Ghosts & Gateaux

by Sara Bourgeois

  "Hello, Ruth,” I said and offered her my hand. "Thank you for coming in today."

  She smiled weakly and looked around the shop. It was interesting to watch her expression change as it sank in that she'd have to do real work at the bakery. I decided the best way to see what she was made of was to throw her in and see if she could swim.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  "Follow me, we're going to the kitchen,” I said and started for the back.

  "Aren't you going to ask me questions?" she asked nervously.

  "Questions come later,” I said. "First, we get our hands dirty."

  We walked into the middle of the kitchen and I stood at one of my prep tables. Ruth scanned the room again, and she once again wore the look of someone who knew they were in over their head. Still, she'd come in for the interview, and I wanted to give her a fair shot.

  "Okay," I said and rubbed my hands together. "We'll start with something simple. I would like you to make me a dozen Self-Confidence Sugar Cookies. I'd like them iced with a galaxy pattern."

  "Sure," Ruth said and bit her bottom lip. "Where do I start?"

  "That's up to you. This is your test. I want to see how you work in the kitchen. I'm going to go sit over there," I said and pointed to a chair near my office door, "and watch you do this on your own."

  "I don't know where anything is,” she said.

  "If you know your way around a kitchen, I trust you'll be able to figure it out,” I said. "I really need someone who can just dive right in and start working. So, let's see what you can do."

  For a brief moment, I thought Ruth was just going to walk out. She didn't, but I could see it on her face that she'd thought about it several times.

  In the end, she had to look up a sugar cookie recipe on her phone. I overlooked that part, but what I couldn't overlook was that the cookies were bland despite her having a very popular recipe. There was a trace of magic in the final product, but it was nothing I could call great. She hadn't had the self-confidence to pull it off, and Ruth hadn't been able to channel her inner strength to pull off the cookies. The galaxy design on them was beautiful, though.

  "You're a wonderful artist,” I said. "You'd make an excellent decorator in a regular bakery. Thank you for coming in."

  Given how beautiful her decorating skills were, I'd honestly hoped that Ruth could pull it off. She had ultimately proved that she wouldn't be a good fit for the Blue Moon Bakery, though.

  My next interview was with an older gentleman who had some experience doing chef work elsewhere. He was an excellent pastry chef, the problem was that he was a flicker. That meant he had a small amount of magical ability, but he could not control it well. I had him attempt to make some Bravery Brownies, and while the actual brownies were heavenly, there wasn't a trace of magic in them. I also had to tell him that he was not what I was looking for in an assistant.

  My last interview for the day was Newman Jones. He was a young kid, seventeen, and extremely enthusiastic. He produced some of the best Cheer Cupcakes I'd ever had. They were delicious and the magic was on point, but he broke about half a dozen extra eggs trying to make them. I wasn't sure if it was nerves or if he was just a very sloppy baker.

  "You broke a lot of eggs,” I said.

  "I'm so sorry, " Newman responded.

  "Your Cheer Cupcakes are exceptional, though. Other than the extra cost of wasted ingredients, this work is exceptional,” I said. "Why do you want to work here? And who taught you how to do this kind of magical baking?"

  "Um, I taught myself, ma'am," Newman said and shifted nervously. "My family want me to become a warlock, but I want to be a kitchen witch. The only way I'm going to be able to do that is if I learn the craft myself and find a way to support myself doing it."

  "Your family doesn't support your kitchen witchery?"

  "No, ma'am." Newman shifted his tall, lanky frame again. "They don't see this as manly enough, but I love it. This is all I've ever wanted as far back as I can remember. I started teaching myself to bake when my parents were sleeping about ten years ago."

  Newman was my favorite of the bunch, and he was also the only one that had produced baked goods that I could sell in the shop. The only issue was that he was ridiculously clumsy, and I already had Jenny knocking things over left and right. I was worried the two of them together might actually blow the bakery up. My inclination was to hire him on the spot anyway, but I decided to take a little time to think it over.

