by Bailey Cates
“Trust a baker to do something like that,” she muttered.
“Keep working that butter,” I said with a grin.
She went back to her scones, and I went back to scrubbing.
I heard Detective Quinn’s voice before I saw him. A part of me wanted to scurry into the office, shut the door, and pretend I didn’t know he was in the bakery. While I was debating whether to follow that instinct, Lucy called me out to the register.
Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath and came out from behind the rack of shelves I’d been wiping down. Quinn stood by the display case, waiting. Briskly, I joined my aunt.
“Detective,” I said, “what can we get for you today? The croissants are especially good.”
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Ah, those words almost no one wants to hear.
Lucy’s eyes darted between us.
Ben had been watching from the coffee counter, and walked over. “Hello, Peter.” He had his best poker face on, but I knew he was being protective.
Quinn inclined his head. “Ben. Good to see you. How have things been?”
“Fine.”
A silence stretched out for several seconds, long enough to hear a laughing couple pass by on the sidewalk outside the door.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. “Come back to the office. We can talk there.”
The detective gave a quick nod and followed me through the kitchen. My aunt and uncle watched him every step of the way.
“We can talk in here, Detective,” I said, repeating myself but hoping to give Mungo a heads-up.
It worked. When I opened the door and walked in, he was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, I moved the afghan he slept on from the club chair and gestured to Quinn.
“Please, have a seat.”
He remained standing, looking all around the room. “Where’s the dog?”
I raised my eyebrows in question and blinked as innocently as I knew how.
Quinn’s lips turned up in a wry quirk. “He’s not in the reading area, so he must be back here. Did you really think I didn’t know?”
“Um . . .”
“I’m a homicide detective. Why do you think I’d care about your dog sleeping in the office?”
Mungo wiggled out from behind the file cabinet, and Quinn reached down to pet him. A slight smile still hovered on his face as he straightened; then it was gone.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? My dog?”
Quinn looked away. He started to rub his hands together, then caught himself and abruptly stopped. “Not exactly.”
I folded my arms, ready for a lecture.
“I came to tell you that you were right, and I was wrong.”
My jaw slackened. “What?” I asked stupidly.
“You were right. I was wrong.” He sighed, and sat down in Mungo’s chair. “I should have listened to you.”
Slowly, I sank into the desk chair and swiveled to face him. “Um . . . thanks?”
He leaned back and regarded me. “So how did you know?”
“You mean about Orla?”
He looked briefly at the ceiling, then back at me. “Yes, about Orla. How did you know from the very beginning that her death was suspicious?”
“Oh.” I tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t involve familiars, my dead grandmother, or Connell. “You know that conversation we had after the murder on the movie set? About intuition and gut feelings?”
“It was more than that,” he said flatly.
I held his gaze. “Yeah. Maybe it was.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Because I won’t believe you?”
I didn’t say anything. But I didn’t look away, either.
Finally, he looked down at his hands. Nodded to himself. Looked back up. “I saw you glow that night. In the back of the Fox and Hound.”
“Glow?”
“Stop it. This is the seventh time you’ve been responsible for bringing a murderer to justice in two years. That’s my job—”
“I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
He held up his hand. “Wait. Let me finish. I was going to say, that’s my job—solving murders. It can be stressful, and difficult, but I love it, and I believe it’s important.”
“It is!” I said.
“And even though you make me crazy, getting in trouble and asking questions all over the place and making people mad, and . . .” He trailed off. Took a deep breath. “. . . and making me listen to your weird theories, you’ve helped me do my job.”
I blinked. Unsure of what to say, I didn’t say anything at all.
Quinn leaned forward. “So I think I’m not only stuck with you, but that there might be a reason I’m stuck with you.”
“Like fate?”
One shoulder rose and dropped. “Maybe something like that. Or maybe something else.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought a lot about how you seem to know things I don’t, or find out things I can’t. Part of it is because you’re a civilian, of course, and a woman. But there’s something else. And there are other things, too. That crazy scene in the graveyard, the strange connection between you and my old partner, the cases that ended up involving voodoo, and that thing in the swamp. Not to mention this last time. You glowed, Katie. Glowed. I saw it. And I saw you do something else that didn’t seem human.”
I laughed a shaky laugh. “Maybe you think I’m from outer space?”
He didn’t crack a smile. “Katie. Seriously. What are you?”
All my senses felt like they were in overdrive, almost like when I found myself in danger. But I didn’t feel any danger coming from Quinn. Only curiosity—and quite a bit of nervousness.
Well, he’d asked.
“I’m a witch.”
He barked a laugh, then covered his mouth with his hand. When he saw I was serious, he dropped it. “A witch.”
I nodded. “A hedgewitch, actually. Runs in the family.” Sorry, Lucy. Didn’t mean to out you without your permission. “Kitchen magic. Garden magic. Like the women healers of days gone by.”
