Magic and Macaroons

by Bailey Cates

  “Erm,” Lucy said in a wry voice. “Not exactly.”

  Iris’ face fell.

  “Well, we might be able to,” Lucy acquiesced with an amused expression. We had certainly cast some powerful magic as a group. “But that’s not the kind of magic we do. Katie and I are hedgewitches.”

  Iris brightened again.

  “For us, it’s a family thing. Our great-great-great grandmothers and beyond have been village healers. For generations upon generations. They lived on the outskirts, near the hedges that surrounded most towns back then, barriers of vine and leaf that people believed kept them safe from outsiders. Hedgewitches ventured beyond those natural walls to enter the fields and forests to gather their herbs and plants, which they brought back to heal their communities.”

  “That is so cool!”

  Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “The knowledge of how to use plants, herbs, and spices is in our genes, though we don’t need to cross any literal hedges now. Some people might consider us green witches, or call us natural witches. We use the elements of nature and direct the natural energies of plants and herbs to help others.”

  Realization dawned on Iris’ face. “You do it here, don’t you? You cast spells here in the bakery.”

  “We . . .” Lucy faltered then squared her shoulders. “Yes. To help our customers.”

  Iris pointed her finger at me. Again. “The pomegranate jelly.”

  I nodded. “Yup. To help Martin with his writer’s block.”

  She stared down at the floor, not seeing it, but nodding vigorously to herself as she processed what we’d told her. Then she looked back up at us. “You said you’d teach me about using herbs and spices in baking.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said.

  “Will you teach me what you do? Or do I have to be in your family?”

  My aunt and I laughed. I said, “And here we were worried she wouldn’t be interested.” I locked eyes with Iris. “You don’t have to be in our family to learn kitchen magic. Anyone can learn how to direct their attention and intention to affect the world around them, but I knew the minute I met you at the cheese shop that you had an affinity for magic. It’s one of the reasons I invited you to fill out a job application here.”

  “Really?” She clamped her hand over her mouth, blinking at me with eyes that shone with excitement. And something else, something I recognized from when I finally came to believe what Lucy had told me about our family’s magical heritage: belonging.

  Our little Goth girl had found herself a home.

  “Come on,” Lucy said. “I’ll show you the spell I showed to Katie first. Let’s whip up some cheddar sage scones.”

  I laughed and went to open the Honeybee for business.

  *I drove by Mother Eulora’s, pointing out her tidy house to Jaida.

  “Cute.”

  “Down to the collection of hedgehogs in her living room,” I said, turning the Bug toward Forsyth Park and going another block before slowing to a crawl. “She said Franklin rented a place a few blocks away, in the direction of the park, but she didn’t know exactly where. This is the block where the dowsing rod touched down. Keep your eyes peeled for possibilities.”

  “Gotcha,” Jaida said, her attention glued to the buildings we passed. In the backseat, Mungo stood on his back legs and peered out, too, smearing doggy nose prints on the glass.

  Large single-family homes lined the street, and since we were still in the historic district, almost all were quite old, if not actually constructed before the Civil War. Mother Eulora had said he’d rented a room, and that could have been in any one of them. I squeezed the steering wheel in frustration. Even assuming the location spell had narrowed the search this far, there were still so many possibilities

  “There.” Jaida pointed to a three-story house. “You can tell by the balconies it’s been broken up into apartments.”

  She was right. Each of the iron-railed balconies had window boxes, but there was nothing consistent in the plantings, and some were empty. A lower one held a bike, the one above it a small bistro set, and two had grills. Cheered, I pulled into an empty spot in front, and we got out. Mungo jumped into my tote bag in the backseat, and I slung it over my shoulder.

  A dozen buzzers set into the brick of the front alcove confirmed Jaida’s conclusion. Knocking on the oak front door netted us nothing. None of the names by the buzzers identified Franklin Taite as a resident, but there was one that said MANAGER. I pushed it.

  We heard the sound of footsteps on a hard surface. The door swung open to reveal a white-bearded man wearing dark-framed glasses, khakis, and a short-sleeved chambray shirt.

  “Help you?”

  “I’m Katie Lightfoot.” I stuck out my hand. “And this is Jaida French.”

  He shook briefly. “I’m afraid we’re full up right now, ladies.” A nod toward where Mungo leaned out of my tote. “And we don’t allow pets.”

  “Oh, we’re not interested in renting an apartment,” I said.

  A wry expression settled on his face, and he pointed to the NO SOLICITING sign by the bank of buzzers. “I guess you didn’t see that.” He stepped back and started to shut the door.

  “Wait. We’re not selling anything,” Jaida said.

  I took a step forward. “We’re looking for one of your tenants.”

  The apartment manager paused, looking doubtful. “I’m sorry. I don’t think—”

  “He’s not a current tenant,” Jaida said.

  “Franklin Taite,” I said. “Do you know him?”

  He looked relieved, and for a moment I thought we’d found the right place. Then he shook his head, and I realized the relief wasn’t because he could help us, but because he was off the hook.

  “Sorry. Never heard of him.”

  I glanced over at Jaida, unwilling to give up. “He might have been using another name.”

