Easy Bake Coven: Book One of the Vivienne Finch Magical Mysteries

by J. D. Shaw

  “That was very thoughtful.” The woman took the cake and set it down on a dark walnut table with clawed feet beside the front door. “How many does it serve?”

  “Oh, about fifteen to twenty, depending on how thick the slices are.” Vivienne answered.

  “It’s a start.” The woman sighed. “Thanks again.”

  “Is there something wrong?” Vivienne asked. “Why aren’t you at the memorial service?”

  “Someone had to stay back and let the caterers in and since I had hired them it was the logical choice.” She glanced down at her gold wrist watch and shook her head. “I can’t believe the catering people never showed up.”

  “Who did you hire?” Vivienne asked.

  “The Formal Affair.” The woman answered.

  “Oh, no.” Vivienne truly felt sorry for this woman who had no idea what had transpired. “I think I know why they couldn’t keep the commitment.”

  “Did they go out of business overnight?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Vivienne couldn’t think of a nice way to spin it. “The head of the company was arrested today.”

  “Arrested? For what?”

  Vivienne swallowed hard. “There’s no easy way to put this.” She fidgeted with her hands as she spilled the awful truth. “She was arrested for the murder of Mona Clarke.”

  The woman swooned and nearly dropped to the floor.

  Vivienne grabbed hold of her and gently eased her into a thrown-like chair inside the grand foyer. “Easy now, have a seat.”

  The woman shook her head back and forth. “Oh God, Victoria is going to be livid. I hired the caterer who killed Mona?”

  Vivienne bit down on her lip. “Did you tell everyone who was catering?”

  “No.” The woman sniffled. “But they’re going to find out in less than an hour. Victoria and Fiona just told me to take care of it and I did.” Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks.

  Vivienne reached into her purse and rummaged around for a tissue. Finding one, she handed it to the woman. “Then we still have time to fix this.”

  The woman snatched the tissue and blew her little nose, which was quite red against her fair complexion. “How are we going to fix this?”

  Vivienne knelt down on the floor and took hold of her hands. “I know a place that has fabulous comfort food and can probably make the deadline, but they don’t deliver. Do you have a car?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes.”

  * * *

  As they pulled into the parking lot of Clara’s Diner, the woman whom Vivienne had learned on the ride over was named Samantha Charles, stared up in disbelief at the tacky coffee mug sign. “This is the where we’re getting the food?”

  “It’s our only hope.” Vivienne jumped out of the passenger seat. “If we ask nicely, they just might help out.”

  Samantha seemed hesitant to leave the comfort of her sleek Mercedes. “I’ve never been in one of these places.”

  “Then you’re really missing out on some good old American comfort food.” Vivienne led the way into the diner. “Follow me.”

  As they stepped inside, Clara was at her usual post by the register keeping order amongst the familiar lunch crowd. “Vivienne, what brings you here?”

  “Well, we’ve got a bit of a problem that I’m hoping you can help us out with.” Vivienne spoke in a sugary sweet voice.

  “Oh no, I know that tone.” Clara shook her head. “What do you need?”

  “We need some good food for about…” She looked at Samantha for confirmation. “How many do you think?”

  Samantha stared at the locals as if they were wild animals in a zoo. She kept close to Vivienne. “Between thirty and forty people I’d guess.”

  “Forty people?” Clara raised her voice in surprise which caused the patrons inside the diner to stop gabbing about the weather and sport scores and prick their ears up to catch a bit of juicy gossip to spread.

  “We also need to have it ready in less than an hour.” Vivienne pleaded. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Vivienne, I don’t know that I can help you with this.” Clara smoothed the lines of her pink uniform with her hands. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  Samantha decided to help. “The catering company was going to do lobster thermidor, some vegetarian canapés, and crème brulee for dessert.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Clara rolled her eyes.

  “So you can do it?” Samantha replied eagerly.

  “Why sure.” Clara smiled brightly. “We do that all the time for lunch specials here.”

