by Sofia Belle
“Oh…really?” I layered on the sarcasm. “Now you know how I feel, Miss Meddling Madrina.”
She gave a sly smile. “Like you said, it’s my job. And I really want a new television, so I need to help you move on to the next phase of your life, which includes settling down. You’re going on that date.”
“Who is it with?” Better to find out sooner than later. After last night’s situation with Mystery Man, it might be good for me to go out with someone new. Maybe a date with the right guy would make me forget about the old one, the one who’d so briefly waltzed into my life and waltzed right back out, leaving me shaken to my core.
Madrina suddenly became fidgety with her hands. “Doesn’t matter. Just go to the date and it will be a surprise. Isn’t that what the young folks are calling blind dates? The other week, I wrote in to Rosie’s blog with a question about blind dates, and you know what she said? You don’t actually have to be blind to go on a surprise date.”
I pulled the covers up higher. “This is not a good sign.”
Madrina reached a set of bony fingers over and yanked the covers back. “If I tell you the name, do you promise to go?”
“Unless he’s crazy.”
Madrina paused.
I pointed a finger at her. “That is not a good sign. I’m not going.”
“He’s not crazy like...lunatic crazy,” Madrina said finally. “Just a little eccentric.”
“Eccentric?”
She blew out a breath. “Ted Marbles, okay? It’s with Ted Marbles.”
“You set me up with Ted Lost-His-Marbles?” I tried to disappear against the sheets of my bed, but unfortunately my invisibility potion was out in the fridge. “Why? Madrina, why?”
“Nicknames are hurtful,” she said. “Don’t call him that.”
“He calls himself that.” I shook my head. “He once wrote into Rosie’s blog and sent a business card with his letter. His business card reads: www.Teds-Lost-His-Marbles.com. I can’t make that up.”
Ted Marbles—which, yes, was his real name—was an inventor who lived on the outskirts of town. To my knowledge, the only things he’d invented were clouds of black smoke, some minor forest fires, and a lot of shattered beakers. He was the sort of person who believed in aliens, secret spy rings, and magic. There were many problems with this, but the biggest one was that Ted didn’t have an ounce of magic in his blood, I was almost certain.
Still, that didn’t stop him from trying to prove the existence of real fairies in the forest or attempting to spot anomalies in day-to-day life that could point to the existence of magic. He took this whole “fairy tale town” thing to a new level. I mean, of course it was real, so technically he was far less crazy than everyone thought, but still, he made our secret lives difficult.
Most tourists enjoyed the fake fairy tale setting of our town, the kitschy stores and the lore that, deep down, everyone believed to be fake. Not Ted, however. Ted had written more than one blog post about the “real” magical subculture of Fairyvale. Which only meant one thing: I had to be extra careful around him tonight. No magic, nothing. Because if anyone was on the lookout for the supernatural and paranormal, it was Teddy Marbles.
“He has a website? How very modern. Do you think I should get a website?” Madrina looked off into the distance as if picturing her moment in the spotlight. “I can see it now. Fairy Godmother for Hire. Feisty, Funny, and Smart.”
“How about Cruel, Unusual, and Punishment?” I quipped. “Or even better: Madrina the Meddling Mother. That has a nice ring to it.”
Madrina waved a hand. “I’ll think of something better. Make sure you make a good impression on Ted tonight. I want him to be my tech support, I think.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” I swallowed. “Teddy has always been looking to prove that magic is real.”
“Well, just don’t use magic tonight, and you’ll be fine.” Madrina gave me a patronizing expression. “You don’t need it, dear. I mean, apply your own lipstick for once with a real brush.”
“You don’t apply lipstick with a brush.”
“Whatever. I’m sure Layla already agreed to do your makeup, anyway.” Madrina turned and flounced toward my door. “Do you have any leftover lasagna? Playing matchmaker sure does give me an appetite.”
“It’s eight in the morning, and you want lasagna?”
“I don’t believe in discrimination of foods based on time of the day. Why should we only eat lasagna for dinner? Breakfast needs its time in the spotlight, too.”
