I waited for her to regain her composure. “And what’s the difference in the fudge then, do you think? This stuff tastes good to me.”
Lara leaned in toward me, like she was going to tell me a secret. In a way, she was.
“The thing about making really good fudge,” she said in a low voice, “is that you mustn’t stir it.”
“Don’t stir it? What difference does it make?”
“Taste it again.”
I took another little nibble of fudge and chewed on it thoughtfully. It tasted good to me.
“It seems…”
“Grainy!” said Lara in excitement. “It’s grainy, isn’t it? That’s because Randi stirred it when she was making it.”
I chewed on it some more. Now that she mentioned it, if I really focused, it did seem a little bit grainy. Not overly so, but if you were looking for it you could find it.
“And that’s because she stirred it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Lara, nodding with authority. “When I was a child, my mother would rap my knuckles with a wooden spoon if I tried to stir it. That’s how I learned about making fudge—through the years under my mother’s instruction!”
“Goodness, I didn’t know it was so complicated.”
“Well, despite its graininess, this fudge does seem to be a hit with the customers—or mourners, I should say.”
Lara and I both made a point of looking over the room at all the people enjoying their fudge. Up at the counter, Randi’s assistant had a constant stream of customers purchasing little boxes of the treat in a variety of flavors. Despite the free samples, it looked like the shop was booming in sales during the memorial.
Randi herself was now back behind the counter with a very satisfied look on her face as she surveyed the crowd. If I didn’t try to think the best of other people, one could conjecture that this memorial was more of a business opportunity than a thoughtful ceremony for a departed citizen of the town.
“It was nice to meet you,” said Lara, “I’m going to do some more sightseeing now.”
I bade her farewell.
“It’s about time we made a move too, isn’t it, Kiwi?” I said to my shoulder.
A woman nearby gave me a strange look but I ignored her. People talk to their dogs and cats all the time, so why not parrots? Kiwi responded with a single command.
“Fudge!”
I took another four squares from the sample table, finishing off most of what was left. Another hand reached out and snatched up the paper plate the fudge had been displayed on and the remaining pieces.
I glanced over to see the paper plate being tilted and then emptied into a black leather purse. With another casual glance, I looked up at the owner and had to cover my mouth to stop from giving away my shock.
Walnut Wanda, who had told us she had given up fudge for life, had just emptied a half dozen pieces into her bag!
Her eyes met mine for an instant before she quickly hurried off, slipping through the crowd and out the door before I could even greet her.
It looked like someone had fallen off the fudge wagon.
Chapter 12
Ding!
“Good morning!” said Sarah brightly.
She almost seemed to float in, her long peasant dress billowing around her slender frame. Tucked under her arm was her large brown leather satchel that she used to carry necessities. At the moment, I knew those necessities included glue sticks, scissors, glitter, stickers, and of course her scrapbooks
“Good morning,” I said, reaching out my hand for one of the coffees she was carrying.
“We’ve got a lot to do today,” said Sarah. “That’s why I’m early.”
I checked the clock. It was nine fifteen, which was indeed early for her.
“Oh, it’s not too bad today,” I told her and gave her arm a squeeze. “We’ve got a fitting this afternoon, but this morning I thought we’d just clean up the shop and maybe start putting together a bath bomb collection to put by the cash register. Oh, and maybe think about changing up the window display.”
Sarah nodded thoughtfully, as she looked around the shop. After a quick scan, she shrugged her shoulders.
“Don’t worry about the shop, Aria. It looks great already,” she said with a satisfied smile. “I meant we’ve got some real work to do on this scrapbook!”
Sarah dumped her bag onto the counter and immediately began to pull out stacks of what looked like junk.
“What’s all this?”
I watched as Sarah made a little mound of papers. There were old newspapers, newsletters, and magazines, all from Sequoia Bay or the Northern California region.
“Right. What we’ve got here is more stuff for Sandra’s scrapbook. But it needs sorting, and I’m not sure we’ll need everything.” While she talked, Sarah flicked through the piles of papers, discarding some to the side and giving others little pats of approval. “Also, I think we need to re-work page four. It looks a little too childish, you know?”
Oh great. The ‘work’ Sarah intended to do today had nothing to do with our business.
“It looks like you’ve got it all covered,” I said with an encouraging smile.
The thing about Sarah and her passions is that they’re short-lived, but they burn brightly while she’s in their thrall. I needed to let her get it out of her system, and then in a few days, she would be onto something newer and shinier. Of course, if there were customers in the shop she’d have put the scrapbooks aside, but she did have a point. The shop looked fine, and there was no urgent business I needed her help with.
“I’ll want your advice on some parts. You know, what to leave in and what to leave out.”
“Sure thing, Sarah. I’ll tell you what—I’m going to start working on a little display, and when you need help with the book you just ask, okay?”
Sarah nodded. “Okay. You’re the boss!”
Sometimes I wondered with how little they liked to listen to me around here. Oh, speaking of…
“By the way, Kiwi isn’t here today.”
“Is he sick?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I think he ate too much fudge. He’s not feeling himself at all.”
