Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery

by Bailey Cates

  I started shaking all over.

  “Adrenaline rush,” Declan said in a soothing voice. I wondered how often he had to use it in his line of work. “Give it a few minutes and you’ll feel better.”

  My mother returned with a glass of water clenched in both hands. The liquid trembled, and I saw how upset she was. “It’s okay, Mama. I feel”—amaaazing—“fine now.”

  Her eyes never left my face as she put the glass down on the coffee table and sat next to me.

  “McCarthy?” called a voice. “You available?”

  Declan looked at me, and I nodded. “Go ahead. Do your job. I’ll be okay.”

  After giving me a quick squeeze, he went back outside. For the first time in almost a year I was alone with my mother.

  “What did you do out there?” she whispered. Her eyes shone an iridescent green to my heightened senses. “That truck was coming straight for you.”

  “The driver must have swerved.” I wondered if I looked as flushed as I felt. With each heartbeat, I felt the ebb and flow of blood in every vein and artery.

  “They didn’t swerve.” Mama crossed her arms over her chest.

  I giggled. I didn’t mean to, but it escaped before I knew it was there. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I struggled to maintain a sense of decorum. It wasn’t hysteria—it was just that I felt so strangely good after I . . .

  “I pushed it away,” I said.

  She blinked, but then she said in a new voice, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Resignation and perhaps a little wonder were mixed in the words.

  “Did anyone else notice?” I asked in alarm.

  “Lucy might have—she was looking out the window, too. But your light would have obscured it from most people.” She bit her lower lip. “I must say, you were rather subtle despite the urgency of the situation.”

  Now I was staring at her. My mother had gone from trembling to practical in less than a minute. Grabbing the glass, I sucked down half the water.

  “My light?” I asked after swallowing.

  “That blinding flash.” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”

  I shook my head, remembering someone outside saying that the reflection of light off the window made it hard for them to see.

  Lucy came in from the street, followed by Ben and Detective Quinn. Ben pointed toward the library. Quinn saw me, nodded, and came over.

  I stood, still feeling light-headed. “Detective Peter Quinn, this is my mother, Mary Jane Lightfoot.”

  He took her hand. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed in the face of his full-wattage Southern charm.

  “I’m afraid I need to speak with Katie alone, Ms. Lightfoot.”

  “Mary Jane,” she insisted to my surprise. She rose. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done, Katie.”

  Quinn settled into a chair and assessed me. “You don’t look the worse for wear. Do you want to go to the hospital, get checked out?”

  “Nope. I’m okay. I mean, I’m shaken up of course. Someone tried to—” I stopped and felt my eyes go wide. “Quinn, someone tried to kill me!” I hadn’t thought the actual words yet, and now the knowledge hit me like a cartoon anvil.

  “Maybe,” Quinn said. “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  I tried to keep my mind on the question and not leap to conclusions. “The driver would have to have been drunk or stoned or . . . I guess it’s possible. I sure like the idea better than the notion of someone targeting me.”

  “If it was deliberate—and that’s still the more likely scenario in my opinion—the intended victim was probably Wren Knowles.”

  “Because she received the origami bat,” I breathed. “Of course. Did you find out anything else about it?”

  He shook his head. “Same as the one Autumn Boles was holding when she died. It was made from paper found in craft shops and artist supply stores all over the area. I’m told it was mostly sold with a selection of other colors and sizes.”

  But Wren’s hadn’t felt icky like Autumn’s. Could the first one have given off that aura of decay because of the violence of her death?

  Death. Decay. Embalming.

  “Did you track down Hunter Normandy?” I asked.

  He pressed his lips together. “You sure have a lot of questions.”

  “Like it or not—and I suspect the answer is ‘not’—I’m smack-dab in the middle of this mess. Of course I have questions.”

  He gave me a long look, then finally nodded once. “I guess I can see your point.”

  Declan came in and beelined over. “Hey, Peter,” he said to Quinn. “Listen, hon, I’ve got to get going. But I’ll come over tonight as soon as my shift is over, okay?”

  The feel of his hand on my shoulder felt grounding, and I ached for more. “Can hardly wait,” I said.

  He leaned down and gave me a quick buss, glanced at Quinn, and then returned for a proper kiss. Ruffling my hair, he murmured, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Quinn watched him go. “Does he know you’re still seeing Dawes?”

  I stood. “I am not ‘seeing’ Steve. We’re simply friends.”

  He rose, too. “Especially now that he can give you the lowdown on the golf course deal.”

  I looked away.

  “Aha! I knew it. Well, his father was remarkably unhelpful on that count. Anything you might want to share with me?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. “All of a sudden you don’t seem to mind me asking questions.”

  One side of his mouth turned up. “I’ll take information anywhere I can get it when I’m investigating a murder.”

  Good. “He didn’t tell me very much. However, he did mention Autumn’s ex-husband. You’ve talked with him, of course.”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Did you know he had a life insurance policy on her?”

  “As it happens, I did.” Quinn sounded impatient.

