by Bailey Cates
Funny: I thought it was pretty great already.
She went on for twenty achingly long minutes, making vague but enthusiastic promises. Finally, she gave the online link for further donations. “However, we know how busy everyone is, and it’s easy to forget. We need your help, and you need Victor Powers in the Senate! So why not break out your checkbooks right now? And if you don’t have a check handy? Well, shame on you.” She smiled, and a few people laughed. “But you can still donate to the campaign online before you leave the hotel. We have volunteers with electronic tablets who will be moving among you, and we accept credit cards. Or text your donation and the amount will show up on your phone bill.” She recited a number. “Thank you so much.”
I looked at Bianca in amazement as everyone clapped. She shrugged. The young couple got up and hurried over to a college-aged woman, reaching for the tablet in her hand.
A waiter collected our plates—my eyes had been bigger than my stomach, but I’d made good inroads—and I pushed back from the table.
“Sorry you spent so much to get us in here,” I whispered to Bianca. “Let’s at least circulate a little more, see if we can find out anything useful.” I looked around for Carolyn Powers. She’d know where her husband had been on Friday night. Or at least I assumed so.
I spied her approaching the podium again. She took the microphone in hand, and a short whine screeched through the room. Bianca winced.
“Sorry about that! But I have some very good news!” Carolyn said.
A murmur drifted through the crowd.
“We thought Victor would be unable to attend this morning’s soiree, but it turns out he is on his way back from Athens as I stand here. Go, Bulldogs! He’s only about fifteen minutes away, and we’d love for you to stay and get to know each other. I know my husband would love to personally meet as many of you as possible.”
Of course Powers would want to meet as many of these moneybags as he could.
“Well, now. Maybe things are going to be more interesting than I thought,” I said to Bianca and stood up. “Let’s at least stretch our legs while we have a chance. Maybe take a look around?”
She nodded, and we started toward the exit.
And there, walking straight toward us, was Heinrich Dawes.
Chapter 19
“Darn it,” I said, and veered to the right.
Bianca followed. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s Steve’s dad.”
“Oh! Did he see you?”
“Not yet—but if he does he’ll know I’m not here because I’m a big fan of future senator Powers.”
You would be well advised to keep out of the society’s business.
He turned in our direction. I ducked down as far as my long pencil skirt would allow. He strode forward, confident and smiling, toward a cluster of political boosters. Quickly, I slipped into a chair next to a white-haired woman in a navy blue pantsuit. Bianca remained standing, surveying the room as if she were looking for someone in particular.
The grandmotherly woman in the chair next to me looked at me in surprise.
“Sorry,” I said. “Not feeling well.”
“Oh, dear. Shall I call someone?”
“No, no. I’ll be fine in a moment.” I pushed a napkin off the table with my elbow. “Oops.” I leaned down to retrieve it from under my chair as Heinrich walked by, oblivious. Relief washed through me as I saw his retreating back.
Then he paused by the next table. Stopped. He looked at the faces near him, then turned in a slow circle. It looked for all the world as if he were sniffing the air.
You have tangible power. Heinrich’s words came flooding back.
Even though he hadn’t actually seen me, he knew I was there. I didn’t know how to dampen whatever he was sensing, didn’t even know if that was possible.
“Dear, are you all right?”
The nice white-haired lady leaned down to where I remained hunched over in my chair, alarm and concern all over her face.
“Just a little dizzy,” I whispered.
Heinrich had stopped turning and was now facing my way, but I was still mostly hidden by the white tablecloth. Movement to his left made him turn his head just before Bianca ran into him.
She’d picked up a half-full glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from one of the tables, and now it dripped down the front of his expensive suit.
“Oh! Heavens, where did you come from?” Bianca turned on her considerable charm full blast, capturing his undivided attention. “I thought I saw Mr. Powers coming up the path outside and became utterly distracted.”
I sat up and smiled at my new friend. “I feel much better now. Do you know where the restroom is inside the hotel?”
“Just around the corner from the elevators, dear. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Thanks so much.” My words were rushed, and I missed her reply as I stood and sidled quickly toward the exit, watching Heinrich the whole time.
Bianca dabbed at his lapel with a napkin. “Take that off, and I’ll get it cleaned up with some nice club soda. Can someone please get me some club soda?”
“Isn’t that for wine stains?” he asked in a gruff voice, looking up. I saw his light gray eyes flash.
“Oh, I think it’ll work for a little citrus stain. Let’s at least try, okay?”
I stepped to the side, putting several people between Heinrich and me.
A cheer went up as the door opened behind me. I turned to find myself facing a large man with a short white fringe of hair running around the perimeter of his otherwise bald head. The tonsure effect belied his powerful shoulders and military bearing. I recognized the face from the television ads.
Victor Powers met my eyes with his own ice-blue ones. Something passed between us, but I didn’t know exactly what. Did he recognize me, perhaps from Heinrich’s description or even a picture? Or did he sense something the same way Steve’s dad seemed to when he walked by?
Whatever it was, it flickered for one long second before he grinned broadly and waved at his supporters. They shifted to allow him passage, and I slid farther behind the crowd until I was finally able to duck outside.