“The poor little baby. Is it like the other day, after Sandra’s?”
I shook my head. The day after Kiwi, Mom, and I had discovered Sandra’s body, he’d been in a veritable fudge coma, barely able to lift a wing. I would have been worried about him, but he’d assured me it was simply too much fudge. I didn’t ever dare take him to a veterinarian because his temperament and his makeup were both too unique. I wasn’t sure whether a vet would know how to deal with a magic parrot.
“He’s not as bad as the other day, but he didn’t want to come down with me. He just sat on the sofa and screeched until I put on the Dress Me For a Date marathon.”
“Do you think he can tell the difference between the stations?” asked Sarah with a frown.
“Oh, certainly.”
And there was a lot more truth to that statement than Sarah could have guessed. Kiwi had very strong opinions about TV and was frequently disappointed by my lack of interest in the goings-on of celebrity gossip and reality television.
“Sometimes I think animals are as clever as people,” said Sarah, scrunching up her nose as she discarded an objectionable piece of scrap. “It’s like they really do know what’s going on.”
I was often tempted to spill the beans about Kiwi to Sarah, but it wasn’t right for a witch to reveal the secrets of their familiar. Kiwi’s secret intelligence was one of my most powerful magical weapons, in fact.
“I’m pretty sure Kiwi does think he knows what’s going on.”
Sarah giggled and held up an old newspaper article.
“Ooh, look at this one. Perfect, right?”
“Let me see that?”
Sarah handed it over. The article was titled “Randi’s Candy Becomes Randi’s Fudge” and was accompanied by a photo of Randi and Sandra standing together with arms interlocked and great big smiles
on their faces. The article was about how Randi had partnered with the person who made the best fudge in town: Sandra.
My eyebrows drew together. “So Randi used to sell Sandra’s fudge when they were partners, then she switched to that other supplier that Kiwi didn’t like, and then now she’s making her own.”
“I don’t want this scrapbook to be too much about Randi, Aria,” said Sarah, slowly shaking her head.
“Sorry, for a moment there I wasn’t thinking about your scrapbook. I was thinking about Sandra’s death and her fudge-making history.”
“Oh! I forgot about that,” said Sarah gave me a silly smile. “Sometimes I get so into scrapbooking I forget what it’s really about. Does that ever happen to you?”
“Not while scrapbooking, no.”
“So what do you think happened?”
I lifted up one shoulder. “Who knows? But everyone knew Sandra had the best fudge. I suppose she stopped supplying Randi when she saw it was more profitable just to sell it out of her own house.”
“I bet that made Randi mad,” said Sarah, nodding her head up and down. “And she didn’t look happy at Kiwi’s review of the other fudge supplier.”
I snickered at the memory of Ki spitting out the fudge right in the shop.
“No, she did not! This is very interesting, Sarah. Good work. Stick it in your book and let’s see what else you can find.”
Sarah nodded and put the article aside in her ‘keep’ pile.
“Oh, goodness, look at this one!” she said holding up another.
“What about this? Do you think I should put it in the book?”
I peered over.
When I saw the headline, I had to stop myself from laughing, even though it would’ve been mean. It was titled “‘Walnut’ Wanda Whipped by Wicked Walnuts” and was accompanied by a photo of an apologetic-looking Sandra with a grimacing Wanda in a hospital bed.
“That’s Walnut Wanda!” I said. “She nearly died after Sandra poisoned her.”
“Poisoned her?” asked Sarah with wide eyes.
“It was an accident. Wanda is severely allergic to nuts, but Sandra accidentally sold her a batch full of them. She had a reaction and nearly died.”
“Hmm, that may not be good for the scrapbook. I should focus on the positives, right?”
“Do you want the scrapbook to be honest, or do you just want it to show her best parts?”
“Good point. Maybe I should include it, to show that even great people like Sandra make mistakes.”
“Was she?” I asked quizzically.
“What?”
“Great?”
Sarah put down the article and took me by the shoulders. “Aria, everyone is great.”
“Everyone?” I asked dubiously.
Sarah nodded. “It may be hidden in some people, but I’m telling you, we’re all great if we can unleash our inner goddess…”
I nodded again, even more doubtful but not really wanting to get into it. Of course I believe in magic—it kind of comes with the job of being a witch—but Sarah had more than a couple of completely unsubstantiated beliefs that I couldn’t get my head around. Like everybody being great. No way. Some people are just complete fudging—
“…and embrace our inner-wonderfulness, it can express itself as greatness to the outside world. Do you see?”
“Right. Yes. Moving on…”
“I’ll keep it in there. Now, what have we got next. Ooh…”
Sarah held up another little article from the local paper. I was surprised I—and my mom, apparently—had missed this one.
It was a picture of Mayor Donovan Charlston with an arm wrapped around Sandra’s shoulder and the title “Local Businesswoman Earns Fudgy Approval of Mayor.” There was no real article, just a sentence underneath about how the mayor was encouraging small business owners in the town.
“If you’re ever planning on showing your scrapbook to my mom, I don’t think I’d put that in there. It’d get ripped out and she might toss your whole book out the window.”