  “Did you also know he wanted to buy into the deal at Fagen Swamp with Heinrich and the rest but didn’t have enough money?”

  A low whistle at that. “Interesting.”

  “Except he’s withdrawn his bid to be part of the investment team. I don’t know why.”

  “Hmm. Anything else?”

  “Logan Seward gave the man who rents the cabin in Fagen Swamp sixty days to leave. It sounds like the sale of the land is going through unless we can find definitive proof the maroon bats really exist.”

  Quinn patted me on the shoulder. “Good to know. You keep this up and I’m going to have to see about getting you on the payroll.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha-ha. And does Logan Seward have an alibi for Saturday afternoon?”

  “Not a very good one. Said he was in a bar watching the play-off game. Some other patrons remember seeing him, but no one can say exactly when he was there. Eyes on the game and all, plus it sounds like he kept to himself.”

  “Hmm. Oh! Wait a second. I just remembered that I have to give you something that I found yesterday.”

  Curiosity marked his expression as I retrieved the jeweler’s box.

  I reached into my pocket and held the box out to him. “It’s a ring I found in one of the cartons that Officer Feherty let me take out of Georgia Wild yesterday. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I touched both the box and the ring.”

  Quinn opened the lid and took out the ring. I guessed I shouldn’t have worried about handling it.

  “Feherty missed it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but it was buried in the bottom of a full box of brochures. Plus, the CSI techs had already gone over the place. Don’t be hard on him.”

  “I’ll try not to be too much of an ogre about it.” He replaced the circle of filigreed platinum in the jeweler’s box, put it in his pocket, and stood. “You be careful,
all right?”

  “Count on it,” I said.

  • • •

  The gawker knot from out on the street had moved into the Honeybee. Twenty or so people milled around, asking questions and sharing their thoughts.

  “Why was there an ambulance? Was someone hurt?” This came from a concerned-looking gentleman wearing a felt fedora.

  “Really? A hit-and-run?” A thrill ran through the teen boy’s voice.

  “Did anyone get the license plate number?” asked Croft Barrow, and I mentally cheered his practical approach.

  “Only the last two digits. I told the police everything I saw. But it happened so fast,” said a ponytailed woman.

  “Did you see how fast that SUV was going? And how it totally crushed that car?” said a matronly sort to her friend.

  My heart sank. Was she talking about the Bug? I’d been in such a daze when Declan picked me up that I hadn’t even noticed. I made my way through the crowd to the window, only to find that a police van blocked my view.

  Steve Dawes walked by on the sidewalk outside, carrying one of the boxes of mailers that Wren and I had dropped. Annette Lander followed with the other one. Steve opened the door for her, and they came into the Honeybee.

  “These were scattered all over, but we got most of them,” Annette said, setting her box down on a table. Steve put his on the chair next to it.

  “Thank you,” Ben said, hurrying to take them into the office.

  Annette turned toward me and put her hands on her hips. “What the heck happened out there? I’m in my shop ringing up a skein of organic cotton for a customer and suddenly, crash!”

  I winced. “‘Crash’ pretty much sums it up.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t get hurt.” She looked worriedly at the door. “I’m sorry, but I really ought to run. I left the shop open.”

  “Go,” I said. “And thanks again for your help.”

  “You bet.” She lifted her hand and hurried out.

  “And thank you, too,” I said to Steve, who still stood by the boxes of mailers.

  “Sure.” His eyes examined mine, then moved on to the rest of me. “You’re all right?”

  “I’ll have some bruises, but I’ll be okay. How did you know what happened?”

  “A little bird told me,” he said.

  “Steve—”

  “Gotta go.” And with a quick squeeze of my shoulder, he left.

  I turned to see Ben coming toward me. My uncle took my elbow and steered me into the kitchen. Mama had stepped in and was quickly loading plates and cups into the big dishwasher. “We can handle the bakery for the rest of the day,” Ben insisted in a low voice. “This rush won’t last long, once they get their fill of muffins and gossip, and Lucy called Cookie. She doesn’t have to work at the gallery until this evening, and she’s coming to help out.”

  “But she doesn’t have to,” I protested.

  He wasn’t listening. “Will you please go and take a nap? You’re suffering from shock, and you don’t even realize it.”

  “Oh, I am not,” I said.

  “You’re pale as can be, darlin’. I’ve never seen you so white.”

  He had to be making that up. Maybe the sun did scatter a few freckles like Mama’s across my nose, but I’d inherited more of Daddy’s Shawnee complexion than her light Irish skin.

  “Besides, I can’t sleep during the day,” I argued. “I barely sleep at night. And I don’t even know if my car is drivable after that jerk ran into it.”

  “I took a good look at it,” he said, looking over to where Lucy was frantically trying to keep up with the influx of the curious. “The Beetle has a pretty good scratch on it and a dent in the fender, but it’s fine otherwise. The Toyota that was in front of it, though? Pretty much a total loss.”

  “Oh, no. Do we know who owns it?”

  “Looks like a rental.”

  For some reason that made me feel better.

