Witches and Wedding Cake

by Bailey Cates

  Next, I removed some cookie dough Iris had mixed up the day before from the refrigerator. Flecks of cloves, rosemary, anise, and cinnamon flecked it, becoming more apparent as I rolled it out on the counter. Humming under my breath as I worked, I invoked the protective powers of that unique and tasty combination of herbs and spices. Whatever a customer might need protection from, these cookies would help. Using cookie cutters in the shapes of suns, crescent moons, and stars, I filled three baking sheets and popped the delectable bites in the oven as soon as the other cookies were done.

  I was filling the pastry case with still-warm goodies when Lucy showed up at six thirty. Iris came in soon after, this time wearing a Honeybee baseball cap over her blue locks.

  “Where’s Ben?” I asked.

  Lucy gave an elaborate shrug. “When I left, he was talking on the phone with Declan.”

  “Ah. We should start calling Ben ‘Counselor.’”

  “He does seem to have a talent for it.”

  “With Connell gone, I’m glad Declan has someone else to talk to.”

  My aunt shot a look toward Iris, who knew nothing about Connell. However, our helper was wearing earbuds and bopping around the kitchen as she gathered ingredients.

  Ben showed up right before we opened at seven. When I asked him about Declan, he waggled his eyebrows mysteriously.

  “Whatever,” I muttered, and went to open the door.

  The customers beelined straight to the glass display case, where Lucy was already waiting with bags ready to fill with baked goods. Ben had taken up his station behind the coffee counter, and the whine of the espresso machine filled the air as he started a couple of drinks for regulars before they’d even ordered.

  Steve came in. He was earlier than usual and for once wasn’t carrying his laptop bag. It was a safe bet that he had his reporter’s notebook tucked in a pocket, though. I gave him a quick nod and hurried behind the register to ring up orders.

  As I made the change for six crullers and a mochaccino, I saw him saunter into the reading area of the bakery. He rubbed Honeybee along the back of her neck as he looked out the window. He obviously wasn’t here for an early morning treat. As soon as he had an opportunity, he’d be quizzing me about Tucker Abbott’s murder. When I glanced over at Ben, he was studying Steve with narrowed eyes, all the while turning the frothing pitcher beneath the steam handle with practiced expertise.

  The first rush died down, and I went to the sink to wash my hands. When I came back out, Steve met me at the entrance to the kitchen. He wore hiking shorts, a LIFE IS GOOD T-shirt, and chunky sandals. A few days’ worth of beard clouded his narrow jaw. You’d never have guessed he was worth a fortune.

  You’d never have guessed he was a member of the oldest druid clan in Savannah, either.

  His eyes were serious, but he flashed a white-toothed smile at me. “Can we talk?”

  I made a wry face. “Who doesn’t love to hear those words?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. But . . . ?”

  “I saw you at the motel last night. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any information for you.”

  “Ah, but I might just have some information for you, Katie.” His eyes flicked toward Uncle Ben, who was still watching him. “How about we chat back in the alley.”

  “Um,” I began, but he was already pushing past me, toward the back door. Intrigued against my will, I followed.

  Closing the door behind me, I breathed in the combined scents of waffles from the breakfast joint down the street and a faint whiff of garbage from the Dumpster that hulked on the far side of the Fox and Hound Bookshop. The alley was surrounded by three-story brick walls, their blank expanse relieved by the occasional cluster of pipes or web of cables and bricked-over windows above. Closer to the ground, power meters and metal access boxes punctuated the utilitarian space. A few doors down, a yellow delivery van was parked behind one of the retail stores.

  “Nice choice.” I waved at the surroundings before folding my arms across my chest and squinting at Steve. “So you knew Tucker Abbott.”

  He leaned his shoulders against the wall by the doorway and propped one foot behind him, the picture of confidence and ease. Still, I sensed tension coming off him.

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  “He was in your column.”

  “Yes, I remember featuring the business he worked for, but our interaction was minimal. I’ve heard of him, though.”

  “Oh? What have you heard?” I asked.

  “Only that he wasn’t a man you’d want to go into business with. He tried to convince Father to invest in some land scheme.” Steve’s dad was a venture capitalist, though honestly, I’d never figured out what that meant in real-life terms.

  I snorted out a laugh at the idea of Tucker trying his glamour on the leader of the Dragoh druid clan. Then I sobered. “Was Tucker a druid, then?”

  Steve looked surprised. “Nah. At least not that I know of.” He looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “No, we’d know if he was. Why would you ask that?”

  I considered for a moment how much to say. What would it hurt to tell Steve what I’d noticed about Tucker in our one brief encounter? Steve had been one of the first people who’d known I was a witch, and we’d been through some intense times together.

  “I met him one time, and one time only,” I said, leaving out that it had been only hours before he’d been killed. “But the guy was all glamoured up. It was stunning how appealing he came across on the very first impression.”

  Steve let out a whistle. “Well, what do you know.” He grinned. “How long did his first impression last on you?”

  “Not long.”