  Samantha looked at Vivienne with renewed hope. “You really are a miracle worker.”

  Vivienne grimaced in response. “Not exactly, Samantha.”

  Clara put her hands on her hips. “She must be one of Mona’s friends?”

  “Yes.” Samantha answered. “From New York.”

  “Clara, maybe we can do something like a casserole?” Vivienne offered.

  Clara tapped her index finger on her chin in thought for a moment. “I have two trays of scalloped potatoes and ham. That would feed about forty people if they don’t take too much.”

  “They’re from New York City. I’m sure they’re used to tiny portions.” Vivienne smiled at Samantha and decided to class it up for her. “Miss Clara is offering a fabulous and comforting potato gratin.”

  Samantha nodded. “Oh, that sounds lovely.”

  “I could have Harold and Stephanie put together some deli spirals. They’re quick, easy, and best of all no cooking.” Clara continued.

  Vivienne nodded in agreement. “A classic no frills canapé just like the catering company was going to do.”

  “Yes, that would be perfect.” Samantha agreed.

  “What do you think about four of my famous pecan pies for dessert?” Clara finished.

  “They’ve taken the blue ribbon at the state fair for five years in a row.” Vivienne added. “You won’t find a better one in all of the state.”

  “Will five hundred dollars cover it all?” Samantha asked.

  Clara’s eyes widened. “I’ll say it will.”

  Vivienne nodded. “Given the super rush, I think that’s more than fair.”

  Samantha reached into her purse and pulled out a designer wallet that looked like it was worth more than the diner. She peeled off five crisp hundred dollar bills and handed them to Clara. “Thank you so much.”

  Clara gladly accepted the money and then dashed into the kitchen. “Harold, drop everything we’ve got a rush order.” She shouted above the sound of clinking plates and metal flatware. “Stephanie, I’m taking over your tables. I need you to start making deli spirals.”

  Stephanie’s eyes twinkled and she quickly removed her server’s apron. “I’d love to.” She hurried off into the kitchen.

  Samantha then peeled another crisp hundred dollar bill and handed it to Vivienne. “This is for helping me.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t take your money.” Vivienne protested. “I’m just trying to honor Mona’s life.”

  Samantha blinked back a few tears. “I’m not used to people being so nice to me and not wanting something in return.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Vivienne put her arm around Samantha’s shoulder. “But we’ll have everything in place and no one will be the wiser. That’s how we do things in a small town like Cayuga Cove.”

  “I hope so.” Samantha’s mood seemed to brighten and she looked around at the diner’s décor in wonder. “So this is what a greasy spoon looks like. I always wondered.”

  About thirty minutes later, Stephanie brought over a tray of deli spirals and placed them on the counter. “I tried to make these look real special to honor Mrs. Clarke.” Stephanie gestured to the food. “I even made some veggie ones in case anyone doesn’t eat meat.”

  Vivienne and Samantha looked down at the delicate spirals that Stephanie had handcrafted with impressive skill. They were elegant and full of colorful fillings of meats, cheeses, and vegetables rolled into k
aleidoscope patterns. “They look amazing, Stephanie. I didn’t know you liked to work with food design.”

  “I enjoy it.” She beamed with pride. “Waiting tables here, I don’t get a chance to do creative things often. But what can you do?”

  Vivienne leaned forward and whispered something to Samantha outside of Stephanie’s earshot.

  Samantha took the hundred dollar bill she had tried to give Vivienne and tucked it into the billfold Stephanie had left for the cups of coffee they enjoyed while they waited.

  Ten minutes later, they had all the food carefully packed into cardboard boxes Harold had found in the stockroom of the diner. Cramming them into the trunk space of Samantha’s Mercedes, they flew back to the Clarke residence with only mere minutes to spare.

  Vivienne helped Samantha set everything up buffet style in the formal dining room and then made a quiet exit as the first cars began to pull in to the driveway from the memorial service.