  “Mary Jane, maybe you could drive Katie home? Lucy and I can come pick you up after we close the Honeybee at five.”

  My mother stepped in and said quietly, “Of course. I’d love to see your house, sweetie.”

  “There you go,” Ben said. “Go spend some time with your mom. Show her the carriage house and all that you’ve done with the yard.” He hurried over to the register to help my aunt.

  I sighed and looked at Mama. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  She smiled a worried smile. “Ben is right. We’ll go to your house, have a nice cup of tea and a chat.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She turned back to the dishwasher, and I went into the office. I retrieved my tote bag and then quickly turned on the computer screen. One quick online search later and I was ready to go. Together we wended our way through the customers crowding the Honeybee. No one seemed to be in much of a hurry, and Ben and Lucy had everything under control. They both waved as we left but didn’t break away from what they were doing.

  Out on the sidewalk, Mama held out her hand. Reluctantly I gave her my keys. Carefully looking both ways, we crossed the street. A uniformed woman with a camera was snapping picture after picture.

  She lowered the camera when we approached. “You the owner of the Volkswagen?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Just finished up with it. All yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stood on the sidewalk, surveying the damage, hands on my hips. What I saw shook me. It could have been worse—really, it could have. In fact, it probably should have been worse, given the velocity with which the big white SUV had been coming at us.

  Ben was right: The damage to my car was minimal. But the red Corolla in front of it was another story. The driver’s side door had been pushed halfway into the seating compartment. The front quarter panel was crumpled and bowed, the bent metal jammed right up against the tire. The hood was open, and a faint hissing sound emanated from the radiator.

  Push or no push, if Wren and I hadn’t gotten out of the way, we’d be dead.

  My mother was watching me. “You saved your friend’s life, you know. Shoving her out of the way. And . . . well, you know.” She got in and pulled the door closed. I went around to the other side, fuming at the SUV driver.

  It seemed more useful to be angry than afraid.

  “Mama?” I said. “What do you think about making a little side trip before we go home? Frankly, I’m way too jazzed up for a cup of tea and a sit-down just yet.”

  She turned the key, and the engine coughed, then roared to life. The radio blared classic Southern rock, and I reached over to turn it off. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “I want to stop by the dentist’s office and make an appointment.”

  The look she gave me was skeptical at best. “Why not simply call?”

  “It would be better to go in person.”

  “Katie. Even I know better than that. What are you up to?”

  Unsure of how she’d react if I told her, I nonetheless opted for honesty. “The dentist I want to go see is named Skip Thorsen. He’s Autumn Boles’ ex-husband.”

  “Autumn is the woman who was killed?”

  Good heavens. My mother had just arrived in town and had already witnessed either a freak accident or someone trying to kill her daughter. Add to that she found same daughter involved in a murder investigation, however peripherally.

  “Right,” I said. “You really are taking all this rather well.”

  “I’m not, really. But I’m doing my best to fake it.”

  I laughed, and she smiled in return. I had to give her a lot of credit for trying so hard.

  “So I want to go by his office and see if I can get a hit off him.”

  “A hit.”

  “You know. A feeling.”

&n
bsp; “You can do that?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s not consistent or . . . clear most of the time.” I thought of Hunter Normandy and how he’d felt so flavorless to me. Now I had to wonder if that had to do with his job as an embalmer. I could understand why he might wall his psyche away, whether consciously or unconsciously, from the work of preparing the dead for the next step on their spiritual journey. However honorable it might be, sometimes it had to be hard. Nonetheless, I couldn’t be sure that was why he seemed like such a blank to me. And what about the way the two different origami bats had felt? I had no idea what to do with that.

  “It would also be good to know whether or not Skip Thorsen was in his office all day,” I said. “Or if he left for a while this afternoon. Like an hour or so ago. And I wouldn’t mind knowing what he drives.”

  She stared at me. “You mean like a white SUV?”

  Slowly, I nodded.

  Mama put the car into gear. “Where’s his office?”

  I pulled out the printout I’d made before we left the bakery and began reading off directions.

  Chapter 16

  My mother was quiet as she drove my Volkswagen, merely nodding her understanding of the directions to Skip Thorsen’s dental office. Downshifting, she turned left on Whitaker Street and headed out of the historic district toward Midtown. My guess was that she was still upset about witnessing my instinctive move to protect Wren and myself with magic. Or maybe it was witnessing her daughter’s actual power after trying to deny it my whole life.

  I debated what to say, finally settling on, “When was the last time you practiced?”

  She didn’t answer at first, and I wondered whether she regretted her impulsive trip to Savannah even if it was at Nonna’s urging.

  Nonna. I wondered why she hadn’t shown up to warn me like she had when I’d been in danger before.

  “The last time I cast, it was a garden spell to heal blossom end rot on some tomatoes your father planted,” my mother finally said. “Our next-door neighbor, Mr. Osborn, saw me, and even though what I did was subtle—spraying a healing tea of bay and lavender and burying moss agates near the base of the plants—a few nights later he caught your grandmother performing a fertility spell.”