“Okay.” He drew out the words. “So you’re into that kind of thing.”
I bristled.
“But that does not explain this—this attraction you have to murder. To finding criminals.”
“Apparently, I’m also what they call a catalyst,” I said reluctantly. Wasn’t it enough that I’d revealed I was a witch? Did I have to tell him the rest? “So things kind of happen around me.”
“Uh-huh. They sure do.”
“And, uh, Franklin Taite is the one who told me I’m also a lightwitch. That’s what I think you’re really asking. It’s kind of like a calling to seek out justice when needed.”
His eyes had widened more than I’d ever seen them. Had I told him too much? It didn’t matter. I plunged on.
“And other than Mavis Templeton, all of your cases that I’ve been involved in have had some kind of magical element to them. For all I know, hers did, too. In retrospect, I think she might have been a witch who practiced dark magic. Unlike me.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally, he spluttered, “Franklin Taite! He was in on this whole thing!”
“He was a hunter,” I said.
“A—” He clamped his mouth shut.
“A witch hunter. All evil really.” I shrugged. “But I don’t practice dark magic. I mean, there is a lot of gray magic, and it gets complicated, but yeah. He thought I was bad news at first—then there was that whole lightwitch thing.” I took a breath and looked at Mungo. My poor familiar looked stunned that I was telling Quinn all of this. “See, he saw me glow, too.” I held up my hand. “I only do it under duress, see. But he saw it,
and that was when he told me I was a lightwitch. Of course he also lied about what that meant, and—”
Quinn held up both hands to stop me. “Okay, okay. That’s all I can absorb for the moment.”
I stopped talking. It had been like a flood I couldn’t hold back, such a relief to be able to tell him. But as soon as silence descended between us, I wanted to pull back the words, swallow them whole, make him forget that he’d heard them. Sitting there under his gaze, I felt raw and vulnerable, unsure and frightened.
For a nanosecond, I thought of using my Voice the same way that Taber O’Cleary had, to try to wipe Quinn’s memory clean of all that I’d just revealed.
No. No, no, no. I will not do that.
I raised my chin and waited.
“Well,” he said finally. “That certainly explains a lot. And it gives me a lot to think about.” He stood, and as he looked down at me, his gaze softened. “Don’t look like that, Katie. I know you think I’m an ogre sometimes, probably because sometimes I am. But I believe you. You know, as best I can. I know one thing for sure, though—you’re a good person, and you’ve helped me immeasurably.”
I stood. “I, uh, don’t go spreading what I told you around, you know?”
He looked insulted. “Of course not.” Then he gave me a little grin. “As if anyone would believe me. And you know, I’m glad we had this little talk.”
“Me, too,” I said, and opened the office door.
Lucy and Ben were still watching as we came back out front. Ben glowered, but Lucy was asking me a dozen questions with her eyes.
“I’ll take one of those croissants,” Quinn said, pulling out his wallet.
Quickly, I wrapped one up to go. He noticed and smiled when I handed it to him. “I’ve missed your pastries.” He walked to the door. Before exiting, he turned and grinned. “See you tomorrow for another one.”
Ben and Lucy were instantly at my side. “What did he say?”
“I told him I’m a hedgewitch. And a lightwitch.”
Lucy gasped, then recovered. “Being a hedgewitch is one thing. What did he think about the other?”
My eyes followed Detective Quinn through the window as he crossed the street to his car. “I’m not sure. But I think if there’s another magic-related crime in Savannah, we’ll be able to work together on it.”
Then I caught myself. Another magic-related crime in Savannah? Nah. After so many in the last two years, I was ready for a break.
• • •
That night, Declan and I were lying side by side in the bed in his apartment. His breathing had slowed, and I knew the next sound he’d make would be a little snort, then more deep breathing, as he drifted into a deep sleep. The moon shone through his bedroom window, illuminating the stack of boxes he’d already packed in anticipation of moving into our new home. I hadn’t realized how ready he’d been. Now it was going to be a while longer. Tomorrow we were meeting with an architect and contractors to talk about our plans to expand the carriage house. He thought it would probably take about four months for the project to be completed.
Four months for Carriage House 2.0, as I’d already begun to think of it, to be ready for occupancy by the Lightfoot-McCarthys. In the meantime, we’d stay at his place. Everything about it felt right, though. And there had been sacrifice—of the first version of the carriage house for the new one. Maybe that had been what Orla meant. Or perhaps she’d seen that I’d make the split-second decision to put myself between Taber and Declan. Had that been a sacrifice, though? Some would think so. To me, it had simply been the only thing I could do.
I suddenly remembered the future card I’d seen in my tarot spread. The Tower. The destruction of the old to bring in the new. But I hadn’t realized until that moment how the card had literally played out that night in the loft. The image of two people jumping out of a tower and falling to the ground below. The flames licking from the windows of the tower.