  The manager’s eyes widened, and I rushed on. “He’s shorter than me, in his late forties or early fifties, a little overweight, thinning light brown hair—”

  He held his hand up. “No one here like that. Seriously. I’ve had the same tenants for the past six months, and most are students or young couples.” His hand tightened on the door. “I really can’t help you.”

  “Wait,” I said this time.

  He stopped closing the door, the irritation on his face blooming into anger.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We know he lived in this area, but not exactly where. Are there any other converted apartments on this block?”

  His head tipped to the side in thought. “Cozie Temmons lets out rooms in her home. Like a boarding house, you know? Mostly single men rent from her. She’s a great cook, and that’s part of the deal.” He gestured with his chin. “It’s the second house in from the corner on the other side.”

  I felt a grin spread across my face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded and shut the door. I turned to Jaida. “That’s got to be the place, don’t you think?”

  She smiled. “Let’s go find out.”

  We left the car parked where it was and hoofed it down toward the corner. Mungo’s head bounced up and down next to my elbow in time with my stride. We paused in the shade of the live oaks in front of our destination. It was a smaller version of a plantation-style home, complete with double-decker wraparound porches and terraced landscaping stepping up from the low wrought-iron fence to the brick foundation. The house was a mellow cream color, accented with dark green shutters and corner trim. We opened the gate and started up the gray brick steps, moving between the boxwood hedges, shiny azaleas, and green and white hydrangeas. The porch was painted classic haint blue, a Southern tradition meant to protect the home from spirits. Another NO SOLICITING placard, this one brass, hung from the porch railing. Next to it was another sign, this one announcing ROOM FOR RENT.

  Bingo.
>
  I raised my eyebrows. “Do you feel anything? Power that could come from a talisman or anything else?”

  Jaida shook her head.

  “Me neither.” There was history in this spot, no doubt, and I felt sure a number of spirits were packed into the homes of this area, but if the talisman was here, it wasn’t broadcasting its presence.

  This time knocking brought an immediate response. The woman who answered had short brown hair, brown eyes, and a full-lipped, welcoming smile that revealed a slight overbite. She wore shorts and a T-shirt and held a wooden spoon in one hand. The smell of bacon and onions drifted out to the porch, making my mouth water.

  “Hi there! Come on in. It’s hot as pepper out there.” She stepped back, waving us in, and we obeyed with alacrity.

  Shutting the door behind us, she said, “Now, who are you here to see?”

  “Um, are you Cozie Temmons?”

  “Oh, you want to see me.” She laughed and looked between us. “I only have the one room available, though, and it’s very small. Come on in the kitchen. We can talk while I finish up the potato salad for tonight’s supper.”

  We followed her through the comfortably furnished parlor into a large, welcoming room redolent with the smells from the front porch, plus the added tang of vinegar and spices waiting to be tossed with warm potatoes. The steam still rose from a big bowl of them, fogging the window over the enameled sink. On another counter, a platter of chicken pieces dripping with buttermilk waited by a deep, wide skillet. Classic fried chicken with German potato salad and goddess knew what else. Cozie’s boarders were lucky indeed. I looked down to see Mungo’s nostrils flaring—and was that a bit of drool? I patted him on the head, and with a small sigh, he hunkered down in the bag.

  Pouring the dressing in the bowl with the potatoes, Cozie began to gently fold it all together. “Sit down,” she said.

  Jaida and I sank into two of the red vinyl chairs.

  “You’re not here about a room, are you?”

  I shook my head. “How did you know?”

  She shrugged. “Most of my boarders are men, some of whom have been with me for years and years. The others are, to a man, recently divorced, don’t know how to do their own laundry, and can’t cook a lick.” She laughed. “They’re good guys, though. And they pay handsomely for my domestic prowess.”

  I grinned. “Plus, you can always kick them out.”

  She pointed the spoon at me. “That’s right.” Turning back to set the bowl down, she said, “Only had to do that a couple times in almost fifteen years, but it is nice to have as an option.” She turned and leaned back against the edge of the sink. “So, what can I help you with?”

  “Franklin Taite.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Now, that was a man who didn’t fall into either of the usual categories. Are you here to pay his back rent?”

  I looked at Jaida and wrinkled my nose. “He owes rent?”

  “Lord, yes. He just up and left without a word a few months ago. Never came back.”

  “Did you report him missing?”

  She snorted. “He wasn’t missing. He was running out on his rent. I didn’t find a suitcase.”

  Beside me, Jaida’s shoulders slumped. I felt the same way. “How long ago was that?”

  “Let’s see.” Her gaze drifted up and to the left as she remembered. “About three months.”

  “Did he leave anything here?” I asked.

  “A few things. After he’d been gone for a few weeks, I boxed them up, cleaned up the room, and rented it to a nice gentleman who moved here from Nashville after his wife passed away.”

  “Can we see his things?” I asked. “The stuff you boxed up?”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Listen, I appreciate you listening to me complain about Frankie, but I have no idea who the heck you are. Why would I give his stuff to you?”

  “How much rent does he owe?” I asked.

  Jaida nudged me with her foot.