The mention of breakfast had me shooting up in bed. “I need to go to Dungeons and Donuts.”
“See? There you go again, thinking donuts are only for breakfast.”
“Yes, exactly.” I was so distracted that I didn’t even bother to correct her. “There’s half a pan of lasagna in the fridge. Is Layla up? Have you seen her yet?”
Madrina scrunched up her face. “Is Layla ever up before the morning is gone?”
“True,” I muttered. Since her store didn’t open until three in the afternoon—most people didn’t wake up and head to the lingerie store before breakfast—she often didn’t get home until three or four in the morning. Some nights, like yesterday, she had help closing up shop from her assistant, so she could head home early. But that didn’t change her sleeping patterns. Since it was pre-noon, there was a ninety-nine percent chance she was still in bed. “Help yourself. Layla and I have a donut date.”
“That’s bad for your health,” Madrina called after me. “Don’t you go getting fat on me, or else I’m going to have to work harder in the Health department, and I’m going to lose my bonus for the year. I’m already slacking in the Love department!”
I turned to Madrina. “I’ll add it to my list of to dos. I love you too.”
My fairy godmother puckered up and gave me a kiss across the cheek. Despite the meddling, the jokes, and the teasing, I loved her, and she loved me. I think.
As I headed out the door, her withered hands held mine for a second longer than necessary. And with a knowing gleam in her eye, she tilted her head. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re up to something.”
I stared back, silent, because if I opened my mouth, I wouldn’t be able to lie. So I just waited. Eventually, her face cracked into a small smile. “Be careful.”
Chapter 10
** **
Layla grumbled the entire car ride, whining about the illegality of me waking her up before the afternoon. But just as soon as I pulled into the parking lot outside of Dungeons and Donuts, she became a new person. Smiley, bubbly, and dare I say cheerful?
“Let’s go get some sprinkles, shall we?” Layla hopped out of the car, closed the door behind her, and was halfway into the shop before I caught up to her.
I held the door open for the ancient Mrs. Thompson, a woman who’d had the same routine since sometime in the eighteen hundreds. The same jelly donut, at the same time, every day of the week. I gave her a smile and pulled Layla off to the side.
“Remember why we’re here,” I said in low tones. “We have to find out if Linda stopped here the other morning.”
“I know why we’re here.” Layla crossed her arms. “But if I let you take control of this situation, you’d walk in there all nervous and twitchy, asking about Linda and looking suspicious.”
“I’m not twitchy.”
“You get twitchy when you’re nervous.”
“They’re nervous twitches!”
“Exactly.” Layla put a hand on her hip. “That’s why you brought me with and are paying me a fee of four donuts.”
“I thought it was three?”
“I just promoted myself. Four donuts.” Layla looked behind her. “You gotta go in there all natural and confident, like this.”
“Wait—what’s the plan?” I hissed after Layla in vain, but she’d already followed old Mrs. Thompson’s footsteps into the store. “Layla.”
“Follow my lead, dah’ling,” she said in a low voice. Then she gave me a wink and sas
hayed her hips right into the store. “Andy Sweet, tell me you’ve baked this hungry mama some fresh treats this morning. You know my stomach can’t handle that store-bought, stale crap. I want something hot and fresh.”
If I didn’t know both Andy and Mrs. Thompson so well, I might have been a little embarrassed by my friend’s brashness. However, the four of us went back a long time, and I was sure as I could be that we all were aware of magic.
There was no way Andy’s donuts didn’t come with a sprinkle of fairy dust in the powdered sugar, and Mrs. Thompson had set up a kitschy shop as an eerily accurate psychic. I relaxed, the four of us familiar company.
Andy looked like he’d once led a hardcore biker gang. Well over six feet tall, he was a burly wall of muscle, tattoos up and down both of his arms. He wore a gray V-neck T-shirt cut low enough to expose most of the artwork across his chest and even a smattering on the side of his neck. He was bald—likely by choice—and might have been a pro wrestler in another life. For now though, he’d chosen to focus on donuts, and I had to say I didn’t blame him.
