Potions and Pastries

by Bailey Cates

  “I should have known you’d be out here,” he said, pulling off his glasses.

  “Yes. How odd that I’d be out on the sidewalk in front of my place of business when there was an accident in the street.” I didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  He let a few beats pass, then: “Who’s the victim?”

  I hesitated. “Victim?”

  “Of the accident. Or suicide. From what I heard on the radio, it could be either one.”

  Suicide? I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “If you were on the radio, then I bet you know who she is. Was. Whatever,” I said.

  He waited.

  I sighed. “Orla Black. Her name is Orla Black.”

  His lips twitched in triumph. “Now, how did I know you’d know who she was?”

  “She was a regular Honeybee customer,” I said, and couldn’t help adding, “Like you used to be.”

  He looked away.

  “There’s something suspicious about this, Quinn,” I said, trying for the level of interaction we’d once enjoyed.

  His eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Lucy and I were standing right here with her. I didn’t happen to be looking when it happened, but something is off.”

  Expression stony, he said again, as if to an imbecile, “Like. What?”

  Like my nonna warned me from beyond the veil. Like I’m pretty sure Connell gave Declan an intuitional nudge that Orla’s death was suspicious.

  “Like there was no reason for her to step off the sidewalk right then.” I was fully aware of how lame it sounded.

  So was Quinn. He gave me a wry look. After a moment, it softened a little. “I’m sorry, Katie. This kind of thing is hard to see. But trust me, it was an accident. Or, at worst, a suicide.”

  I shook my head. “Not suicide. She was on the way to a meeting.” With her lawyer. Why? “And she’d just bought a book for her grandchild at the Fox and Hound. She seemed just fine.” I took a deep breath and barreled on. “And after all, you’re here. A homicide detective. So you must have some questions.”

  “As I said, I heard the call on the radio, and I was in the area.” Which made sense—the precinct was only a few blocks away. “And given your predilection for getting involved in some nasty situations, I had to wonder.” He sighed and gestured vaguely toward the street. “But that’s no homicide unless someone pushed her. You were there. Who else was?”

  “Just Lucy,” I said.

  “Did either of you push Ms. Black into traffic?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Well, there you go.” Kindness flickered behind his eyes, then was gone. “Not every tragedy gets justice, Katie.” He glanced at the miserable driver of the red Toyota. “Or requires it.”

  “It’s just that . . .” I trailed off. There was no convincing him. Heck, I didn’t even know what I was trying to convince him of. Just that something was wrong.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said, and sliding his sunglasses back on, he turned away.

  “Quinn,” I said.

  He paused.

  “You take care of yourself, too.”

  He nodded and walked away.

  I’d wanted to say something else, something more, but didn’t know how.

  I turned and went inside. There was something off here, and I didn’t know what it was. However, it was evident from our brief conversation that this time Detective Quinn would not be investigating.

  All the customers had left. Mimsey and Lucy were carrying trays of drinks and pastries over to the reading area. Bianca and Cookie were seated in the two poufy brocade chairs, while Jaida sat on the sofa. Ben carried one of the bistro chairs over and sat on the periphery of the circle. The books that the ladies had brought to contribute to the Honeybee library sat in haphazard piles on the coffee table. I hurried to move them to the floor in front of the bookshelves, and Mimsey and my aunt placed the trays where they had been. After motioning them to join Jaida on the sofa, I settled cross-legged on the floor. Mungo crawled into my lap and leaned against me.

  As if that provided permission, the other familiars made themselves known. First Honeybee moved to sit behind Lucy’s head on the back of the sofa. Rafe, Cookie’s king snake, coiled out of her bag on the floor. He still gave me the shivers, but she didn’t even seem to notice when he wrapped himself around her slim ankle. Puck, Bianca’s ferret, poked his white nose out of a pocket in her skirt that I hadn’t noticed before, then emerged enough to show the black Zorro mask over his eyes. The only ones missing were Jaida’s Great Dane, Anubis, and Mimsey’s obnoxious parrot, Heckle.