  Cozie looked torn. “Are you his daughter or something? Do you know where he is?”

  “Nooo.” I drew the word out, scrambling for a good story. Should I lie? Her clear eyes regarded me with an openness that made me decide against it. “I’m a friend. And he’s not coming back.”

  She blinked.

  “His body was discovered a few days ago.” Leaving out that it had been right here in Savannah, and, as Quinn put it, fresh. I stifled a shudder.

  Her hand covered her mouth, and her face grew pale.

  “I’ve been trying to find where he lived here in town,” I said. “We were . . . friends, like I said.”

  “Oh, Lordy be. I can’t believe it. And here I thought he’d stiffed me.” She sank into one of the kitchen chairs and put her elbows on the Formica tabletop, guilt written all over her face. “I just can’t believe it,” she repeated.

  “I’m sorry to deliver the bad news,” I said. “But do you think we might have his belongings?”

  Jaida nudged my foot again, and I realized that in my eagerness to find the gris gris I’d managed to sound pretty cold about Franklin’s death. “His niece is here in town,” she cut in with her best soothing tone. “No doubt she’ll want to see them.”

  “Well . . .” Cozie’s fingers tapped on the tabletop, her face a mask of bewildered sorrow. But when she looked up at me, her gaze cleared. “If he has a niece, don’t you think it might be better to give them to her?” Her voice was worried and kind, but there was steel there, too.

  “We’ll be happy to take them off your hands,” I said. “And maybe I could pay at least part of his back rent.” I didn’t think I could pay all of it. Baking was a joy and kept me solvent, but I didn’t have a lot of disposable cash laying around, either.

  Cozie’s eyes narrowed, though. “That’s starting to sound a bit like a bribe. You sure seem to want his stuff, for someone who’s just a friend.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Sorry, but we had a break-in last night, and I’m not feeling my usual trusting self.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll wait for the niece. And she’d better have ID—”

  “You had a break-in last night?” I cut in.

  “Yes. With all the men who live here, and all the coming and goings, I don’t know how. But the lock on the back door was jimmied sometime during the night. I found it wide open this morning.” Cozie looked toward the door in question, now sporting a bright and shiny new dead bolt. “Luckily, the locksmith could come right away. It won’t happen again with that lock.”

  “Did the burglar get away with much?” I asked with sympathy.

  She sat up. “You know, that the funny thing. I don’t think they took a thing.”

  Jaida and I exchanged a look.

  Cozie shrugged. “Maybe they just wanted a bite to eat, or maybe one of my boarders scared them off without realizing it. The police took my statement and left. There wasn’t much else they could do.” She shook her head. “Anyway, about Frankie’s niece.”

  “I’m afraid she’s somewhat indisposed right now,” I began.

  Jaida shot me a look of warning.

  I paused, regrouping. “What about giving his possessions to the police?” I asked. “Would that be okay? You see, Franklin Taite was a homicide detective right here in Savannah for a while. I assure you we have good intentions, but if it would make you feel better, I’ll ask his former partner, Detective Peter Quinn, to stop by and talk with you.”

  “A homicide detective? Heavens, I had no idea. Yes.” She stood, and we followed suit. “Yes, that would be fine. Thank you for understanding. You just can’t be too careful these days, you know? I’ll wait to hear from Detective . . . Quinn, did you say?”

  Nodding, I took one last sniff of the divine kitchen smells, and we said our good-byes.

  Chapter 16


  “What do you think?” I asked Jaida as we walked back to the car.

  She made a face. “The timing of that break-in is pretty suspicious. I wonder if she would even notice if someone took ‘Frankie’s’ stuff.”

  “No kidding. I almost asked her to go check, but she was already suspicious enough.”

  “Will Quinn follow through?” Jaida asked.

  “I don’t see why not. He wants to know more about his old partner’s death, too. And he asked me to call if I had any information that might help.”

  She looked at me curiously. “Have you told him about Dawn’s message? About the gris gris?”

  “Not yet. After all, what could he do? He doesn’t even believe in magic.” We’d reached the car, and I hit the keyless entry.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  I responded with a humorless laugh. “He yelled at me about believing a psychic, Jaida. Finds what he sees as my preoccupation with the paranormal somewhat amusing. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to help when it comes to voodoo curses.”

  She shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

  “He’ll want to know Franklin left with a suitcase. He’s been someplace else for the past three months. Possibly in a coma.”

  “Detective Quinn might be able to find out where,” Jaida said, stopping at my car.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” I said, and stepped off the curb. “Though I’ll have to convince him why it’s a possibility, and I’m not sure how to do that.”

  A car drove by as I was opening the driver’s door, and I looked up to see Steve’s black Land Rover. I smiled and raised my hand to wave, then dropped it when I saw the blond locks winging out the open window were a much lighter shade than Steve’s smooth, honeyed hair.

  And, wouldn’t you know it, tied with a pretty pink ribbon.

  Tamping down the instant irritation that flared when I realized Samantha Whatshername—Hatfield?—was driving Steve’s car, I deposited Mungo into the backseat and slammed the door. Steve let other people drive his car all the time. His dad. His lawyer.