by Bailey Cates
“And Jack said the reason he couldn’t come to the brunch was because his employee didn’t show up,” Ben said as he joined us.
“So that blows away his alibi,” I said. “That’s even better than the idea that he snuck away for fifteen minutes to kill Mrs. Templeton.”
Quinn nodded and continued. “The guy at Johnny Reb’s also said a lot of things were missing.”
“He raided his own store?” Ben asked.
“Mostly little stuff, valuable and easy to dispose of. We’re checking his bank accounts now.”
“Well, that’s it.” I threw up my hands. “He’s long gone, I suppose.”
Quinn shook his head. “I’m far more worried that he might still be in the Savannah area.”
“Why?” Ben asked.
“Because one of the neighbors we talked to reported hearing an argument shortly before he left. She couldn’t tell me much about who Jenkins was fighting with—only that it was a man. And she couldn’t hear specifically what the problem was, but one name came up two different times.”
I leaned forward. “What name?”
“Katie Lightfoot.”
“What?” I croaked.
Ben put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to his side. “Why her?”
Quinn shook his head. “We don’t know. Only that it’s possible that you’re in danger.” He held his palms up. “On the other hand, it might be nothing. Just be careful, all right?”
Stunned, I nodded.
Having felt the power Steve drew from me in order to save Ethan Ridge’s life, I no longer questioned whether I possessed a gift for magic. But untrained and unpracticed, I had no idea what I could really do. Had the locating spell I’d cast on my living room floor really worked like Steve had said? Was that how divination worked for me? Or was I like Cookie, who couldn’t divine to save her life? If the latter, finding Ethan had been plain old deduction.
Or was that really magic, too? From what I could tell, the definition was pretty fluid.
At any rate, I couldn’t afford another miss. We needed to find Jack Jenkins—to ensure that a killer was brought to justice, to get Ben off the hook once and for all, and so I could stop looking over my shoulder and jumping at every loud noise. If Ethan Ridge’s injuries were any indication, the guy was unhinged and dangerous.
It was nearly four thirty in the afternoon. I’d mixed the sourdough sponge, scrubbed counters, appliances and the floor, planned the next morning’s baking and checked the inventory in the storeroom. I took off my sexy-maid apron, hung it on one of the hooks that marched along the back wall and went to stand in the office doorway.
“Lucy, how quickly can you get the ladies over here?”
“It depends. What do you have in mind?” She folded her arms and leaned one hip against the desk.
“I’d like to try another location spell. The one Mimsey did to find possible suspects in Mrs. Templeton’s death worked pretty well. Now we have a very specific person to find. Do you think she could do it again?”
She reached for the phone, eyes sparkling. “Let’s find out.”
I would have laughed if we hadn’t been talking about tracking down a murderer.
All four of the spellbook club members showed up within an hour. We closed the blinds tightly and locked the door. Lucy turned on the overhead lights, and we all settled into the reading area.
Mimsey, wearing royal blue augmented by a splashy yellow scarf, shoes and chunky necklace, listened carefully to what I wanted to do. When I finished, she shook her head.
“I don’t think we should do a location spell. For one thing, they can be kind of iffy. And he’s probably on the move, so even if we do find him he could slip away.”
Jaida shrugged out of her suit jacket. “We’d also have to convince the police to follow up on knowledge we shouldn’t have and can’t prove.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, that is a problem. Detective Quinn was already suspicious of my hunch that Ethan Ridge was in the Peachtree Arms storage unit.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. “If his men had properly searched the premises they would have found that apartment manager without your help.”
“I chose not to bring that up,” I said.
Cookie grinned. “We should do an attraction spell. I’m good at those.”
Now Jaida looked at the ceiling. “I bet you are.”
Cookie laughed. Her miniskirt showed off coltish legs, and she’d tied her hair into a ponytail high on her head.
Mimsey and Lucy exchanged glances. “You want to bring Jenkins here?” Lucy asked.
I shook my head. “That doesn’t seem very safe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re witches, Katie. We can protect ourselves, certainly long enough for the authorities to come and take him away,” Cookie said.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “That’s not the kind of magic we usually—”
“Just because we don’t usually doesn’t mean we can’t. Jaida, what do you think?”
A slow smile lit her face, and she sat forward. “I think we should do a justice spell. That way we don’t have to deal with Jenkins directly or explain anything to the police. The spell will simply see that justice is done.”
We all looked at each other.
“Well, why didn’t we do that in the first place?” I asked. It sure would have saved some time—and trouble.
Bianca’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Because justice isn’t a human concern. Casting for it is like playing goddess, and that’s arrogant. And dangerous.”
Cookie piped up. “Also, we didn’t know who we were dealing with, so there was no focus for our intention. There is so much injustice in the world. A general spell for justice right after the murder would have been swallowed up without a trace.”
I looked at Mimsey. “You told me there was no magic cure-all to solve crime.”
She inclined her head. “There isn’t. Or for justice. But Cookie’s right that we have a specific target in Jack Jenkins. I think it’s worth a try.”