Dungeons and Donuts was a town staple and often a highlight for visiting tourists. It had been written about by the best food critics in the world. They touted this place across newspapers far and wide, claiming the fried dough melted on their tongues. The decorations and frosting on top were exquisite enough to be featured in an art museum.
I glanced around the familiar shop as Layla ooohed and ahhhed over the gorgeous display cases, changing her mind every other second.
“I’ve got you covered, Layla,” Andy said, his voice low and gruff. “Mrs. Thompson used her psychic powers and told me yesterday that you’d be stopping in around now, so I made an extra of your favorites. And look here—bacon on top. What say you?”
“I say you’re my new boyfriend.” Layla stepped around the counter, grasped Andy’s cheeks in her palms, and gave him a big, juicy smooch just to the side of his lips.
His eyes shot open to the size of donut holes.
“Just kidding.” Layla smacked his butt. “I know you’re not the boyfriend type.”
Andy looked too stunned to respond, and I hid a giggle. Mrs. Thompson, too, turned her back over in the corner, her shoulders shaking. I’d often suspected that Andy and Layla harbored secret feelings for each other, but Layla had never confirmed. Regardless of whether they’d had a past together, I wouldn’t rule out a future. There was a good chance the real reason Layla had agreed to come with me this morning had more to do with the man behind the counter than the donuts on top of it.
I left them to their friendly flirting, scanning the counter. What would Linda buy? I eyed the items one after another, but it was too difficult to make a choice. One thing was for certain: there was magic at work, sizzling in the air.
Steam curled up from the warm donuts, the gentle scent of fresh-brewed coffee in the background completing the welcoming vibe. Each whiff of the sweet goodness was slightly more intoxicating than the last, and even though I was a witch, I couldn’t deny the pull of the place. There was no better spot to get a cozy breakfast in this town.
“Find something?” Andy’s voice pulled me fast out of my daydream, and I almost cricked my neck looking up. He gave a lopsided grin. “Sorry to startle you. I didn’t realize you were so engrossed in the pastries.”
“Oh, you know. The first step is admitting you have a problem.” I smiled back, raising my right arm as if pledging him my loyalty. “My name is Belinda Bright, and I am a sugar addict.”
“True story.” Layla stood a few feet away, holding in her hands a box filled with way more than three donuts. “I hope you brought your credit card, Bel. I sorta went overboard with my haul. But it’s not my fault. Blame it on Andy’s magic touch.”
I raised my eyebrow in her direction. “Yeah, right.”
“Can I get you anything else?” Andy gave me a sheepish stare. “I apologize to your credit card.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s me who needs to be thanking you. Can you throw a White Wish into the mix?” I pointed to a very white, very powdery confection covered in cream and all sorts of glazed goodness that turned into pure joy once it met my tongue. “The ones you sent over for that wedding a few months back got me hooked.”
“They’re good.” Andy reached down. “Good luck, too. If you make a wish on this donut, it just might come true.”
I accepted the White Wish on a napkin, closed my eyes, and made a wish in my head. Then I took a bite, savoring the gooey texture. By the time I opened my eyes, I was grinning. “Whether or not my wish comes true, the calories are worth it.”
“What are you ladies up to today?” Andy fiddled with his T-shirt, straightening it first then brushing off a nonexistent splatter of sugar.
Cute, I thought. He’s nervous! I glanced over at Layla, who was so busy chowing through one donut after another that it was as if she had a conveyor belt straight from her hand to her mouth. Definite signs of stress eating.
I sighed; so much for following Layla’s lead.
Mrs. Thompson approached the counter, a smile on her face. “Oh, just ask him your darn question already.”
“Can you stop with the mind reading?” I asked, turning to her. “It’s invasive. I like a bit of privacy. Madrina meddles enough in my business. I don’t need to add a psychic as well.”