  As she walked along the sidewalk back toward Main Street, the black limousine chauffeuring Richard Clarke drove past. The little purple flags that said ‘Funeral’ fluttered in the breeze as a line of luxury cars followed slowly behind with their headlights illuminated.

  She lowered her head for a moment and took in the tragedy of it all. It was so senseless. But then again, most murders were. When it came down to the fine details, people killed other people over the most trivial of things. Those who tried to find a purpose or logic walked away in frustration. Logic, Vivienne thought sadly, failed miserably in the heat of anger.

  Chapter 17

  That evening, as she settled into her living room for some quality time with her television, she flipped the channels over and over in frustration. There wasn’t anything all that interesting on and she rarely followed any dramatic shows anymore. All too often they were cancelled just as she was getting hooked on the story. Instead, she purchased them when they were released on DVD and only after the show made it past the third season. That way, she was less disappointed when it all came to a sudden end.

  Somehow, Suzette Powell’s arrest for the murder of Mona Clarke hardly seemed like an appropriate ending to the story of just what had transpired behind her store that awful morning. She wanted to call Joshua and press him for details, but that was simply not a viable option. She knew him well enough that he would never compromise the investigation by spilling details to a civilian. He was too honest for that and she quickly realized it was that very quality that drew her to him.

  Then there was the business with the grimoire and her being a witch. Just like Mona’s murder, it defied logic and she found herself frustrated with the lack of information surrounding her involvement. If she was indeed a hereditary witch as Nana Mary claimed, why did she still feel so powerless with everything going on?

  Her business still hadn’t launched. Her last date with Joshua had ended with the police searching for her as a missing person. The magic Nana Mary spoke so fondly of seemed more like a curse than anything beneficial.

  From his perch on the sofa arm, Tom Cat stared at her. He had returned at sunset to her front door and pawed it as if he were offended she dared to close it. With his tail held high, he had marched his gray and white body into the kitchen and gave the dry food a test nibble. He pawed at the sparkling new litter box in the corner that was filled with special odor control crystals and decided to demonstrate how pleased he was by tossing some out onto the floor as he dug a little hole and peed.

  There was no denying that he was at home and she was powerless to say no to his demands. She would have to make an appointment at the veterinary office to have his vaccinations given and a general checkup to clear him of any unknown diseases. He purred loudly as she ran her hand along his head and scratched behind his ears.

  She turned the television off and wandered over to the computer. It had been some time since she had logged onto Social Butterfly. As she clicked on the internet icon and entered her password she found several more people from town wanting to join her friend garden. Some she knew from town, some from childhood, and a few that she thought were complete strangers. She approved those she knew and proceeded to scroll down the status page.

  As she expected, there were all sorts of postings about Mona Clarke’s service and the arrest of Suzette Powell. Nora was particularly vocal with her thoughts about the situation and she seemed obsessed with forwarding little pictures of candles, rainbows, and weeping angels with messages of condolences on loss.

  She grew tired of reading most people’s guesses about what had happened and was about to log off when she recognized the face behind one of the friend requests she had earlier dismissed. It was Samantha Charles. She looked more glamorous in her profile photo which was lit softly and posed quite expertly. Intrigued, she approved the request and went back to look for anything she had posted.

  Sadly, there wasn’t a thing on her personal page except messages of condolences from friends and colleagues. Once more she moved the mouse pointer over to close the program when a little ding erupted from the computer’s speakers. Another window opened on the screen and notified her that Samantha wished to chat with her and asked if she was available. Vivienne clicked ‘yes’ and the window doubled in size.

  Thanks for helping me out today. Samantha’s message appeared on the screen.

  “You’re welcome.” Vivienne spoke back and then chuckled. She proceeded to type the same response in the chat box and click send.

  You were right. No one was the wiser about the food issue. Samantha replied.

  I told you it would work out. Vivienne typed back, her fingers unused to working the keyboard.

  I don’t know why, but Victoria seemed a little upset with me. Samantha’s response came fast and furious.