“We don’t know what will happen, though. There are too many kinds,” Bianca argued. “What type do you want? Ethical? Spiritual? Legal? Are we the ones who decide what’s ‘just’? Jaida, are you willing to take on the karmic responsibility if it backfires? Because I don’t know that I am.”
I nodded. “For all we know, Jenkins’ killing Mrs. Templeton after all the grief she brought the world—not to mention the fact that she might have been practicing black magic—could be considered by some to be justice.”
Cookie murmured her agreement, but Lucy and Mimsey frowned.
Jaida considered me. “Do you want to let him go?”
“No. Of course not. I don’t think killing is ever justified.”
“What about self-defense?” Cookie asked.
My gaze lit on Self-Defense for Pacifists, which had found its way to the table in front of the bookshelf again. I wondered which of our customers was reading it. “Maybe. Or in defense of another. But there are other ways to defend yourself besides killing.” I gestured at the book for emphasis.
“We’ll have to be careful—and very specific in our intentions,” Jaida said. “We should cast explicitly for legal justice, quickly rendered. I’ve done it before.”
“You have?” I asked, surprised.
Her lips curved up. “I’m a lawyer.”
“And did it work?”
“The jury brought in the right verdict.”
I thought for a moment, then made a decision. “Okay, what do we need to do?”
“I need to get my tarot cards. Lucy, we’ll need white candles.”
My aunt nodded. “We don’t have any here right now, but I can pop home and pick some up.”
“Don’t bother.” Mimsey stood. “I have some at the shop, and that’s closer. Jaida, I assume you’ll be using the Justice card?”
“Naturally.”
“What flowers supplement Justice?”
“Verbena, I believe. And hyacinth.
Do you have any in supply?”
“We have both. White again, for protection?”
“Yes. And purple if you have some.”
Mimsey nodded. “Perfect.” She turned to Bianca. “It should be fine, honey. Jaida is experienced at tarot magic, and she’s cast this spell before—with success.”
“What else do you need?” Cookie asked.
“Let’s see.” Jaida ticked items off on her fingers. “Tissue paper. Matches. A cauldron.”
“I’ll run to the stationery store,” Cookie said.
Bianca picked up her shoulder bag. “I guess I’m in, too, then. But first I need to go home, check on Colette, and arrange for the babysitter to stay later. While I’m there, I’ll pick up my cauldron.”
“Excellent. Oh, and Katie, you’ve already got a scale here, don’t you?” Jaida asked.
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s about to become a scale of justice.”
Lucy snapped her fingers. “I bet you need a picture of our illustrious DBA president, don’t you?”
“You mean you have one?” Jaida asked.
“Not yet. But I remember there was one in the Morning News about a month ago. While everyone is gathering supplies, why don’t Katie and I run over there and get a copy?”
“I was planning to simply write his name of a piece of paper, but a picture would be much better,” Jaida said. “Do you mind?”
My aunt looked at me, and I joined the others on their feet. “I don’t mind. But if it was only a month ago we probably don’t need to go to the newspaper office. There should be a copy of the article online, and we can print the picture out here.” I stopped and considered. “On the other hand, if we go to the Morning News, Steve Dawes might be there. He might be able to help.”
Cookie grinned triumphantly. “I told you he’s a witch!”
Bianca and Jaida looked confused.
Mimsey and Lucy shook their heads in unison. “I don’t think so,” my aunt said. “This isn’t a good time to introduce yet another element into our workings.”
“You mean besides me?” I said.
She nodded.
“All right, everyone,” Jaida said. “Let’s meet back here in an hour.”
As Lucy and I went into our office, I heard Jaida ask Mimsey, “Since when is that columnist a sorcerer?”
Mungo jumped onto Lucy’s lap as we waited for the computer to get going.
“Is Jaida planning to boil up a justice potion?” I asked.
He and Lucy cocked their heads to one side like comical bookends.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m the only one of us who brews very much, and generally I do that at home, in my own kitchen. It’s a vital skill for a hedgewitch—even herbal tea is a potion, you know. Especially if you add intention to it with a little ritual or incantation.”
I typed Savannah Morning News into the search engine. “Is that on the course syllabus for Witchcraft 101?”
She laughed. “Indeed it is.”
“Seriously, you have a real witch’s cauldron?”
“Sometimes I even cook pasta sauce in it.”
I turned and stared at her. “Holy cow! You mean last night?”
“Don’t worry.” She patted my knee. “That was plain old pasta sauce. Though I think all cooking is a kind of magic.”
“It’s starting to sound like everything is,” I muttered. “So if Jaida isn’t going to brew, why does she need a cauldron?”
“To burn in. You’ll see.”
As I pulled up the newspaper’s archive, I remembered the scent of burning juniper berries in the Honeybee right after I’d met the spellbook club ladies for the first time.
I plugged the name Jack Jenkins into the newspaper archive’s search function—and there was the proprietor of Johnny Reb’s, looking out at us from the screen.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What is it?” Lucy asked.
“He has a beard and glasses!”
She peered at the picture. “Well, no wonder that witness thought the man she saw looked like your uncle.”
