Trevor was pleasant enough, but barely got a word in edgewise from the moment Bailey arrived. Almost as soon as Martha was occupied with her water, Gloria launched into an inquisition about the residents of Coven Grove; especially the women of Grovey Goodies, the bakery where Chloe worked. “Are they locals?” Gloria asked. “How long have they been in Coven Grove exactly?”
“Since I was little, at least,” Bailey told her. “Does that matter…?”
“The doc is as much about the community around the caves as the caves themselves,” Gloria explained. “These women”—she consulted a small notepad—“Chloe Minds, Frances Cold, and Aria Rogers; do they spend much time at the caves?”
“I… wouldn’t know,” Bailey answered, confused about how that had anything to do with the documentary. “They just run the bakery,” she said flatly. “That’s all. But, nobody spends more time here than Poppy Winters. Except maybe me.”
“And, why do you spend so much time in the caves?” Gloria pressed, her pen poised over the pad.
“They’re just interesting, is all,” Bailey said, watching for Gloria to note something down. She didn’t. “I mean, you’ve been inside by now, right? They’re mysterious; a curiosity that sort of just doesn’t make much sense.”
“How’s that?”
Bailey watched the woman’s furtive eyes. She hadn’t once done something assistant-like for Martha. In fact, she seemed more like a reporter than an assistant. Maybe Martha’s role in the documentary was more involved than Bailey had thought? “Well look at them,” Bailey said, “and look at Coven Grove. We’re just a small town, there’s nothing really special about this place other than the Caves, and the writing in them seems to range all over the place—Egyptian hieroglyphs, ancient Greek, Native American, caveman paintings; even some Sumerian. It’s an odd assortment of cultures, and the oldest parts are over a thousand years old. It’s got this anachronistic appeal, and you’d think it would get more attention but this is the first time anyone’s bothered to cover it.”
“Interesting,” Gloria said, jotting things down. Bailey tried to peek over the edge of the little pad, but Gloria tilted it up a little bit as though to hide what she was writing down. “You know an awful lot about the Seven Caves,” Gloria said. “You’re sure there are just seven of them?”
Bailey frowned. “Well, I didn’t name them. But yeah, I know about everything there is to know about them; I run the tours. It’s my job.”
“Of course, of course,” Gloria muttered.
“I want a red carpet,” Martha said, out of nowhere, suddenly surging to her feet. She spread her hands, rolling out the carpet in her mind perhaps, and pointed to the Caves. “From the entrance, all the way through to the last Cave. I want to walk down it throughout the feature as I reveal the truth about the writing on the cave walls.”
Bailey glanced around, looking for some indication of who she was talking to. Most of the crew were out of hearing distance, and busy setting up lights and testing equipment.
Martha and Gloria both stared at Bailey expectantly. “I’m… not sure I can get that much carpet by tomorrow,” Bailey said. “And the caves are all twisty; they don’t run in a straight line. I’m not sure how you’d get a carpet all the way through it… I might be able to get it for the entrance, though.”
“Oh, is there not a carpet store in town?” Gloria asked pleasantly, though it was a poisonous kind of politeness.
Bailey nodded slowly, keeping her calm, though she desperately wished she’d brought something more for her headache; it was already coming back. “There is, of course; but they’d need almost half a mile of carpet to go through the whole network. It’s just not practical.”
“Practical!” Martha wailed. “Of course it isn’t practical, that’s not the point! This must be a magical, magnificent affair—it needs to make the right impression.” She stretched the word out like maybe it was one that Bailey didn’t know.
“I understand that,” Bailey said, “but it’s asking a lot. If you’d have let us known a few weeks ago—”
“If you can’t see to Ms. Tells’ requirements,” Gloria said coolly, “then I’m sure we’ll be able to find someone else who can. Of course, the fee will have to come out of what AVT is paying Ms. Winters for this. But I’m sure she won’t mind, if it’s to pay for a competent liaison.”
