a difficult thing to swallow."

  "So, what am I supposed to do? Are you going to arrest me? Because if you are, I think you should pay for the coffee and donut."

  "Fern, I'm not going to arrest you, but you need to keep a low profile for now. I'll update you on the case as much as I can,” he said. "It will be okay."

  Chapter Two

  Before I could get my head together about the murder suspect thing, the bakery's phone started ringing. Jenny was busy with a customer, so I grabbed it.

  "Blue Moon Bakery, how can I help you?"

  "I'm calling about the ad in the newspaper?" a young woman's voice said. "I'm Annie Moore, and I'm interested in the position."

  "Thank you for calling, Annie. I'm Fern Moonfall, the owner and the person who placed the ad. So, do you have any experience baking charmed desserts?" I was so distracted, I didn't bother to find out if she was a witch before I asked that question.

  She started laughing hysterically. "Oh, you're funny!"

  "So, you don't have any magical baking experience?” I said and tried to play it off like I was joking.

  "Ha-ha. No. I'm afraid that as much as I love baking, I can't exactly call it magical. I mean, maybe my husband would. If only magic were real," Annie said with a sigh.

  "Tell you what, we're kind of slammed right now. Why don't you come in and fill out an application, and we'll take it from there?” I said.

  "Oh, I have some questions," Annie protested.

  "Go ahead and come in to fill out the application. We'll either talk, or we'll set up a time to talk. I'm sorry, I just don't have time to chat right now,” I said.

  I wasn't trying to be rude, but if she had no magical ability, I couldn't hire her anyway. Plus, I'd just found out that I was a murder suspect, and my head wasn't exactly screwed on straight.

  After the phone call, I got started baking some Cheer Cupcakes. On my way into the walk-in cooler to get butter, I nearly ran into my Aunt Emma-Sue.

  She had an ability that only much older witches could learn, and that was to pop in and out of places. It was like teleportation, but Aunt Emma wasn't very good at it yet.

  That was evidenced by the fact that she had a box of eggs in her hands. "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "I needed some eggs,” she said.

  "So you popped into my walk-in to take some?" I asked.

  "No, I was trying for the grocery store. I ended up here by accident. Fortunately, you have what I need."

  "Anything else I can get for you?" I asked a little more harshly than I intended.

  "Something wrong, dear?" Aunt Emma asked. "And, by the way, if you're really offering, I could use a stick of butter as well."

  "I am, and you're welcome to the butter,” I said with a sigh. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it already."

  "Gossip? You know I stay above all that,” she said with a snort.

  It wasn't true. Aunt Emma loved gossip as much as nearly everyone else in Brookdale, but I wasn't going to call her on it.

  "Marcel Love died yesterday just before the Darlington Seance,” I said.

  "Oh, wow. Okay, I am a little surprised I hadn't heard about that, but I've had a busy morning."

  "That's not the worst of it. The worst part, for me anyway, is that I'm a suspect. I found the body, and I was there when he died. So I'm a suspect, Aunt Emma. Mitch came into the shop this morning to tell me to keep a low profile."

  "And I thought that man had taken a liking to you,” she said.

  "Marcel?"

  "No, silly, Mitch Landry. He comes in here all of the time making googly eyes at you," Aunt Emma said before making fake kissing sounds.

  "He just likes the coffee. A lot of people, including the police, come in here for coffee and donuts,” I said.

  "Oh, he's here for more than coffee and donuts. At least, I thought that he ha
d taken a shine to you."

  "He did say that's he'd keep me informed as much as he could, and he was kind about the whole thing."

  "Ugh," Aunt Emma said and breathed angrily out her nose. "That Marcel Love was such a wicked, meddling little man. Everything he touched turned to absolute... poop. Did you know he ruined my bridge club? One of his stupid letters set my friends against each other. You'd have thought witches would be smarter than that, but he got to them. And now, what if this nonsense affects your bakery? You've worked so hard and built this amazing business. I could put a spell on that detective to keep him away. He deserves it after not standing up for you."

  "No, you can't do that,” I said. "You might turn him into a goat or something."

  "I'd very much like to turn him into a goat," Aunt Emma said. "Would serve him right, it would."

  "We're not those kind of witches. We don't do stuff like that in our coven. You know that better than anyone."

  "I'm old enough that I can bend the rules a little, dear. I promise I won't turn him into a goat."

  "No. We're not going to do that. Thank you, though,” I said. "I am worried that everyone is going to think I'm a murderer. Or at the very least, they'll think I had something to do with it."

  "I can..." Aunt Emma started to say.

  "It's okay," I interrupted. "The truth is on my side."

  I also had a lead that Mitch wouldn't be able to follow. There was so much magic in the dagger that killed Marcel, but Mitch wouldn't be able to use that.

  I could.

  I could look into what had happened. Just to help out, of course.

  Chapter Three

  A timely occurrence coincided with my decision to help out with Marcel's murder case. The Darlington Manor called and asked me to come pick up my things. The crime scene had been cleared by the police, and they were in a hurry for me to clean up my mess.

  "Yes. I will be there as soon as my store closes for the day."

  "Very well," the person on the other end said. "No one but me is here today, so feel free to come in the way you did the last time. No need to knock or alert me to your arrival. There is another event at the manor tonight, so I trust that you'll make haste when you do get here."