* * *
Bianca walked into the women’s restroom fifteen minutes later. “I thought I might find you here.” She bent down to check under the stall doors. We were alone.
Leaning against the counter, I said, “Seems the safest place to be right now. Nice job with the orange juice, by the way.”
She laughed. “Mr. Dawes is not terribly happy with yours truly. I would have offered to get his suit cleaned, but anyone who can afford that suit in the first place doesn’t need my contribution to his household budget.”
I grimaced. “No kidding. You’re out of pocket enough already. What a fiasco, not to mention a waste of time.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
My chin jerked up. “What do you mean?”
“After her husband arrived, I had a chance to talk to Carolyn Powers. Their grandson turned eleven on Friday, and she made sure Grandpa was in town for the party. In fact, it was at their house, and Heinrich was in attendance. She also mentioned that it was a pleasant—and rare—thing to have her husband home for a full night during this campaign.”
“Really. Well, Steve said that Brandon Sikes was with him and his father at a function of some kind, then came home with them and stayed the night at the Dawes’ house.”
“Why?”
“Something to do with an art exhibit Sikes is planning. It got late, and they’d had a few drinks, so he stayed.”
“Ah. Well, I guess that’s better than having Jaida defend another DUI.”
The door opened then, and a woman came into the restroom holding the hand of a little girl. Bianca and I exchanged glances and I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Hotel guests, golfers, and political supporters strolled through the Westin’s lobby, but there was no sign of Steve’s father. Watchful, we went outside and made a beeline for the
dock. Halfway there, I spotted him. He stood between us and the river, watching people gather for the water taxi. I tugged on Bianca’s arm, pulling her back, but there wasn’t really anywhere to hide. We retraced our steps as far as the hotel and tucked ourselves around the corner.
“At this rate we should just get a room and plan on staying until he leaves,” I said, frustrated.
Heinrich continued to watch the waiting passengers as the taxi chugged across the water. We could see one of the humongous container ships from China downriver, approaching the Talmadge Bridge.
Suddenly Heinrich spun on his heel, looking across the lawn toward the main entrance of the hotel. He raised his hand to someone and began walking back up. Bianca and I shrank back, but he walked inside without a glance in our direction. Down at the dock the water taxi let off its passengers from the other side of the river.
“Come on!” I said.
Together, we ran across the grass and down the sidewalk, high heels clattering on the cement ramps. We made it onto the taxi just before the attendant closed the gate.
“Whew!” I laughed, trying to catch my breath. “It’s a miracle I didn’t turn my ankle on that little sprint.” The boat pulled away. The wind had blown some of the cloud cover off, and now thin sunlight glinted off the dark water of the river.
But Bianca didn’t respond. She was looking back at the hotel. I followed her gaze.
Heinrich Dawes stood above, looking down at us. He’d fooled us by going back into the hotel, I realized. I put my hand on the railing and nodded to him.
His nod in return felt like a promise. Not a good one, either.
* * *
Bianca was due back at Moon Grapes. She pulled her Jag up to the curb in front of the Honeybee. I got out and waved as she drove away. Someone had propped the door of the bakery open, and warm, homey smells drifted out to the sidewalk. It was our best way to advertise.
A customer waited at the register while Cookie frothed up a coffee drink behind the espresso bar. I asked if he’d been helped, but it turned out the coffee drink was for him.
“Lucy and Ben are back in the office with my replacement,” Cookie said.
I was stunned. “They hired her while I was gone?”
“Of course not. But you will. Hire her, I mean.”
Hmm. But I wasn’t going to say anything about feeling railroaded in front of a customer, so I pasted a smile on and clicked back to the kitchen on my heels. If I didn’t get those things off my feet soon I’d be crippled for life.
Sure enough, my aunt sat in the swivel chair in the little office by the storage closet, and Uncle Ben leaned his forearm on the tall filing cabinet. Nel Sandstrom sat on Mungo’s usual chair, gesticulating with both hands.
“Oh, my, yes. I love to create cakes for people’s special days. I could whip something up if you’d like to see my decorating skills. I also brought this to show you some of the things I’ve done before.” She handed Lucy a legal-sized leather portfolio.
Lucy began flipping through a series of photos. Her eyes widened. “These are wonderful. Oh! I love this one—the pond with airbrushed lily pads? Just lovely. Heaven knows, I wouldn’t mind expanding that part of the Honeybee’s business. Katie’s too busy with all her fabulous treats, and I simply don’t have enough time for elaborate wedding cakes and the like.” She looked up. “Speak of the devil, here she is.”
Nel jumped to her feet. “Wow. It looks like I’m going to have to up my fashion game if I’m going to work here. That suit is stunning!” She wore a knee-length denim skirt with brown loafers and a white blouse covered with a cardigan. Her hair was in a precise bun instead of a braid today.
Well, no one said you had to look like Cookie to work with us at the Honeybee. Maybe Nel would add a kind of Aunt Bee flavor to the joint. I had plenty of questions for her before it got that far, though.
“Thanks,” I said, “but hardly my usual work duds. Lucy, could you reach that duffel for me?”