Getting a whole mess of carpet on almost no notice was above and beyond what Bailey thought a ‘liaison’ ought to be responsible for, but she didn’t want to tick Poppy off any more than she already was. She held her hands up in surrender. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“This girl is entirely ignorant,” someone said; Bailey wasn’t sure who. She glanced around, shocked that someone would say something so rude.
“She probably had no idea what the caves are really for.”
“Martha needs to calm down. If these people won’t work with us, this is going to end badly.”
“I need to question the women at the bakery, Martha seems preoccupied with them. I bet they have something to do with whatever her secret is.”
“Can’t believe I came back to this backwoods middle-of-nowhere nothing. It isn’t fair. I hate those women for making me do this.”
Bailey’s head was pounding. Martha, Gloria, and Trevor were all staring at her as she glanced around, looking for whoever was talking, but it didn’t seem to come from any particular direction. It felt like it was coming from inside, like having a song stuck in her head that she couldn’t stop hearing no matter how hard she tried. “I’ll get your carpet,” she muttered, “give me a little time. I’m sure I can work something out.”
“Well you’d better,” Martha snapped. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I do,” Bailey said. “And everyone is very excited to have you back for a little while.” She doubted that was true, now that she’d met the woman. Poppy hadn’t been wrong, she was a nightmare.
“Of course, they still think I’m famous. They probably hope I’ll move back here and bring all my money with me. Hicks.”
“Excuse me?” Bailey asked. She looked past Martha at a worker who was working the screws on a spot light. The woman didn’t seem to hear Bailey, and Martha thought Bailey was speaking to her.
“I said,” Martha repeated slowly, “I am tired of not being heard.”
“Sorry,” Bailey told her, a reflex to cover up the fact that she wasn’t sure what Martha was talking about. “Just a bit of headache. I’ll go see about your carpet. Try to relax a little, maybe see some of the town. I’m sure it’s changed a lot since you were here last.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Martha muttered. “Nothing ever changes in this place. Not yet, anyway.” “That’ll be all,” Gloria told Bailey as Martha turned away from them. She flicked her fingers, shooing Bailey off.
Bailey glanced at each of the three outsiders, smiling. “Alright. Well. I’ll let you know what I dig up.”
She turned and left, pressing fingers to her temples to rub out the tension that was crushing her skull like a vice, or possibly trying to push it apart from the inside; she couldn’t tell.
She breathed in the spring air on the walk back up the path, again trying to focus on the positive. Martha and her people would only be here for a few days, and then they would leave, and the documentary would air and Coven Grove would start seeing a lot more people—hopefully the pleasant variety of curious tourists that she much preferred to people like Martha Tells and her awful assistant. Trevor, she hadn’t formed much of an opinion of, but at least he didn’t seem as abrasive as the other two.
Footsteps crunched up the path behind her. Bailey turned at the sound of them. She felt somewhat better, at least.
“She’s so pretty. Young, though, maybe eighteen? Nineteen? Legal.”
Bailey frowned. No one else was around. “What did you say?” She asked Trevor as he approached.
Trevor smiled. “I said sorry about Martha. She’s a handful, to be sure. She’s got her reason
s to be upset, but I don’t think it has anything to do with you. Or even the carpet.”
Bailey narrowed her eyes. It couldn’t have been anyone else speaking. It certainly wasn’t her. Maybe she’d been imagining it. There’d been a lot of that, though. Suddenly she found herself worried. People that heard voices like that were called ‘crazy’. Or, more specifically, schizophrenic. Had her mother been schizophrenic? Was that the reason she gave her up? It made sense. Good Lord, she could have any number of predispositions and not know it.
“I’m sure you don’t have to be worried,” Trevor said, concerned and peering at Bailey’s suddenly dire expression.
She schooled it, and rubbed her face with her hands. “It’s alright. It’s just been a long day already. I’m sure I can handle Ms. Tells’ request, I’ll just go to both of the carpeting shops in town and see what they can put together.” She sighed. “Um, so what can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing,” Trevor said. “I just had to get away from Martha and Gloria for a moment. I’ve been a little sluggish, and thought I’d go get some coffee and maybe something good to eat at the bakery. Grovey Goodies. You’ve been there?”