  "I really like you, Newman, and I think that with a little work, you could be a good fit here. Give me some time to make my decision, and I'll call you soon, okay?"

  "Deal,” he said with a huge smile.

  He pushed a lock of his blond hair away from his face and practically danced with excitement. I hadn't hired him yet, but I hadn't told him no either. He seemed to be thrilled just to have the chance.

  When Newman left, my mind drifted back to the murder investigation. Without the interviews to distract me, I couldn't help but start dwelling on Marcel's murder again.

  I went into my office, sat down at my computer, and found myself Googling Gardenia. I quickly found out that her talisman project was on display at the local art gallery.

  "I could go visit the gallery and see if I can find out anything else about the talismans,” I said.

  "Deputy Dreamy told you to stay out if it," Gumbo said from under my desk.

  "I can't get in trouble for going to an art gallery,” I said. "There's no harm in that. It's not even like a real investigation. It's just looking at art."

  "Keep telling yourself that, toots," Gumbo said.

  Despite Gumbo's warning to stay out of the investigation, I went to the gallery after work anyway. When I went inside, though, there were no talismans.

  I looked around until I found an employee dusting paintings in the back of the gallery. She didn't turn around when I said, "Excuse me." So I had to tap her on the shoulder.

  "Yes?" she asked when she finally turned around.

  "There was supposed to be an art installation here. My friend was showing a bunch of her talismans. They were handmade with metal and beads," I explained.

  "I'm sorry, but those were all sold,” she said. "We'll have a new exhibit next week if you'd like to come back."

  She almost turned around and went back to dusting. I could tell I was being dismissed.

  "So, that's it? Do you have any information on the exhibit, maybe? Were there pamphlets? I looked online, but I couldn't find out much about the talismans. That's why I came here."

  She took a deep breath through her nose and turned back around. I could tell my presence was annoying her. "They were purchased by a local hotel,” she said and exhaled through her nose again. Her nostrils flared.

  "Praline Manor?" I asked hopefully.

  "No, it was the Inn at 963. I don't know if they are going to display the informational signs that were displayed here, but they did take them with the purchase."

  "Thank you,” I said.

  She just grunted and went back to her work.

  The Inn at 963 was a high-end boutique hotel near the "downtown" area of Brookdale. Staying there required that you have a lot of money and be at least somewhat famous. I wasn't sure what went on there that people would try so hard to stay at a hotel in Brookdale when Praline Manor and New Orleans were nearby, but that was neither here nor there. Whether the rumors of secret societies performing rituals in the basement were true or the inn just had an amazing spa, I needed to see the talismans. I'd convinced myself that they held a clue to the murder.

  I got in my car and drove to the town square. After parking a block away from the hotel, I walked the rest of the way, cringing at how much flour was probably in my hair and on my clothes. If the woman at the gallery had treated me like a homeless person who'd wandered in to get warm, I could only imagine how the snots at the Inn at 963 would react to me.

  As soon as I walked through the front door, the desk clerk's head sn
apped up. She narrowed her eyes at me. "Can I help you?"

  There was no welcome in her voice. She clearly knew I didn't belong there, and had no intention of offering me any hospitality. "I wanted to look at the talisman art exhibit. I went to the gallery, and they told me it had been purchased by the hotel."

  "Are you a member here?" she asked in a tone that told me she already knew there was no way I was a member.

  "I'm not. I was hoping the exhibit would be open to the public. Gardenia's work is so beautiful."

  She rolled her eyes at me. "Even if it was open to the public, it wouldn't be open to you. We don't want the Inn at 963 associated with the murder investigation. Our guests have standards and expectations that we meet at any cost."

  I briefly considered asking for a manager, but they probably would have treated me even worse. It was obvious that my only choice was to turn tail and leave.