“I don’t have to read your mind to notice you got something to say,” she growled. “You’re all twitchy, and it’s taking away my appetite.”
“I’m not twitchy!”
“A little twitchy,” Layla added. “I told you.”
I looked at Andy. “Am I twitchy?”
He pursed his lips and looked like he’d rather die than answer my question.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little twitchy. I have a favor to ask, Andy,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Can I ask a question?”
“Do you have a favor or a question?” Andy asked. “Either way, go ahead.”
“The favor is the question,” I said, waving a hand in dismissal. “The point is that I’m wondering if someone stopped in here the other day. Her name was Linda, and she was a bridesmaid in the Monroe wedding. She looked like—”
“A little short, a little stout—brown hair?” Andy used his hands to gesture to Linda’s approximate size.
I nodded.
“We had someone in here by that description, and I’m pretty sure she called herself Linda, but you’d have to ask my assistant. Amelie was the one helping out that morning, since I had to take my dog to the vet. Somehow, she inhaled a baker’s dozen of the Chocolate Wishes.”
“Who, Amelie or the dog?” Layla asked, her expression gobsmacked. “I’m only on donut number three right now, and already I think I might need to see a vet.”
“The dog,” Andy and I said in unison.
I laughed, a nervous laugh. “Okay, so she stopped in here, but you didn’t see her?”
“No, I did, but we just passed each other.” Andy gestured toward the door. “She was on the way out with her donuts, and I was on the way in with Chex.”
“Who’s Chex?” Layla’s eyes narrowed, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if she was jealous.
“The dog,” Andy and I said in sync again. This time, he laughed.
“Was she carrying a bag?” I asked.
He nodded. “Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention. But I remember vividly she had a bag that day because Chex stopped to sniff it, and I had to pull him away. I don’t bring the boy to work with me usually, due to incidents like that, but I wanted to keep an eye on him during the day.”
“That’s sweet,” Layla said. “Andy Sweet. Say, is that your real name?”
“Sorry about her,” I whispered to Andy. Everyone knew his real last name was Sweet—he’d been asked it only a million times, once by each tourist. Eventually, Rosie had just posted about it on her blog to clear up any confusion. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Sugar high. Do you know what Linda ordered by any chance
? Do you keep track of what you have in stock each day?”
Andy shrugged. “I could look up a list if you want. I generally keep track of inventory, but it’s not a hundred percent accurate. Sometimes Amelie or I take one for a snack and forget to write it up, or I give one away to a guest with a birthday. Often our numbers don’t match perfectly, but I could give you an estimate.”
I tilted my head to think. But after a few thoughts, I couldn’t figure out what exactly I’d use that information for anyway. We knew she’d come here and gotten donuts—what difference did the flavor make? Poison was poison, whether the donut was white or chocolate or multicolored with sprinkles. “Not if it’s too difficult. Don’t worry about it, Andy. Thanks anyway.”
“Sorry I can’t help you more,” he said. “If you want to talk to Amelie, she’s coming in around four this afternoon for the night shift. She can probably help you out, but I’m still not sure it’ll be helpful. We generally serve donuts, do a bit of small talk, and that’s about it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We really appreciate it. Layla, you ready to go?”
“Is this about her murder?” Andy asked before Layla could answer. “Is that why you’re asking?”
My blood ran cold. “Nobody said she was murdered.”
“I read about it.”
“Nobody has written about it.”
“I must have assumed then.” Andy looked down, suddenly feeling the urge to rearrange the donuts on the tray. “Anyway, stop by later, if you want. I’ll let Amelie know to give you guys whatever you need.”
Part of me wanted to stay around and ask more questions, but I wasn’t a cop or a private investigator. I wasn’t armed with anything more dangerous than a doughnut. Linking my arm through Layla’s, I guided us back to the car. I needed to think, needed to do some more digging around about Andy’s story before we came back..
“Are you going to be hungry by four o’clock this afternoon?” I looked at Layla, who deposited the empty pastry box in a garbage can on the way out. “Because I think we might need a second round.”