Bailey grinned. “I live there most mornings. Best bakery in town. Well, the only bakery in town, but I bet they stand up to the whole state.”
“I bet they do,” Trevor agreed. “I’ve been going back every day since I got here, can’t stay away. Well, if you want, you could… join me for a cup? Before you chase down Martha’s all-important red carpet.”
She really did need to get on that carpet request if she had any hope of finding it… then again, she could always call ahead, and Grovey Goodies was on the way, and probably Chloe would have one of her special, experimental cupcakes waiting for Bailey to come and try out like she normally did. Plus, seeing the women at the bakery always had a calming effect on Bailey’s spirits and she absolutely needed that if she was going to survive the next two weeks.
Not to mention, his forward comment notwithstanding, Trevor was very handsome.
“I suppose…” Bailey said, and then, more confidently, “You know what? Sure. Let’s go. I could use a bite to eat anyway.”
Trevor smiled at that, and the two of them completed the walk back up to the tour office and then into town together.
Chapter 4
Grovey Goodies was the highlight of Bailey’s day more or less every day. It was in one of the oldest buildings in town, a beautiful dutch style cottage with yellow siding and calm blue shutters. The porch wrapped around the whole place, covered by low-swept eaves and dotted with bistro tables. As ever, locals were scattered across the porch, chit-chatting over pastries and drinks both hot and cold.
Inside, Chloe, Frances, and Aria bustled about the place mixing, baking, and tending to customers at the counter, helping them pick out which mouth-watering cupcake or pastry they wanted from the large glass covered cases that lined a long bar that separated the front of the place from the back half. As soon as Bailey and Trevor entered, they both took a deep breath at the same time, inhaling the scent of baked goods and coffee that permeated the place all hours of the day.
Chloe spotted Bailey when they entered, and clocked Trevor as well. She smiled, maybe a little stiffly, but then waved Bailey to the corner. She’d see to them personally.
They took an empty table in the corner, each taking a seat on the dark wood bench that fit snugly into the corner of the place. “I’ve been coming here since I was a little girl,” Bailey said when they’d settled in. “My Momma used to bring me here all the time. The ladies that run this place took it over when I was small...I guess Frances’ mother owned it before? Or maybe Aria’s, I can’t remember.”
“They must know you pretty well here,” Trevor commented. “We didn’t even have to wait in line. I guess hanging out with you comes with perks.”
Bailey shrugged, grinning. “Maybe a few. I’m their unofficial taste-tester. Have been since I was eight. We live in town, just a few blocks away; Momma used to let me walk here on my own about then, so I’d come every day after school. Chloe there is kind of like the executive chef, I guess you’d say; at least for the cupcakes, which are what everyone comes here for. She’s always coming up with new flavors, but I get to try them out before anyone else does.”
“Wow,” Trevor said, impressed. “Local librarian, tour guide, and taste-tester to Coven Grove’s famous and only bakery and coffee house. You’re a busy lady.”
“You have no idea,” Bailey groaned. She heard something, distantly, and her head pounded once. She rubbed her forehead, and glanced around the place. There was a low level din of murmuring in the bakery, but it seemed to have an extra layer to it, a quiet cacophony of whispers that grew louder when she turned her attention to them. She cleared her throat, and tried to focus on Trevor. “So familiar. I wonder where I know her from. A long time ago.”
“Who me?” Bailey asked.
“Pardon?” Trevor replied, his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I thought you said… never mind.” She waved the confusion off. “I’m a little frazzled today.” Or possibly losing her mind. The jury was still out.
“You look really familiar,” Trevor said, however, and Bailey stared at him when he did. Hadn’t he just said that?
“You might not recognize me,” Bailey said, ignoring for now Trevor’s odd behavior. “But my father is Ryan Robinson.”
Trevor’s eyes widened. “Oh. Of course! How could I have forgotten that? Little Bailey Robinson! Geeze, I should have remembered that mass of red hair.” He laughed. “Well, the last time I saw you you were… what, five years old maybe? When I first started working with your dad. You’ve grown up, that’s for sure.”