  “Mm. Of course not. I bet some people never saw through it, though. A handy thing for a con man. Did you sense anything else about him? Magically, I mean?”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t even be sure he knew he was using a glamour.”

  “Yeah. It could have simply developed as a kind of occupational hazard.”

  “Or benefit.” I glanced toward the door. “The second rush is going to be coming in soon. What did you want to tell me?”

  “It looks like Aurora McCarthy is a suspect in Tucker’s death.”

  “Oh, please. That’s ridiculous.” I gave a casual shrug, despite knowing Rori was likely still on Quinn’s short list.

  Steve’s head slowly wagged back and forth. “Not from what I hear.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem very upset by the notion, either.

  “Oh, really? And from whom did you hear it?”

  “Sources.” He looked smug.

  “Sources,” I repeated. “What kind of sources?”

  “I’m a crime reporter. You think I don’t have sources within the police department? Not to mention other agencies. Like, for instance, the office of the medical examiner. Even, believe it or not, the fire department.”

  A hard knot of worry was beginning to form in my stomach, but I kept my tone light. “And what do these brilliant departmental resources have to say about Rori?”

  “Rori. That’s cute. Well, for one—” He held up a hand and ticked off a finger. “There was an argument in the parking lot, and the motel manager thought it might have been between Tucker and, er, Rori.”

  “She didn’t know who it was,” I said. “Only that it was a woman’s voice. One of two who visited Tucker. Oh, and did you know Tucker argued with a man in the parking lot, too? According to the manager, at least.”

  He grinned, and I realized I’d just given him more information than he’d had. He ticked off another finger. “According to Dayleen, Tucker owed someone some money and was hiding out from them at the Spotlight.”

  I already knew Tucker owed someone money, but not from Dayleen. She hadn’t told us he was hiding at the motel, either. Of course, Steve could be very persuasive. In fact, he wasn’t above using the oc
casional glamour himself.

  Not that he usually needed to.

  Another finger. “And it turns out that Tucker got his ex-wife fired from her job. Coincidence?”

  “Probably,” I said in a dry tone. “From the little I know of him, Tucker Abbott did a lot of people wrong. The guy had enemies. Even Quinn told me he knew of some people he thought might be after Tucker. I don’t think Rori was on his list.” Not that list, at least. But I didn’t need Steve speculating about Declan’s sister in the paper, either.

  “You sure?” Steve asked. “Because she didn’t seem to have a very good reason for being there that night, at least not that she shared.”

  Who had Steve been talking to? Quinn himself?

  “She had a perfectly good reason,” I said.

  “Oh?” He lowered his foot from the wall to the ground and leaned toward me. “What was it?”

  I felt like squirming. I could just see Steve saying something in a news article about the victim’s ex-wife seeking closure. “It’s personal,” I said.

  “Right.” He went back to leaning against the wall. “Does this personal reason explain why Aurora, sorry, Rori, doesn’t have an alibi for the time frame of Abbott’s murder?”

  “What was the time frame?” I asked a little too quickly.

  He gave me a knowing look. “Between five and six in the evening. Declan’s little sister had come back from shopping with her mother at four, but she decided to take their car for a little drive on her own. To visit some of her childhood haunts, she said.”

  I frowned. How did Steve know all this? “That’s all circumstantial. Rori didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Somebody’s been watching too much Law and Order,” he said.

  Rolling my eyes, I asked, “Have you seen Rori McCarthy? She’s a tiny thing. And why would she search his room?”

  “I guess you have your sources, too,” he said with a flicker of admiration. “And the answer is because she was looking for something of value. Maybe anything of value, if she felt he owed her after getting her fired. As for how Mr. Abbott died? He hit his head on the corner of the dresser. All he needed was a push with the right leverage. Even a woman of small stature could manage that.”

  I shook my head. “All that is really weak. And why are you telling me this in the first place? You make it sound like you’re trying to be helpful, but you’re not doing it to help Declan’s sister.”

  “No, I’m not.” He licked his lips. “Katie, I want you to know what kind of family you’re marrying into.”

  My lips parted in surprise.

  “This whole engagement-marriage thing has been kind of rushed, don’t you think? Maybe you should find out more about his family. Step back. Maybe it’s a sign that Judge Matthews can’t marry you.”

  I stared at him, utterly speechless.

  He shrugged. “Sorry. I overheard your conversations with Lucy and Declan about the judge yesterday. Listen, I’m not saying not to marry Declan. I just think you need to take a little time to think. To make sure you’re doing the right thing.”

  After a few beats, I managed to speak in a coherent sentence, albeit a short one. “I’m sure, Steve. Why are you doing this?”

  “You never really gave me a chance, you know,” he said quietly.

  “Steve, I’m sorry,” I said in as gentle a voice as I could muster. “I simply don’t feel that way about you.”

  “You did, once. You might again.” Hopeful now.

  “That was different.”

  “You know we have a connection.”