  Chapter Ten

  I stood out on the sidewalk in front of the inn thinking. I wasn't about to give up on the clue yet, and I mentally dug in my heels. I'd chase it until the end.

  What I needed was a way to sneak into the hotel. The problem was that even if I could do a glamour spell, the hotel had anti-spell wards in place. I wouldn't be able to fool the staff.

  I was pacing outside the front, expecting a security guard to come escort me away at any moment, when Newman walked up.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Oh, hi, Newman. How are you? I didn't expect to see you again today."

  "Well, my family owns this hotel. Sometimes I come by to see if my father or grandfather have anything they want me to do."

  "Your family owns the Inn at 963?" I asked hopefully.

  "Well, they own most of it. They’re major investors, and they run the place. There are a couple of silent partners, but it's mostly my family."

  "That's great news!" I said.

  "It is?"

  "Yes! Hmm... Okay, I'll just tell you. The hotel purchased an art exhibit. It's talismans made by Gardenia Strange. I went to the art gallery to see them, but they're here. I'm not a member, so I can't see them. But... okay, I'll just tell you. I think they might be a clue in Marcel Love's murder. I need to see those talismans. I think it might help me solve the murder."

  "They won't let you in to see them?" he asked.

  "No, because I'm not a member and because they don't want the inn associated with me. Because I'm still a suspect in Marcel's murder, but that's why I need to solve it,” I said. "You understand, right?"

  "If I take you in there, my family might get mad," Newman said. "They already aren't happy that I interviewed to work for you."

  "I know,” I said and my shoulders dropped in defeat.

  "I can go in, though. My family runs the place, like I said, and I'm here all of the time. They have a great gaming room that no one uses during the day."

  I thought for a moment. "Oh! You could take pictures of the exhibit for me."

  "I could do that. I could totally do that,” he agreed.

  "I'll go back to the bakery and wait for you,” I said. "You can meet me there once you have the pictures?"

  "Yes. I'll be right there," Newman said.

  I watched as he started to walk into the building. For some reason, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began to whistle loudly. He looked like cartoon characters did when they were obviously trying to sneak past someone. It was comical and absurd, but I wasn't worried. No one was going to stop him.

  Ten minutes after I got back to the bakery, Newman showed up. He had a huge smile on his face that let me know he'd accomplished his mission.

  Jenny was leaving for the day as soon as I got back, so I let Newman behind the counter. That way we could talk, but I could still wait on customers if any came in. Afternoons were normally really slow. That was when I got the bulk of my special orders done. With Jenny gone, and me not hiring a new assistant yet, though, I had to man the counter.

  "Did you get the photos?" I asked.

  "I did. Here,” he said and handed me his phone.

  I scrolled through the pictures. All of the talismans were exactly like the one I found except different colors and baubles. There was one missing from the glass case, though. Underneath the empty spot was a label that said the talisman was one that could predict death.

  "The one to predict death is missing,” I said.

  "Yeah, I guess it was stolen," Newman said.

  "Is there security footage? Could you get access to that? We could find out who stole it," I asked enthusiastically. It could be the thing that solved the murder.

  "The hotel prides itself on secrecy and privacy, Fern. They don't record guests, so there's no security footage. I'm sorry," Newman said. "They'd probably be ticked at me for taking photos in the art exhibit."

  "That sucks,” I said.

  And it did suck, but it was also another clue. It meant that Gardenia didn't plant the talisman at Marcel's house. Was it possible someone was trying to frame her?

  Chapter Eleven

  "Thank you so much for your help,” I said to Newman as I handed his phone back to him. "I think this makes us co-conspirators and friends now. I'd hire you right now, but I still want to sleep on it. I hope you understand. I tend to make impulsive decisions, but things are looking really, really good for you."

  "I hope so,” he said. "My family is really pushing me to pursue a proper warlock-ship, but I love food. I don't want to be the next great scion of my family. I just want to bake and cook delicious food. Hopefully, that's a way I can make people happy. That's what I want. I don't want power. I want to bring people joy. I think that's what my magic is best suited for, anyway."