Sarah looked alarmed. “Do you think she would?”
“Oh yeah. Might even set the whole thing on fire with a snap of her fingers.”
“Can she do that?”
“I think so.”
Sarah placed the article on top of her mountain of detritus. “I think I’ve got enough other bits and pieces to work with.”
“What are you going to do with it when you’re done?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sandra isn’t going to appreciate it.”
Sarah tapped her finger against her chin. “We could turn some of the shop into a kind of memorial for her—paint it black and set up a condolence book next to the scrapbook.”
“No!”
Sarah looked alarmed and I tried to switch to a more measured tone. Of all Sarah’s ‘interesting’ ideas, this was certainly one of the worst.
“I think people planning their wedding won’t enjoy having the death of a relatively young woman being thrust in their faces. It’s not really the right vibe for a bridal store, you know?”
Sarah frowned as she considered it. “But it would make the shop more balanced.”
“Balanced?”
“You know, a contrast. The happiness and joy of a new marriage, in stark contrast to death and murder in the prime of life?”
I shook my head. I shook my head some more. I shook my head like I wanted to get it off my shoulders.
“I think contrast is better served in a…” I raised my hands out to either side of me, “…broader context. For example, we have a happy bridal store here, and then there’s the cemetery across town. We have the balance and contrast on a communal level, you see?”
Sarah slowly nodded her head. “I suppose you have a point.”
I shook my head. “And anyway, we barely knew her. Once it’s done, why don’t you send your scrapbook to her family in Iowa? Didn’t Randi mention at some point that she’s got an aunt and uncle still living there?”
Sarah clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. But I think she said they were in Idaho.”
“Well, wherever they are. She only lived here a few months.”
Sarah nodded and beamed at me. “You’re so wise, Aria!”
“I know,” I said, smiling. “I know.”
“Oh, look at this!” said Sarah excitedly.
Proudly, as if it were her very own accomplishment, Sarah held up an article with two hands in front of her chest. It was a story about the winner of the county fudge competition—and the first prize winner was none other than Sandra Webb.
“That’s a good one,” I said to her with a smile. “You should put that in. Where did you get all this stuff anyway? From Randi?”
Sarah shook her head. “I got it from all kinds of people. A lot of the older residents keep little clippings and stories. One old lady told me she had shoeboxes full of stuff. She’d meant to take up scrapbooking in the sixties, but she never got around to it, so she let me dig through her stuff. Randi was useless.”
“Oh?”
Sarah nodded emphatically. “You’d think that since she held the memorial and everything, she would have had something about Sandra. But it was like she barely even knew her! And she didn’t even seem interested in the scrapbook. It was her idea to hold the memorial service, but she did it without actually memorializing Sandra at all. I don’t get some people.”
“Well, isn’t that something?” I said thoughtfully.
“But at least the memorial was a success,” said Sarah.
“It was, wasn’t it? On the business end, anyway. Randi was selling fudge hand over fist.”
“Yes, I’m sure Sandra would have been pleased to see so many people enjoying the fudge made with her recipe.”
“Would she, though?”
Something seemed off about Randi and Sandra’s relationship, but I didn’t know either woman well enough to put my finger on precisely what.
Could Rand
i even have been involved in Sandra’s untimely death? Sandra had lived and died by her award-winning fudge, and now Randi was taking up her mantle as Fudge Queen of Sequoia Bay.
It certainly bore thinking about.
I would have mentioned it to Jack, but he had warned me before about getting involved in murder investigations.
Better to keep this to myself, for now.
Well, to me, Sarah and Kiwi anyway.
And Mom, if she ever showed up again.
But the question was: how could I investigate Randi without making a scene? Having been accused of murder myself, I didn’t want to lay the same thing on someone else without proof.
“I’ll just have to be clever, that’s all,” I said to myself with a nod.
“What’s that?” asked Sarah.
“Nothing… just thinking out loud.”
And think I continued to do until later that afternoon, when I was ready to put my little plan into action.
Chapter 13
With Kiwi out of commission, I made my next move alone. I left Sarah behind in the shop, hoping she would remember that we were a Bridal Store and not an Arts and Crafts store, should any drop-ins occur.
In our business, most of our customers make appointments when they’re serious about making purchases or organizing their events, but we get drop-ins when people are still in the early stages of planning their weddings.
While not the most enthusiastic employee in many ways, Sarah was very good at turning these potential customers into real customers. Her enthusiasm and zest for life were contagious and she often ended up getting brides more excited about their weddings than they had been when they first stepped inside the shop; Sarah was an expert at alleviating their nervousness and soothing their worries with her calm demeanor, while simultaneously getting them psyched up with her own excitement.
It was a quick but chilly stroll from my shop to Randi’s Candy Shop. Yet again I was one of the few people foolish enough to be walking, but it was nice to have the sidewalk all to myself. I kept my pace extra brisk in the cold air and I arrived within a few minutes. However, my initial plan of buying some fudge and making some ‘polite’—by which I meant inquisitive and intrusive—conversation was soon thwarted.
Wedding Bells And Magic Spells Box Set Page 43