  “We do,” I admitted. “Or did. But—”

  “But you want to be married. To be a wife.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “No, I get it. I do.” He turned and gazed down the alleyway. His jaw set. “I’ll see you later, Katie-girl.” And he walked away.

  “Steve!” I called after him, but he didn’t even look back. Sighing, I turned and went back into the bakery.

  “There she is!” Lucy said. “Katie, Declan’s here.”

  He stood in the library, flipping through a book. His gaze flicked to the back door, and then to me.

  Smiling, I joined him and gave him a quick hug. When the Honeybee had first opened, the idea was to have a small lending library where customers could take any book that appealed to them or leave a book for someone else. The books were originally provided by the members of the spellbook club, who chose the titles using their witchy intuition. We all still brought in books we ran across that felt like they might be helpful to someone, but the small library had grown substantially from our patrons’ donations, and now filled all the shelves Ben had gradually added.

  Customers weren’t the only ones who benefited from the books in the Honeybee library. Cookie had been drawn to a book on parenting, Mimsey had stumbled into a romance that she knew would make her granddaughter feel better after a breakup, and I’d found more than a few volumes that spoke to me. So I wasn’t exactly surprised when Declan tilted the book he held so I could see the title. I was, however, surprised when I read it: Lucid Dreaming for Beginners.

  I blinked, considering the idea for the first time. Then I took the volume from him and scanned the back. I looked up. “A dream in which the dreamer is aware they’re dreaming. Connell contacted me from your dream. How did I not think of that before?”

  Declan raised his eyebrows. “Do you think it might work? That we can find Connell and bring him back?”

  “It’s certainly worth a try.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ll take this with me.”

  I grinned, feeling hopeful. “By all means. Are you still on shift?”

  He shook his head. “Scott told me to leave early.” There were dark half-moons under his eyes.

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  His lips pressed together, and he didn’t answer.

  “Go home and take a nap,” I urged.

  “I might, though I don’t feel like I’ll be able to sleep.” He gently snorted. “Rori can, though. I texted her and got no answer, so tried my mother. She says my dear sister hasn’t come out of her bedroom yet this morning. Slumbering away like a baby.”

  I looked at my watch. It was eight twenty. “And why shouldn’t she?” I asked. “Last night was traumatic—I mean, she discovered the body of the man she’d once been married to, for heaven’s sake. A little rest is probably good for her.” And to me, at least, it indicated her conscience was clear.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Declan tipped his head to the side. “Ben says you were talking to Steve Dawes out in the alley.”

  Thanks, Uncle Ben.

  I led Declan over to a bistro table in the corner by the window, away from other customers. “He stopped by to chat. He covered the murder last night for the paper.”

  “Is that what he stopped by to ‘chat’ about?”

  I scrabbled for what to tell Declan about what Steve had had to say. It was definitely a bad idea to tell him Steve thought I should cancel our wedding.

  “Pretty much,” I said.

  “What did he want?”

  I hesitated.

  Declan gave me a look.

  “He was concerned about your sister.”

  “I bet.”

  “Well, sort of. Apparently, he has some, you know, sources. They told him Tucker was killed between five and six yesterday evening.” I paused.

  “And?”

  I sighed. “That Tucker was hiding from someone he owed money to, and he argued with some people.” I wrinkled my nose. “And Rori doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  The blood drained from Declan’s face. “What? Where was she?”

  “She said she was driving around Savannah.”

  My fiancé rubbed his face with both hands.

 
Lucy bustled over with a big mug of coffee for Declan, along with a cat’s head biscuit layered with Tasso ham, sharp cheddar, and a slather of fresh peach jam. “You look a sight.” She placed the plate in front of him and handed him a napkin. “Eat.”

  I couldn’t help smiling a little. I knew the jam contained ginger, which was a classic spice for providing strength and healing as well as soothing the soul.

  He smiled, too. “Thanks, Lucy.”

  She waited, hands on her hips, until he’d taken a couple of bites, then gave a sharp nod of approval and went back to the kitchen to get Iris started on the next batch of baking.

  I settled my elbows on the table and rested my chin on one hand. “Tell me about Tucker. Eliza said you introduced him to Rori.”

  Chapter 9

  Declan rolled his eyes, swallowed, and took a big swig of coffee. Then he said, “I’ve always regretted it, but yeah. I did introduce Rori and Tucker.”

  “So you knew him first?” That was news.

  “I’d just met him. Another firefighter put us in touch. He’d joined a real estate investment group here in town, headed by Tucker. The idea was that members could buy real property together, so no one would be investing a ton of money and everyone could reap the benefits. There were four members, and they were looking for a fifth.”

  “Hang on. You mean you were going to buy property with people you didn’t even know?”

  “Well, they knew each other. See, Tucker convinced a good friend of his—meaning someone he’d convinced was his friend—and that person had another friend who was interested. That friend then had a friend, and so on. All these people were involved in the fire department or law enforcement, so it didn’t feel like we were strangers at all. I was to be the last in the chain. Tucker said five was the perfect number to spread out the costs of the purchase—it was a small apartment building—without diluting the profit too much.”