  "I think that's a great way to use your magic, but I'm biased,” I said.

  "My grandparents, aunts, and uncles are all so high-class and rich. They want me to join them in that life, but my parents are so much more humble. My dad does some work at the hotel, but he and my mother own the grocery store. They seem a lot happier than the more powerful members of my family."

  I was touched by Newman's earnestness and his drive to use his magic to make others happy. It was sort of inspiring how he came from a powerful family but wanted to just be happy as a kitchen witch. It was hard not to hire him on the spot. I said I was going to sleep on it, though, and I was determined to stick to my word.

  "Thank you again for helping me,” I said. "I promise you'll hear from me soon."

  Newman left with a smile on his face. He knew I was going to hire him, and there was a bit of a spring in his step. He also didn't knock anything over, so I counted that as progress.

  Unfortunately, I didn't have a spring in my step. None of the clues I found were leading anywhere. So far, everyone tied to the murder only had a nebulous connection no matter how much they wanted Marcel dead. I had nothing concrete to go on.

  After work, I decided to bake myself a Cheer Cake. In order to make it extra potent, I headed to the potion and herb store to get some special ingredients. While I was at Herbs, Posies, and Potions, I ran right into Deirdre Darlington. Literally. I had my head down trying to figure out what herb would make my cake the most potent while not upsetting the flavor of the cake when I ran right into her.

  At first, I thought I was in for another humiliating confrontation. But Deirdre looked up from the basket of basil and smiled softly at me. She set her basket of herbs and dragon scales down, and pulled me into a hug.

  "I'm so sorry, Fern. My behavior the other day was just atrocious,” she said and let me go. "Can you ever forgive me?"

  "Yes..,” I said cautiously.

  "Ugh. I was so horrible. It's just that I was so upset about having such a wretched thing happen in my beloved ancestral home. A murder! It's so stressful for me and my entire family, but that was no excuse for me to treat you that way."

  "I forgive you,” I said.

  I was probably letting the whole thing go too easily, but I was just so happy and grateful for the friendly words. People
made mistakes. It was best to just let it go.

  "So, what are you shopping for?" she asked.

  "Oh, I'm going to make a Cheer Cake,” I said. "I'm looking for the right herb to augment my magic."

  "Oooh, what flavor?"

  "I was thinking of doing a lemon cake with blackberry buttercream frosting,” I said.

  "Oh, well then just a touch of lavender would be the perfect herbal complement. Plus, you get just a hint of relaxation from the herb itself,” she said with a smile.

  "You're right, and a little protection too. That's perfect,” I said.

  "I should come into your shop soon and order one of those cakes,” she said with a sigh. "It would probably help me a lot. I'm not bad in the kitchen, but I can't do anything close to what an accomplished kitchen witch can."

  "I'm sorry you're having such a rough time."

  "The worst part was that I was really looking forward to the seance. I've never communicated with the dead before. It was going to be so exciting," Deirdre said.

  "That's too bad,” I said as I grabbed a small bunch of lavender. "I know people will be looking forward to the seance next year. I assume the Medium Association will choose a new leader and next year things will be back on track."

  "I hope so," Deirdre said with a sigh. "Well, I have to run. Things to see and bills to pay. Again, I'm so sorry about the other day. I'm glad we got a chance to chat today."

  "Me too,” I said. "Have a great evening, and stop by the bakery any time. If I get this cake recipe right, you can order one for yourself."

  I decided to go back to the shop to bake the cake. My kitchen at home was fine, but the one at the bakery was far superior. I liked having the extra space to stretch out.

  On the way, I decided that it was silly to keep endangering my reputation by pursuing the murder investigation on my own. I needed to put my faith in Mitch and focus on my business. He'd given me every reason to believe he was looking out for my best interest. The best thing to do was move on with my life and trust that the pesky murder business would all be over soon enough.