The loft had been the tower, my descent to the ground precarious on the ladder but ultimately successful. But the flames had been far more real than the stylized depictions on the Rider-Waite card, the destruction inside the tower more literal than metaphorical. I wondered what Jaida would say when I told her about it.
Declan gave the little snort. On my other side, Mungo echoed it.
Before my fiancé fell completely asleep, I reached over and took his hand.
“Mm.”
“You awake?” I asked.
“Mmph.”
“Declan, let’s get married on August fifteenth.”
The deep breathing stopped, and he propped himself up on one elbow to look at me. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Why August fifteenth?”
“Because the house should be ready by then, and it gives us plenty of time to plan the wedding. And it was Nonna’s birthday.”
“The house might not be done,” he said. “And do you really want to plan a wedding while your house is under construction?”
“Our house. And we’ll manage.”
“Our house. And okay.” He leaned over and kissed me.
Recipes
Brown Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies
1½ cups (3 sticks) butter
1 cup slivered almonds
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
2 large eggs
1 10 oz. package 70% cacao chocolate chips
smoked salt (optional)
Place butter in a heavy saucepan, preferably with a light-colored bottom so you can judge the color of the butter as it browns. Place over medium heat. Stir now and then to make sure the butter is cooking evenly. It will start to foam, then turn tan, then a darker brown. The foam will brown and crisp and fall to the bottom of the pan. When the butter has browned—about the color of light maple syrup—remove from heat and transfer all but 2 tablespoons into another container to cool. You should have at least 1 cup, as the butter decreases in volume when the liquid cooks out. If you have a bit more, set the extra aside to add to pasta, steamed vegetables, or even oatmeal. It’s delicious and will keep in the refrigerator for months.
Add the slivered almonds to the butter left in the pan and cook over medium heat until crisp and lightly browned. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 375° F. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside. Using a mixer, beat together 1 cup of the brown butter, sugars, and vanilla. Add the eggs, one at a time. Beat in the flour mixture. Stir in the chocolate chips and almonds. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto the baking sheet about two inches apart. Bake for 9 to 11 minutes until golden brown. Immediately sprinkle/grind a little smoked salt on top if you wish. Move to wire racks to cool.
Makes about 4 dozen cookies.
Rhubarb and Ricotta Crostini
2½ cups rhubarb, trimmed and sliced ¼ inch thick
⅔ cup sugar, plus more to taste
Zest of one orange plus 4 tbsp. of juice
1 baguette, sliced ¼ inch thick
1 cup ricotta cheese
¼ cup honey
Place the rhubarb, sugar, orange zest, and orange juice in a heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil, then turn to low and simmer until the rhubarb is cooked through but still pink and holds its shape—about five minutes. Add a tablespoon of water if it starts to stick, but avoid making the mixture runny. Set aside to cool. When still slightly warm, add any additional sugar to taste.
Toast the baguette slices under a broiler. When golden brown on one side, flip and brown the other side. The toast should be crisp, but still slightly tender on the inside.
When ready to serve, spread a bit of stewed rhubarb on each slice of
toasted bread, followed by a dollop of ricotta and a drizzle of honey.
This makes a great appetizer, a nice addition to brunch, or a light breakfast.
If you love Bailey Cates’s New York Times bestselling Magical Bakery Mysteries, read on for an excerpt from the first book in Bailey Cattrell’s Enchanted Garden Mystery series,
Daisies for Innocence
Available now wherever books are sold
The sweet, slightly astringent aroma of Lavandula stoechas teased my nose. I couldn’t help closing my eyes for a moment to appreciate its layered fragrance drifting on the light morning breeze. Spanish lavender, or “topped” lavender—according to my gamma, it had been one of my mother’s favorites. It was a flower that had instilled calm and soothed the skin for time eternal, a humble herb still used to ease headache and heartache alike. I remembered Gamma murmuring to me in her garden when I was five years old:
Breathe deeply, Elliana. Notice how you can actually taste the scent when you inhale it? Pliny the Elder brewed this into his spiced wine, and Romans used it to flavor their ancient sauces. In the language of flowers, it signifies the acknowledgment of love.
Not that I’d be using it in that capacity anytime soon.
But Gamma had been gone for over twenty years, and my mother had died when I was only four. Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the tiny mosaic pathway next to where I knelt. Carefully, I added a piece of foggy sea glass to the design. The path was three feet long and four inches wide, and led from beneath a tumble of forget-me-nots to a violet-colored fairy door set into the base of the east fence. Some people referred to them as “gnome doors,” but whatever you called them, the decorative miniature garden phenomena were gaining popularity with adults and children alike. The soft green and blue of the water-polished, glass-nugget path seemed to morph directly from the clusters of azure flowers, curving around a lichen-covered rock to the ten-inch round door. I wondered how long it would take one of my customers to notice this new addition to the verdant garden behind my perfume and aromatherapy shop, Scents & Nonsense.