  Mimsey reached forward and took a croissant, held it for a few moments, then set it down on a napkin on the table untouched. She sighed and looked around at us. Her gaze settled on me.

  “We saw you talking to Detective Quinn, Katie. Does that mean what I think it does?”

  I shook my head. “Not if you think he’s investigating Orla’s death as a homicide. He only came by because he heard about what happened on his radio.” I made a face. “Since it happened on Broughton Street, he wanted to know if I was involved.”

  “Involved! How?” Lucy sputtered.

  I grimaced. “Well, you have to admit I’ve been around more than a few times when he’s been called out to a murder scene. Still, he’s sure this was either an accident or Orla committed suicide.”

  Bianca leaned forward. “Suicide by car? That’s horrible.” Her voice was soft.

  Mimsey emphatically shook her head. “And I don’t believe it. I’ve known Orla for over a decade, ever since her family moved up from Florida. She was a happy person—tough and smart, too. When she had a problem, she’d find a solution.”

  Jaida looked thoughtful. “Still, you can’t really know what goes on in someone else’s mind.”

  I tipped my head to one side. “I agree with Mimsey. I only knew Orla well enough to sell her a treat now and then.” And to be hooked by the beginning of a fortune she would never finish telling me. “But the timing was off.”

  “What do you mean?” Cookie asked. She reached down and scritched behind Rafe’s beady little eyes.

  Quelling a shudder, I said, “She had just bought a book for her granddaughter.” I held up the bag from the Fox and Hound and removed the volume so they could see the front. “It’s a story about an Irish Gypsy girl.”

  I saw Ben raise an eyebrow, but he remained silent, letting us hash out what had happened among ourselves. He usually wasn’t involved in our discussions, and I wondered what he thought.

  Lucy said slowly, “It was so strange.”

  We all looked at her.

  “Did you see her expression right before she stepped off the curb, Katie?”

  “Huh-uh. This little guy”—I nuzzled the top of Mungo’s head with my chin—“came running out of the bakery and started barking. I was looking at him when I heard you scream.” I winced. “It was over by the time I looked up.”

  My aunt took a deep breath. “Oh. I wish you’d seen her face.” She looked around at us. “Her eyes. They went blank. Completely blank. It was kind of scary. And even worse, she was right in the middle of a sentence. Suddenly she stopped talking, she looked across the street, her eyes became empty, and a split second later, she’d stepped in front of . . . that car.” Her voice broke on the last two words.

  “That’s weird,” Jaida said, speculation in her voice. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She turned to me and said what had been in the back of my mind all along. “That doesn’t sound like a suicide or an accident.”

  Lucy met my eyes, and understanding passed between us. “Tell them about Nonna,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  Mimsey slid off the couch to stand over me. “Your grandmother spoke to you? Why didn’t you say so in the fir
st place?”

  Feeling at a distinct disadvantage with the diminutive Mimsey towering over where I sat on the floor, I tried not to sound defensive. “I haven’t had a chance yet!”

  Mollified, she sat back down.

  “It was right before it happened. Mungo ran out of the bakery, and at the same time, I heard Nonna say, ‘Katie, quick! Help Orla.’” Passing my hand over my face, I continued. “I didn’t know what she was talking about. I was just so surprised.” Tipping my dog’s face up so I could look at it, I said, “And this one seemed to know something was going on, too. I only wish he could speak.”

  Yip!

  A small laugh escaped my throat, and my shoulders eased. “Did anyone else’s familiar act funny?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Maybe Mungo knew because Orla’s death has something to do with your calling as a lightwitch,” Mimsey said.

  Nods all around.

  Great.

  Placing Mungo on the floor, I stood. “Well, if Orla did step in front of that car on purpose, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it,” I grumbled. “Same thing if it was an accident.”