Bailey smiled self-consciously at the way he said it. She was about to say something, she wasn’t sure what, when Chloe approached their table.
Chloe was a pretty woman, with long, thick auburn hair and bright green eyes. She was about Bailey’s height and like the other two women she was a couple of years from forty but still looked like she could pass for twenty five. Where Frances had streaks of gray creeping into her red hair, and Aria had fine lines slowly spreading from the corners of her eyes, Chloe’s face was smooth, her hair unmarred by time. Maybe because Frances and Aria were sometimes a bit dour, while Bailey had not once seen Chloe without a pleasant smile on her face.
“Perfect timing,” Chloe said as she came by. “For you, Mr. Sullivan.” She said his name with bit of formality as she set down a drink in tall mug with a swirl of cocoa-dusted whipped cream on top, and a chocolate cupcake with rich, dark frosting on top. “Your usual, sir.”
“Oh, thanks,” Trevor said. “I didn’t realize you all were paying attention! Gosh, I already feel like I’m back home.”
“We notice everything,” Chloe said smartly. She turned a brighter smile on Bailey, and set down a darker cupcake topped with a pale yellow frosting. “And for you, my dear. Tell me what you think—this one is a dutch chocolate base, with just a hint of paprika and orange zest, and the frosting is a lemon cream. Just something I whipped up special for you this morning.”
“Thanks, Chloe!” Bailey chirped as her mouth watered with anticipation. Sometimes the things that Chloe came up with didn’t seem to make any sense, but not once had she made something Bailey didn’t like; though perhaps that was because Bailey was used to odd flavors now. How Chloe kept coming up with new ones was a mystery Bailey had never solved.
“I’ve got you a hot chocolate on the machine,” Chloe said. “Just wanted to get this out to you straight away.” She winked, and left to get it. On her way, she passed Frances, paused, and then moved on. Frances, a severe, gaunt featured woman with eyes that were dark but still somehow warm—at least when they were turned on Bailey—gave Bailey and Trevor a long look. Finally she winked at Bailey, and turned back to her oven to pull out fresh turnovers.
“So, how is your father?” Trevor asked. “I looked for him at the library, but he wasn’t there. The folks a
t the paper told me he still writes; I would have thought he’d be retired by now.”
“He was going to,” Bailey said. “Just before Momma passed. Then, I guess he just needed something to do, so, he kept working.”
Trevor paused, setting his drink down slowly. “Wendy passed?” He seemed shocked by the news. “When?”
“Oh, almost two years ago now.” Bailey said, wincing. She supposed that Trevor and her father had been out of touch. Then again, Ryan Robinson wasn’t often inclined to reach out to his friends or family for any kind of support. If you wanted to know what was happening with him, you had to dig.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Bailey,” Trevor said earnestly. “I knew Wendy a little bit; mostly Ryan and I worked at the paper, but… she was a good woman.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better Momma,” Bailey agreed. “She took me in when I was a baby, you know. Her and Dad both, and they weren’t young when they did it.”
“You were adopted?” Trevor asked.
Bailey nodded. The sting of it was there, of course, but it had dulled long ago. “They’re the only parents I’ve ever known, of course. I used to feel bad, like my real parents had given me away; but later on it was more like Wendy and Ryan had chosen me, you know?”
“I get that,” Trevor said. He sipped his coffee, and licked the bit of whipped cream it left behind on his lip. Bailey’s eyes scrunched up with amusement. Chloe returned with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Coffee was good, of course, but nothing beat Chloe’s hot chocolate; she sprinkled shaved dark chocolate into the drink itself, and peppered the whipped cream top with a mix of cinnamon and just a hint of black pepper. It was a custom combination that had always made Bailey feel like she was special. If she’d had any skill at baking—she didn’t, she could burn a pop-tart—she sometimes thought it would be fun to work at the bakery with the ladies.
The Witching on the Wall: A Cozy Mystery (The Witchy Women of Coven Grove Book 1) Page 3