I buried my head in my hands. “If only I’d known, maybe I’d have figured it out sooner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never seen him with a beard. By the time I went to Johnny Reb’s the day after Mrs. Templeton was killed, he’d shaved, had his hair cut shorter, and wasn’t wearing glasses. I did see him wearing glasses later, but I never made the connection.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
I sighed and printed out the picture.
I should have known.
Chapter 26
It was almost seven o’clock when we started. Jaida had changed into olive-drab capris and a light cotton blouse, while Bianca returned dressed in a flowing white linen skirt and tunic.
“I thought it would be inappropriate to wear my robe,” she said.
Uh-huh.
My stomach was growling, but Lucy insisted we wait until after casting the spell to eat anything substantial. Then she passed around cups of ginger tea.
“This will ground us and add a little oomph to our magic,” she explained to me.
We pushed two of the smaller tables together and cleared the other tables and chairs from that area. Jaida folded the picture I’d printed three times and put it on the table, along with the purple and white flowers Mimsey had brought. The cloying fragrance of hyacinth surrounded us, completely overwhelming the spicy smells I associated with the Honeybee.
Then Jaida unwrapped a brand-new deck of tarot cards. “This is a classic Rider-Waite deck. It was created by Arthur Edward Waite and Pamela Colman Smith in 1910, and published by William Rider and Son.”
“Why isn’t it called the Waite-Smith deck, or the Rider-Smith-Waite deck?”
One side of her mouth quirked up ruefully. “Why do you think?”
“Because Smith was a woman?”
“That would be my guess.”
I made a face. “So why a new deck? I thought people who read tarot cards used the same deck over and over.”
“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m not reading these. You’ll see why I’m using a new deck when we do the spell.”
My curiosity felt like an itch, and I found myself holding my breath as she flipped through the deck, extracted two cards and put them on the table. Leaning forward to take a look, I saw the first was the Justice card. It depicted a king on a throne with a sword in one hand and a set of old-fashioned scales in the other. The other card was the Ace of Swords, and it showed only a hand holding a sword with a crown on top of it.
For someone who didn’t like knives, I sure seemed to be running into a lot of things with blades lately.
“What’s this for?” I asked, pointing to the second card.
“I’ve added the Ace of Swords to the spell because it represents truth,” Jaida said.
Lucy brought in my smallest kitchen scale and set it on the table, too. Mimsey began arranging the white candles at compass points around us.
“Tell me more,” I said.
“Well, the white candles emphasize protection—rather than aggression. So do the white flowers. The purple flowers represent the spirit. See, we’re seeking not only legal justice but also the highest spiritual good of all.”
Bianca smiled at that. “I like the way you think. Here’s the cauldron.” She set a silver bowl in the middle of the table. It was about ten inches across, and embossed with interlinked pentagrams.
“That’s gorgeous,” I said.
She smiled. “Thank you. I had it made.”
Of course she did.
“But I only use it to burn—which is what I assumed you want to do, Jaida?”
“That’s right. Are we ready? Cookie, do you have the tissue?”
Cookie held up a piece of white tissue paper.
Jaida said, “We need an envelope.”
Cookie quickly folded and creased the paper into a small bag.
&nbs
p; “Okay. Mimsey, will you cast the circle?”
“Of course.” We gathered around the table, Lucy on my right and Jaida on my left. Mimsey lit the candle in the east first and called upon the support of the Archangel Raphael.
“That’s different than when you cast the circle before,” I whispered to Lucy. She shushed me, and Jaida shook her head at me.
Oops. I pressed my lips together, determined to shut up, watch and learn.
Next, Mimsey moved to the southern candle and called upon Michael as she lit it. Then on to Gabriel, and finally Uriel, the archangel of the north. She returned to the eastern candle before joining us. Then she added a call to Above, Below and Within.
Talk about thorough. Now that was a circle.
Jaida nodded to Mimsey. Then she took three deep breaths, letting each one out very slowly. She placed the two tarot cards on the scale and added the folded picture of Jack Jenkins, weighing them in precise fractions of grams. When she was satisfied, she removed them and zeroed the scale out again. Then she began gently stripping petals from the flowers and sprinkling them onto the scale. Some fell off, but she ignored them and continued adding flower petals until they equaled the weight of the cards and picture.
She held out her hand for Cookie’s tissue bag. With great care she transferred the hyacinth and verbena petals to the bag. She handed it to me and reached for the cards. When I saw her tear them into pieces, along with Jack Jenkins’ picture, I knew why she hadn’t used her own tarot deck.
The pieces of paper went in with the flowers. She stirred them three times with a fingertip. She folded the top of the bag down, sealing it lightly, and into Bianca’s silver cauldron it went. Jaida opened the wooden kitchen matches and took one out. Holding it against the box, ready to strike, she intoned,
“Justice turns.
Truth burns.
For highest good,
As it should.
This man—”
A crash interrupted her incantation, startling us all. The sound came again, and glass tinkled onto the Honeybee floor. Wide-eyed in the candlelight, we stared as a hand reached in through the broken door and unlocked the handle.
“We call upon the Archangels to protect us. We call upon you, Raphael, Michael, Gabriel and Uriel. Help us now in our time of need,” Mimsey whispered.