  “What if it was neither?” Ben asked.

  “Murder? Quinn is right about one thing. No one else was nearby. No one pushed her into the street. It would have to be something like . . .” I trailed off.

  “Magic?” he asked.

  My chin jerked up. “Really, Ben?”

  He shrugged and said in a mild tone, “I may not be a member of your, er, book club, and no spirits of the dead have ever deigned to communicate with me, but I’ve been around these last two years since you moved to Savannah. This has all the earmarks of a situation you need to suss out, Katie.”

  “I have a choice, remember?” I said. “Just because I’m a lightwitch doesn’t mean I have a calling I can’t refuse, no matter what we thought before.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  They all watched me in silence. One by one, I looked around at them. Mimsey’s blue eyes were distressed, but in them, I saw confidence that I’d make the right decision. Jaida gave me an encouraging smile. Bianca nodded slowly, her face open. Cookie watched me with narrowed eyes, but I knew she’d accept whatever I said. Ben’s brown eyes were difficult to read behind his glasses, but his lips softened and turned up.

  Finally, my aunt. Dear Lucy. Tenderhearted yet with a toughness most people didn’t get to see. Now she gazed at me with wise affection, as if she knew what I was thinking.

  I didn’t know Orla very well. It’s not my responsibility. I like my life nice and simple the way it is right now. I’m supposed to be finding a house and planning a wedding, not investigating a suspicious death. Not to mention that when I’ve stuck my nose into things like this in the past, I’ve almost been killed. So have Declan and other people I loved. Including Lucy.

  And:

  A woman died. A woman we knew. A woman who had seen something in my future, and who might not have been at the wrong place at the wrong time if I hadn’t stopped her on the street to find out more. Something is off, something Nonna tried to warn me about, something Mungo sensed. And I haven’t even told them that Connell has an opinion.

  I nodded slowly. “Okay. I can at least see what I can find out about Orla’s death.”

  “Good for you,” Ben said.

  “We can help,” Lucy said.

  Murmurs all around.

  I held up a finger. “Hang on. I don’t want to go off half-cocked. It still could have been an accident. She could have slipped, or felt dizzy.”

  Ben nodded. “Yes, that’s possible. She could have suffered an aneurysm or something else that would make her behave the way Lucy described.” He paused. “In fact, that was my first thought until I heard about your grandmother’s spirit warning you and Mungo’s behavior.”

  “That could have been due to a medical condition, too, you know. Nonna might have just wanted me to grab her, and Mungo is certainly a clever, intuitive little beast.”

  My terrier looked up at me with a worried expression.

  Despite what I’d just said, I didn’t really think Orla had died because of a medical condition. But it was possible. I needed to talk to Declan to make sure. He’d gone to the hospital, so he might know more on that front. And now I was more curious than ever about what his resident guardian spirit had to say about Orla’s death being “suspicious.”

  “To look into Orla’s death, we need to look into her life.” Mimsey pointed to the book I still held in my hand. “She got that book for her granddaughter because the Blacks come from a long line of Irish travelers.”

  I blinked. “Really? Gypsies?”

  “Travelers,” she emphasized. “But, oh my, yes. Of the modern-day variety.”

  “Ginnie Black was Colette’s teacher last year,” Bianca said. Colette was her eight-year-old daughter. “Isn’t she part of that family?”

  Mimsey frowned. “I think she married into it.”

  “Well, for travelers, they sure stay put,” Cookie said. “They own a whole cluster of town houses. Great investment property. And when I was selling commercial real estate, John Black bought a couple of storefronts from a colleague. Prime locations. He must be making a bundle from them.”

  “Okay,” I said. “This is good. There’s a Ginnie Black, who is a teacher, and John Black, who’s a real estate mogul. I remember Orla mentioning someone named John. Has to be the same guy.”

  “He’s the head of the family,” Mimsey said. “He has a reputation.”