  Was the food not up to her standards? Vivienne typed back.

  I don’t know. Samantha replied. She didn’t say a cross word or throw a nasty look. It was just a feeling.

  Vivienne didn’t know how on earth she typed so fast. It was all she could do to keep up with the conversation. It was probably the stress of saying goodbye to Mona. She typed.

  You think so? Samantha’s reply appeared quickly. I hope you’re right.

  Vivienne found herself warming to Samantha. True, they came from completely different worlds but she felt a kinship to this woman and her worries. She meant well, despite her lack of knowledge of how normal people lived without multi-million dollar apartments and personal assistants. Much like Vivienne, she seemed frustrated at the whole situation. Her fingers hen pecked across the keyboard. Were you and Mona close friends?

  For the first time in the chat, there was nearly a minute pause before the answer appeared. Not really.

  Oh, I see. Vivienne typed back. Did you come along for moral support?

  How about we meet for coffee at that diner and talk in person? Samantha asked.

  Vivienne was stunned. She would have thought the Bistro Parisian would be more her style. A quick glance at the clock told her it was twenty past eight. She would have rather stayed in her cozy home with Tom Cat, changed into one of her flannel nightgowns, and had a bowl of microwave popcorn, but there was a chance to find out more about the world of Mona Clark and Victoria Clemens and she couldn’t resist the offer. Meet you there at nine?

  It’s a date. Samantha answered back and the chat window disappeared off the screen.

  Vivienne closed out Social Butterfly and put the computer on standby mode. “Well, Mister Tom Cat, looks like you’ve got the place to yourself again.”

  He opened one eye from his nap and meowed in response.

  “But tonight I’ll be back. I promise.” She went into the bathroom to fix up her hair and put on a little makeup.

  When she arrived at Clara’s Diner, Samantha was seated in one of the booths near the rotating dessert case. She waved to Vivienne.

  “Good evening Viv.” Harold smiled as he swept a broom along the floor near the back.

  “Hello Harold.” She replied and
sat down with Samantha. Harold was one of the few people that shortened her name and got away with it. She figured that anyone who worked with Clara Bunton, and her finicky standards for twenty-five years, deserved a little slack now and then. As usual, Clara had counted down the daily take and went home leaving Harold in charge for the last hour of business.

  “I’m starting to like this place.” Samantha looked around the empty diner.

  “It has its charm.” Vivienne agreed.

  Stephanie stopped her work filling the salt and pepper shakers and brought a fresh carafe of coffee over to the two women. “Here you go.”

  “Where do you keep the coffee mugs?” Samantha asked.

  Stephanie slapped her head. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll go get some.”

  Vivienne laughed. “As I said, it’s the charm of living in a small town.”

  Samantha nodded in agreement. “When we first checked in at the Brass Cricket, I have to tell you that I couldn’t wait to head back to Manhattan.”

  “Why is that?” Vivienne wondered aloud.

  “Well, that’s just home to me,” Samantha confided, “Skyscrapers, four star restaurants, and a social calendar filled with fundraisers and special events.”

  “I’ve never been.” Vivienne confessed. “But I think it’d be fun day trip. Window shop on Fifth Avenue, maybe take in a show on Broadway?”

  Stephanie returned with two mugs and placed them on the table. “Can I get you ladies something to eat?”

  “No, thank you.” Samantha shook her head.

  “Coffee is just fine with me.” Vivienne answered.

  “What time do you close?” Samantha asked.

  “Ten.” Stephanie smiled. “But don’t rush on account of that. We have lots of cleaning up to do.”

  “Thank you.” Samantha answered back.

  Stephanie turned to leave and then spun around on her white sneakers with a squeak. “I just wanted to say thank you for the tip today. It really meant a lot.”

  Samantha nodded. “You’re very welcome.”

  “I’m putting it in my savings account for school. It’s a long way off, but I’m making progress at paying the tuition.” Stephanie explained.