She extracted it from under the desk and handed it to me as Ben said, “Katie’s just been to a political fund-raiser.”
“Um…,” I said.
“Well, good for you.” Nel grinned. “I avoid anything to do with politics as much as possible. Keeps my shoes cleaner.”
I found myself grinning in return. “Isn’t that the truth. Back in a sec.”
“Sure! We’re having a grand time getting to know each other.”
Ben and Lucy both beamed. That was a good sign, at least. They were both good judges of character.
After changing, I grabbed my orange skeleton apron and carried my suit bag into the office. I laid it over the file cabinet so I could shut the door and then managed to tie on my skeleton apron without elbowing anyone. The office was a tight fit for four people. I remained standing, since I didn’t have any other choice. My feet still hadn’t recovered from wearing high heels.
“Nel has lots of restaurant experience, and some very specific bakery experience, too.” Lucy handed me the cake pictures she’d been looking at.
Quickly shuffling through the photos, I had to admit they were pretty impressive.
Nel nodded. “I love to cook, especially baking and developing new recipes. But I’ll do anything you tell me to. I’d just like to get back into the atmosphere of a working bakery.”
“How do you feel about early mornings?” I asked, thinking of Cookie’s bleary arrivals at o’dark-thirty for the last four months.
“I’m up with the chickens. Always have been.”
“I’m afraid we get up even before the chickens,” I said.
“Oh, that’s just an expression. I’m a very early riser.”
“Can you tell me a bit more about your baking experience?”
She’d run a small bakery more or less single-handedly in Athens, though she’d never been to pastry school. She had, however, attended a cake-decorating academy. I had to agree with Lucy that it would be nice to be able to offer more of that specialty to our customers, and the truth was I was more interested in flavor than in creating a piece of art, and truly good decorators were fine artists. The more we talked, the more I could see why Lucy and Ben had already taken to her.
“Let us call your references, and we’ll get back to you,” I said once I’d asked everything I could think of. She seemed perfect, but I still had a few reservations about hiring someone with even a peripheral connection to the Dragoh Society.
“There’s one more thing you should know, Katie.” Lucy’s smile was almost smug.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Nel is Wiccan.”
“Really?”
“Yes. So she understands the kind of herbal ‘help’ we sometimes give our customers, and we don’t have to be secretive about our other magical activities.”
I looked at Nel, who nodded with a bright smile. “I’ve always practiced solitarily, but it’s nice to be around other people with similar beliefs. I love the idea of working with other witches, in the kitchen if not elsewhere.”
Did she know what her father had been? Probably—at least that he was a druid, even if she didn’t know he was a member of the Dragoh Society. It would be ideal not having to sneak around. Working with Cookie had been so convenient in that regard, and Nel was far more qualified as a baker.
I opened the door. “I’d better see if Cookie’s overrun.”
We all trailed out through the kitchen to find her sitting at one of the bistro tables alone. A woman typed on her laptop by the bookshelf, but otherwise the place was devoid of customers.
“Where is everyone?” Nel asked.
Cookie shrugged. “Just a lull. We’ll be hopping again in no time. What’s the verdict?”
“Well…,” I said.
“We love her,” Lucy said. “I knew I would when you recommended her, you clever girl.”
“But—,” I said.
“Good.” Cookie stood and took off her apron. “Because I am on to my next big thing.”
“And what would
that be?” I heard my wry tone.
“I’m going to work for Xana Smythe at the gallery.”
“That was fast.”
She shrugged. “That’s the way it goes, right?”
For her, sure.
“Xana needs an assistant. I can start tonight if I want to. And I do.”
Nel took off her cardigan and picked up Cookie’s apron. Tying it on, she said, “What would you like me to do first, boss?”
Lucy was grinning so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. “Isn’t it marvelous how things work out? How everything happens for a reason?”
Ben raised his eyebrows, watching me.
I’d been about to protest, but Lucy’s words gave me pause. My whole move to Savannah, starting the Honeybee, learning I was a witch, my new friends—all of it had come with a big dose of serendipity.
So I smiled back. “Welcome to the Honeybee, Nel.”
Ben nodded his approval. “Follow me, my dear. It’s time for a lesson in all things espresso.”
Chapter 20
Serendipity was wonderful, and Nel’s portfolio was impressive, but good business was good business. We ran a small, intimate shop, and checking her references was only practical.
Armed with a double cappuccino with extra-dry foam, I slipped into the office and shut the door. Our new employee was out front learning barista skills, and the sourdough sponge wouldn’t need to be mixed for a while. Opening the file cabinet, I extracted the file of job applications. It contained only four completed forms, and one of them was Nel Sandstrom’s.
According to the information on her application, she’d worked at the Halcyon Bakery in Athens, Georgia, for almost nine years before returning to Savannah. She’d listed the owner as a professional reference, which was a good sign.
I reached for my cell phone so Nel wouldn’t inadvertently pick up while I was talking to her old boss, and propped my feet up on the desk. Ah…bliss.
A man answered with a simple “Hello?”
“Is this the Halcyon Bakery?” I asked.
“I own the Halcyon. David Talbot. You’ve reached my cell phone.” His voice was deep, his vowels round and full. A Georgia native.