  “For what?” I asked, curious.

  “Probably the same as his son, Aiden,” Jaida said. “I worked with him when he was sued by a customer for some concrete work their construction company did.”

  By that, she meant she’d worked as his attorney. But being attorney of record in a public case was one thing; disclosing any other information about her client would be verboten. I didn’t even ask.

  “Okay, add in Aiden Black and his concrete business,” I said.

  But Jaida was shaking her head. “The company is owned by John, Aiden, and Taber O’Cleary.”

  “Orla’s son-in-law.” Ben looked around the group. “We met him down on the riverfront last night.”

  I rubbed my eyes suddenly. It felt as if our celebratory dinner and walk had been weeks ago, not less than twenty-four hours.

  But Lucy was nodding vigorously. “And her daughter, Fern.”

  “Fern has a brother,” Mimsey said. “His name is . . . Finn? Yes, that’s it. Finn and Fern. He’s married to the teacher.”

  “Fern mentioned that Finn was around last night. Something about a ‘cycle.’ I think he might have been the one riding the unicycle?”

  Ben said, “I wouldn’t be surprised. But, Katie, this might be more difficult that we thought. Remember all the strife in the short time we stopped by Orla’s fortune-telling booth?”

  “The juggler,” I said.

  “And the unhappy client,” Lucy said.

  “Either of them could be a sorcerer or witch of some kind.” I looked down at the book. “I’m not sure where to start, honestly. At least I can give this to Fern. Orla meant for her granddaughter to have it.” And if I happened to find out a little more about the Black clan, then all the better. “I think I’ll wait a bit, though. I’m sure she must be reeling over her mother’s death.”

  Murmurs of agreement all around.

  “It may be difficult to get the family to talk about Orla,” Mimsey said.

  I was about to ask her why when a knock at the door brought Ben to his feet. He let a uniformed policewoman in and moved a chair over to where the rest of us still sat. Unlike when Quinn conducted interviews in a homicide investigation, she was happy to talk to us as a group. I offered her a glass of sweet tea, a bit diluted now that the ice had mostly melted, and a scone. She a
ccepted both with a grateful nod and sat nibbling and sipping while we all told her our stories.

  There wasn’t much to tell. Lucy was the only one who had seen Orla step in front of the car. I related what I’d told the spellbook club, minus mention of Nonna or Mungo, and they all confirmed that they’d been inside. By the time we were finished, she’d made a few notes and polished off her food.

  “Thanks for sticking around, everyone. I’ll be in touch if we need any more information from you.” She stood, put away her notebook, and turned to me. “I’ve heard about the food in here from a friend of mine. He’s right. It’s excellent. I’ll definitely be back.”

  I smiled. “Who’s your friend?”

  “His name is Peter Quinn.”

  Of course it was. At least he wasn’t bad-mouthing the bakery, even if he couldn’t bring himself to come in anymore.

  She left, and the others gathered their things. Bianca approached me with an apologetic smile.

  “Do you still want to have the egg-coloring party the day after tomorrow? Colette would understand if you want to cancel.”

  I shook my head. “That’s sweet, but absolutely not. Declan will be working, and it’ll give me something to do besides sit and stew. Not only that, but Margie’s bringing the JJs. I don’t want to disappoint any of the kids, plus it’ll be fun for us, too. Right?”

  “Right.” She reached into her little Coach bag, retrieved a scarlet lipstick, and touched up her lips. “I’ll stop by the craft store tomorrow and pick up the supplies we talked about.”

  “I’ll take care of the dyes—regular Easter egg colors plus some natural hues.”

  She smiled. “We’ve always just dunked them in dye and plunked them in a basket. I can’t wait to try some of your ideas.”

  Lucy came over. “I’ll be there, too. It’s been too long since we’ve seen Colette.”

  One by one, everyone went on to their respective evening activities in a somber mood. Before she left, Cookie gave me a quick hug.